I don’t like that. Too many people maybe there.
I don’t tell the others following behind, just wait for them at the intersections and then peel out.
Got to keep moving.
Saves talk.
People around here must be hungry.
Somebody see us could be bad.
I got the gun on a rack behind my head. Big .30-30. You never know.
MC 355
From collateral data, MC355 constructed a probable scenario: The U.S. chose to stand fast. It launched no warheads.
The USSR observed its own attack and was dismayed to find that the U.S. orbital defense system worked more than twice as well as the Soviet experts had anticipated. It ceased its attack on U.S. satellites. These had proved equally ineffective, apparently due to unexpected American defenses of its surveillance satellites—retractable sensors, multiband shielding, advanced hardening.
Neither superpower struck against the inhabited space colonies. They were unimportant in the larger context of a nuclear war.
Communications between Washington and Moscow continued. Each side thought the other had attacked first.
But over a hundred megatons had exploded on U.S. soil, and no matter how the superpowers acted thereafter, some form of nuclear winter was inevitable.
And by a fluke of the defenses, most of the warheads that leaked through fell in a broad strip across Texas to the tip of Florida.
MC355 lay buried in the middle of this belt.
TURKEY
We went through the pine forests at full clip, barely able to keep Bud in sight, I took over driving from Ackerman. The man couldn’t keep up, we all saw that.
The crazy woman was waving and laughing, sitting on top of the coffin-shaped gizmo with the shiny tubes all over it.
The clay was giving way now to sandy stretches, there were poplars and gum trees and nobody around. That’s what scared me. I’d thought people in Mobile would be spreading out this way, but we seen nobody.
Mobile had shelters. Food reserves. The Lekin administration started all that right at the turn of the century, and there was s’posed to be enough food stored to hold out a month, maybe more, for every man jack and child.
S’posed to be.
MC 355
It calculated the environmental impact of the warheads it knew had exploded. The expected fires yielded considerable dust and burnt carbon.
But MC355 needed more information. It took one of its electric service cars, used for ferrying components through the corridors, and dispatched it with a mobile camera fixed to the back platform. The car reached a hill overlooking Mobile Bay and gave a panoramic view.
The effects of a severe freezing were evident. Grass lay dead, gray. Brown, withered trees had limbs snapped off.
But Mobile appeared intact. The skyline—
MC355 froze the frame and replayed it. One of the buildings was shaking.
ANGEL
We were getting all worried when Bud headed for Mobile, but we could see the bridges were washed out, no way to head east. A big wind was blowing off the Gulf, pretty bad, making the car slip around on the road. Nearly blew that girl off the back of Bud’s truck. A storm coming, maybe, right up the bay.
Be better to be inland, to the east.
Not that I wanted to go there, though. The bomb had blowed off everythin’ for twenty, thirty mile around, people said who came through last week.
Bud had thought he’d carve a way between Mobile and the bomb area. Mobile, he thought, would be full of people.
Well, not so we could see. We came down State 34 and through some small towns and turned to skirt along toward the causeway, and there was nobody.
No bodies, either.
Which meant prob’ly the radiation got them. Or else they’d moved on out. Taken out by ship, through Mobile harbor, maybe.
Bud did the right thing, didn’t slow down to find out. Mr. Ackerman wanted to look around, but there was no chance, we had to keep up with Bud. I sure wasn’t going to be separated from him.
We cut down along the river, fighting the wind. I could see the skyscrapers of downtown, and then I saw something funny and yelled, and Turkey, who was driving right then—the only thing anybody’s got him to do on this whole trip, him just loose as a goose behind the wheel—Turkey looked sour but slowed down. Bud seen us in his rearview and stopped, and I pointed and we all got out. Except for that Susan, who didn’t seem to notice. She was mumbling.
MC 355
Quickly it simulated the aging and weathering of such a building. Halfway up, something had punched a large hole, letting in weather. Had a falling, inert warhead struck the building?
The winter storms might well have flooded the basement; such towers of steel and glass, perched near the tidal basin, had to be regularly pumped out. Without power, the basement would fill in weeks.
Winds had blown out windows.
Standing gap-toothed, with steel columns partly rusted, even a small breeze could put stress on the steel. Others would take the load, but if one buckled, the tower would shudder like a notched tree. Concrete would explode off columns in the basement. Moss-covered furniture in the lobby would slide as the gound floor dipped. The structure would slowly bend before nature.
BUD
Sounded like gunfire. Rattling. Sharp and hard.
I figure it was the bolts connecting the steel wall panels—they’d shear off.
I could hear the concrete floor panels rumble and crack, and spandrel beams tear in half like giant gears clashing with no clutch.
Came down slow, leaving an arc of debris seeming to hang in the air behind it.
Met the ground hard.
Slocum Towers was the name on her.
JOHNNY
Against the smashing building, I saw something standing still in the air, getting bigger. I wondered how it could do that. It was bigger and bigger and shiny turning in the air. Then it jumped out of the sky at me. Hit my shoulder. I was looking up at the sky. Angel cried out and touched me and held up her hand. It was all red. But I couldn’t feel anything.
BUD
Damn one-in-a-million shot, piece of steel thrown clear. Hit the boy.
You wouldn’t think a skycraper falling two miles away could do that.
Other pieces come down pretty close, too. You wouldn’t think.
Nothing broke, Susan said, but plenty bleeding.
Little guy don’t cry or nothing.
The women got him bandaged and all fixed up. Ackerman and Turkey argue like always. I stay to the side.
Johnny wouldn’t take the painkiller Susan offers. Says he doesn’t want to sleep. Wants to look when we get across the bay. Getting hurt don’t faze him much as it do us.
So we go on.
JOHNNY
I can hold up like any of them, I’ll show them. It didn’t scare me. I can do it.
Susan is nice to me, but except for the aspirin, I don’t think my mom would want me to take a pill.
I knew we were getting near home when we got to the causeway and started across. I jumped up real happy, my shoulder made my breath catch some. I looked ahead. Bud was slowing down.
He stopped. Got out.
’Cause ahead was a big hole scooped out of the causeway like a giant done it when he got mad.
BUD
Around the shallows there was scrap metal, all fused and burnt and broken.
Funny metal, though. Hard and light.
Turkey found a piece had writing on it. Not any kind of writing I ever saw.
So I start to thinking how to get across.
TURKEY
The tidal flats were a-churn, murmuring ceaseless and sullen like some big animal, the yellow surface dimpled with lunging splotches that would burst through now and then to reveal themselves as trees or broken hunks of wood, silent dead things bobbing along beside them that I didn’t want to look at too closely. Like under there was something huge and alive, and it waked for a moment and stuck itself out t
o see what the world of air was like.
Bud showed me the metal piece all twisted, and I say, “That’s Russian,” right away ’cause it was.
“You never knew no Russian,” Angel says right up.
“I studied it once,” I say, and it be the truth even if I didn’t study it long.
“Goddamn,” Bud says.
“No concern of ours,” Mr. Ackerman says, mostly because all this time riding back with the women and child and old me, he figures he doesn’t look like much of a leader anymore. Bud wouldn’t have him ride up there in the cabin with him.
Angel looks at it, turns it over in her hands, and Johnny pipes up, “It might be radioactive!”
Angel drops it like a shot. “What!”
I ask Bud, “You got that counter?”
And it was. Not a lot, but some.
“God a’mighty,” Angel says.
“We got to tell somebody!” Johnny cries, all excited.
“You figure some Rooshin thing blew up the causeway?” Bud says to me.
“One of their rockets fell on it, musta been,” I say.
“A bomb?” Angel’s voice is a bird screech.
“One that didn’t go off. Headed for Mobile, but the space boys, they scragged it up there—” I pointed straight up.
“Set to go off in the bay?” Angel says wonderingly.
“Musta.”
“We got to tell somebody!” Johnny cries.
“Never you mind that,” Bud says. “We got to keep movin’.”
“How?” Angel wants to know.
SUSAN
I tell Gene how the water clucks and moans through the trough cut in the causeway. Yellow. Scummed with awful brown froth and growling green with thick soiled gouts jutting up where the road was. It laps against the wheels as Bud guns the engine and creeps forward, me clutching to Gene and watching the reeds to the side stuck out of the foam like metal blades stabbing up from the water, teeth to eat the tires, but we crush them as we grind forward across the shallow yellow flatness. Bud weaves among the stubs of warped metal—from Roosha, Johnny calls up to me—sticking up like trees all rootless, suspended above the streaming, empty, stupid waste and desolating flow.
TURKEY
The water slams into the truck like it was an animal hitting with a paw. Bud fights to keep the wheels on the mud under it and not topple over onto its side with that damn casket sitting there shiny and the loony girl shouting to him from on top of that.
And the rest of us riding in the back, too, scrunched up against the cab. If she gets stuck, we can jump free fast, wade or swim back. We’re reeling out rope as we go, tied to the stump of a telephone pole, for a grab line if we have to go back.
He is holding it pretty fine against the slick yellow current dragging at him, when this log juts sudden out of the foam like it was coming from God himself, dead at the truck. A rag caught on the end of it like a man’s shirt, and the huge log is like a whale that ate the man long ago and has come back for another.
“No! No!” Angel cries. “Back up!” But there’s no time.
The log is two hands across, easy, and slams into the truck at the side panel just behind the driver, and Bud sees it just as it stove in the steel. He wrestles the truck around to set off the weight, but the wheels lift and the water goes gushing up under the truck bed, pushing it over more.
We all grab onto the Isolate thing or the truck and hang there, Mr. Ackerman giving out a burst of swearing.
The truck lurches again.
The angle steepens.
I was against taking the casket thing ’cause it just pressed the truck down in the mud more, made it more likely Bud’d get stuck, but now it is the only thing holding the truck against the current.
The yellow froths around the bumpers at each end, and we’re shouting—to surely no effect, of course.
SUSAN
The animal is trying to eat us, it has seen Gene and wants him. I lean over and strike at the yellow animal that is everywhere swirling around us, but it just takes my hand and takes the smack of my palm like it was no matter at all, and I start to cry, I don’t know what to do.
JOHNNY
My throat filled up, I was so afraid.
Bud, I can hear him grunting as he twists at the steering wheel.
His jaw is clenched, and the woman Susan calls to us, “Catch him! Catch Gene!”
I hold on, and the waters suck at me.
TURKEY
I can tell Bud is afraid to gun it and start the wheels to spinning ’cause he’ll lose traction and that’ll tip us over for sure.
Susan jumps out and stands in the wash downstream and pushes against the truck to keep it from going over. The pressure is shoving it off the ford, and the casket, it slides down a foot or so, the cables have worked loose. Now she pays because the weight is worse, and she jams herself like a stick to wedge between the truck and the mud.
It if goes over, she’s finished. It is a fine thing to do, crazy but fine, and I jump down and start wading to reach her.
No time.
There is an eddy. The log turns broadside. It backs off a second and then heads forward again, this time poking up from a surge. I can see Bud duck, he has got the window up and the log hits it, the glass going all to smash and scatteration.
BUD
All over my lap it falls like snow. Twinkling glass.
But the pressure of the log is off, and I gun the sumbitch.
We root out of the hollow we was in, and the truck thunks down solid on somethin’.
The log is ramming against me. I slam on the brake.
Take both hands and shove it out. With every particle of force I got.
It backs off and then heads around and slips in front of the hood, bumping the grill just once.
ANGEL
Like it had come to do its job and was finished and now went off to do something else.
SUSAN
Muddy, my arms hurting. I scramble back in the truck with the murmur of the water all around us. Angry with us now. Wanting us.
Bud makes the truck roar, and we lurch into a hole and out of it and up. The water gurgles at us in its fuming, stinking rage.
I check Gene and the power cells, they are dead.
He is heating up.
Not fast, but it will wake him. They say even in the solution he’s floating in, they can come out of dreams and start to feel again. To hurt.
I yell at Bud that we got to find power cells.
“Those’re not just ordinary batteries, y’know,” he says.
“There’re some at DataComm,” I tell him.
We come wallowing up from the gum-yellow water and onto the highway.
GENE
Sleeping…slowly…I can still feel…only in sluggish…moments…moments…not true sleep but a drifting, aimless dreaming…faint tugs and ripples…hollow sounds…. I am underwater and drowning…but don’t care…don’t breathe…. Spongy stuff fills my lungs…easier to rest them…floating in snowflakes…a watery winter…but knocking comes…goes…jolts…slips away before I can remember what it means…. Hardest…yes…hardest thing is to remember the secret…so when I am in touch again…DataComm will know…what I learned…when the C31 crashed…when I learned…. It is hard to clutch onto the slippery, shiny fact…in a marsh of slick, soft bubbles…silvery as air…winking ruby-red behind my eyelids…. Must snag the secret…a hard fact like shiny steel in the spongy moist warmness…. Hold it to me…. Something knocks my side…a thumping…. I am sick…. Hold the steel secret…keep….
MC 355
The megatonnage in the Soviet assault exploded low—ground-pounders, in the jargon. This caused huge fires, MC355’s simulation showed. A pall of soot rose, blanketing Texas and the South, then diffusing outward on global circulation patterns.
Within a few days, temperatures dropped from balmy summer to near-freezing. In the Gulf region where MC355 lay, the warm ocean continued to feed heat and moisture into the marine boundary l
ayer near the shore. Cold winds rammed into this water-laden air, spawning great roiling storms and deep snows. Thick stratus clouds shrouded the land for at least a hundred kilometers inland.
All this explained why MC355’s extended feelers had met chaos and destruction. And why there were no local radio broadcasts. What the ElectroMagnetic Pulse did not destroy, the storms did.
The remaining large questions were whether the war had gone on, and if any humans survived in the area at all.
MR. ACKERMAN
I’d had more than enough of this time. The girl Susan had gone mad right in front of us, and we’d damn near all drowned getting across.
“I think we ought to get back as soon’s we can,” I said to Bud when we stopped to rest on the other side.
“We got to deliver the boy.”
“It’s too disrupted down this way. I figured on people here, some civilization.”
“Somethin’ got ’em.”
“The bomb.”
“Got to find cells for the man in the box.”
“He’s near dead.”
“Too many gone already. Should save one if we can.”
“We got to look after our own.”
Bud shrugged, and I could see I wasn’t going to get far with him. So I said to Angel, “The boy’s not worth running such risks. Or this corpse.”
ANGEL
I didn’t like Ackerman before the war, and even less afterward, so when he started hinting that maybe we should shoot back up north and ditch the boy and Susan and the man in there, I let him have it. From the look on Bud’s face, I knew he felt the same way. I spat out a real choice set of words I’d heard my father use once on a grain buyer who’d weaseled out of a deal, stuff I’d been saving for years, and I do say it felt good.
TURKEY
So we run down the east side of the bay, feeling released to be quit of the city and the water, and heading down into some of the finest country in all the South. Through Daphne and Montrose and into Fairhope, the moss hanging on the trees and now and then actual sunshine slanting golden through the green of huge old mimosas.
We’re jammed into the truck bed, hunkered down because the wind whipping by has some sting to it. The big purple clouds are blowing south now.
Still no people. Not that Bud slows down to search good.
The Best Military Science Fiction of the 20th Century Page 41