Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [136]
They went back out, turned north again. The road was deserted. Mark wondered where to go now. He could ask Harv, but would he get the right answer, and how would he know if he did? Why the hell is he so broke up about it, Mark wondered. She wasn't much wife anyway. Never went anywhere with Harv. Good-looker, but not much of a companion. Why get so broke up? If Mark had to bury Joanna he'd hate it, but it wouldn't break him apart. He'd still function, and he'd turn a glass over for her next time he had a drink—and Harv had always been tough.
Mark glanced at his watch. Getting late. Time to move fast, through what was left of Burbank and the San Fernando Valley. How? If the freeways weren't down they'd be packed with cars. No good. He thought of routes, and wished Harvey's head was working again, but it wasn't and it was up to Mark to lead. When he reached Mulholland he turned left.
The horn sounded behind him. Marie had stopped at the intersection. "This isn't the way!" she shouted.
"Sure it is. Come on!"
"No."
God damn it. Mark drove back to the TravelAll. Marie and Joanna sat tensely in the front seat. The shotgun was poised in Joanna's hands, pointing upward; Marie sat with one arm carelessly near the gun. She was a lot bigger than Joanna.
"What is this?" Mark demanded.
"The boys. We are going to find our boys," Marie said. "And they are east of us, not west."
"Hell, I know that," Mark shouted. "This is the best way. Stay on high ground. We get across the valley on Topanga, stay along the Santa Susanna hills and go up through the canyons. That keeps us off the freeways and out of the passes where everybody else will be."
Marie frowned, trying to imagine a map of the L.A. basin. Then she nodded. That route would take them to Sequoia. She started the car moving again.
Mark roared on ahead. As he drove he muttered to himself. Frank Stoner had said the Mojave was the place to be. Stoner knew everything. It was good enough for Mark. It was a place to go, and once there they could figure out what to do next. It was a destination.
But Harv would want to get his kid out. And that Vance woman wanted hers. Funny she barely mentioned her husband. Maybe they didn't get along. Mark remembered Marie as he'd first seen her. Class. Lots of it. That might be interesting stuff.
They drove on through the rain, across the backbone of Los Angeles, and the rain kept them from seeing the destruction in the valleys to either side. The roads were clear of traffic, and the TravelAll got over the rapidly building piles of mud wherever the road dipped below the ridgeline. They were making miles, and Mark was pleased.
Randall dozed and woke, dozed and woke. The car seat jolted and tilted and jerked. Thunder and rain roared in his ears. His own ghastly memories kept pulling him almost awake. When lightning flashed he saw it again, his strobelit living room, crystal and silver intact, dog and wife dead on the Kashdan rug … When voices came he thought he was hearing his own thoughts:
"Yes, they were very close … she was completely dependent on him … "
The voices faded in and out. Once he was aware that the car had stopped, and there were three voices speaking in a tangle, but they might have been inside his head too.
"Wife is dead … wasn't there … yes, she said she was going to ask him to stay home … lost his house and his job and everything he owned … not just his job, but whole profession. There won't be any more television documentaries for a thousand years. Jesus, Mark, you'd be a basket case too."
"I know, but … didn't expect … curl up and die."
Curl up and die, Randall thought. Yeah. He curled tighter in the car seat. The car began moving again and it jolted him. He whimpered.
Tuesday Afternoon
Unhappily where matters as basic as territorial defense are concerned, our higher brain centers are all too susceptible to the urgings of our lower ones. Intellectual control can help us just so far, but no further. In the last resort it is unreliable, and a single, unreasoned, emotional