Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [200]
Meanwhile he could put all his effort into walking uphill. Step. Pause for a tiny fraction of a second, rear knee locked to catch an instant of rest; weight on the forward foot, swing on another step, another instant of rest … Absently Harvey reached into a belt pouch and took out a chunk of dried meat. Bear. Harvey had never eaten bear before. Now he wondered if he'd ever eat anything else. Well, by evening they'd be a good nine miles from the Stronghold, and anything they shot they could keep and eat for themselves. The Senator's rules again: no hunting within five miles of his ranch.
It made sense. The game would be needed, later, and no point in scaring it away. All of the Senator's rules made sense, but they were rules, laid down without discussion, orders issued from the big house with nobody to say no except the Christophers, and they weren't arguing. Not yet, anyway.
It was George Christopher who'd let Harvey go; Hardy hadn't wanted to risk it. Not that he cared about Harvey, but the weapons and the food Harvey carried were valuable. But Maureen had talked to Hardy, and then George Christopher had come out and given Harvey the supplies and told him about road conditions.
Not a coincidence. Harvey was sure of that. Christopher had no reason at all to help Harvey Randall—and he'd got into the act the day Maureen talked to Al Hardy and her father about it; the day she'd shown any open friendship with Harvey Randall. That made too much sense to ignore.
It was easy to see what Maureen meant to George Christopher. What did he mean to her? For that matter, what does Harvey Randall mean to Maureen Jellison?
I think I'm falling in love, Harvey whistled to himself. Only … I don't know what it's like. Being a faithful—well, very nearly faithful—married man for eighteen years is not much preparation for romance.
Or maybe it is. He had always thought that any two people sufficiently determined to make a go of it would be able to. Now he wondered. What is this love business? He'd have been willing to die for Loretta—but he hadn't been willing to stay home because she was afraid. He could face that now, but he wasn't sure what it meant.
Finally it was afternoon, time to start making camp. He let his eyes search the woods around him as he hiked. He felt very alone and vulnerable. Time was, when you went far from trailhead you could count on meeting good people; but that was before Hammerfall. Some would-be robbers had come down from these hills not two days before, and they or others like them could be waiting in ambush anywhere. So far, though, he hadn't seen anyone, and that was fine with Harvey.
The road led through pine forest, steep hillsides, and there was standing water anyplace level. It wouldn't be easy to find a good campsite in this rain. A boulder cave, like the one they'd made the sentry shelter out of, would be best. He'd have to be damned careful, though; something or somebody would be making use of any dry spot he could find. Bears, snakes, anything.
There was a skunk in the first place they looked. Harvey passed it by with regret. It would have been a good campsite, two boulders tilted against each other, actually dry ground in there; but the beady eyes and unmistakable odor were invincible. Skunks could carry rabies, too. A skunk bite could be the most dangerous thing up here. There weren't going to be any Pasteur treatments for rabies, not for a long time …
The next cave held a fox, or perhaps a feral dog. They chased it away. The area under the boulders wasn't dry, and wasn't really large enough, but they were able to rig up their ponchos on cut branches so that at least they didn't have water pouring on their heads.
Now for a fire. Harvey spent the rest of the daylight gathering wood. There was standing deadwood, soaked, but if he split it there was some dry wood at the core. There wasn't enough for more than an hour of fire, maybe longer if they were careful. When it was completely dark Harvey used some of his precious lighter fluid.
"Wish I had