Alas, Babylon

by Pat Frank

  Dan closed the two bags. "So ends the clinic in Fort Repose. Can you give me a lift to the hotel, Randy? I think my gas tank is dry."

  "I'll take you to your hotel - only so you can pack," Randy said. "On River Road

  , we've got food, and good water, and wood fireplaces. At the hotel you don't have any of those things." He picked up one of the bags. "Now don't argue with me, Dan. Don't start talking about your duty. Without food and water and heat you can't do anything. You can't even sterilize a scalpel. You won't have strength enough to take care of any­body. You can't even take care of yourself."

  When they entered the hotel Randy smelled it at once, but not until they reached the second floor did he positively identify the odor. Like songs, odors are cata­lysts of memory. Smelling the odors of the Riverside Inn, Randy recalled the sickly, pungent stench of the honey carts with their loads of human manure for the fields of Korea. Randy spoke of this to Dan, and Dan said, "I've tried to make them dig latrines in the garden. They won't do it. They have deluded themselves into believing that lights, water, maids, telephone, dining-­room service, and transportation will all come back in a day or two. Most of them have little hoards of canned foods, cookies, and candies. They eat it in their rooms, alone. Every morning they wake up saying that things will be back to normal by nightfall, and every night they fall into bed thinking that normalcy will be restored by morning. It's been too big a jolt for these poor people. They can't face reality."

  Dan had been talking as he packed. As they left the hotel, laden with bags and books, Randy said, "What's going to happen to them?"

  "I don't know. There's bound to be a great deal of sickness. I can't prevent it because they won't pay any attention to me. I can't stop an epidemic if it comes. I don't know what's going to happen to them."

  Dan moved into the house on River Road

  that day. Thereafter he slept in the sleigh bed, the only bed in the house that could comfortably accommodate his frame, in Randy's apartment, while Randy occupied the couch in the living room.

  That night, afterwards, was remembered as "the night of the steak orgy." Yet it was not for the rich taste of meat well hung that Randy remembered the night. He and the Admiral and Bill McGovern cooked the steaks outside, and then brought them into the living room. Fat wood burned in the big fireplace and a kettle steamed on hot bricks. At a few minutes before ten Randy clicked on his transistor radio, and they all lis­tened. Lib McGovern was sitting on the rug next to him, her shoulder touching his arm. The room was warm, and comfortable, and somehow safe.

  They heard the hum of a carrier wave, and then the voice of an announcer from the clear channel station somewhere deep in the heart of the country. "This is your Civil Defense Headquarters. I have an important announcement. Listen carefully. It will not be repeated again tonight. It will be repeated, circumstances permit­ting, at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

  Randy felt Lib's long fingers circle his forearm, and grasp tight. Around the group before the fire, all the faces were anxious, the white faces in the front row, the Negro faces, eyes white and large, behind.

  "A preliminary aerial survey of the country has been completed. By order of the Acting Chief Executive, Mrs. Vanbruuker-Brown, certain areas have been declared Con­taminated Zones. It is forbidden for people to enter these zones. It is forbidden to bring any material of any kind, particularly metal or metal containers, out of these zones.

  "Persons leaving the Contaminated Zones must first be examined at check points now being established. The loca­tion of these check points will be announced over your lo­cal Conelrad stations.

  "The Contaminated Zones are:

  "The New England States."

  Sam Hazzard, sitting in a prim cherry-wood rocker which, like Sam, had originated in New England, drew in his breath.

  The newscaster continued:

  "All of New York State south of the line Ticonderoga-Sacketts Harbor.

  "The state of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland.

  "The District of Columbia.

  "Ohio east of the line Sandusky-Chillicothe. Also in Ohio, the city of Columbus and its suburbs.

  "In Michigan, Detroit and Dearborn and an area of fifty-mile radius from these cities. Also in Michigan, the cities of Flint and Grand Rapids.

  "In Virginia, the entire Potomac River Basin. The cities of Richmond and Norfolk and their suburbs.

  "In South Carolina, the port of Charleston and all terri­tory within a thirty-mile radius of Charleston.

  "In Georgia, the cities of Atlanta, Savannah, Augusta and their suburbs.

  "The state of Florida."

  Randy felt angry and insulted. He shifted his weight and started to get to his feet. "Not the whole state!" he said, at the same time realizing his protest was com­pletely irrational.

  "Sh-h!!" Lib said, and pulled him back to the rug.

  The voice went on, ticking off Mobile and Birming­ham, New Orleans and Lake Charles.

  It moved into Texas, obliterating Fort Worth and Dallas, and everything within a fifty-mile radius of these two cities, and Abilene, Houston, and Corpus Christi.

  It moved northward again:

  "In Arkansas, Little Rock and its suburbs, plus an area of forty miles to the west of Little Rock."

  Missouri, who through the whole evening had said nothing except in answer to questions, now said some­thing. "How come they hit Little Rock?"

  The Admiral said, "There's a big SAC base in Little Rock, or was."

  The voice moved up to Oak Ridge, in Tennessee, and then spoke of Chicago, and everything around Chicago in northern Indiana, and crept up the western shore of Lake Michigan to Milwaukee, and Milwaukee's sub­urbs. Inexorably, it uttered the names of Kansas City, Wichita, and Topeka.

  The voice continued:

  "In Nebraska, Lincoln. Also in Nebraska, Omaha and all the territory within a fifty-mile radius of Omaha."

  There goes all hope of Mark, Randy thought. More than one missile for Omaha. Probably three, as Mark had expected. From the moment of the double dawn on The Day, he had known it was probable. Now he must accept it as almost certain. He looked across the circle, at three faces in the firelight. Peyton's face was half­-hidden against her mother's breast. Helen's face bent down, and her arms were around Peyton's shoulders. Ben Franklin stared into the fire, his chin straight. Randy could see the tear path down Helen's face, and the unshed tears in Ben's eyes.

  The announcements went on, the voice calling out portions of states, and cities - Seattle, Hanford, San Francisco, all the southern California coast, Helena, Cheyenne - but Randy only half-heard them. All he could hear, distinctly, were the sharp sobs out of Pey­ton's throat.

  Randy's heart went out to them but he said nothing. What was there to say? How do you say to a little girl that you are sorry she no longer has a father?

  Close to his side Lib stirred and spoke, two words only, to Helen. "I'm sorry." Randy had noticed, that evening, a tenseness between Helen and Lib, Nothing was said, and yet there was a watchfulness, a hostility, between them. So he was glad that Lib had spoken. He wanted them to like each other. He was puzzled that they didn't.

  Then it was over. The radio stilled. More than ever, Randy felt cut off and isolated. Florida was a prohibited zone, and Fort Repose a tiny, isolated sector within that zone. He could appreciate why the whole state had been designated a contaminated area. There were so many bases, so many targets which had been hit, with result­ing contamination. They had been extraordinarily for­tunate in Fort Repose. The wind had favored them. They had received only a residue of fallout from Tampa and Orlando, and none at all from Miami and Jackson­ville. Even a reasonably clean weapon on Patrick would have rained radioactive particles on Fort Repose, but the enemy had not bothered to hit Patrick.

  Standing on the other side of the room, Preacher Henry had been listening, but he did not fully under­stand the designation of contaminated zones or compre­hend the implications. He did feel and understa
nd the shock and grief the broadcast brought to the Braggs, and he sensed it was time for him to leave. He nudged Malachai, touched Two-Tone's rump with his toe, caught the attention of Hannah and Missouri, and said, with dignity, "We be going now. I thank you, Mister Randy, for a real fine steak dinner. I hopes we can sometime repay it."

  Randy rose to his feet and said, "Good night, Preacher. It was good to have you all."

  On the fourth day after The Day, Randy, Malachai, and Two-Tone extended the artesian water system to the houses of Admiral Hazzard and Florence Wechek. Stretching pipe across the grove to the Admiral's house was simple, but to provide water for Florence Wechek and Alice Cooksey it was necessary to dig through the macadam of River Road

  with picks.

  On the night of the sixth day the Riverside Inn burned. With no water in the hydrants, and the hotel's sprinkler system inoperative, the fire department was all but helpless. Only a few reserve firemen showed up, and only one pumper was got into action, using river water. It was a puny effort, and far too late. The old, resinous wooden structure was burning brightly before the first stream touched the walls. Soon the heat drove the firemen away. A few minutes thereafter the last scream was heard from the third floor.

  Dan had been summoned an hour later, and Randy had driven him into town. By then, there was nothing to do except care for the survivors. They were few. Some of these died of smoke poisoning or fear - it was hard to diagnose - within a few hours. The burned were taken to San Marco in Bubba Offenhaus' hearse­ambulances. The uninjured were lodged in the Fort Re­pose school. There was no heat in the school, or food, or water. It was simply shelter, less comfortable than the hotel, and within a few days more squalid.

  Dan Gunn suspected that the fire had started in a room where the guests were using canned heat in an attempt to boil water. Or perhaps someone had built a makeshift wood stove. It was, Dan said, inevitable.

  On the ninth day after The Day, Lavinia McGovern died. This, too, had been inevitable ever since the lights went out and refrigeration ceased. Since Lavinia McGovern suffered from diabetes, insulin had kept her alive. Without refrigeration, insulin deteriorated rapidly. Not only Lavinia, but all diabetics in Fort Repose, de­pendent upon insulin, died at about the same period as the drug lost its potency.

  Randy and Dan had done their best to save her. They had driven to San Marco hoping to find refrigerated in­sulin, or the new oral drug, at the hospital.

  It was, eighteen miles to San Marco. Even driving at the most economical speed in his heavily horsepowered car, Randy estimated that the trip would consume three gallons of gasoline. He estimated he had only five gal­lons remaining in his tank, plus a five-gallon can in re­serve.

  Randy made a difficult decision, By then, the Bragg home was linked to the houses of Admiral Hazzard, Florence Wechek, and the Henrys not only by an ar­terial system of pipes fed by nature's pressure, but by other common needs. The Henrys' Model-A was nei­ther beautiful nor comfortable but its engine was twice as thrifty as Randy's rakish sports hardtop. Sam Hazzard's car gulped gasoline as fast as Randy's. Dan's was empty. The Model-A was even more economical than Florence's old Chevy. Randy decided that henceforth the Model-A would furnish community transportation. So it was in the Model-A that Randy and Dan made the trip to San Marco.

  The trip was a failure. The hospital no longer pos­sessed insulin or substitutes for insulin. Like the phar­macies, the hospital had purchased its supplies in small quantities, and was dependent on weekly or bi-weekly deliveries from jobbers in the large cities. Its insulin had already gone to meet the demand in its own community. Further, the hospital's auxiliary generator was operated only during the evening hours, for emergency opera­tions, and for a few minutes each hour on the hour to supply power for WSMF. It was necessary to conserve fuel, and unless the generator ran continuously it was inadequate for refrigeration.

  Bouncing back to Fort Repose in the Model-A, Dan grumbled, "The place we should have built up stock­piles was out in the country, like Timucuan County. Stockpiles weren't going to be of much use in the cities because after The Day there weren't going to be any cities left. But where were the stockpiles? In the cities, of course. It was easier."

  So Lavinia McGovern, after forty-eight hours in coma, died.

  Alice Cooksey was at her bedside after midnight on the ninth day, when Lavinia died. Lavinia's husband and daughter, both exhausted from the effort to keep the house in some sort of order, slept. Alice did not awaken them, or anybody, until morning. She kept vigil alone, dozing on a chaise. Nothing could help Lavina, but everybody needed sleep.

  Alice brought the news to the Bragg house in the morning. A fire blazed in the dining room, which smelled pleasantly of bacon and coffee. Randy, Helen, the children, and Dan Gunn were at breakfast - a breakfast exactly like one they would have eaten ten days before, with one important exception. There was orange juice, freshly squeezed, fresh eggs from the Hen­rys' yard, bacon, coffee. There was no toast, because there was no bread. Randy already was beginning to miss bread, and he wondered why he had not thought to buy flour. By the time Helen had put flour on their list the shelves were bare of it. He suspected that the older housewives of Fort Repose, remembering a time when people baked their own bread instead of buying it pack­aged, sliced, with vitamins re-injected, had cleaned the stores out of flour on The Day. He resolved, when he could, to trade for flour. It would be June before they could look forward to corn bread from Preacher Hen­ry's crop.

  Alice had bicycled from the McGovern house. Before she closed the Western Union office, Florence Wechek had salvaged the messenger's bicycle. It was a valuable possession. Now that all their remaining gasoline was pooled to operate one car, the bicycle was primary transportation for Alice and Florence. Alice was for the first time in her life dressed in slacks, a necessity for bicycling. She accepted coffee and told of Lavinia's death. Bill McGovern and Elizabeth, she said, were tak­ing it well, but they didn't know what to do with the body. They needed help with the burial.

  "I'll go to see Bubba Offenhaus right away," Dan said, "and try to arrange for burial. I've got to talk to Bubba anyway. I can't seem to impress upon him the importance of burying the dead as quickly as possible. He suddenly seems to hate his profession."

  "That's not like Bubba," Alice Cooksey said. "Bubba always bragged that he was.the most efficient under­taker in Florida. He used to say, 'When the retireds started coming to Fort Repose, they found a mortuary with all modern conveniences.' "

  "That's the trouble," Dan said. "Bubba abhors unor­thodox funerals. He almost wept when I insisted that the poor devils who died in the fire be buried at once in a single grave. We had to use a bulldozer, you know. Bubba claims Repose-in-Peace Park is ruined for good."

  Randy had been silent since Alice brought the news. Now he spoke, as if he had been holding silent debate with himself, and had finally reached a conclusion. "They'll have to live here."

  Helen set down her coffee cup. "Who'll have to live here?"

  "We'll have to ask Lib and Bill McGovern to stay with us."

  "But we don't have room! And how will we feed them?"

  Randy was puzzled and disturbed. He had never thought of Helen as a selfish woman, and yet obviously she didn't want the McGoverns. "We really have plenty of room," he said. "There's still an empty bedroom up­stairs. Bill can have it, and Lib can sleep with you."

  "With me?"

  He could see that Helen was angry. "Well, you have twin beds in your room, Helen. But if you seriously ob­ject, Bill can sleep in my apartment - there's an extra couch - and Lib can have the room."

  "After all, it's your house," Helen said.

  "As a matter of fact, Helen, the house is half Mark's, which makes it half yours. So the decision is yours as well as mine. Lib and Bill have no water and no heat and not much food left because almost all their food reserve was in their freezer. They don't even have a fire­place. They've been cooking and boiling water on a charcoal grill in the Florida
room."

  Helen shrugged and said, "Well, I guess you'll have to ask them. Elizabeth can sleep with me. But I hope it isn't a permanent arrangement. After all, our food sup­piy is limited."

  "It is limited," Randy said, "and it's going to get worse. Whether the McGoverns are here or not, we're all going to have to scrounge for food pretty quick."

  Dan rose and said, "I'd better get going."

  Randy followed him. He had cultivated the habit of leaving his .45 automatic on the hall table and pocket­ing it as he left the house, as a man would put on his hat. Since he never wore a hat, and never before had carried a gun except in the Army, he still had to make a conscious effort to remember.

  When they were in the car Randy said, "That was a strange way for Helen to behave. Don't know what's eating her."

  "Not at all strange," Dan said. "Just human. She's jealous."

  "That's ridiculous!"

  "No. Helen is a fiercely protective woman­ - protective of her children. With Mark gone, you and the house are her security and the children's security. She doesn't want to share you and your protection. Matter of self-preservation, not infatuation."

  "I see," Randy said, "or at least I think I see."

  They drove up to the front of the McGovern house. Randy said, "It's pointless for both of us to go in. Noth­ing you can do here. While you get Bubba Offenhaus, I'll tell them they're going to move and get them going."

  "Right," Dan said. "Economy of effort and forces. Always a good rule of war."

  Randy walked to the house, wondering a bit about himself. Without being conscious of it, he had begun to give orders in the past few days. Even to the Admiral he had given orders. He had assumed leadership in the tiny community bound together by the water pipes lead­ing from the artesian well. Since no one had seemed to resent it, he guessed it had been the proper thing to do. It was like - well, it wasn't the same, but it was some­thing like commanding a platoon. When you had the responsibility you also had the right to command.