Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [125]
"Mud?" Sharps screamed.
"Yes. Should have thought of it," Forrester said. "Salt mud. From the sea bottom, thrown up into space, and … "
The strange hail eased, and they left their shelters. Sharps felt better now. "All of you who live too far to get to your homes, go down and help the survivors in the building area. The rest of us will go get our families. In caravan. We'll come back here if we can. Dan, what's our best final destination?"
Forrester looked unhappy. "North. Not low ground. The rain … could last for months. All the old river valleys may be filled with water. There's no place in the Los Angeles basin that's safe. And there will be aftershocks from the earthquake … "
"So where?" Sharps demanded.
"The Mojave, eventually," Forrester said. He wouldn't be hurried. "But not at first, because there's nothing growing there now. Eventually—"
"Yes, but now!" Sharps demanded.
"Foothills of the Sierras," Forrester said. "Above the San Joaquin Valley."
"Porterville area?" Sharps asked.
"I don't know where that is … "
Masterson reached into his station wagon and fished in the glove compartment. The rain was falling heavily now, and he kept the map inside the car. They stood outside, looking in at June Masterson and her children. The children were quiet. They watched the adults with awed eyes.
"Right here," Masterson said.
Forrester studied the map. He'd never been there before, but it was easy to memorize the location. "Yes. I'd say that's a good place."
"Jellison's ranch," Sharps said. "It's there! He knows me, he'll take us in. We'll go there. If we get separated, we'll meet there." He pointed on the map. "Ask for Senator Jellison's placer Now, those that aren't coming with us immediately, get down and help survivors. Al, can you get any of these other cars started?"
"Yes, sir." Masterson looked relieved. So did the others. They'd been used to taking orders from Sharps for years; and it felt right to have him in command again. They wouldn't obey him like soldiers, but they needed to be told to do what they wanted to do anyway.
"Dan, you'll come on the caravan with us," Sharps said. "You wouldn't be much use down below—"
"No," Forrester said.
"What?" Sharps was certain he'd misunderstood. The thunder was continuous, and now there was the sound of rising wind.
"Can't," Forrester said. "Need insulin."
It was then that Sharps remembered that Dan Forrester was a diabetic. "We can come by your place—"
"No," Forrester screamed. "I've got other things to do. I'd delay you."
"You've got—"
"I'll be all right," Forrester said. He turned to walk off into the rain.
"The hell you will!" Sharps screamed at Dan's retreating back. "You can't even get your car started when the battery's dead!"
Forrester didn't turn. Sharps watched his friend, knowing he'd never see him again. The others pressed around. They all wanted advice, orders, some sense of purpose, and they expected Charles Sharps to provide it. "We'll see you at the ranch!" Sharps called.
Forrester turned slightly and waved.
"Let's move out," Sharps said. "Station wagon in the middle." He looked at his tiny command. "Preston, you'll be with me in the lead car. Get that shotgun and keep it loaded." They piled into their cars and started across the broken lot, moving carefully to avoid the huge cracks and holes.
Forrester's car had survived. He'd parked it at the very top of the lot, well away from any others, well away from trees and the edge of the bluff—and he'd parked it sideways to the tilt of the hill. Sharps could just make out Forrester's lights following them down to the street. He hoped Dan had changed his mind and was following them, but when they got to the highway, he saw that Dan Forrester had turned off toward Tujunga.
The fire road narrowed to a pair of ruts