Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [211]
A couple of the farmers were giving their friends knowing looks.
Rick emerged, also smiling, making certain that the U.S. flag showed.
"Colonel Rick Delanty, U.S. Air Force," Johnny said.
The farmers were relaxing. A little.
"First black man in space," Rick said. "And the last, for about a thousand years." He paused. "We're all the last."
"For awhile. Maybe not that long," Deke Wilson said. He slipped the submachine gun back on its shoulder strap so that it pointed to the sky There was a subtle change in the way the others held their weapons. Now they were a group of farmers who happened to be carrying guns.
One of the men flashed a mischievous grin. "They made you ride in back?"
"Well, it was the only bus out there," Rick said.
There were laughs. "Derek, take your boys and get back to the roadblock," Wilson said. He turned back to Baker. "We're a little nervous here," he said. "Some Army mutineers running around the area. Killed an Armenian chap down the road and ate him. Ate him. One of the kids got to us, we had some warning. Ambushed the sons of … we ambushed them. But there's still a lot of them left. And others, city people, people with rabies … "
"It is that bad?" Leonilla said. "That bad so quickly?"
"Maybe we shouldn't have come down," Rick said.
"There are vital records in the spacecraft." Pieter Jakov laid a hand possessively on the Soyuz. "They must be preserved. Is there anyplace they can be studied? Any scientists or universities near here?"
The farmers laughed. "Universities? General Baker, look around you. Take a good look," Deke Wilson said.
John Baker stared at the desolation surrounding him. To the east were rain-drenched hills, some green, most barren. All the low areas were filled with water. The highway that ran north and east looked more like a series of concrete islands than a road.
To the west was a vast inland sea, lapped with waves a foot high, dotted with small brown hills that had become islands. Treetops rose from the water in regular arrays where an orchard was not quite submerged. A few boats moved across this sea. The water was muddy, dark and dangerous, and it stank with dead things. Cattle, and …
The remains of a rag doll bobbed gently with the waves. It floated about thirty yards offshore. Not far from it, perhaps somehow attached to it, were wisps of blonde hair and checkered cloth, not recognizable as the remains of anything human. Deke Wilson followed Baker's look, then turned away toward the farmhouse standing on the hill above the sea. "Nothing we can do," he said. His voice was bitter. "We could spend all our time burying them. All of it. And we'd still not get it done."
It was then that the full horror of Hammerfall struck Johnny Baker. "It doesn't go clean," he said.
Wilson frowned a question.
"It isn't just Bang! and it's over, civilization's fallen and we have to rebuild it. There's the aftermath, and that's worse than the comet—"
"Damn right," Wilson said. "You're goddam lucky, Baker. You missed the worst of it."
"There is no central government?" Pieter Jakov asked.
"You're looking at it," Wilson said. "Bill Appleby there's a deputy sheriff, but it's nothing special. We haven't heard from Sacramento since Hammerfall."
"But surely someone is organizing, is trying," Leonilla said.
"Yeah. There's the Senator's people," Wilson said.
"Senator?" John Baker kept his face from showing emotion. He turned away from the terrible inland sea, toward the hills to the east.
"Senator Arthur Jellison," Deke Wilson said.
"You sound like you don't like him much," Rick Delanty said.
"Not exactly. Can't blame him, but I don't have to like him."
"What's he done?" Baker asked.
"He's organized," Wilson said. "That valley of his"— Wilson pointed north and east, toward the foothills of the High Sierra—"is ringed with hills. They've got patrols, border guards, and they don't let anybody in without their say-so. You want help, they'll send it, but the price is damned high. Feed their troops, and send back more food, oil, ammunition, fertilizer,