Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [285]
They came around a curve and started down into the Tule Valley—and there was no bridge. It had already been blown.
Harvey drove up to the wrecked bridge and stared at the swollen river. A hundred feet wide, and deep, and swiftly flowing. "Hey!" he shouted.
Across the river, one of Hartman's constables rose from hiding behind a log bunker. "They said you'd had it," he called.
"What do I do now?" Harvey shouted.
"Whatever it is, do it quick," Marie said. "They won't be far behind us—"
"Go upstream," the constable yelled. "We've got troops up there. Make sure you radio ahead that you're coming."
"All right." Harvey turned the TravelAll and started up the county road toward the Tule Indian Reservation. "Get on that CB," he told Marie. "Tell 'em the reports of our death have been greatly exaggerated."
A mile and a half upstream the road crossed the Tule. A dozen men were working with shovels at the bridge foundations. Harvey drove up warily, but they waved him on. He drove across and stopped.
They looked like ranchers, but they were darker and did not show the effects of months without sunlight. Harvey wondered if lack of vitamin D would affect them; pale faces were evolved for life in a cold, cloudy environment.
One of the work crew left off digging and came over to the TravelAll. "Randall?"
"Yes. Look, the New Brotherhood must be right behind us—"
"We know where they are," the man said. "Alice can see them, and we've got a radio. You're supposed to go on up there onto Turtle Mountain and help her observe. Find a place where you can see the valley and still get her on the CB."
"All right. Thanks. And we're glad to have you on our side."
The Indian grinned. "I see it that you're on our side. Good luck."
Their earlier mood of elation had vanished now. They drove on along an increasingly difficult road: mud, fallen rocks, deep ruts. Harvey put the TravelAll into four-wheel drive. As they climbed higher the entire valley came into view. To the southwest was the south fork of the Tule, and the road junction and bridge they'd just left. The fork ran northwest to the remains of Lake Success, where it joined the Tule itself.
A ridge separated the forks of the Tule; the ridge that guarded the Stronghold. From their vantage point Harvey and Marie could see the defense line of Police Chief Hartman's troops—trenches and foxholes and log bunkers. There were less elaborate defenses thrown forward into the south fork valley; they didn't look adequate to hold. Only the high ridgelines seemed well defended. A classic crust defense, Harvey thought; the enemy need only punch through, and there was nothing to stop them from overrunning the entire Stronghold.
At dusk it was clear what the enemy's plan was. He brought up his trucks, dug in his troops and lit large campfires in plain sight of the Stronghold. They looked relaxed, confident, and Harvey knew they'd be working on bridges during the night. Finally dark came, and the hills were silent.
"Well, we can't see anything more," Harvey said. "Now we really don't have anything to do."
Marie moved restlessly beside him. In the dark she was only a presence, her very shape indeterminate; but Harvey grew itchingly aware that Marie Vance was only inches away, and that they were cut off from the universe until sunrise. His memory played him a dirty trick. It showed him Marie Vance some weeks before Hammerfall, as she met Harvey and Loretta at her front door. She wore emeralds and a vividly green evening gown cut nearly to the navel; her hair was set in fantastic convolutions; she smiled graciously and hugged him and welcomed them in. His mind superimposed that image on the dark blur next to him, and the silence grew really uncomfortable.
"I can think of something," she said softly.
Harvey found his voice. "If it isn't sex, you'd better tell me now."
She said nothing. He slid toward her and pulled her against him. Things crunched and crackled; not one of the dozen pockets in that jacket was empty. She chuckled and took it off while he doffed