The Day the Machines Stopped

by Christopher Anvil

  “Well,” said Smitty, studying a map, “I think that was Cleveland. One of these days, if we last long enough, we’ll hit Chicago. I’m not looking forward to it.”

  Once again they were making good time. They were well stocked with provisions, and at every stop the men were strengthening the protection of the trucks. Now more of the rear tires were shielded, and metal disks were fitted to the front wheels. Small-caliber bullets striking from the side would do little damage unless very well aimed. “But,” as Cardan pointed out, “a few gasoline bombs heaved at us out of a ditch could end the whole thing.” He decided on a wide detour to avoid Chicago, at the same time staying well north of Indianapolis. By now, no city looked attractive to them.

  Several days later they seemed to be in the clear again, traveling along a wide, deserted road, weaving occasionally to pass the inevitable cars, when Brian, traveling this time in the steam car that raced in front of the trucks to see what was up ahead, saw a cloud of dust far ahead as they swooped over a low rise.

  “Now,” said Brian, pointing out the dust cloud, “what do you suppose makes that?”

  “Either a. lot of animals,” said Cermak, frowning, “or a lot of people.”

  Smitty, driving, said, “Whichever it is, that’s a sizable migration.”

  He slowed the steam car. They studied the dust cloud for a moment, then they raced ahead for a closer look.

  Cermak cleared his throat. “If that’s a migration, it’s got a leader. If he’s got any sense, he’ll have flank guards watching this road.”

  Smitty slowed to a stop. Ahead and to either side was a gentle rise covered on the left with small trees now starting to leaf out. Most of the rest of the land they’d passed was open farm country, the fields already plowed and ready to be planted by the tractors that no longer ran.

  Smitty swung the car around and they reported back to Cardan, who nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll keep going, but stop short of that place. From what you say, they’re headed south, and we’re going west. We’ll wait till the column, whatever it is, goes past.”

  A little while later they were there, the head of the dust cloud now perceptibly further to the south. But the tail of the cloud was still out of sight to the north.

  “If,” Smitty suggested, “we could get through those woods beside the road, we could look down on whatever it is that’s going past on the other side.”

  “Go ahead,” said Cardan. “But be careful. This is a bad setup, and there’s no telling what you may run into.”

  Smitty, Brian and Steve Cermak walked up into the woods. It was a cool day, but the ground was soft underfoot, and the small leaves just coming out gave the forest a misty, delicate appearance. The sky overhead was a clear blue, with only a few high clouds. There was a light breeze, and it carried the sound of voices.

  Then Brian was near the edge of a low steep bank, looking down through the trees, seeing, on a wide dirt road below, a column of men.

  Brian glanced back over his shoulders to where Smitty and Cermak, further back in amongst the trees, covered him from either side.

  As he turned to )opk back, he saw, about forty feet away, three men standing in the shadow of a tall evergreen. They were watching him, their guns not quite aimed at him, but requiring only a slight shift to be centered on him. One of them called out in a low voice. “What you doing, man?” “Looking,” said Brian, all his senses alert.

  “You alone?”

  “My friends are covering me.”

  “We don’t See them.”

  “They’d be careless if you did.”

  “What you planning?”

  “We wanted to go past. But we can wait.”

  “Which way you headed?”

  “West.”

  “And you’re sure your friends have got us covered?” the man asked slyly.

  “Make a false move, and you’ll find out,” Brian said amiably.

  “How many of them?” the man wanted to know.

  “Only a dozen,” said Brian, “but all good shots.”

  The man- hesitated, his gun hand itching to swing his weapon around. For a moment there was a deathly silence as uncertainty plagued the man. Abruptly he relaxed, grinned from ear to ear, let out a bellow of a laugh, and commented, “I believe you.”

  Almost nonchalantly, he motioned to his companions and they took off to join their column. Brian heaved a deep sigh of relief and walked back to where Smitty and Cermak were waiting.

  “What was all that about?” asked Cermak.

  “I tried a bluff,” Brian said. “And it worked. But for a moment there it was touch and go.” He wiped the perspiration off his forehead.

  Their release from extreme tension made them feel almost hilarious, and Smitty and Cermak congratulated Brian on his handling of the situation.

  “Well,” said Brian, “I couldn’t have pulled it off if you two weren’t there to back me up. How were they to know whether there were two of you or a dozen?”

  Sudden gunfire erupted in the direction where they had left the trucks. Obviously, they weren’t in the clear yet.

  As one, they moved through the woods toward the firing. Long before they got back, the gunfire had ended.

  Chapter 8

  Brian, Smitty and Cermak looked cautiously on one burning truck. The other trucks and the steam car were gone. On the road lay one of Cardan’s men, a long hunting arrow jutting from his back. On a hill nearby was another man dead, an arrow embedded in the base of his neck. A dead stranger, still holding a bow and a quiver of hunting arrows had been shot through the chest.

  Anne, smeared with mud and dirt, climbed from a ditch by the side of the road. She explained that Cardan had been talking to her when the trouble started, and he had thrown her down out of sight and told her to crawl into a nearby culvert. There she had heard the fight, but had seen nothing of what happened.

  As they were trying to reconstruct what had taken place, Carl, fully dressed, his hair wet, and unarmed save for the knife at his belt, walked down the gentle, sparsely wooded slope on the opposite side of the road, carrying a towel in one hand. He had a sick weary look, and for once paid no attention to Anne.

  Brian and others waited silently. Carl walked over, drew a ragged breath, and looked at them steadily.

  “I saw it all,” he said dazedly. “And I couldn’t do a thing.”

  There was a silence, and Brian said, “Where were you?”

  “Up the slope, washing in the stream. The scouts checked the woods on both sides and sent word that everything was all clear. Cardan didn’t like the spot, but finally let the women and kids get out for some air. I felt sweaty and dirty because I’d been on guard at that last place and didn’t have a chance to wash, I found a stream, followed it uphill, and didn’t bother to take my gun because I wasn’t going far. The stream wound across this open field, and I had to go way up to find a place that was out of sight. I’d no sooner started to wash than there was the bang of Cardan’s .45, and there went our two guards on this side, running down the hill. The thing was over before I could do anything. About a dozen guys in camouflage suits, armed with bows and arrows, came out of the woods across the road, covered the women and children, made the men start up the trucks, and took off. They apparently knocked over a portable stove Barbara Bowen had lit to heat some coffee, and that set one truck on fire. They took the rest of the trucks and the steam car.”

  They looked at him silently, seeing the attack in their minds.

  Carl took the silence for censure, and said almost pleadingly, “I couldn’t do a thing. When they left, I made it up to the top of the slope to the east there, saw them turn off onto a dirt road headed north. That’s all I know.” Smitty, finally said, “Did they kill Cardan?”

  “I don’t think so. But I think he got one of them.”

  “Then they’ll regret this—if they live long enough.” Cermak was frowning. “Where did they come from? What were they doing here?”

  Brian said, “They co
uld have planned to attack that column we ran into, decided it was too much, turned back this way and heard the children. The guards could have been watching the other way at the wrong moment, and those arrows would have made no sound that would warn people down here.”

  Smitty looked around at the desolate scene. “I wish the chief had had one of his hunches about this.”

  “Maybe he did,” said Carl. “Miss Bowen had to beg him to let the women and kids get out of the trucks.”

  “If the woods and the road had already been checked, and there were guards watching, what did he see he didn’t like?” asked Cermak.

  “The chief works on hunches more than you’d think,” Smitty informed them. “It sounds crazy, but when you get right down to it, he’s got to. He’s used to dealing with things that aren’t known well enough yet to handle precisely.

  I think what he sees is the sum total of a whole lot of things, each too small to mean much by itself. When he’s uneasy like that, there’s generally a reason.”

  Carl said, “Like the dream he had before all this started. He was in a terrible mood, and we thought it was all for nothing. Now look.”

  Cermak said, “He had a dream?”

  Smitty nodded. “He didn’t exactly foresee what would happen. He was just uneasy about the general trend in certain kinds of research. And he was right.”

  They stood still for a minute, looking around and wondering what to do now.

  Brian glanced at Carl. “One of the scouts is on that hill back there, dead. His gun is still with him. And there’s one of their men, with a bow and some arrows.”

  Carl nodded his head in thanks, crossed the road, and climbed up the bank into the woods and out of sight.

  Smitty watched him go. “He seems to be telling the truth. But I’m not enthusiastic about having him with us.” Cermak checked his gun. “I’d trust him as far as I could spit a mouthful of fishhooks.”

  Brian had given little heed to Carl since their fight, but now he thought the situation over carefully. “I think he’ll be all right—provided we keep our eyes open if we get in a spot where it would pay him to stab us in the back.” Cermak cradled his gun. “It’s never going to pay him to stab us in the back.” He said to his daughter, “If he talks to you about going off with him or anything like that, let us know.” He turned to Brian. “If he’s going with us, Anne had better stick with me. The more Carl sees you and Anne together, the more likely we are to have trouble.”

  Brian agreed, but he was galled at the realization that once again Carl was keeping Brian and Anne apart.

  Across the road, Carl slid down the hill, the bow and quiver slung across his back, a bandolier of ammunition over his shoulder, a rifle in his hand.

  That night, they camped near where the trucks had been. The night was cold,'- they had no blankets, didn’t want to show a fire, and woke early feeling cramped and stiff. And now they had no food. Since there was nothing else to do, they started walking. They kept going to the west, hoping to find some farm where they might get food.

  Early that morning they found a farm, but a fusillade of shots greeted them when they got near it. They walked on. The same thing happened at the next farm. The third time it happened, Smitty shouted, “We want to buy food!” A bullet screamed close overhead in answer.

  They lay on the ground studying the building. It was a two-story frame structure, with one bare tree about forty feet from it on the far side. Save for the ruins of a burned-down bam, and shrubs to either side of the front door, there was no cover, and the land all around was flat.

  Brian shouted, “Trade you bullets for food!”

  There was a silence, then a deep male shout. “What size gun?”

  “Springfield thirty.”

  “Wrong size!”

  There was a moment’s quiet, then a shouted warning, “Don’t come any closer! We’ll shoot to kill! We’ve been burnt out once and we’re taking no chances!”

  Brian looked at the blackened ruins of the bam.

  He shouted, “Know any place we could get food?” “Can’t tell you. Everybody’s in the same spot we’re in.” Cermak growled, “I see his point. But I’m still hungry.” Brian lay flat, and said in a low voice, “How many guns fired at us that first time?”

  “I’d say there were at least three of them,” Carl volunteered. “Two downstairs, and I think there was a flash from that upstairs window to the left of the door.”

  Smitty said, “Better dear out. We haven’t got any advantage, and it might just occur to them to shoot us and have our guns and bullets for themselves.”

  Brian called, “Thanks, anyway.”

  “Sorry we can’t help you. Could give you water.”

  “Thanks. We’ve got that.” Brian glanced around. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Carl said, “One at a time. We’d better cover each other on the way.”

  They got away from the house without trouble, though when it was clear that they were leaving, the people at the house started calling questions as to what conditions were like along the road, when they’d eaten last, and whether they were sure they had plenty of water.

  Smitty said, looking back, “Well, they wanted to help.”

  “There’s not many calories in that,” Carl commented wryly. “And we’ll probably get the same business at the next place.”

  Toward noon, they reached another farmhouse, and except for a different voice, their greeting was the same. The people would have liked to help them, but they couldn’t.

  Later Brian and the others halted as another farmhouse, a two-story frame structure like the others, came into sight.

  Cermak said dryly, “We could get very hungry this way.”

  “Well,” said Brian, “let’s think it over. We’ve got four guns, plenty of bullets, a bow, arrows, and a quiver. We need food, blankets, and it wouldn’t hurt if we had a pack to carry more food in. Is that right?”

  “That about covers it,” said Smitty.

  “Okay,” said Brian. “With this much firepower, we ought to be able either to trade something for food, or else make it worth somebody’s while to at least give us enough to get on to the next place.”

  “Now we’re talking,” Cermak said. “A bullet from one of our guns would probably go right through these houses, from one side to the other.”

  “Only,” said Smitty, “it might kill somebody on the way. Say there’s a man, wife, and three sons in one of those houses. The men are armed, and we accidentally shoot the mother. Not only does that make us murderers, but very shortly we’re going to have something on our hands that won’t be easy to end.”

  Brian said, “Why don’t we be reasonable, like we have been, only this time insist on something to keep us going to the next place where they might have food. They ought to be able to spare us that much. If they won’t, we could offer to trade, maybe, one gun and bullets, or the bow and arrows, for food, blankets and something to carry things in. If that doesn’t work we could warn them we’d fight, and give them a demonstration.”

  “If they wanted to trade for the bow and arrows, all right.” Cermak agreed grudgingly, “but we may need every bullet and gun we’ve got.”

  Carl said, “In time, this bow is going to be worth much more than it’s worth now. You can make your own arrows, with practice. And after you shoot them, you can go get them and shoot them again. Once we run out of bullets, the guns will be useless.”

  Smitty said, “Let’s go to that next farmhouse and see what happens.”

  This time, after they’d made a careful reconnaissance and crept up by way of the barn and outbuildings, the house turned out to be empty. The livestock was gone, most of the cooking utensils and part of the bedding were gone, and in the cellar were wide shelves where rings in the dust showed that many dozens of jars of canned goods had been removed. There remained a few odd jars of vegetables, pickles and fruit, dated several years before. In the pantry that adjoined the kitchen were a few potatoes and onions, and a
large box of oatmeal.

  While Anne did the best she could to turn this into a meal, the men made up blanket rolls. Late that afternoon they were on the move again, fortified with boiled potatoes and onions, bread-and-butter pickles, and stewed tomatoes, followed by a dessert of canned peaches. With them they carried the bedrolls, a few pans, and the box of oatmeal. They wore improvised packs, and as the cloth straps dug into their shoulders, they wished they had never thought of that idea.

  The next farm they passed was a large one, where men were working in the fields with horse-drawn, seed-sowing machines. Brian, Anne and the others were scarcely in sight when the bullets began to fly over their heads.

  This became a pattern they gradually got used to. A few isolated farms, held by small groups of people; other farms abandoned. At the abandoned farms there were usually some odd scraps of food to be found, and the buildings provided shelter. But there was seldom enough food, and often they had to sleep out during cold, wet, miserable nights.

  Brian was aware that as the days passed they were gradually getting weaker. Worse yet, they were now well into a section of the country that had been visited by too many outsiders and didn’t care to see more. Many of the farms were completely burned out. The people in those that still stood didn’t talk, but opened fire on sight. The larger farms resorted to more drastic action, and parties of men charged out on horseback, only to hurriedly change their minds when the long-range accuracy of the four Springfields began picking off horses and men before they could get close.

  Brian and the others found themselves near a small town where, they felt, there must be supplies, but the occasional sound of guns from the town made their approach cautious, and the sight of lone figures sprinting from one building to another amidst a fusillade of shots changed their minds entirely.