Denver Is Missing

by D. F. Jones

  He spoke with the understandable vagueness of a seismologist talking plant biology. “I am told this excessive nitrogen —for us—is admirable for the plants. The Department of Agriculture was onto this very quickly and say that already a lot of plants—corn, grass, that sort of thing—are growing faster, bigger, and thus producing more oxygen. Perhaps the situation, in the long run, is not so bad.” He did not seem excited about the prospect.

  “Perhaps!” I said. “It sounds mightily slow!”

  “Indeed it is.” He focused on his watch. “I must go. Think about it. Call me again—soon—tomorrow.”

  A quick nod and he shambled off, a shrunken figure in an ill-fitting suit.

  I took his advice and spent the next few hours thinking. I did it in drugstores, bars, and on park benches. My mind just gave up when I tried to think of the over-all, national situation, so I tried the lower level and more immediate problem of California, thinking as a geologist. That was a little clearer, and horrifying.

  Suffren’s idea of an earthquake in excess of Richter scale nine was appalling. The San Francisco 1906 quake was rated eight point three, and the Anchorage disaster of 1964 was eight point four. Nine plus was unthinkable—yet was it? Practically nothing is known about the causes of earthquakes, but it is common knowledge that one jolt can set off another….

  With that background, I turned to my personal situation. There I did get an answer, and returned to Mayfly with a proposition for Bill. What was unhealthy for one was equally unhealthy for another, so how about going in Mayfly, via Panama, to Texas? Somehow, I thought it would be safer to get the continent between SARAH and us—and there was the added advantage that, if Texas should prove overcrowded, if we arrived by sea, we would at least keep one option open. I suddenly realized that Mayfly was a very considerable asset.

  When I got back, Bill was ashore, Bette was not back, and Karen was up to her elbows in the tiny sink. Naturally, she wanted to know how my search had gone, and I just told her it had not been so good. I did not want to go over the whole thing twice, and Bill had the right to hear it first. I gave her a hand with the chores and after that we relaxed in the sun. She seemed cheerful enough, but I couldn’t get away from the belief that something was bugging her. To keep my mind off other things, I did a little research.

  “Well, how’s it gone with you, honey?” We were sitting side by side on the cabin top, looking across the glittering harbor.

  She laughed nervously. “Not so good for me, either. I called my roommate in L.A. My place is filled, and apartments are very tough to come by. She says L.A. is full of people from upstate.” She looked down quickly, her eyes dissolving in tears, her light, forced cheerfulness gone. “Mitch—what am I going to do! It’s not as if I was a real good stenographer or secretary—”

  I put a comforting arm around her. “Aw, come on! With a figure like yours, any boss would be proud to have you on his knee!” It had quite the wrong effect, but hardened her up a lot.

  She gave me a very strange, searching look. “You think so? I’m not so sure I’ve much grip.”

  “Karen, you know that’s not true! I have a hard time keeping my hands off you, and Bill—”

  “That’s a laugh!”

  She got no further. The boat rocked, Bill stepped aboard. He waved cheerily and went below, but Karen did not go on. A few minutes later Bette came aboard, much less bright than Bill. She sat down with an emphatic thump on the cockpit locker, lit a cigarette, and stared at the mast as if she had never seen one before.

  “How about a drink?”

  She roused herself and forced a smile. “Fine! Anything so long as it’s strong.”

  “A bad day?”

  “A bad day.”

  Bill came into the saloon while I was getting the drinks. “That’s a good idea, Mitch!”

  “It’s a whole lot better idea than you think, Bill! I’m fixing them for all of us. Then I’d like to call a conference.” His cheeriness ebbed a little; his eyes were suddenly very Still, watchful. “Certainly, Mitch. I’ll call the girls.”

  We squeezed around the table and I passed the drinks. Bill, opposite me, lit his pipe. Between puffs he said, “Mitch wants a conference. This is it. Over to you, Mitch!” I gave none of the somber details Suffren had given me, but admitted I had talked with him, and implied that my views were based on that conversation, which was as far as I could go without breaking faith. I gave the general picture as grim and getting grimmer, ending, “So it comes to this: I consider any part of California as potentially very unhealthy, and I want out. My advice to you all is to want the same. I have to get a job sometime, and that would be easy in Texas. California is packed out and there must be a heap of unemployed building up. Texas would also offer better prospects, I think, to Bette and Karen. My proposition is that we all clear out, go via Panama to Texas. That way we—Bette and I— have a day or two to get settled ashore in, say, Galveston—”

  “No!” Bette spoke for the first time, slamming her hand decisively on the table. She was looking at Bill. “Stop there, darling. I want to say something! I agree with you, Mitch, we should go, all of us, but I’m dead against Texas!”

  Bill was looking at her with considerable surprise. “What makes you feel so strongly, Bette?”

  “Bill—Karen. I never told you much about Denver, but Mitch knows.” She turned and looked squarely at me, her eyes hard, cold. “Mitch. I got offered a job this afternoon. The same sort of job I had in Denver!”

  The alarm which must have shown in my face was more eloquent to Bill and Karen than all the explanations in the world. “God Almighty!” I whispered. “Where?”

  Bette was gripping her empty glass very hard. “I was given a choice—just in case I knew any of them. Kansas City, Des Moines—and Chicago!”

  She reached across and poured herself a very strong drink, with all of us watching her as if our lives depended upon it. I was literally struck dumb.

  Chicago! Over a thousand miles east of Denver!

  Chapter 16

  When my mind got moving again, Bette was talking urgently, rapidly.

  “… so that, briefly, is my Denver story. I’m not sticking my neck out again. As for Texas, I think that by the time we got there, it would be as crowded as Southern California is now!”

  All Bill’s cheeriness had long since gone. “What d’you think, Mitch?”

  “This latest”—I hesitated over the word “news,” it seemed too trivial in the circumstances—“news does alter the situation. I think Bette’s right, but if not Texas— where?”

  But Bill was looking at Karen. “And you, my dear. What do you want to do?”

  Shock and horror at Bette’s story still dominated her face. She spoke submissively, yet with a strange dignity. “I am in your hands, Bill, but I will stay here in San Diego unless you really want me.”

  Bill’s face expressed hurt surprise. “Of course I want you! You must come!”

  But Karen persisted. “No, Bill. This is a far too serious situation for mere politeness. If you do not want me, you have to say so. I have to be sure, really sure. I can easily go back to my—my people in L.A.”

  My heart warmed to her. Only I could guess what that speech cost her. I cut in, “Of course you must come, Karen, you—”

  She shook her head. “No, Mitch. This is for Bill to decide.”

  He reached for her hand. “Karen, my dear, don’t look so solemn—of course you must come!”

  She remained silent, unconvinced. Bette looked very uncomfortable, and I felt that way, too.

  Bill began again, trying hard to overcome his native reticence. “My dear, I want you to come—please!”

  Near tears, she could only nod.

  “Good!” He was endeavoring not to sound too brisk. “I suggest we adjourn now. There’s a lot to think over. Let’s eat ashore and discuss plans later. Okay?”

  It was a miserable meal. The girls only picked at their food, and Bill and I were not much better. I couldn�
��t get the image of Chicago, a city I knew slightly, out of my mind. We sat there, pushing the food around our plates, wasting a lot of expensive steak. Bette and Karen were drinking more than usual, and showed no signs of slowing down. When the messed-up steak was removed, Bill acted.

  He stood up and pulled the table away from the girls, who stared at him in blank surprise. “This, I think, has gone far enough. Come on, back to Mayfly. We’ll have coffee there.” He gave them both a penetrating look. “Black coffee.”

  It was a great relief to get back on board. Like it or not, we had there a sense of isolation from the outside world; we were a group welded together by common experience. That sense of belonging was, I suspected, a powerful if subconscious factor in Karen’s decision to stay.

  The walk back—Bill insisted on that too—had been instructive, and strengthened our unity. We might have our strains and tensions, but they were nothing to those in San Diego on that summer’s evening. A lot of people were on the streets, wandering aimlessly. Uprooted people with anxious faces and, when their money was exhausted, unwanted people, waiting…. Many, I guessed, were already on welfare hand-outs, for the bars and eating places were nowhere near as full as the streets would lead one to expect. Groups of teenagers, strangers in town with nowhere to go, horsed around on street corners under the hard, suspicious eyes of bulky cops. All waiting….

  But for Mayfly there would have been two, probably three more in that throng, if not in San Diego, then L.A. or someplace. Mayfly was now more familiar, more real than the apartments we’d used for years, looked more and more like home. Home: Kansas. It meant nothing to me, now. My folks all gone…. I was selfishly glad there was no one for me to worry about back there, for Kansas must now be in the danger zone—

  “For Christ’s sake, Mitch! Stop daydreaming, and grab this coffee!”

  Once more we got in a huddle, looking to Bill for a lead. He was not slow to give it.

  “Bette, Mitch. You two, in your different jobs, have rather more insight into this situation than most. I’d like to get something clear in my mind. I think you both agree you want to get out, but I have the impression it is for different reasons. Mitch—your main fear is an earthquake, right?”

  “Yes. It must come, and this is a sensitive area, with some major faults—”

  “What is a fault?”

  “In essence, it’s a damn great crack in the earth’s crust, created by earlier movements, and a permanent line of weakness.”

  “Not a very good thing to have, in fact.”

  “You can’t generalize that much. There must be millions of faults around the globe; but in the California situation, with SARAH on the go, yes we could do without them. We have one famous one, the San Andreas fault which has, roughly, a northwest-southeast axis, starting on shore just southwest of San Francisco, which attracts a lot of interest —geologically—at any time. Without SARAH; okay, I’m not worried. It’s been around for perhaps a million years, or longer; but with SARAH—that makes a big difference. When Sarah collapses, and it will, it could jolt every fault from Alaska down to Mexico, including that one. As for the tidal wave effect, well—”

  “And that’s why you prefer the other side of the continent.”

  “Yeah.”

  He turned. “You, Bette. What is your reason?”

  “You’re right, I’m more concerned with the gas. Mitch talks about this earthquake, but I don’t think he means that any more than California would be affected, or at the very worst, only the West Coast. But the gas is different. With this latest evidence, I don’t see why practically the whole of the northern states should not be affected, and where it hits high urban concentrations—! Sheer chaos is an understatement! Places like New York, Philadelphia, and a good many more have severe air pollution at the best of times without this. Denver, as far as I know, was a good, healthy place, with a far better atmosphere basically than New York—but I remember Denver! As for Chicago, I don’t know what their air is like normally, but it will be—may be now, for all I know—sheer murder!”

  “I’ve got a question—maybe it’s kinda silly—” Karen was very diffident.

  “Never mind,” I said, “try it.”

  “Well. I don’t know anything about all this, but if the gas can reach Chicago, which must be thousands of miles away from SARAH, how come San Francisco and L.A., which are very close, aren’t touched?”

  “That’s a good question,” said Bette with faintly uncomplimentary surprise. “I’ve wondered about that too. I suppose it’s a matter of wind, isn’t it, Mitch?”

  “Yeah, it must be, but that’s in Bill’s department more than mine.”

  “I don’t claim to know much,” confessed Bill, “but here we are in a prevailing westerly air stream which stretches from, roughly, thirty-five north to sixty degrees north. With this air stream, it is reasonable for the cloud to drift eastwards, but local conditions can vary. Of course, I’m talking about wind over the sea, but it must be much the same over the continental land mass.”

  Karen felt bold enough to go on. “So, with these local conditions you talk about, we could get it in, say, San Francisco?”

  “Yes, I expect you might,” admitted Bill. “But from all that I’ve learned, this jet is going up so high it is missing the lower, local winds. They aren’t getting contaminated.” It was my turn, and my mind shied like a startled horse at the effect SARAH’s gas would have on L.A., with their pollution problem. “Personally, I think the most sinister aspect right now is this Chicago business. As near as makes no odds, the city is down at sea level.”

  “There’s one thing I know for sure,” said Bette, “the Federal and State authorities have kept an incredibly tight hold on the press, TV, and radio, but I’m equally sure they just won’t be able to hold them when the Chicago story breaks, not if it is hit anywhere near as hard as Denver. I don’t see why they’re calling for volunteers if it is not really bad! Once that story breaks, I for one do not want to be in front of the stampede—I’ve had some!”

  Bette spoke with more authority than the rest of us, and no one argued. She continued, “They won’t stop till they reach the edge, and my guess is that most will head south —I would.”

  “Okay, Bette, you convince me. Agreed, Texas is a busted flush, but if it is, what then?”

  She had no idea, so I looked to Bill. “You’ve been very quiet, Bill!”

  He inhaled noisily through his nose, “Well…. You know, and I’ve admitted it before, you know I’m a dropout. I’ve always fought shy of ties.” Karen was looking fixedly at him, and he hurried on. “I don’t say it is a good thing—well, all that is neither here nor there, but as we now are, it has advantages. I’m as free as you can get, these days. I had intended working up the West Coast to Canada. That, now, would be raving madness, even if the USN allowed me to pass within five hundred miles of this eruption, so that’s out. Now there are solid reasons why the rest of the US coast is unattractive.” He relit his pipe. “How d’you feel about shoving off in the general direction of Australia?”

  I got my voice going first. “You mean Australia, kangaroos, and cricket?”

  “That’s the place, yes.”

  He might have been talking about a bar he knew of on the other side of town.

  “Let me say it first—it’s one hell of a long way!”

  “Certainly it is, but given the time, one of the joys of sail is that you have no fuel problems.” He sniffed loudly again. “Water would be the main headache, but the winds are not unfavorable at this time of year, and I had in mind island-hopping through Polynesia.” He added as an afterthought, “You could get off in Hawaii; that’s US, and—”

  “Yes,” said Bette thoughtfully, “bound to take refugees. I might be useful there.”

  Karen had a question. “If the wind is blowing from the west, won’t that make it difficult for us?”

  “No. Remember I said they were westerly from thirty-five degrees north. We would soon be south of that
latitude and should have a fair wind down to the Doldrums. Once clear of that area, we should, all being well, pick up the southeast trade winds for quite a way. No, there are no insuperable difficulties from Mayfly‘s angle. We humans would be the problem!”

  “We’ve got on pretty well, so far!”

  “Oh, very true, Mitch, but one way and another, our sea-time has been full of incident. It might be a very different matter if, after weeks of slogging, we get becalmed in the Doldrums for a few days.”

  “I’m prepared to take a chance on that!”

  Bette spoke. “While you two are having a good time, I think you’re overlooking one important point. This voyage is not meant to be a rest cure or a vacation. We’re on the run. Don’t forget that.”

  “Of course not!” replied Bill with some warmth. “But I want you all to realize what you would be letting yourselves in for.”

  “I’ve got an even better idea what we’re in for if we stay!” There was a very sharp edge to Bette’s tongue. It was the first time I’d heard her use it on Bill.

  Bill came to a decision. “Look. Let’s get this quite straight. If we decide to go, we go on my conditions. First: this is my boat, and I am the most experienced sailor; so by any system, I’m the skipper. Right?”

  “Gee, Bill, no one is going to fight you over that!”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Mitch, but it has to be said and recognized. If I’m the skipper, then you must accept my orders on anything that touches on the safety or well-being of the boat or those on her. Do you agree?”

  He got his votes.

  “Fine. Sorry to be so heavy-handed about this.” He smiled apologetically. “But we may as well get it out of the way, once and for all. If there is a dispute on any other matter then we vote, and if we split down the middle, then I get an extra vote for Mayfly to decide the issue. Next: anyone is free to get off whenever they like, and I reserve the right to tell anyone to get off if I see fit. Finally, I don’t guarantee to get to any particular place, and I don’t provide return tickets—okay?”