Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [186]
"I'd like that."
"I don't know. A Flying Dutchman legend?" But that was tactless. "We won't be here forever, though. These tracks'll take us as far as Porterville, and there won't be anyone trying to stop us."
"You think Senator Jellison will let you in, do you?"
"Sure." Even if that hope failed them, they'd be in a safe area. What counted now was a magic trick: driving to Porterville on railroad tracks. He had to keep her mind on that.
He was not expecting her next remark.
"Will he let me in?"
"Are you crazy? You're a lot more valuable than I am. Remember the observatory?"
"Sure. After all, I'm such a damn good accountant."
"If they're as organized around Springville as they were in Tujunga, they'll need an accountant to take care of distributing goods. They may even have a barter system. That could get complicated, with money obsolete."
"Now you're the crazy one," Eileen said. "Anyone who does his own income tax can keep accounts. That's everyone but you, Tim. The accountants and the lawyers run this country, and they want everyone to be like them, and they've damn near succeeded."
"Not anymore."
"That's my point. Accountants are a drug on the market now."
"I don't go in without you," said Tim.
"Sure, I know that. The question is whether we go in or not. Are you hungry?"
"But of course I'm hungry, my child." Tim reached into the back seat. "Fritz gave us tomato bisque and chicken with rice. Both concentrated. I could put them in front of the heater. Can you drive with one hand?"
"I guess not, not on this."
"Oh, never mind. We don't have a can opener."
One thanks God for small miracles; they're easier to grasp.
One small miracle was a road humping out of the sea to cross the tracks. Suddenly the tracks were sunk in blacktop and Eileen stamped on the brake pedal almost hard enough to send Tim through the windshield.
They flopped their seats back, rolled into each other's arms and slept.
Eileen's sleep wasn't calm. She jerked, she kicked, she cried out. Tim found that if he ran the palm of his hand down her spine, she would relax and fall back to sleep, and then he could sleep too, until next time.
He woke in black night to the scream of wind and the panicky pressure of Eileen's fingernails and the perilous rocking of the car. Eileen's eyes were wide, her mouth too firmly set. "Hurricanes," he said. "The big ocean strikes'll keep spinning them off. Be glad we found a safe place first." She didn't react. "We're safe here," he repeated. "We can sleep through it."
She laughed then. "I dare you. What happens if one of these hits us while we're on the tracks?"
"Then you'd better be as good as you think you are."
"Oh, Jesus," she said, and—incredibly—went back to sleep.
Tim lay beside her in the howling and the rocking. Did hurricanes overturn cars? You bet they did. When he tired of thinking about that, he thought about how hungry he was. Maybe he could use the bumper to pry open a soup can. After the hurricane passed.
He dozed … and woke in total silence. There wasn't even rain. He located a soup can and stepped outside. He managed to bend the bumper a little, but he also tore the soup can open. He swallowed some of the condensed tomato bisque, and that was how he happened to look up.
He looked up into a wide patch of clear stars.
"Beautiful," he said. But he entered the car in some haste.
Eileen was sitting up. He gave her the soup can. "I think we're in the eye of the hurricane. If you want to see the stars, look quick and come back."
"No, thanks."
The soup was cold and gluey. It left them both thirsty. Eileen set the can on the roof to collect rainwater, and they lay down again to wait for morning.
The rain came again, in frantic violence. Tim reached through the window for the can, and found it gone. He found the abandoned beer can on the floor, pried it open, filled it twice in the rainwater streaming from the car roof.
Hours later, the rain settled down to a gentle drumming. By