Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [189]
"No place to go anyway," Brad Wagoner said. "We're from Bakersfield. Not much left of Bakersfield. I guess we should have struck up into the hills right off, but we thought we'd try to find some supplies in town. We just missed getting washed away when the dam went." He eyed the steep hill above him. "If this rain would stop, maybe we could see some place to walk to. You got any plans?" He couldn't disguise the plea in his voice.
"Not really." Tim stared into the dying fire. "I thought I knew somebody up there. Politician I gave a lot of money to. Senator Jellison." There. That finished it for sure. And now what would they do?
"Jellison," Wagoner mused. "I voted for him. Think that would count? Are you still going to try to get up there?"
"It's all I can think of." Tim's voice held no hope at all.
"What will you do?" Eileen asked. Her eyes kept straying to the children.
Wagoner shrugged. "Find some place and start over, I guess." He laughed. "I built high-rise apartments. Made a lot of money at it, but—I didn't get as good a car as yours."
"You'd be surprised what that one cost me," Tim said.
The fire died away. It was time. Eileen went to the Blazer. Tim followed. Brad Wagoner sat with his wife and children.
"I can't stand it," Tim said.
"Me either." Eileen took his hand and squeezed. "Mr. Wagoner. Brad … "
"Yeah?"
"Come on. Pile in." Eileen waited until the Wagoners had got into the Blazer, adults in the back seat, children on the floor behind that. She turned and drove down the hill. "I wish we had a good map."
"Maps I have," Wagoner said. He took out a soggy paper from an inner pocket. "Careful, it tears easy when it's wet." It was an Auto Club map of Tulare County. Much better than the Chevron map they'd been using.
Eileen eased the Blazer to a stop and examined the map. "That bridge there, is that the one that's out?"
"Yeah."
"Look, Tim, if we backtrack and go south, there's a road up into the hills—"
"Which beats hell out of spending more time on the Southern Pacific," Tim said.
"Southern Pacific?" Rosa Wagoner asked.
Tim didn't explain. They drove south until they found a sheltered place on the road, partway up a hill, and they pulled off to sleep. They took turns letting the Wagoners use the seats while they huddled under the plastic tarp.
"High ground," Tim said. "It goes north. And east. And that road's not on the map." He pointed. The road was gravel, but it looked in good condition—and it looked traveled. It ran in the right direction.
Eileen was running out of hope, and the Blazer was running out of gas, but she took the road. It wound upward into the hills. It was luck that they'd found it, and more luck that the rain and mud and hurricanes hadn't ruined it. But no luck could protect them from the roadblock.
There were four big men, big like football stars or TV mafia goons. Guns and size made them look unfriendly, and they weren't smiling. Tim got out alone, wonderingly. One of the men came down to meet him. The others stood aloof. One of the men looked elusively familiar. Someone he'd seen on the Senator's ranch? That wouldn't help, and it was another of the armed men who had come to the barrier.
Tim told them, crisply (while very aware of how like a wandering tramp he looked ), "We're on our way to visit Senator Jellison." The imperious voice cost Tim most of his reserves of self-control.
It hadn't impressed. "Name?"
"Tim Hamner."
The man nodded. "Spelled how?"
Tim spelled it, and was somehow glad that the name was not known. The man called behind him, "Chuck, see if Hamner's on the Senator's list. H-A-M-N-E-R."
One of the guards reacted to that. He came down toward the barricade. Tim was sure he'd seen him before.
"We've got a list of people to let through," the first guard said. "And, buddy, it's a short list. We've got another list of professions. Are you a doctor?"
"No—"
"Blacksmith? Machinist? Mechanic? Tool-and-die maker?"
"What