Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [152]
Tim glanced at the paper. Laurie Malcolm, sent to a church camp by her mother. No father mentioned. Mother's address: Long Beach. Lord, what could they tell her?
"Can we go home?" one of the boys asked before Eileen could say anything.
How do you tell a six-year-old that his home has been washed away? Or a little girl that her mommy is—
"We're going up that hill," Eileen said. She pointed toward the mountain nearby. "When we get there, we'll wait for your mommy—"
"But what happened?" the boy asked. "Everybody was so scared. Reverend Tilly didn't want us to know it, but he was."
"It was the comet," Laurie told him solemnly. "Did it hit Long Beach, Eileen? Can I call you Eileen? Reverend Tilly says you aren't supposed to call grown people by their first names. Ever."
Tim turned off onto the side road leading up to the observatory. Long ago he'd had the old dirt road improved with logs and gravel and concrete in the worst places. The mud was thick, but the Blazer had no trouble. It wouldn't be long now. Then they'd have food, and they could stop running. For a while, anyway. The food wouldn't last forever, but it would be time enough to worry about that when they got there. Just now the observatory was home, a haven, a familiar place, with heat and dry clothes and a shower. A safe place to hide while the world ended.
The Blazer was no longer new and shiny. It was scratched along the sides from rockslides, and there was mud everywhere. It took the muddy road like a freeway, climbing over fallen rock, wading through deep pools. Tim had never had a car like this. It made him feel he could go anywhere.
And it had taken them home. Around one more bend. One more bend and they'd be safe …
The concrete building stood unharmed. So did the wooden garage outside it. The shed roof of the garage sagged, leaning at an angle, but not so much that anyone but Tim would notice. The telescope dome was closed, and the shutters were in place on all the windows of the main building.
"We're here!" Tim shouted. He had to shout. Eileen had the children singing in the back seat. "There's a hair on the wart on the … "
"There it is! Safe! At least for a while."
The song cut off raggedly. "It looks all right," Eileen said. There was wonder in her voice. She hadn't expected to see the place intact. Somewhere after Tujunga she'd given up hoping for anything at all.
"Sure, Marty's competent," Tim said. "He's got the shutters up, and the … " His voice trailed off.
Eileen followed Tim's look. There were two men coming out of the observatory. Older men, about fifty. They carried rifles. They watched as Tim brought the Blazer to a halt in front of the big concrete porch. The rifles were held cradled in their arms, not quite pointing at the Blazer, not pointed away either.
"Sorry, chum, no room," one of the men called. "Best move on. Sorry."
Tim stared at the strangers, letting his rage gather strength. He let them have it between the eyes. "I'm Tim Hamner. I own this place. Now who're you?"
They didn't react at all.
A younger man came out onto the porch.
"Marty!" Tim screamed. "Marty, tell them who I am!" And when I learn what these strangers are doing here (he didn't say) I'll have words with you, Marty.
Marty smiled broadly. "Larry, Fritz, this is Mr. Timothy Gardner Allington Hamner, playboy, millionaire—oh, yes, and amateur astronomer. He owns this place."
"Think of that," Fritz said. The rifle didn't waver.
One of the boys began to cry. Eileen pulled him toward herself and hugged him. The other children watched with big eyes.
Tim opened the door of the Blazer. The rifles moved fractionally. Tim ignored them and got out. He stood in the dusky twilight. Rain soaked his clothing and ran down the back of his neck. He walked toward the porch.
"Better not," one of the riflemen, the one called Larry, said.
"The hell with you," Tim said. He climbed the steps onto the porch. "I am not going to shout at you and scare the children."