Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [132]
Mark came out of the house, and Harvey was finally startled. Mark was carrying something … OhmyGod. Carrying five thousand dollars' worth of Steuben crystal whale, Loretta's wedding present from her family. A couple of years ago Loretta had thrown Mark out of the house for picking it up.
Mark got the whale to the van without dropping it. He wrapped it in sheets and pillowcases and spare blankets.
"What's all that for?" Harvey asked. He pointed to the whale, and the skin cream, and Kleenex, and the remains of Loretta's survival kit. And other things.
"Trade goods," Mark said. "Your paintings. Some luxury items. If we find something better, we dump the lot, but we might as well be carrying something. Jesus, Harv, I'm glad your head's working again. We're about loaded up. Want to get in, or do you want to take another look through the house?"
"I can't go back in there—"
"Right. Okay." He raised his voice. "Jo, let's move it."
"Right." She appeared from out of a hedge, soaking wet, still holding the shotgun.
"You up to driving, Harv?" Mark demanded. "It's a big car for Joanna to handle."
"I can drive."
"Fine. I'll be outrider with the bike. Give me the pistol, and Jo keeps the shotgun. One thing, Harv. Where are we going?"
"I don't know," Harvey said. "North. I'll think of something once we get started."
"Right."
The motorcycle could hardly be heard over the roar of the thunder. They drove out, north toward Mulholland, along the same route the bikers had taken, and Harvey kept hoping …
It rained. Dan Forrester saw his path in split-second flashes when the frenetic wipers disturbed the flood of water across his windshield. The rain ate the light of his headlamps before the light could reach the road. Continuous lightning gave more light, but the rain scattered it into flashing white murk.
Rivers ran across the twisting mountain road. The car plowed through them.
In the valleys it must be … well, he would learn soon enough. There were preparations he must make first.
Charlie Sharps would know sooner.
Dan worried for Charlie. Charlie's chances weren't poor, but he should not have been traveling with that loaded station wagon. It was too obviously worth stealing. But Masterson might have packed guns, too.
Even if they reached the ranch, would Senator Jellison let them in? Ranch country, high above the floods. If they accepted everyone who came, their food would be gone in a day, their livestock the next. They might let Charlie Sharps in, alone. They probably would not require the services of Dan Forrester, Ph.D., ex-astrophysicist. Who would?
Dan was surprised to find that he'd driven home. He zapped the garage door and it opened. Huh! He still had electricity. That wouldn't last. He left the door open. Inside, he turned on some lights, then set out a great many candles. He lit two.
The house was small. There was one big room, and the walls of that room were bookshelves, floor to ceiling. Dan's dining table was piled high with his equipment. He had bought his fair share of freeze-dried foods while they existed, but Dan had thought further than that. He had carried home far more than his share of Ziploc Bags and salad-size Baggies, insect spray and mothballs. The table was full. He set to work on the floor.
He whistled as he worked. Spray a book with insect spray, drop it in a bag, add some mothballs and seal it. Put it in another bag and seal it. Another. The packages piled up on the floor, each a book sealed in four plastic envelopes. Presently he got up to put on some gloves. He came back with a fan and set it blowing past his ears from behind. That ought to keep the insecticide off his hands and out of his lungs.
When the pile on the floor got too big, he moved. And when the second pile was as high as the first, he stood up carefully. His joints were stiff. His feet hurt. He moved his legs to build circulation. He started coffee in the kitchen. The radio gave him nothing but static, so he started a stack of records going. There was now room at