Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [171]
"Let's go," Ray said. He scrambled down the bank, George behind him. They had many minutes before the fuse burned down, but they ran as if pursued by furies.
They were around the bend when they heard the explosion. It wasn't very loud. The rain dulled all sounds. George carefully backed the truck around until they could see.
The road was covered with four feet of mud and boulders. More had tumbled across the road and down into the river valley below
"Man might get over that with a four-wheel," George said. "Nothing else."
"What the hell are you sitting here for? Let's go!" Ray's enraged bellow was too loud for the truck cab, but he knew his brother wouldn't say anything about it.
There was water standing in the streets when they reached Porterville. It wasn't more than hubcap deep. The dam still held.
The City Hall meeting room smelled of kerosene lamps and damp bodies. There was also the faint odor of books and library paste. There weren't many books in the library, and they took up space around the walls but not in the center of the room.
Senator Jellison looked at his electric watch and grimaced. It was good for another year, but then … Why the hell didn't he have an old-fashioned windup? The watch told him it was 10:38 and 35 seconds, and it wouldn't be off by more than a second until the battery ran out.
The room was nearly full. All the library tables had been moved to make room for more folding chairs. A few women, mostly men, mostly in farm clothes and rain gear, mostly unarmed. They smelled of sweat and they were soaked and tired. Three whiskey bottles moved rhythmically from hand to hand, and there were a lot of cans of beer. There wasn't much talk as they waited for the meeting to start.
There were three distinct groups in the room. Senator Jellison dominated one of them. He sat with Mayor Seitz, Chief Hartman and the constables. Maureen Jellison was part of the group, and in the front rows, right up front, were their close friends. A solid bloc of support for the Jellison party.
Beyond them was the largest group, neutrals waiting for the Senator and the Mayor to tell them what to do. They wouldn't have put it that way, and the Senator would never have dreamed of saying it flat out. They were farmers and merchants who needed help, and they weren't used to asking for advice. Jellison knew them all Not well, but well enough to know that he could count on them, up to a point. Some of them had brought their wives.
At the back, off in one corner, were George Christopher and his clan. "Clan" is the right word, Arthur Jellison thought. A dozen. All men, all armed. You'd know they were relatives just to look at them (although, Jellison knew, it wasn't strictly true: Two were brothers-in-law. But they looked like Christophers—heavyset, red of face and strong enough to lift jeeps in their spare time). The Christophers didn't precisely sit apart from everyone else; but they sat together, and they talked together, and they had few words for their neighbors.
Steve Cox came in with two of Jellison's ranch-hands. "Dam's still holding," he shouted above rain and thunder and muted conversation. "Don't know what's keeping it together. There's water higher than the spillway behind it. It's eating out the banks at the sides."
"Won't be long now," one of the farmers said. "Did we warn the people down in Porterville?"
"Yes," Chief Hartman said. "Constable Mosey told the Porterville police. They'll get people out of the flood area."
"What's the flood area?" Steve Cox asked. "Whole damn valley's filling up. And the highway's out, they can't come up here—"
"Some have," Mayor Seitz said. "Three hundred, more or less. Up the county road. Expect there'll be more tomorrow."
"Too damn many," Ray Christopher said.
There was a babble of voices, some agreeing, some arguing. Mayor Seitz pounded for order. "Let's find out what we're facing,"