Paula gazed at the people around them, squeezed together like cattle herded in for slaughter. Harry was right about one thing, anyway. Conditions were bad here. And she guessed they were destined to get much worse before this ended. But returning to San Mirado was insane. “You can’t go back,” she said.
“We have to,” answered Harry. “There’s no other place for us to go.”
“That’s nonsense,” snapped Paula. “Stay here. Go to another town. Do anything but you’re crazy if you return to San Mirado. My God, Harry, there must be people back there who’d give their eyeteeth to be where we are. As bad as it is here....”
“It would be better at home,” he said. “Don’t you see, we’d be in the house....we’d have beds to sleep on... food. We’d be able to get Rickey to a doctor.”
Frank interrupted. “But Harry, there won’t be any doctors treating anybody, or if there are, they’ll be swamped, too. Damn, man, be sensible! Wait it out here. There’ll be food and medical people brought in before much longer. I know there will.”
Shaking his head, Harry replied. “I just don’t believe the radiation is that bad, Frank.”
“Then what’s wrong with your son?” demanded Paula.
“Well, he’s sick,” answered Harry. “But that doesn’t mean that the radiation is what’s making him sick.”
Paula nudged her husband. “Frank, talk some sense into Harry!’’
Frank obligingly began when Harry held up his hand. “No, Frank. My mind is made up. If we’d been smart we never would have left there in the first place.”
“All right, then,” said Paula. “Come with us. We can travel in separate cars or together.”
Flo asked. “You aren’t staying here?”
“No,” replied Paula. She saw Frank cast a glance at her. “We’re going to my parents in Oakland.”
Frank turned away and got back into the car. His anger at Paula’s decision to go to Oakland showed.
“My parents won’t mind you’re being there one bit,” Paula assured her friends. “They’ll be glad to help.”
But Harry declined. “I’m not going to be a burden on anyone. I’ve been fending for myself since I was the age of Jerry, there, and I’m not about to become someone’s welfare case now.”
Helplessly, Paula looked at Flo. Flo shrugged. “Harry makes the decisions in our family, Paula.”
Harry grabbed his wife’s hand. “Come on, Sugar. We’d best get back to Rickey. He may be needing us.”
Paula watched until they became lost in the crowd. That Harry was this dense, this oblivious to the dangers, was inconceivable, but that Flo, a grown woman, would so willingly follow him in such a maniacal adventure was even more incredible, she thought, forgetting her own obstinacy. She’d never let Frank do such a stupid thing, and she certainly wouldn’t follow him if he did.
“Well, are you coming?” asked Frank, looking up at her through the window. “Now that you’ve taken it on yourself to decide our futures, hadn’t we better get started?” Frank’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on her.
The street was empty, totally devoid of life. Not a person was in sight; no child pedaled along on a bicycle; no cars were in motion—it was as though some giant movie set had been placed in suburban San Mirado, but without actors to give the scene life. Harry felt his skin crawl as he looked around in the eerie stillness. Yesterday this row of homes had been bursting with activity. Today there was no one.
Flo moved over until her shoulder touched him. “It’s weird, Harry,” she said in a near whisper. “I never imagined what a town would be like with all the people gone.”
Harry shook a shiver off and glanced skyward. The sun was descending. In another hour everything would be camouflaged by the darkness of night. At another time and in another place this quietude might be welcomed, but not now. They needed people, the security of a familiar face, or any face. Had it been a mistake to bring his family back to this place? Harry rubbed his hands together. The palms were calloused and tough from years of pouring cement, years of making a living for Flo and Rickey. Of course it wasn’t wrong to return here. This was their home. This was where they belonged. Yet it was all so strange, this bleakness, this absence of life.
He felt a tingling sensation on his forearm and scratched it. Was this due to radiation? No, it couldn’t be. He glanced defiantly at the darkening sky. It’s not what everyone said. It couldn’t be. They were ninnies to be frightened so easily into running. The radiation, if there really was radiation up there, couldn’t be as bad as they said, and certainly not if everyone would simply get inside their homes and stay there. “Get the door open, I’m bringing Rickey in.”
As Flo stepped cautiously toward the house, Harry reached into the car for his son. The boy lay inert across the seat. Powerless to move of his own accord, his eyes, dulled by a ravaging fever, watched his father’s motions.
“We’re home, Rick,” said Harry as he scooped the boy into his arms. The lad was too thin for his age. At thirteen he needed more muscle on him. After this, Harry decided, we’ll start going to the Y in the evenings to work out. Muscle is all the boy lacked. He’s got good bones, and he’s strong. A fever won’t get him down.
“Harrrry!” Flo’s scream slashed through the stillness like a knife.
Unwilling to drop his son, Harry hugged the boy closer and broke into a lumbering trot to the house. At first he’d thought there was an intruder inside. Instead, only Flo was there, standing in the center of the room.
“Flo! What...?” He stopped. The living room had been stripped bare of furnishings. The tables, sofa, chairs, even the wall-to-wall carpet had been ripped free and removed. “God-dammit!” he muttered.
“The buzzards...the filthy buzzards!” Flo murmured as she walked slowly into the bedroom. She found nothing but four walls and a floor. “Oh Harry, how could they?”
Harry placed his son gently on the floor. Then he carefully removed the one article that had not been taken by the looters. With care and concern for the fabric, he removed the drapery from its hooks and, folding it once, placed it over Rickey.
From the kitchen came the soft cry of Flo. “It’s gone....everything...!”
Reaching her side, Harry saw the cabinets standing open. The shelves were bare; every can, box, and article of food had been taken. There would be nothing for them to eat. Flo’s sobs tore at the man. He placed his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. “Shhhh... .it’ll be okay, Sugar,” he crooned. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see.” Gradually her sobs weakened, then disappeared.
“Now what?” she mumbled, her face buried in his shirt. “Oh God, now what?”
He ran his hand soothingly over her back, patting her gently. “We’ll be all right, Flo. This won’t last long....someone will be coming in to help us.”
Flo drew back and snuffled. “Harry, we’ll die if we stay here.”
“No, no. We won’t, Flo. We’ll be safe.” His mind wandered to the boy in the other room. If the kid hadn’t gone toward that reactor; if, for once, he’d done what he was told and come straight home....but no. This was his fault, the father’s. He’d given the boy too much freedom, too long a rein. He’d encouraged the son to explore and to question, and yes, even question authority. He felt her head against his chest again.
“Rickey needs a doctor, Harry.”
Harry nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow I’ll try to find someplace....a hospital where we can get help for him.”
“Frank?” Paula’s voice broke the quiet.
“Huh?”
“Are you asleep?” Paula asked.
He grunted an unintelligible, “Uh.”
Paula lay on her side in a fetal position with her legs drawn up, her back to her husband. It was comforting to be here under the roof of her parents once more. It could be a pleasant, serene existence, being watched over by her father, having the breakfast made, and her mother smilingly calling them to the table—it could be nice. Like the old days. Like the month she and Frank had
spent here early in their marriage, before he had dragged her off to the south. If only he’d wanted to stay here, to become a real part of the family. She snuggled down under the warm blanket. No matter how old she got, there’d never be a place as safe and secure as right here at home. She thought of Frank beside her. He hated being here. For a moment she regretted speaking to him. Now she was obliged to talk. “You don’t like Dad, do you, Frank?”
“Your folks are nice people, Paula.”
“Nice? Is that the best you can do? Say that they’re nice people? Christ—the world is full of nice people.”
“Let’s not quarrel, okay? I said they’re nice. What more do you want? Me to lick his feet?” His voice was alert, not drowsy at all.
“Don’t get snotty, Frank. It’s just that I don’t think you show my father the proper respect,” she said peevishly.
Frank flopped over on his side, away from his wife. “Oh, shit! At a time like this you’re stewing because I don’t respect your old man.”
“That’s because you’ve pouted around the house all day, acting like he doesn’t even exist. You should sit down and talk with him. Ask him about his business or something. Jesus, make some kind of effort,” she said. “Do something.”
“Why in the hell should I? I didn’t ask him to take us in.”
“You’re here, though.” She sat up in bed, prepared to pursue the subject further. “I know what’s wrong with you, Frank. You feel like you’re a failure when you’re around him.”
“No, I don’t, dammit! What the hell has he done? A piddling company. Bull! That doesn’t mean his ass is lined with gold.”
“You’re jealous,” she accused him.
“To hell I am!” he said, suddenly angered.
“You’re still smarting because of that crack he made about you years ago.” Her recollection of the event was vivid. It’d happened at their wedding reception right downstairs. An old friend, too high on liquor, had boomed out at her father, asking him how he liked his new son-in-law. And her father, without any excuse, had retorted loudly enough for everyone within earshot to hear. ‘Frank’s all right, but he’s got no balls.’ Not only had she overheard, but Frank had heard as well. His skin had blanched and he’d walked hurriedly away. No, she had never mentioned it to him, nor he to her. But he remembered.
Frank kicked the covers down to his feet. “He never thought that anyone was good enough for his precious child, including me. Jesus, Paula, the only reason we had Jerry in such a hurry was to get the furniture your folks promised us in exchange for a grandchild. I mean, what kind of screwballs were we that we’d have a kid just to please your parents?”
Paula was not a simpering, pouting woman. She said acidly, “Are you sure that’s why we had Jerry, and not because you were trying to prove something to yourself?”
“What does that mean?” he asked sourly.
“Nothing. Forget it.” Why must they always spoil everything by quarreling. A long silence followed their outburst. It was worrisome, these strange irrelevancies, these dissensions that had begun to creep between them. In this crisis they should at least be able to put a halt to the petty quarrels. At last Paula said, “I read in the Press tonight that the government won’t be sending anybody in until the radiation is swept away.”
“Good strong winds will have to blow the poison out of the area before anyone will go in—troops, medical teams, or anybody else,” Frank replied calmly, welcoming a rest from their quarreling.
Paula shuddered and nudged over against Frank. She touched his leg with the sole of her foot. The bed was warm and comfortable, and for once their argument had ended almost as quickly as it had begun. “I wonder if Flo and Harry really did go back to San Mirado.”
Frank lay quietly, unanswering.
Paula was engaged with her own thoughts. “I hate to think of them doing that....going back.” A moment passed. “Frank, will we ever return to San Mirado?” She paused. “If we do, I’d like us to get one of those new, Spanish-type houses—out in the de Lorenzo subdivision. A five bedroom, three bath place. You know, with the Spanish brick facade,” she added.
Frank heaved a deep sigh. Over the night Jerry’s vomiting had become so bad that, with fear and apprehension, he’d taken the boy to the hospital, bypassing the Jorgensens’ family physician. He had no sooner stepped inside the house then Paula was before him.
“What did the doctor say?”
Frank removed his jacket. “Jerry hasn’t got any radiation sickness,” he said, hanging the jacket up.
Paula was obviously worried about something. “Was he sure? Can he be sure?” she asked.
“He’s the doctor, Paula. He said there’s nothing to worry about...that Jerry just has a gastric upset.”
“Then why did he want to keep him in the hospital?”
Frank, annoyance showing, said, “Look, he wants to keep the kid a day or two and build him up. That’s all. My God, if you were so concerned why didn’t you go with me to take him in?” He started around her toward their bedroom.
“What’s Jerry’s room number?” she snapped. “I’m going to see him.”
“Oh, Paula, for Pete’s sake, there’s no point in you going over there now. Wait awhile and we’ll both go.”
Paula held out her hand. “The keys, Frank.”
He dropped them in her palm.
She rushed out of the house, slamming the door after her.
Her departure left him with a feeling of emptiness, helplessness. Suddenly it seemed they were growing farther and farther apart. She’d always been high spirited and willful, but now that she had insisted on her parents’ home for their refuge she seemed more than ever determined to have her way, to make her own decisions without regard to him or his opinions. Maybe it could be expected. After all, he had married out of his element, as the phrase went. Frank stared at the spot where she’d stood, then shrugged and started to turn away when he noticed the old man watching him.
Mr. Jorgensen peered over the top of his glasses. He was a frail looking old man, reed-thin and pale in his Scandinavian color. But frail looking, only. Frank knew his father-in-law to be as tough as a steel rod, and just as unbending.
“Where’s she going?” The question was gritty, almost contemptuous.
“To see Jerry,” Frank answered, heading again toward the bedroom.
“Then why did she call Dr. Hellman?” asked the old man.
Frank paused. “Hellman?”
“Our doctor. She called him before you came in.”
Clearly puzzled for a moment, then relieved, Frank replied, “I guess she wants another opinion about Jerry.” Sure, Paula was a worrier. Like a dog she’d nag and nag at something until she was satisfied she’d got the truth of the matter. She was worried that the boy had radiation sickness.
Mr. Jorgensen seemed disbelieving. “She made an appointment, Frank...for herself, not Jerry.”
Sensing the cold eyes of the old man on him, Frank continued into the bedroom. “Why she’s seeing Dr. Hellman is her business, I guess. If she wants you to know she’ll tell you.” And maybe she’ll also tell her husband, Frank added to himself.
He locked himself in the room and lay down on the bed. The woman was exasperating....exactly like her father. And she actually expected him to butter up to the old fool. How could he? How in the hell could he get close to someone when the other drew an invisible barrier between them, then nailed it shut with a bunch of smart-assed cracks about a man not having any balls. Ah, the old bastard. He wasn’t worth it. If it weren’t for Paula they wouldn’t be here....if the old man hadn’t been Paula’s father Frank would have mashed his face in, wedding reception or not.
Chapter Nine
Cecil Yeager opened his eyes and briefly inspected his surroundings. His presence in the unfamiliar, dingy room momentarily surprised him. Then he remembered. He had crossed the border during the night. No difficulty there. Responding to his immense fatigue, he’d checked into this hotel after stuffing
himself on chili and frijoles. That had been a mistake. He had never digested Mexican food well, and the fare served in most Tijuana restaurants was heavily spiced. He hadn’t been selective, but had eaten at the first place offering food. This morning he was sorry because the green pepper taste was still welling up from his gut. He’d probably feel better if he could throw it, he thought.
Dressing with haste, he collected his belongings and walked down the rickety stairs to the lobby.
The Mexican behind the desk looked up from his racing form at the American in the crumpled suit. “Como esta, Senor?” he asked.
“Fine,” Cecil replied shortly to the clerk. He hoped the man would understand English. “Say, I want to drive down the coast but I need to buy some insurance—you know, for my car. Can you recommend a place?”
His United States automobile insurance policy covered a visitation of no longer than three days, and carried a mileage limit into the interior. Most American policies were written like this, thus the insurance agents made a better than ample living from the foreign turistas who came down to enjoy the climate, the beaches, and the cut-rates on booze.
“Oh sure, Mister. At the border you will find many insurance offices.”
Cecil was aware of the disreputable-looking little shanty offices inside the border gates, but he had no wish to return to them. “I was hoping to find an insurance agent here in town,” he said.
Shrugging, the clerk replied, “I do not know of such, though maybe you find one. Most Americans stop by the offices at the border, Mister.”
Removing his wallet, Cecil paid his bill and thanked the clerk. Perhaps the insurance scheme was an unnecessary risk. It had occurred to him suddenly, and it seemed a good idea at the time. But he was anxious to get deeper into Mexico. Maybe he should scrap the plan and just proceed southward.
The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) Page 12