Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [289]
General of the Army Douglas MacArthur
It was too dark to see. A cold wind blew down from the Sierra. Harvey turned to Marie. "Victory."
"Yes! We did it! My God, Harvey, we're safe!" It was too dark to see her face, but Harvey knew she must be grinning like an idiot.
He started the TravelAll. Alice had told him to stay out of the valley, away from the main road. They'd have to drive to the Stronghold on the dirt cowpath. He put the car in gear and moved gingerly ahead. The headlamps showed the road ahead, smooth, untraveled, but the drop to the left was steep, and Harvey knew they were sinking deep into the mud surface. It would be easy to go over the edge. That was frightening—that they could be killed after the battle was over—but it was only a bad road, and he'd been on a lot of those; it wasn't malevolent.
A wave of exhilaration swept over him. He had to fight an urge to gun the car. He had never been so aware of being alive. They rounded the mountain and crossed the ridge leading down to Senator Jellison's house, and then he did let himself go, gunning the car forward and driving through the mud at high speed, dangerously fast over the ruts and potholes. The TravelAll leaped as if to share their joy.
He drove as if running away from something. He knew that, and knew that if he let himself think about it, about what he'd seen, he would not feel joy but an infinite sadness. Back in that valley of battle were hundreds, all ages, men, girls, women, boys, crawling with ruined lungs, leaving trails of blood that had been visible through binoculars until the merciful dark fell across the land: the dying, who had survived the end of the world.
"Harvey, you can't think about them as people."
"You too?"
"Yes. A little. But we're alive! We've won!"
The TravelAll leaped upward at the top of a small hillock, all four wheels briefly leaving the ground. It was stupid driving at this speed, but Harvey didn't care. "We've fought our last battle," he shouted. "Ain't gonna study war no more." Euphoria again: The world was a lovely place for the living. Let the dead bury the dead. Harvey Randall was alive, and the enemy was defeated. "Hail the conquering heroes come. Wish I could remember the tune. Silly language. Hero. Hell, you're more of a hero—heroine?—than I am. I'd have run like hell if you'd let me. But I couldn't. Sexism—men can't run while women are watching. Why am I babbling? Why aren't you?"
"I'm not because you won't give me a chance!" Marie shouted. There was laughter in her voice. "And you didn't run, and neither did I, and it would have been so easy … " She laughed again, this time with a peculiar note in it. "And now, my friend, we go collect the traditional reward for heroes. Find Maureen. You've earned it."
"Strange to say, I thought of that. But of course George will be coming back—"
"You leave George to me," Marie said primly. "After all, I've got a reward coming, too. You leave George to me."
"I think I'm jealous of him."
"Too bad."
The mood lasted only until they reached the Senator's stone ranch house and went inside. There were many others there. Al Hardy, drunk but not with liquor, grinning like a fool while others pounded him on the back. Dan Forrester, exhausted, introspective and unhappy, and no one caring; they praised him and thanked him and let him have his mood, to enjoy or hate, be glad or sad. Magicians may do as they please.
Many were absent. They might be among the dead, they might have joined the pursuit; they might have fled, and be fleeing still, unaware that nobody was hunting them. The victors were too tired to think about them. Harvey searched until he found Maureen, and he went to her. There was no lust between them, only an infinite tenderness, concern; they touched each other like children.
There was no party, no celebration. Within minutes the gathering was finished. Some dropped into chairs and slept; some went to their own houses. Harvey felt nothing now; only the need to rest, to sleep, to forget everything that had happened