Have also concluded, after initial hesitation, message must contain explanation of H. sapiens/post hominem situation, etc. Facts, evidence clearly documented; Teacher’s conclusion unaffected by scoffers — but doubt will care much for neighbors lacking minds sufficiently open to appreciate data, understand implications, and (most of all) accept necessity of next step:
Central industry in my community to be AA-type upbringing, education of children (to degree possible in ruined world). All else secondary, supportive. No compulsion, pressure; volunteers only. But dissenters need not apply. Big world; can live elsewhere.
Granted, noble resolve most conveniently parallels own selfish desires (so much to learn!); but if Dark Ages follow collapse of H. sapiens’ civilization, won’t be my fault.
There! Not so tough: Mere three days’ full-time, unremitting labor — writing, rewriting, trimming, condensing, paring, slashing, distilling, rooting out, re-rewriting, etc., etc. — and leaflet complete.
Masterpiece of brevity: single page (legal size, double-sided; uniform 1/10-inch margins top, bottom, left, right; 15-pitch type) says everything necessary in only 5,768 well-chosen words — plus metaphoric extra thousand implied by tiny map sketched at end.
Initial small stock produced on nifty both-sides-at-once Xerox. (Wonderful machine; some benefits of old civilization must be saved-for Posterity — 10,000 copies, three hours!)
Shall affix to doors of food, hardware, sporting goods, clothing stores, etc., as ride along. Pass hundreds every day; been taking local roads rather than interstates. (Esthetic choice; admittedly not logical: Interstates doubtless better condition, easier driving; but somehow lonelier [said wasn’t logical], more depressing.)
Not terribly original plan, but I forage constantly, almost daily; reasonable inference holds other survivors do likewise. And certainly have generally similar needs, “shop” same places.
Final analysis — becomes question of numbers: Post enough leaflets, bound to catch eye. Somebody’s eye. Someplace. Sometime. Probably.
Tomorrow leave for Boston. Harvard-M.I.T. area, home for five AAs: Herman Smith, Mario Ling, Gayle Kinnart, Theron Parker, Rex Hollister.
Parker, Ling, Smith deeply involved (according to File) in project combining M.I.T.’s space research center, computer center, nuclear reactor, magnetics lab; Harvard’s medical school, biochemical facility, seismographic station. Wouldn’t discuss objective, but spin-off breakthroughs, inventions, products so numerous, administration declined to push it.
Hollister working at Harvard only, but at medical research, anthropology, biophysics, geology, political theory.
Kinnart’s Ph.D.’s in nuclear physics, oceanography, computer science, meteorology, astronautics. Worked when, where, with whom, on what she chose. Taught, researched, invented at will. Delighted in shaking up Establishment’s institutions, the crustier the better; C.L.E.P.ed Juris Doctor in spare time, over organized opposition of Bar (disapproved failure to utilize proper law-school channels). Sued pro se, won, obtained J.D. by Supreme Court decree. Also holds Seventh Degree Black Belt. (If consciously, actively seeking role model, girl could do lots worse — hope-she likes me.)
Enough woolgathering. To bed now. Far to go tomorrow; much to do.
But calmly, coolly; optimistically but with caution, discipline. No more paralytic disappointment, hysteria, tears — no matter what. If trail proves cold, will play hand as dealt: Study facts as materialize; proceed logically, efficiently as indicated.
But can hope…
Silly me. To think, really expected to make Boston in single day (seemed reasonable goal while studying map: only 275 miles, straight-line distance).
But not crow, not flying. Driving. Slowly, cautiously. Through heavily wooded, very hilly (almost mountainous) terrain; numerous small towns, villages; over narrow, winding, bumpity road obviously surveyed, installed by larcenous paving contractor whose sole ambition (well and truly realized) was smothering in concrete most expensive distance between any two points.
Together with previously observed uniform deterioration of highway system, conditions generally less than ideal for rapid transit: Downed trees, abandoned vehicles, landslides, etc., do little to speed progress.
Then final unexpected barrier: Hudson River. Not anticipated as problem; maps show bridges all up-, downstream.
True, are many bridges; however, those encountered thus far quite impassable: Some blocked by horrendous traffic jams; some visibly unsafe, spans sagging, etc.; some actually collapsed, lying in, under water. Several boast combinations of all of above. (Prefer not to think what must have been like when refugee-laden bridges, loaded beyond designers’ worst nightmares, came down.)
Camping tonight on romantic west bank, at lush forest’s edge, under clear star-studded, moonlit sky. Doubtless be more favorably impressed if conducting appraisal from other side.
Tomorrow will head south along river. Bridge frequency increases as approach New York City. Bound to get across sooner, later.
Delete previous pearl of wisdom. Written by idiot, without consideration of facts, human nature. Indeed, bridges more frequent to south. Also bigger, wider, more capacious. However, increased population more than made up difference.
Drove south all the way to Newark, Verrazano Narrows Bridge to Brooklyn. All blocked, damaged, or both.
Jams on surviving spans exceed belief. Example (not worst): Faced with immovable crush of vehicles parked on George Washington Bridge, obsessed beyond reason, control, someone elected to leave Manhattan — in large bulldozer, over top. And so tightly packed together were cars in path that most occupants unable to open doors, squeeze through windows, etc., flee in time. Predictably dreadful results. (But someone coped: Operator, crawler both dead; stopped halfway across, perched like giant carnivore on mashed vehicles beneath.)
Camping again tonight on romantic west bank of Hudson River, same place as night before last — same lush forest, under same clear, star-studded, moonlit sky, etc.
(Bah…!)
Tomorrow will head north along river. Population density decreases considerably that direction. Bound to get across sooner, later. Or drive around damned thing.
Murphy would have snickered, said, …told you so.” And been right: Very first bridge north of where quit exploring, three days before, stood wide open, unobstructed, safe.
Crossed without incident; continued through New York State, into Vermont, east-southeast across Appalachian Mountain spine into Massachusetts — into more bridge trouble: Connecticut River.
Pretty stream. But wide, impassable due to bridge damage. Lots of bridges, lots of damage. Appears to have been heavy flooding earlier: Barges flung about like toys; presence of bridge supports in paths presented little hindrance.
None daunted but wiser now, headed north immediately, upstream. Mere 150 miles sufficed to bring us to intact span.
Across and flushed with confidence, headed again southeast — toward Boston, with no potential geographical obstacles visible ahead on map.
Be there by noon tomorrow, barring untowardnesses. (And not getting excited. Waiting to see what lies ahead. Calmly, coolly, objectively.)
Nothing lies ahead! Or sits, stands, hops, skips, jumps. And getting mighty fed up with whole business.
Once is nothing more than random incident, dice cast, crumbled cookie, flopped mop. Twice probably coincidence, without statistical significance; no doubt concerning to pessimist, but not alarming to rational intellect. Three times could still be coincidence, but scary coincidence; probability laws bent way out of shape.
Four times is trend. No doubt about it; worry is appropriate response.
And six times — conclusive. Utterly so.
Nobody home. Again. All signs point to orderly move-out. Again. No clues suggesting possible destination, whereabouts. Again!
Performed most thorough going-through of homes, offices, labs of all five M.I.T.-Harvard-area AAs. Turned up nothing. Simply vanished. Carefully, efficiently, wit
hout loose ends.
AGAIN!
Kinnart’s house first stop; then office. Scene at house duplicated Peter Bell’s; office equally barren: Everything personal, if even faintly portable, gone. Results at Smith’s, Ling’s, Parker’s, Hollister’s similar, equally dismaying. No affirmative data; all evidence negative, inferential, based on what not found.
Returned to Kinnart’s house for night. Lovely place: Even stripped of personal touches, still homey; retains comfortably feminine ambience.
Great relief after weeks of living in van, sleeping on bunk, cooking with charcoal, Sterno. Electric power out, but gas, water still work. Easy enough to run extension cord in for evening’s lighting.
Decision to spend night under civilized roof met twin’s approval. Loves travel, but bon vivant at heart; wallows in luxury at every opportunity (believes anything worth doing worth overdoing). And apparently concluded time ripe for good wallow: Hurled self into project with glee (mere fraction of which, publicly displayed in times past, sure to result in involuntary hospitalization). Participation included: assisting carrying tee stand in from van (me carrying; manic sibling gripping crossbar with toes, wings flapping at max); unpacking food (container-opening one of brother’s pettest passions — problem arises confining enthusiasm to appropriate time, place, object); setting table (loves this part: Waddles joyously about tabletop, seizing plates, utensils — anything not nailed down — laboriously carries/drags to edge; surreptitiously peeks around to see if observed yet; then heaves over side, watching fall, bobbing head, chortling under breath as impact occurs — then back for more).
In especially rare mood today; having wonderful time: talking, warbling like trained chainsaw, assisting until seemed must be three of him. Finally became necessary — to retain own sanity — to banish him to stand, order him, “Stay!”
Feelings unruffled by rebuff, of course. Within moments had discovered refrigerator handle within reach. While doing sideways chin-ups, indicated continuing willingness — nay, eagerness — to help clear table. Before meal was over.
Had turned on gas first thing on arrival, lit water heater. Have put clean sheets on firmest bed in house. Looking forward to indescribable pleasure of hot shower, followed by best night’s sleep in weeks.
Looking forward intensely — helps keep mind- off AAs’ disappearance. Impossible six people could vanish so utterly, without any clue.
Well, perhaps morning will bring inspiration: Maybe subconscious noticed something so-called “conscious” missed while worrying.
Good night.
Eureka! (Sort of.)
Upon waking this morning, realized search not thorough as should have been. Oh, thorough enough regarding not missing single drawer, looking under beds, examining every inch — but was looking for things; paying no attention to what might be missing. Stated in yesterday’s entry, …all evidence negative, inferential, based on what not found.” But made no effort to determine what not found; haven’t inferred worth darn.
So following breakfast (found old-fashioned campfire waffle iron in basement; works equally well on kitchen gas range — results wonderful with maple syrup after so long); adjourned back to Kinnart’s office; conducted repeat search, this time with eyes, perception, mind open. And learned:
Remaining lab contents limited to stock equipment, scientific goodies available anywhere. Nothing visible appropriate to work of most brilliant researcher in five (un?)related fields. Vacant table space suggests missing equipment, but not much. And no clues as to what.
However, one artifact obvious by absence — her First Microscope. (Every student scientist and/or doctor receives as gift or purchases in school a First Microscope. Sometimes powerful, sophisticated instrument; sometimes Woolworth’s Student Special — but always treasured for life; always prominent in office, whether used or not.) Absence significant.
But not as glaring as lack of any scrap of work notes, memoranda, programs, floppy disks, photographs, printouts, results — in short: irreplaceable stuff, without which any research reverts back to square one.
Went back then; reinspected homes, offices of other four Boston-area AAs; confirmed similar conditions. Physical gear remaining wondrously varied but limited to catalog stock; nothing custom-made, no records. And no First Microscopes!
So much for available facts; now for inferences: Left, probably as group; went somewhere already physically equipped to continue studies, taking more specialized, irreplaceable tools, notes, records,. etc.
(Granted, premise requires quantum leap past logic; but given reasonable parallel between their thinking and mine — assuming also work in progress [and opportunity] — only tenable conclusion.)
Besides, was necessary: Had, while ruminating, forgotten Armageddon side effects. No possibility hominems, with olfactory sensitivities far transcending H. sapiens’, could have remained in population-dense Boston area during months immediately following species’ end. Or any large, heavily peopled area. Own experience in tiny Wisconsin hometown proof enough: Had not spent first three months sealed in shelter, breathing own recycled air, would have been driven away.
So — again — what now? Conclusions interesting, probably valid — almost certainly valid. Also, in practical terms, next to useless. Even were conclusions confirmed — all Tarzan File AA addresses in fact obsolete — so what? Who cares? Equally pointless is speculation over why gone. Ringing question is where!
Without some hint — positive data, not accumulation of negatives — search deteriorates to pure exploration. Futile on face of it; continent simply too big for random poking about. Too much area; too few targets — and even methodical search won’t improve odds. Not really. AAs might well move into section just covered, remain undiscovered forever.
Besides, what (beyond wishful myopia) limits scope of search to North America? Whole planet now available (excepting only several extremely radioactive areas in Asia, where [according to Daddy’s secret papers] U.S.’s displeasure over attack most intensely expressed). Surprising if AAs failed to capitalize on all available resources, natural or man-made, wherever extant, to found, secure, develop community from which to gather, store, preserve, ultimately extend knowledge base accumulated during H. sapiens’ sway on Earth.
Hmm… Uninformed observer might suspect pattern developing here: Seems every time central question (“What now?”) crops up, somehow vanishes again beneath welter of irrelevant detail, philosophy, speculation.
Goodness… Candy Smith-Foster subconsciously refusing to face facts? Perhaps because answers unpalatable?)
Nonsense! Nothing subconscious about it. Plain as day: scared to death. And with best of reasons: answers stink!
Consider remaining options: One, can assume — not unreasonably after six consecutive strikeouts — Tarzan File truly dead end; set off blindly into wilderness, playing entirely by ear; distributing leaflets widely, collecting ABs catch-ascan, if at all.
Or, two, ignore six-ply coincidence; play out hand as dealt by Tarzan File, follow through to conclusion; not so much expecting dramatic results as sticking to scientific method, ensuring resultant fine-tooth examination of homes, offices overlooks not least clue suggesting whereabouts.
Then set off blindly into wilderness.
Or silly-season stuff, among which least harebrained notions include: Acquiring necessary knowledge (not impossible, considering formidable reading speed, comprehension/retention level); constructing, activating powerful omniband radio station; broadcasting endless worldwide appeal for company.
Or how about skywriting? Attention-getting, certainly; and effective each time over huge chunks of geography. Given H. post hominem mind, reflexes (far quicker, better integrated than predecessors’), how difficult can be to learn aircraft operation basics? Memorize book, absorb theory; then apply practical. (Shucks, Wrights only human, managed without theory)
Probably neither truly silly-season ideas. Farfetched, yes. But not totally beyond pale, given sufficient impetus (i.e., des
peration — cornered rat apt to try anything).
No, not really silly — silly is debating whether might be possible very quickly to breed special strain of mosquito (limited to drinking hominem blood); securing very small notes to very tiny collars, sending out to spread word.
Now, that’s silly…
And demonstrates lengths will go to avoid facing “What now” question. Not that have any real choice: Big world; only information even potentially helpful is Tarzan File, whether current or not. Must be verified, unto bitter end if necessary. As well might be.
So. Six down, 93 to go. Next stop: Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University; Barbara, James, Frederick Harper. No, not related — family: Idyllic ménage à trois of several years’ standing. Harpers, according to file, enjoyed benefits, protections of marriage laws, without violating them but without common-law togetherness risks, by simply cohabitating; defining responsibilities toward one another, to heirs, regarding assets, etc., by forming corporation, incorporating into bylaws useful provisions from marital, probate law. Reported very happy. Perhaps all three being doctors, dovetailed specialties, helps.
Discovery piqued curiosity. Checked further through File. And learned plural living arrangements not uncommon amongst AAs: Fully one-third involved in family units of more than two. Largest such encompasses five.
Intriguing. But not sure my cup of tea. Earliest memories pervaded with gently intense love emanating from, between, all around Daddy, Momma Foster. Couldn’t have spent formative years basking in glow always surrounding, enveloping them, anyone near them, without being imprinted to some extent with bias toward general wonderfulness of twosome life — joy of being single most important thing in life of Someone Wonderful.
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