Denver Is Missing

by D. F. Jones

  Perhaps the most frightening, appalling thing was the silence, and the scarcity of human life. We met few boats afloat. After Bay Bridge the oil thinned, the swell was breaking with some force in clouds of bright spray on the shore, providing the only sound….

  We rounded Hunter’s Point’ and turned into the small bay. Facing southeast, it had been protected against the wave’s worst efforts, but the swell was in there. Several small craft were rolling with obedient regularity alongside a floating pontoon which was connected to the shore by a light bridge. A Navy man waved us into a vacant berth and in incurious silence took our lines.

  Bette and I got our gear on deck. No one felt like talking. There was nothing and everything to say. Until we got alongside that pontoon, life outside Mayfly had been a separate, detached existence, something we watched, but in which we had no part. Now this new, awful situation crowded in on us, problems multiplied. For the first time I remembered my car, left in the parking lot near Mayfly‘s old moorings: That must have gone.

  “Well, Bill, I don’t know what to say—except thanks for saving our lives.”

  “Rubbish!” Visick ran an affectionate hand along the cabin top. “This old girl would have seen you through, regardless.” He was being terribly British, but under the tan he was pale.

  “You were marvelous, Bill!” Bette spoke with a finality that closed the subject. She sounded brisk, matter-of-fact, but her Voice was pitched just a little high. Under the brave front she had the tense fragility of an overwound hair-spring. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Personal problems don’t seem very important. Stay a day or two, clearing up, then sail. They may want me out right away.”

  We were all anxious to break it up. I shook hands with Bill. It seemed incredible that I had been jealous of him. My words were meaningless. “I’ll be in touch!” I briefly touched hands with Karen. She lifted that expressive eyebrow slightly in memory of the cabin encounter. Karen was a lot tougher than I had supposed.

  Bette and I hitched a lift on a Navy truck. We sat on the back, jolting and swaying in the warm sun, aware of the frightening smell of burning. Away from the shore area, the city did not look different, but that all-pervasive smell was enough. We dropped off in midtown and met the secondary signs of the disaster. Traffic lights were off, police controlled the endless stream of Army trucks, out-of-town firetrucks, heavy lift vehicles, ambulances. The incessant wail of sirens lacerated the nerves….

  In her apartment, Bette made straight for the shower. I poured a drink and tried to call Suffren, but the phone was not working. I drank and stared at the wall, my mind paralyzed. Bette came out of the shower, wrapped in a long housecoat, her hair loose and her face devoid of makeup. Despite the state of my mind, I still registered her beauty. She too was in shock; her eyes looked enormous. I gave her a drink. She took it, one hand clutching the neck of the housecoat, the fingers working nervously, twisting the lapels.

  “Take it easy,” I said gently. “Go on, drink.”

  She regarded me doubtfully over the rim of the glass, then obediently sipped. This was a different Bette; the tough, self-reliant sailor had gone, she was looking to me for comfort, support. I eased the empty glass from her unresisting hand, put it down, and took her in my arms.

  That broke the spell. With her head on my shoulder, damp hair in my face, she cried. I steered her to the sofa, inexpressibly glad that she should turn to me, and that her very weakness gave me strength, but it had to end. Hysteria might not be far away.

  “Now, darling.” I kissed her softly, her cheeks were wet with tears. At first she was quiescent, her mind dwelling on God knows what; slowly I got through to her, her mind sought relief, oblivion. She responded, and in turn, she fired me…. I broke it up. “No, honey. Not now.” I sat, holding her hands, smiling and wondering what the hell had got into me, yet certain I was right.

  Gradually we came back to the horrific present. Her housecoat was open and she made no attempt to draw it about her. We had passed an intangible, but very important point. I made as if to get up, but she held my hands, her head bent forward, hiding her face.

  “Thank you, Mitch.” Her voice was very faint. “You could have—you know—”

  “Yes, darling. I know. Skip it.”

  “No!” Her voice was stronger, she gripped my hands tightly. “I know this is the wrong moment…. Darling, you can’t realize how difficult this is for me to say—no, don’t stop me—it’s about, about when I was hurt.” Still she did not look up. “You probably think some man ran out on me.” She shook her head. “I wish it was that simple! He was a fellow medical student. There was nothing between us; he’d dated me once or twice, that’s all. Then this evening—” Her grip tightened again as she tried to say it, “Suddenly he was mad, tearing…. He—he raped me!” She was practically inaudible. “Honestly, I didn’t think I encouraged him! I was very innocent for my age, I was a virgin.” She pressed close to me. “Mitch, he hurt me, mentally and physically; I hated all men. Really hated them— until you.”

  What was there to say?

  She raised her head, tear-filled eyes stared steadily at me. “Worse, I’ve felt unclean ever since! Unclean and scared.” She laughed shakily. “It’s a hell of a combination!”

  I took her in my arms. “Bette, don’t go on.”

  Her head against my chest, her voice was muffled. “Just now, for the first time, the first time since then, I wanted…. Yet I’m so glad you didn’t. If you’d wanted—”

  It was time to lighten the scene. “If!”

  “But if you don’t, I’d understand—”

  “Aw, stop it, honey!”

  She looked up. “You’re a good guy, Mitch.”

  I smiled. “Don’t take any heavy bets on it, darting!”

  My apartment was even further from the disaster area, but all the same, the phones weren’t working. I showered, changed, rented a car, and drove out to the Institute. My mind was chaotic.

  Normally Suffren did not work on a Sunday, but this was no normal day of rest. He was in his office, sitting at his desk, looking like a lost soul. It took him a little time to recognize me, then he jumped up and grabbed my arm, just to make sure.

  “Mitch! My God—I’d written you off!” He let go, and edged back to his chair, embarrassed by this display of emotion.

  I gave him a brief account of my adventures, and he listened in silence, nodding his great head. The only sign of his inner tension showed in the endless movement of his hands, playing with a rock specimen.

  “One can only assume,” there was some of his customary acidity in his voice, “you are destined to be hanged!” For a moment his face cracked into a thin smile. “And I am glad! All the same, I’m not sure what you’ve returned to.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Good God, man! Surely you’ve worked it out!”

  “I’ve not had that much time. I’m still adjusting to the state of the waterfront. It’s obvious there’s been extensive movement—”

  “Extensive! I’m painfully aware of your outstandingly inadequate vocabulary, there’s been one hell of a movement! I think that the initial gas pocket that was SARAH reduced in pressure until it was insufficient to support the outer shell against the weight of the overlying water, and — bang!” He fell silent.

  Cautiously I prompted him. “I’ve seen this swell.”

  “Yes. When that shell caved in, that should have been the end, but it wasn’t. Another, larger pocket was ruptured! SARAH is at least ten times greater now—consider that swell, and the distance!” He grinned fiercely at me. “For all I know, the whole earth may be shriveling up like a punctured bladder! What a joke that would be! A gas-filled mantle!”

  He acknowledged the disbelief in my expression.

  “Correct, pure nonsense, but make no mistake, Mitch, SARAH is the greatest show of power the world has seen!” He amended that. “Well, since man arrived. I suspect that the first pocket was part of this lar
ger one, probably separated at a later date by an intrusion of magma which cut the pocket in two, but the parts were not equal. The state of SARAH now rules out any question that this second pocket is immeasurably larger.”

  “My God!”

  “You may well have need to invoke the Deity—we all will! I don’t use the word lightly; I am deeply frightened, Mitch. So is Washington. They’ve already set up an emergency study group at Berkeley, from which we are excluded. Not that that matters. Old Grockstine, with unusual kindness, keeps me informed, SARAH now covers— they think, for no one can get near it—nearly two miles, and the jet is up to more than three thousand feet!”

  He got up and shambled over to the wall-map. “Geologically, SARAH is practically on our doorstep—and consider our doorstep! San Francisco had earthquakes in 1868 and 1872 as well as the big one in 1906. Consider the San Andreas fault! It all adds up to a very sensitive area, and I am prepared to stake the shreds of my professional reputation that we have an earthquake coming that will make the last one look like a baby’s belch!”

  He had made me look at something I had not wanted to see, and it was a horrific spectacle. I saw tall buildings swaying, crumpling, the thunderous roar of destruction drowning the thin screams of the struggling hordes in the streets…. More, bigger waves crashing in, obliterating…. A second, larger Atlantis….

  Yet if, at that moment of vision, I had had the gift of foresight and the power, I would have settled for that, gladly.

  Chapter 9

  Strangely, Bette became my chief source of information for the next few days, although our meetings were brief.

  Her group office had gone, completely, utterly. One of her partners was missing, believed lost in his sailboat. In any case, their practice had collapsed; their patients had been either seamen or inhabitants of the dock area. San Francisco had ceased to exist as a port, and most of the local population had been evacuated.

  So Bette was back working in the hospital where, so recently, she had been an intern. After the first two days, although her hours were long, she was not overworked. The metropolitan Bay area was designated a disaster area, State and Federal authorities had taken over, and from her I learned that it was their policy to get all but the very critical cases clear out of the county.

  Bette added that although the senior staff were tight-lipped on the subject, she had the impression that there was a sinister reason behind this policy. City Hall was pretty silent too, and from my talk with Suffren, plus my own knowledge, I could guess why. They had to prevent panic, but it was evident that, in a number of devious ways, they were encouraging people to leave. San Francisco became a strange place, an embattled city. Many businesses moved out to temporary premises in L.A. and Sacramento. The dislocation of communications and transport was a valid reason for these moves. Some stores and more bars were closed, and so was the Golden Gate Bridge, until a thorough examination had been completed. The waterfront area from Presidio to Bay Bridge was closed; soldiers patrolled to prevent looting. San Francisco was not only an embattled city, it was a tense, waiting city….

  If you had the right sense of humor, SARAH’s TV, radio, and paper coverage was good for a thin laugh. For once the newshawks were hooded. The official handouts were highly uninformative, and the strict ban on shipping in the area, plus the loss of the Tuscarora, effectively deterred any seaborne approach. There was also a flying ban on the area—the existence of the “volcano” was admitted, but heavily played down—because of “official flying in the area.” A TV company secretly sent a plane to have a look. That only came to light when they had to inform the authorities that the plane had not returned….

  I ground on with my work in a half-hearted way, spending rather more time on the geological structure of the Bay area and its environs, with special reference to the San Andreas fault. Judging by the books marked out to Suffren from the library, he also had lost interest in academic matters like the submarine mantle.

  It was three days before Bette and I had any real spare time. Bette the doctor was just as determined and self-reliant as Bette the sailor, and we both knew there was no time for our personal situation. Instead we drove down to see how the Mayfly was making out.

  Mayfly’s owner was in a very considerable temper. Some “dim, switched-off bastard” had rammed Mayfly and stove in a plank. Bill, preparing for sea, was now delayed. We commiserated with him, had a drink on board, and took them both off for dinner. Bill cheered up, but Karen struck me as being in a very fragile state of cheerfulness. I wondered if she was thinking of the future, when Bill finally sailed for home or someplace else. After the meal, we took in a bar or two, but there was a chill on San Francisco that no amount of drink could thaw. Around midnight we were all in Bette’s apartment, and the main topic was SARAH. Bill said the swell was still as strong as ever, that it seemed uncanny, and that something was going on which no one was prepared to talk about….

  After an hour, by unspoken agreement, we broke it up. The evening was not a success, the tension of the city was too much. We piled into my rented car and headed for the Navy Yard. The streets, wet and gleaming, were deserted, as if the city was already dead. Without thinking—perhaps my subconscious rebelled against the desolation—I switched on the radio.

  Bill and Karen were in the back, Bette beside me. We talked, with synthetic enthusiasm, of a final party before Mayfly sailed. In the background, a disc jockey thrust records and commercials at us. It was beginning to rain again, and I concentrated on my driving. It paid to be extra careful at this time of night. If called upon to halt by an antilooting patrol, I wanted to be able to stop, fast. There were too many stories of trigger-happy soldiers.

  Bette abruptly gripped my arm.

  “… Health reported this evening that a further eight cases of cardiac arrest had occurred, bringing the total for the last twenty-four hours to seventy-two. Most have been senior citizens. A full investigation has been ordered. Washington, D.C. It was announced that Senator—”

  “Damn!” said Bette with great feeling.

  “Trouble?”

  “There was some talk of it at the hospital today. Some small town upstate reported a sharp rise in cardiac trouble —I guess this was the one in the news—I thought it was a gag to get staff out of town.”

  “Out of ’Frisco?” echoed Bill. “I’d have thought they’d want all the staff they could lay their hands on.”

  Maybe I’d had a drink too many, maybe I’m a blabbermouth, but I owed a lot to Bill. I told him of the fear of another earthquake, adding that, in his position I’d get the hell out of the area as soon as the boat was ready. As a belated afterthought, I added that I’d appreciate it if he kept this information to himself.

  Bill in his calm, off-hand manner, thanked me and added he would certainly say nothing to anyone.

  Karen broke a fairly long personal silence. “Is that what’s been bugging you all evening, Mitch?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “It may not happen, but—”

  I—we—were like the hunter, gun at the ready, watching a tough-looking bear ahead of us, unaware of the very much tougher grizzly breathing down our necks.

  Chapter 10

  I stopped off in Suffren’s office the next morning and was shocked by the change in his manner and appearance in twenty-four hours. He looked older, shrunken, and even scruffier. He did not speak as I entered.

  Always a slow learner, I tried to cheer him up. “Aw, come on, Chief! It can’t be that bad!”

  He stopped me with a peculiarly malevolent look, his temper rising, his color getting better, but the blast never came. As he stared, the color faded, slowly he shook his head. For the first time he had me really worried about him. When he spoke, his voice matched his face.

  “SARAH is not recessing. I talked with Grockstine just now. The average height of the swell at the Presidio datum has gone up from three feet to three feet six inches.” He rubbed his cheek wearily. “You can guess what that means in energy at the
source.”

  I could. The energy needed to raise wave height goes up with the square of something, and even that index would not give, now, an accurate idea, for most of the energy must be going straight up. Again I tried.

  “Maybe this is the grand finale, the last spurt of the firework.”

  He sniffed. “I doubt it. Grockstine says I’m to be asked to join the committee; largely, I suppose, on the strength of some work I did a few years back on piezomagnetics.”

  “Why, that’s great!”

  Then he flared up. “You blind young fool! What can a committee do? Don’t you realize what’s happening!” He slammed a fist on the desk. “God! No, I can see you don’t —or won’t! You’re blind to everything except your infernal woman!” As quickly he subsided, even managed a twisted smile. “Maybe you’re wiser than the rest of us, getting what you can while you can!”

  “Look, Chief, let’s skip my private life, tell me what I’m missing!”

  “Okay, Mitch,” he said quietly, “I’ll spell it out for you. If SARAH does not stop soon, quite a large part of the United States is going to be very badly hit. Depopulated is perhaps putting it too strongly, but I don’t rule it out. Already there’s a broad band of heavily nitrogenated air stretching from northern California and southern Oregon to the Dakotas and Nebraska, and excessive quantities of nitrogen have been detected in Milwaukee and Ontario, Canada.”

  “Almighty! Cardiac trouble,” I cried. “Upstate someplace—”

  He nodded. He was much calmer, comforted by the familiar feeling of giving a lecture. “Yes. The concentration is heaviest north of us. Further east it broadens out under the prevailing wind. Already there is a dangerous concentration in some places over two thousand feet, at this end of the cloud. If SARAH goes on, well—who can say? So far no major town has been affected, but New York, Philadelphia, and a dozen others are none too well off for unpolluted air at the best of times.”