Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [188]
Tim brought in the dry wood from the Blazer. No one spoke to him. The children stared at him with hopeless eyes. Finally one of the men said, "You won't make it."
Tim wordlessly eyed the mudslide ahead. There were tracks in it. If any car could get through …
"This isn't the problem," the man said. "We got past that. But up ahead there's a bridge out."
"So walk—"
"And a man with a rifle. They don't talk. First shot was between my wife and myself. I got the impression the second would finish the job. Never even saw the rifleman."
So that was it. End of the line. Tim sat beside the fire and began to laugh, softly at first, then in rising hysteria. Two days. Two? Yes. This was Friday, Drowned Muddy Fridae after Hot Fudge Tuesdae and the roads to high ground were gone and you couldn't get to the Senator's place. More men with guns. The world belonged to men with guns. Maybe the Senator was shooting. The image was funny, Senator Jellison in full formals, striped trousers and morning coat and rifle, what the successful leader will wear …
"It works," Tim said. "Tell your dream and kill it. It works!" He laughed again.
"Here." Another man, big, with thick hairy forearms, used a handkerchief to snatch a tin can from the fire. He poured into a styrofoam cup, then looked regretful and took a flat pint bottle from his jacket pocket. He splashed in rum, then handed Tim the cup. "Drink that, and don't lose the cup. And stop it. You're scaring the kids."
So what? But it was natural for Tim to feel ashamed. "Don't make a scene." How often had his mother told him that? And told his father that, and told everyone else … ?
The laced coffee tasted good and warmed him. It didn't help much, though. Eileen brought their remaining can of soup and offered it. They sat in silence, sharing what there was: the soup, instant coffee, and a bit of drowned rabbit broiled on a stick.
There was very little talking. Finally the others got up. "We'll strike for north," one man said. He gathered his family. "Anybody with me?"
"Sure." Others joined. Tim felt relieved. They were going away, leaving him with Eileen. Should he go with them? For what? They hadn't anyplace to go either.
The others got up and went to their cars, all but the big man who'd offered the coffee. He sat with his wife and two children. "You too, Brad?" the new leader asked.
"Car's not working." He waved toward a Lincoln parked near the mudslide. "Broken axle, I think."
"Any gas in it?" the leader asked.
"Not much."
"We'll try anyway. If you don't mind."
The big man shrugged. The others siphoned no more than a pint of gasoline out of the Lincoln. Their cars were already crowded. There was absolutely no room for anyone else. The expedition leader paused. He looked at them as one looks at the dead. "That's your plastic tarp. And your instant coffee," he said. He said it wistfully, but when he got no answer, turned away. They drove off, downhill into the rain.
Now there were six by the fire. Tim and Eileen, and—"Name's Brad Wagoner," the big man said. "That's Rosa and Eric, and Concepcion. Named the boy for my side of the family, girl for Rosa's. Thought we'd keep that up if we had any more." He seemed glad of someone to talk with.
"I'm Eileen, and that's Tim. We're—" She stopped herself. "Of course we're not really pleased to meet you. But I guess I should say it anyway. And we're very grateful for the coffee."
The children were very quiet. Rosa Wagoner hugged them and spoke to them in soft Spanish. They were very young, five or six, not more, and they clung to her. They had on yellow nylon windbreakers and tennis shoes.
"You're stranded," Tim said.
Wagoner nodded. He still didn't say anything.
He'd make two of me, Tim thought. And he's got a wife and two kids. We better get out of here before he breaks my neck and takes the