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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14e443b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66768 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66768) diff --git a/old/66768-0.txt b/old/66768-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 337924c..0000000 --- a/old/66768-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6192 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Town Is Drowning, by Frederik Pohl - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Town Is Drowning - -Author: Frederik Pohl - C. M. Kornbluth - -Release Date: November 19, 2021 [eBook #66768] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TOWN IS DROWNING *** - - - - - A TOWN IS DROWNING - - by - FREDERIK POHL - and - C. M. KORNBLUTH - - - BALLANTINE BOOKS - NEW YORK - - This is an original novel--not a reprint--published - by Ballantine Books, Inc. - - © 1955 by Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth - - Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 55-12407 - - PRINTED IN U.S.A. - - - BALLANTINE BOOKS, INC. - 404 Fifth Avenue, New York 18, N. Y. - - - [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any - evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - _By Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth_ - - _Contemporary Novel_ - - A TOWN IS DROWNING - - _Science Fiction_ - - THE SPACE MERCHANTS - SEARCH THE SKY - GLADIATOR-AT-LAW - - - - - TORN FROM TODAY'S HEADLINES - - -This novel takes you right into the heart of the _new_ flood country, -the Northeast United States which had generally been free of hurricanes -and attendant floods. Now disaster has struck, more than once--terrible -and grim. - - * * * * * - -Although this novel will give you an accurate and brilliantly -vivid picture of what it's like to live through a flood, even more -importantly it will show you what the people are like who fought the -catastrophe and how those who survived are still fighting. In the -persons of Starkman the burgess, Groff the dynamic young executive, -Sharon the shrewd opportunist, Mrs. Goudeket, the resort owner, and -others, you will meet and understand the varying human elements that -the flood unleashed and intensified. Through it all you will sense a -growing feeling of pride--that despite the selfishness of some, the -people of the town met the terrible onslaught with courage and a sense -of mutual help. - - * * * * * - -Already well known for their superb science fiction, Frederik Pohl and -C. M. Kornbluth demonstrate here their equal power in the realistic -contemporary novel. - - - - - CHAPTER ONE - - -The man in the filling station was clearly of two minds about it, but -finally he buttoned up his raincoat and pulled on his hat and came out -to Mickey Groff's car. "Sorry to make you come out in the rain like -this," Groff said. "Fill it up, will you?" - -He rolled up the window and picked out the least soaked wad of Kleenex -to wipe the mist off the inside of the windshield. The car radio -stopped playing show tunes and began to talk about freezer food plans. -Groff snapped it off and leaned back to watch the turning dials on the -gas pump. By the time the man had put back the cap and sloshed around -to the window Groff had the exact change ready in his hand. "How far is -it to Hebertown?" - -"Five miles," the attendant said, and went inside without counting the -money. As Groff pulled out he saw the lights go out on the pumps and -the big sign overhead. - -You couldn't blame him, he thought; there weren't enough cars out in -this rain to make it worth while. He had been lucky to find even one -station open. - -It was nearly impossible to see the road, no matter how hard the -windshield wipers worked. Rain was spraying in somehow; all the windows -were closed tight, but Groff could feel the thin mist on his face. He -rolled around a long, downgrade curve, and when he touched the brake -for a moment there was a queasy slipping sensation; the rain was coming -down faster than it could flow off the highway. - -Foolish to drive all the way to Hebertown, Groff reflected; but the -only alternative, actually, was to take a bus. The railroads didn't -bother much with this little out-of-the-way corner of the state. And -that was something to keep firmly in mind when he talked to the burgess -the next morning, he reminded himself. An industry-hungry town could -make you some tempting offers; there was a firm promise of a tax break -and bank credit, and the suggestion that maybe a suitable factory -building could be turned over to you for nearly nothing at all. But you -had to keep freight differentials in mind too; and what about labor -supply? Well, no; he crossed that off. That was the whole point of the -burgess's cooperative attitude; Hebertown had plenty of available labor -ten months of the year, it was only when the vacationers came up from -New York and the other big cities that local unemployment and the state -of the local tax rolls ceased to be a problem. Still, what about that? -Were you supposed to close down in the months of July and August? - -He shifted in his seat, forcing himself to lean back--it did no good -to peer into the rain--and tried to relax. Mickey Groff was a big man -and not used to sitting. It gave him a cramped, unwelcome feeling of -confinement. - -There was a light ahead; it turned out to be a store with a neon sign -that said _Sam's Grocery_, but it gave Groff enough help to let him -pick up his speed to nearly thirty-five miles an hour. He had been -nearly an hour covering the last twenty miles, he saw irritably. Of -course, it didn't matter--it meant just one hour less to spend sitting -in the lobby of the Heber House, since there wasn't a thing he could do -until the next morning in this rain. But why did he have to pick this -particular Thursday to come up? - -He passed the store, and at once the road was invisible in front of him -again. He tramped on the brake, slipped and skidded, and straightened -out. That was foolish, he told himself. He carefully slowed as the road -curved again.... - -Not enough. It was the other car's fault, of course; he saw the lights -raging at him down the middle of the road and automatically pulled over -quickly. At once he felt the sidewise slip and sway of the skid, but -it was too late to do anything about it. - - * * * * * - -It _could_ have been worse. Thank God there was a good wide shoulder -right there. The only thing was, he seemed to be stuck in the mud. - -Mickey Groff wasn't much of a waiter. There wasn't a showdog's chance -of a car stopping to help him, of course--even if one came by, they'd -hardly be able to see him. Anyway, Sam's Grocery couldn't be more than -a quarter of a mile back along the road, and from there he could phone -for a wrecker--or at worst, if the wreckers had their own problems on -a night like this, for a cab to get him into Hebertown. Once the rain -stopped, it wouldn't be much of a problem to get pulled out of the mud. - -He almost changed his mind when he stepped out into the rain, but by -the time he had locked the car door behind him it was too late--it was -hard to imagine how he could get any wetter than he was. Mickey Groff -had heard of rain coming down in sheets, but he had never experienced -it before. This was something beyond all expectations; in ten seconds -he was wet to the skin, in a minute he was drenched as a Channel -swimmer. There was wind with the rain, too; part of the time it came -swiping at him from the side, stinging into his eyes, infiltrating his -ears, slipping up the cuffs of his sodden sleeves. By the time he got -around the curve in the road he was shaking with chill. - -After ten minutes of staggering through the storm he wondered why he -couldn't see the lights of the store. Then he saw why, and it was like -a fist under the heart; the lights were out. There was the store just -ahead, but the neon was black, the windows were black, there was only -the faintest suggestion of a glimmer at the edges of the glass. - -He went stumbling across a little gravel parking lot with water -sloshing around his shoes and banged on the door. Then he saw that -there was a light in the back of the store; it was a candle. He tried -the door handle and it opened. - -Inside, the noise of the rain changed and dulled; instead of a -slashing at his ears it was a drumming overhead. A man came out of a -storeroom at the back, carrying a gasoline lantern, and the whole store -brightened and began to look more normal. - -"Oh," said Mickey Groff. "Your power's out. I thought maybe you were -closing up." - -The man said sourly, "I might as well be. Jesus, did you ever see -weather like this in your life? I been here--" - -"Have you got a phone?" Groff interrupted. - -"Phone's out too." - -Groff sluiced some of the water off his face and hair. "Well," he -said. Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that the phones might not be -working. There wasn't much sense in going back to the car again; he -knew a mudded-in wheel when he saw one. You could push blankets and -boards under those rear wheels all night and the mud would just swallow -up what the wheels didn't slide right off. "Maybe you can help me," -he said. "I'm stuck in the mud down the road and I've got to get into -Hebertown." - -The grocer glanced at him appraisingly and then bent to adjust the -flame on the gasoline lantern. "I'm all alone here," he mentioned. - -Mickey Groff waited. - -"I hate to close up before time," the grocer said virtuously. "I'd like -to help you out--You stuck bad?" - -"Pretty bad. Anyway, I can't rock it out. I was hoping to call a tow -truck from Hebertown." - -"I got a pickup truck with four-wheel drive," the grocer said -thoughtfully. "You're welcome to wait here till I close if you want to. -Wouldn't be more than a couple of--" - -"How about ten bucks if you do it now?" - -The grocer's eyes flickered, but he shook his head. "You don't know -the people around here," he complained. "They wait till I'm just ready -to close, and bingo, two-three cars come zooming up. Milk for Junior, -catfood for the cat, coffee, they gotta have coffee, they wouldn't -bother me if it wasn't so jeezly important. Sit down and wait, mister. -It's only--" He squinted at the advertising clock above his door, -shadowed from the flare of the pressure lamp by a stack of tall cans on -a top shelf--"It's only half an hour." - -Mickey Groff thought of lying to the man, giving him a story about a -medical emergency or a big deal with a deadline, something he couldn't -decently brush off for the sake of two or three catfood customers. -Then, because he didn't like to lie, he shrugged, made a disgusted -grimace at himself in the near-dark and sat down in a spindle-back -chair to wait out the thirty minutes. He knew what the trouble was; -it was the old thing. He had been born, apparently, geared up about -twenty-five per cent faster than most people. This was very handy in -some ways; he was a Rising Young Businessman at thirty and pretty soon -now he'd be a Rising Young Industrialist. His picture had been printed -in _Nation's Business_ along with eleven other promising youngsters -who owned their own plants, and one day it would appear alone. He knew -it and he knew it would be due to his built-in overgearing. But that -didn't make it any easier to sit and wait for the catfood customers. - -The storekeeper--as most people did--sensed his mood. "Like to look at -the paper?" he asked, and handed him an eight-page sheet. It was the -latest--yesterday's--issue of the _Hebertown Weekly Times_. Groff had -studied the last four issues preceding it, as well as those of a dozen -other country papers, trying to get the feel of the communities they -served. On one of those communities he would soon have to stake his -play for the jump from forty employees to a hundred. - -He held the paper up to the lamplight and read the main headline, -covering the three right columns. The chair crashed behind him as he -snapped to his feet. "God damn it to hell!" he said. - -The storekeeper backed away, scared. "What's the matter, mister?" - -"Sorry," Groff said. "I didn't mean you. I just thought of something I -forgot to do." - -Which was a lie. He forced himself to set up the chair again, sat -down and reread the headline, pulses hammering at his temples. BORO -MAY GRANT SWANSCOMB MILL TO CHESBRO AT NOMINAL RENT; MOVE HAILED AS -EMPLOYMENT BOOM; OLD PLANT TO BE USED AS WAREHOUSE. - -The former Swanscomb Mill was the building he had his eye on as the -shell for his projected new factory. It was ideal. It was empty -and unwanted by anybody since Swanscomb had moved south; it was -a low-maintenance brick shell with plenty of adjoining room for -expansion; it was solidly built and able to support his machine tools; -it had its own siding and a loading deck for trucks. And somebody -else, by incredible coincidence, was after it too. The pounding pulses -subsided and he steadied himself to read the story. It was one column -down the right and it was strangely uninformative. It led off: "Civic -leaders today hailed the announcement that Arthur Chesbro hopes to -secure the old Swanscomb Mill from the Borough as a warehouse for the -storage of materials and supplies." It didn't say who the civic leaders -were. It went on to recapitulate the familiar history of the plant. It -concluded by quoting Arthur Chesbro as hoping that at least a dozen -local citizens would be employed as warehousemen in the plant. - - * * * * * - -A car's headlights outside turned the streaming store window into a -sheet of refracted yellow glare. A woman bustled in and peered about -uncertainly in the gloom. The storekeeper yes-ma'amed her and she -apologized for coming so late, the rain was so terrible she could -barely _crawl_, and could she have three cans of catfood? - -The storekeeper gave her the cans, and when he closed the door behind -her--rain drove in during the brief moment and drenched a square yard -of floor--turned to Groff and said: "What did I tell you?" - -"Who's this Arthur Chesbro?" Groff demanded. "The one in the paper." - -"Chesbro? A big wheel over in the next county. Justice of the Peace. -Owns business buildings; couple of radio stations; the newspaper, I -don't know the name. I just get copies of the _Weekly Times_; they send -them so I can check my ads. Every week I take one. You look on page -seven, tell me what you think of it." - -Groff yanked the paper open, looked at the grocer's little ad on page -seven and said: "You're Sam Zehedi? Syrian?" - -The man looked gratified. "How'd you know?" - -"A couple of your boys used to work for me. Damn fine millwrights." - -"That's us!" Sam Zehedi said. "You give a Syrian a busted machine and -a wrench, he'll have it going in five minutes. We're a civilized, -Christian people. We been Christian a lot longer than the French or -the Germans. And you know what some dumb people called me when I first -bought the store? An Ay-rab. A heathen Ay-rab." - -"They'll learn." Groff shrugged. He studied the newspaper story. -So this Chesbro was interested in newspapers. It looked, it very -definitely looked, as though he might have a piece of the _Hebertown -Weekly Times_ in his pocket; the story was pure propaganda. - -Sam Zehedi went on: "Oh, they're learning. It's been five years now, -and I didn't let any grass grow under my feet. I'm a respected man -in this community, mister. You don't hear any Ay-rab talk any more, -except maybe from some of the summer people. Jews--they're bitter about -Ay-rabs, but then somebody sets them straight. I guess I'm the first -Syrian boy around here except for peddlers going through in the old -days the way they used to. It's like being a pioneer. Or a missionary." -He glanced at the clock. "What the hell," he said, "I don't think -anybody else is coming in this rain. I'll get the truck started and -pull her around the front, then you can hop right in and I'll lock up, -then we'll go tow you out." - -"Fine," Groff said. "I appreciate it very much." The storekeeper -disappeared in the back; a door slammed and over the drumming rain -Groff heard a truck engine roar into life. Zehedi gunned it and held it -for a minute and then took off, swinging the pickup around in front. -Groff dashed for the cab when the door swung open and vaulted in. His -speed hadn't helped him a bit; he was wet all over again from his brief -exposure. - -Zehedi got out on his side, sensibly swathed in a slicker, put out the -lantern in the store and locked up. He climbed back into the cab and -had to raise his voice to be heard above the rain beating on the top. -"Well, here we go, mister. About how far?" - -"Quarter of a mile, maybe." - -"We'll get you there." He put the truck in gear and crawled away from -the store, feeding the gas lightly. "My tires are pretty good," he -said. "I'd hate to start spinning my wheels, though." They crawled up -the long, gentle grade into the driving torrents. - -"Notice my store's located at the foot of the hill?" he chattered. "I -picked it partly for that. People have time to see the sign, not like a -flat straightaway where they go whizzing past fast as they can." - -Groff cranked down the window and stuck his head out. He couldn't be -wetter and he wasn't perfectly sure that through the rain-streaked -window his ditched car would be visible. The headlights seemed to bore -yellow cones through the teeming rain without illuminating anything -outside their sharp margins. The drops battered at his face and hair; -he pulled his head in feeling a little stunned. The violence of this -storm--he had a vague feeling that it couldn't go on without something -giving. What, he didn't know. - -Headlights stabbed at their eyes from the rear-view mirror. Behind them -a horn howled and out of the darkness behind plunged a shape. Zehedi -gasped and twitched his wheel to the right. The car from behind zoomed -past them, cut into the right lane again and roared on; its taillights -soon were dim and then disappeared. - -"Crazy idiot!" the storekeeper gasped, appalled. "He could have wrecked -us! He must have been going fifty! In _this_!" - -Groff twisted in the seat and stared through the rear window. There -were headlights, far back but coming up fast. And the headlights went -out as he watched, with a glimmer.... - -He knew suddenly what had given. Even a city man, born and bred in city -safety, could recognize the signs. - -"_Step on it_," he said to the storekeeper swiftly. "_Floodwater behind -us. Get us to the top of the hill. Fast._" - -Zehedi didn't argue or hesitate. Few people argued or hesitated when -Groff used that tone of voice. Quickly and steadily he stepped on the -gas. They whirled around the curve where Groff's car stood empty and -past it. It was a long, straight upgrade from there. Either the rain -had slackened off a little or Zehedi was more worried about what was -behind them than about the rain; they roared up the hill, accelerating -all the way, and only stopped when they saw another car parked by the -side of the road, lights on and windshield wipers flapping, and a man -leaning out of the opened door, staring back. - -It was the car that had passed them. Zehedi recklessly stopped -alongside him, making it a tight squeeze in case another car wanted to -get by. The other driver misinterpreted the move. - -"Jesus!" he said. "That's a good idea! Keep them from getting past into -that. Jesus!" - -He was in a flap, Groff observed. It wasn't surprising. "Flood?" he -called. But he knew the answer. - -"Flood? Christ a-mighty, the whole goddam Atlantic Ocean's down there. -I was trying to pass a lousy milk tank truck for five miles--they -ought to widen this road, you get stuck behind a truck on these hills -and--anyway, I finally got past him, and all of a sudden I hear him -blowing his horn like a son of a bitch and I turn around and--" The -man choked. "Jesus!" he said again. "That lousy little creek. This time -of year, half the time it's practically dry. And here's the whole creek -jumping up out of the ground at me. I stepped on the gas and got the -hell out of there." He peered back nervously, as though the creek might -still be following, though they were easily two hundred feet up. "You -haven't seen that milk truck, have you?" - -It would be a long time, Groff was absolutely sure, before anybody saw -that milk truck again. - -Zehedi leaned across him. "Hey, mister. You think there was much damage -down there? I own the store back there--you know, Sam's Grocery, down -at the foot of the hill." - -The man laughed. It sounded very nervous. "Not any more you don't," he -said. - - - - - CHAPTER TWO - - -If you had smoothed out the crumpled paper to look at the ad, you would -have read: - - GOUDEKET'S GREEN ACRES - - Your happy vacation hideaway, tucked away in the heart of the - majestic Shawanganunks. Golf! Tennis! Riding! Swimming (Two - Pools)! Moonlight dancing! That grand Goudeket Cuisine (Dietary - Laws Observed)! Under personal direction of Mrs. S. Goudeket. - -However, you would have had trouble smoothing it out, because it was -soaked; it had been thrown in the middle of both of Goudeket's Green -Acres by a dissatisfied customer, raging at the malicious trick Mrs. -Goudeket had played on her by causing it to rain for three consecutive -days. - -Mrs. Goudeket, wearing a set smile that was ghastly even in the -candlelight, moved among her guests. She was arch and gay with some -of them, apologetic and sympathetic with others, as circumstances -indicated; but in her heart she was torn between rage and fear. Now -it rains! For two months not a drop, so the grass is dying and the -dug well for the swimming pools goes dry, and the guests complain, -complain, complain, it's hotter than Avenue A, Mrs. Goudeket, and -couldn't you air-condition a little, Mrs. Goudeket, and frankly, Mrs. -Goudeket, what I wouldn't give to be back in our apartment on Eastern -Parkway right now, we always get a breeze from the ocean. And now it -comes down pouring, almost all of last week, and now it starts again -so hard the lights go out and the phone goes out, and there's a hundred -and sixty-five guests looking for something to do. - -She told herself pridefully: Thank God Mr. Goudeket didn't have to put -up with this. - -Not that he could have handled it; he would have retreated to his -room with a stack of Zionist journals, written letters to friends in -Palestine, wistful letters saying that maybe next year they'd have -enough for a winter cruise-- - -There had never been enough for a winter cruise; Mrs. Goudeket had -efficiently seen to that. First things first. A new roof before a -winter cruise to visit Palestine, new pine paneling in the recreation -room, things you could lay your hand on. And Goudeket's Green Acres -grew. Because of _her_. - -But she had been kind and reasonable. She had let him send a hundred -dollars a year for planting orange groves. She had never argued when he -talked about retiring some day and going to Palestine--he always called -it that, even after it was Israel--to _live_. She could have argued; -she could have told him plenty. That this is America, that here you -don't retire and doze in the sun, here you drive hard and get big. - - * * * * * - -Dave Wax came half-trotting through the dim rooms looking for her. -He started to call to her, changed his mind and came close before he -half-whispered. "It's the telephone, Mrs. Goudeket. It's working again!" - -"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Why are you keeping it a secret? It's good news, -let's tell everybody--they can use a little good news. You see--" -She turned to the nearest couple--"they've fixed the telephone lines -already. I bet they'll have the electricity on in ten minutes, you wait -and see. Did you call up, Dave?" - -"Call who, Mrs. Goudeket?" - -"The electric company, Dave!" He shook his head. "Go call them! No, -wait--better I'll call them myself." Let him talk to the guests a -while, she told herself grimly. Perhaps when the lights were on again -and things were back in their normal swing she would want to talk to -her guests again. Or perhaps, she thought, hurrying across the dark and -deserted entrance lobby, she would go up in her room and lock the door -and pull the covers over her head, as she wanted to about once an hour -from May through September of every year since Mr. Goudeket died. - -The phone was working all right, but it wasn't working well. Mrs. -Goudeket got the Hebertown operator and asked for the number of the -power company's repair service, but there was so long a wait after -that, filled with scratchings and squeals on the wire, that she began -to think something had gone wrong. She pulled out the jack and tried -again on another line. - -All it took was waiting, it turned out. While she waited Mrs. Goudeket -had plenty of time to think of the meaning of the long wait to get -connected with the repair service. Not that that was any surprise, -actually, because she had been through storms before in the majestic -Shawanganunks; but always before it had been maybe a quick, violent -thunderstorm coming up after a hot spell, and it was a lark for the -guests because it was a change, or maybe a violent autumn storm when -only a handful remained. But here were a hundred and sixty-five who had -been penned in the hotel for days already and.... - -"Hello, hello?" She tried to hear the scratchy voice at the other end. -"Can you hear me? This is Mrs. S. Goudeket, from Goudeket's Green -Acres." - -The scratchy voice was trying to say something, but she couldn't hear; -evidently, though, they could hear her so she went right on: "Our -electricity is off. Can you hear me? Our electricity has been off -for two hours. They fixed the phone lines, why can't you people fix -the power lines?" More scratchy sounds. Mrs. Goudeket listened to -them--first casually, out of politeness, then very, very hard. Then -there was a click. - -Mrs. Goudeket looked thoughtfully at the switchboard for a moment. - -This is new, she thought. Her mind was cold and alert; she knew she -could not afford rage. The electric company here is not a good company, -not like the wonderful Consolidated Edison in New York City. Here they -overcharge you--by mistake, they say--and here the meter readers are -underpaid and insolent, even with good customers like me. Their repair -men are unshaven and lazy and when they finally get to you they stretch -out a job forever so they don't have to hurry on to the next. But this -is new, this hanging up. I'm no fool, not after thirty years in the -resort business; I know their phone girls are under orders to kid the -customers along, promise anything, _not to hang up_. - -Something must be happening, something bad. - -She walked slowly into the lobby, with a mechanical smile for each -sullenly accusing guest. At the cigar stand she told little Mr. Semmel: -"A pack of cigarettes. Any kind." - -He raised his eyebrows and passed one over. As she clumsily tore open -the pack, extracted one and lit it he began to grumble: "Some hotel. -Some light-and-power company. By now I should be getting the overnight -lines for Monmouth, Hialeah and Sportsman's, by now I should have -booked two hundred dollars on tomorrow. Believe me, Mrs. Goudeket, this -is my last year at Green Acres. This kind of thing doesn't happen up at -New Hampshire Notch; I don't pay good money for the concession so this -kind of thing happens." - -A fattish, red-faced man bulged up to the counter, breathing whiskey -at them. That's a Young Married, Mrs. Goudeket thought with distaste; -that's what I have to take at this place because I can't get enough -nice young people. "Sammy," the red-faced man complained hoarsely, -"isn't the damn ticker working yet? I've got fifty bucks I have to -play. You're busting my system to hell." - -Mr. Semmel said politely: "I'll see, Mr. Babin." He opened the plywood -door behind the stand, looked into the little room where the teletype -horse ticker stood, and closed the door again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Babin," -he said, with a look at Mrs. Goudeket. "I think the wire's okay, but -you got to have power to run the machine and there isn't any power. If -it comes on later maybe I can phone Chicago for a repeat--if there's -time before midnight." - -"Nuts," Babin said, and headed through the candlelit gloom for the bar. - -"You see?" Mr. Semmel hissed, in a hate-filled whisper. "You see what -you're costing me? Never again, Mrs. Goudeket!" - -She wandered off, preoccupied. Semmel was a nobody, a clerk hired by -the big brokers, in spite of his pretensions. But if the brokers, in -their cold and analytical way, did decide at the end of the season -that Goudeket's Green Acres didn't handle enough to make the operation -worth their while, next year nobody would come around and bid for the -horse-book concession. And it was the concession that pushed the resort -over the line between red and black ink. - -You had to make money and you had to grow. Mr. Goudeket had never -understood that. Orange trees were all very well, but since 1926 she -had been the driver, the doer, the builder. And Mr. Goudeket had never -got to Palestine after all, which showed that dreaming got you nowhere. -She felt a guilty twinge. One year they could have made the cruise. -One year there had been nothing urgent, which is a miraculous year -in the resort business. She had put the money aside as a reserve and -said nothing about it, and poor Mr. Goudeket couldn't understand a -financial statement. The guests loved him, his Zionist connections had -been valuable, though he never suspected it, and he had been a fine -all-around handyman since the days in the Brighton Beach boarding -house; he had saved them thousands of dollars with his clever hands and -brought in thousands of dollars with his connections. But grow? He had -never understood. And so he never got to see Palestine? What of it, -anyway? And again Mrs. Goudeket felt the guilty twinge. - -She peered into the bar; it was doing a good business by candlelight. -Her Young Marrieds--she grimaced--were getting drunk early. Dave Wax -was on a barstool with an on-the-rocks glass in front of him; he was -telling one of his stories. - -"Dave," she said softly, "when you've finished your drink why don't you -give a little show for the people outside?" - -The comedian theatrically gulped from his glass and told his barmates -loudly: "I love this dear lady. Just like my mother, she is. Just like -my mother--always hollering, '_Get to work, ya bum!_'" - -He pranced out, grinning, on the tide of half-drunk laughter. She -watched him from the bar for a minute; he went looping through the room -loudly announcing a one-man show by that star of stage, screen, TV and -radio, Dave Wax, also available for weddings and bar mitzvahs, call -Murray Hill 3-41798805427--it went trailing on and on and on as he led -them to circle him around the piano. He pounded out the introductory -chords of his "Nervous in the Service" routine, which was very funny -and not too dirty; from there she hoped he'd go into a community sing; -that would calm the people down. - -She went to the switchboard again and snapped the toggle for the -outside line. Try the electric company, get some kind of a real promise -out of them, maybe bully her way through to the Load Dispatcher, a -really responsible person, not like their phone girls. - -"Hello," she said. "Operator, hello?" The line wasn't stone-cold dead, -but it wasn't buzzing with the reassuring familiarity of the dial -tone. A delusive droning kept encouraging her to try; mechanically -she switched off and on again, asked for the operator, tried dialing -various service numbers. As she went through the motions she thought -abstractedly that something had to work; the horse-book concession -was absolutely vital. She'd always known she should have an auxiliary -generator, paid for God knows how, so the teletype could be kept -going--but what good was a teletype with power and no line in? It was -dawning on her that the place was cut off from the outside world, that -the wires were down and would stay down for hours. - -Radios? The radio must be saying something. There was a little station -in Hebertown that played nothing but records and news a couple of times -a day from the _Weekly Times_ office. Junk like who's in the hospital, -the borough council meeting, "want ads of the air," traffic things. -_They'd_ know what this rain was doing, they'd have an estimate from -the power and phone companies of the damage to the lines and when -they'd be back in service. - -The radio would tell her everything she needed to know; then a calm -announcement to the guests and everybody would go to bed cheerfully, -rather enjoying the excitement.... - -But little Mrs. Fiedler came up and she had her portable radio in her -hand, weighing her down like a suitcase; it wasn't one of those little -pocket jobs but a substantial long-range outfit. Little Mrs. Fiedler -made something of a nuisance of herself when she played it beside the -swimming pool--highbrow music from New York City stations. - -"Could you get me an outside line, Mrs. Goudeket?" she said. "I want to -call my mother in New York so she won't worry." - -"Worry? About somebody at Goudeket's Green Acres?" the old woman -kidded. "She should have such worries. But I'm sorry, the phone's out -again. I don't know for how long. But why should she worry?" - -"There was a news broadcast from New York, there's a flood up in -Richardstown. Of course that's a hundred miles away, but to my mother, -the mountains are the mountains." - -"Ah. Richardstown. Mrs. Fiedler, did you try the local station? Let's -go into my office and see what they have to say." - -But even the big, powerful portable failed to pick up the local -station. Mrs. Goudeket refused to think of what _that_ might mean. - -Alone again, she realized that she'd have to send somebody out into -that terrible rain, send them to town, the _Times_ office or any other -phone they could reach. She had to know what was coming next. Send who? -Not the bartender; he was the most valuable man on the premises right -now. Dave Wax was next, and the kitchen help couldn't be spared. Dick -McCue, the "golf pro"--nineteen years old, doubling in trumpet--where -was _he_? He should be in the social hall backing up Dave Wax, keeping -the people busy, keeping their minds off--whatever it was. Where _was_ -he? - -And then she thought, distastefully, of exactly whom she'd have to -send. Sharon Froman, she called herself, and in the wild week before -opening she had let Sharon Froman foist herself on Green Acres as a -"publicity director"--just room, board, ten a week for the season. At -first Sharon Froman had actually worked; she had written good stories -that actually appeared, not cut too badly, in the issues of the New -York _Post_ which also carried Green Acres advertisements; maybe she -had even got them a couple of guests. That lasted for about ten days, -and then Sharon Froman had slowly withdrawn from any hotel activity -except eating; when you passed her room at any time of the day or night -you were as likely as not to hear the muffled thudding of a noiseless -portable. When Mrs. Goudeket barged in or met her in the dining room -and asked how the publicity stories were coming, Sharon Froman would -smile vaguely, teasingly, and say something that didn't, after you -stopped to think of it, make sense. "I think I've got a very dynamic -program lined up, Mrs. Goudeket, and I'm polishing the rough spots." - -Black-haired, square-jawed, near-sighted, in her early thirties, a -persuasive talker--Mrs. Goudeket was the living proof of that--groomed -either to perfection or not at all, maybe five feet six, easily twenty -pounds overweight. Sharon Froman. The perfect expendable to go out and -learn the score. Mrs. Goudeket started grimly up the steps. You better -be feeling good and dynamic, Miss Sharon Froman, she thought, nerving -herself for a battle. I got some real rough spots for you to polish now. - - * * * * * - -In the bat's nest that that sneaking old hag Goudeket called a room, -Miss Sharon Froman was lovingly recopying chapter one of Her Novel. -Her only light was a candle socketed in the sticky neck of an empty -Southern Comfort bottle, and the flame flickered and turned blue -regularly as the wind swept through the closed windows. What a shack, -thought Miss Sharon Froman, not in anger but in judgment. - -But it had its compensations. She could see the jacket copy for the -novel now: "_Spraddled Evening_ is an odd book, written at odd times -in odd places. Begun in a shabby trailer outside a Mississippi Army -camp--" She grimaced, remembering how perfectly foul Ritchie had been -when she'd had story conferences with Don while Ritchie was restricted -to the post--"it was shaped and polished by turns in the club car of a -transcontinental train, a cold-water flat in the East Bronx, a luxury -resort hotel and a Jersey fishing village, reaching its evocative -climax while Miss Froman was--" Well, that you would have to wait and -see, thought Miss Froman, taking page 2 out of the typewriter. But the -end was almost in sight. The first chapter set the tone for the whole -book; and now that that was nearly perfect it was only a dash to the -finish line. - -She lit a cigarette from the candle before she put page three into -the typewriter. Page three was the one that would do Hesch in the -eye. He'd be sure to recognize the savagely drawn, feudal-minded pants -presser if he read it--and he'd be goddam sure to read it, if he had to -hock the watch she'd given him to get the price. Sixty bucks that watch -had cost out of her share of his Christmas bonus, and it was the only -decent thing he owned. "So why doesn't he sell it," she demanded of the -wind, "if he's so broke he can't keep up the alimony?" - -She knew as soon as she heard the knock on the door that it was Mrs. -Goudeket. The chapter went into the bulging file under the bed; the -half-page beginning on the story about Dick McCue went into the -typewriter, using the paper bail so Old Bat-Ears wouldn't hear the -ratchet clicking. "Come in, please," she called, with just the proper -annoyance at being interrupted. - -She glanced coldly at her employer. - -Mrs. Goudeket sat down without waiting to be asked; those stairs were -getting steeper every day. "Sharon, honey," she wheezed, "I want you to -do me a favor. Frankly, I'm a little worried." - -Sharon listened with minimal courtesy. Unbelievable, she thought to -herself, now the old harpy expected her to go driving out in this crazy -rain to find out if it was really raining. So suppose she got into -Hebertown, what could she find out? The lines were down? They knew -that. And what else could there conceivably be? - -Since it was a point of principle, she knew what she had to say. -"I'm sorry, Mrs. Goudeket," she said gently. "It just isn't my job." -Besides, the season was practically over; so let Old Bat-Ears fire her. - -"Aw, Sharon," wheedled Mrs. Goudeket. "Who else have I got? Believe me, -it's not for me, it's for all of us. Suppose--" - -"No." - -"No!" shrilled Mrs. Goudeket. "I feed you the whole summer, for what? -One little thing I want you to do, and what do I get? Listen here, -young lady, I'm telling you for the last time--" It went on for ten -minutes, during which Mrs. Goudeket quite forgot to worry about the -storm. - -She was still breathing hard when she appeared at the door of the Game -Room and signaled imperiously to Dick McCue. - -"You got to drive me into Hebertown," she ordered. - -"But Mrs. Goudeket!" He nodded back at the room, where a couple of -sullen guests were doggedly putting golf balls into a tumbler. "I got a -contest going. Dave said I had to help out; he said--" - -"This is more important," Mrs. Goudeket said firmly. "You think I like -going myself? God knows what the guests will think, so don't tell them. -Let them look." - -"All right, Mrs. Goudeket. I'll tell you what, I'll go get the car and -meet you at the kitchen entrance. Just the two of us going?" - -Mrs. Goudeket smiled frostily. "Three," she said. "Miss Froman is -leaving us." - - - - - CHAPTER THREE - - -The burgess of Hebertown wasn't having any luck with his call to the -weather bureau. Because he was the burgess, he had got his own line to -the central office back in service; but the central office was having a -hell of a time getting through to any point outside. - -If he had got through, he wouldn't have had much luck either, because -there were plenty of lines down, but practically all the ones that were -left were trying to get onto the same three instruments in the bureau's -outer office. - -The chief of bureau was talking into one of them, kept open with a -direct line to the nearest Civil Defense filter center: "Charley? -Here's the latest. No chance of the rain stopping for at least several -hours, that's the big thing. Some places it's hitting an inch an hour. -There's all that wet air that Diane pulled in from the Atlantic, and -now the winds have pushed it up; when it gets cold the water has to -come out. How much?" He blinked at the phone; he had been in that -office for seventeen hours and, he suddenly remembered, he'd never got -around to having lunch sent up. "Call it ten inches, average through -the area affected. What?" He sat up straight. "Now listen, Charley! -I've busted forecasts and I've admitted it; but you can't hang this one -on me--" - -The station duty forecaster, on the phone next to him, was saying: -"Sure, we're sticking by our forecast. Go ahead and print it. Flood -damage? No, I can't give you anything; not our line. Please, won't you -read the forecast? We said heavy rain. We said prospect of danger from -flooding because the soil is saturated--no room for the rain to soak -in, it has to run off somewhere. The only thing we didn't say was -'positively.'" He hung up, but didn't take his hand off the phone; it -would ring again in seconds. It didn't much matter what they printed, -of course; the newspaper that had been on the wire was in a town that -had grown rich from the two rivers that joined in its heart, and the -forecaster had his own feelings about what those two rivers might do. - -He took his other hand off the clipboard and found he had crumpled -their copy for the last forecast into a ball. He tossed it in the -basket, hardly hearing his chief shouting into the phone next to him; -it didn't matter, he knew it by heart now anyhow, but as the phone rang -again, he made a dive and recovered the forecast. He smoothed it out -carefully. It might, he suddenly realized, be very important indeed, -over the next weeks and months when the investigating commissions and -legislative committees began sniffing through the debris. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Chesbro came smiling into the burgess's office. "Excuse me," she -said. "I knocked, but you were busy on the phone--" - -"Not very," said the burgess, slamming the instrument down. Now he -couldn't even get the central office again. "What can I do for you?" -He didn't know the woman. She was expensively dressed; the burgess, -whose wife read _Vogue_, realized that her flat-heeled leather shoes, -her matching waterproof tweed coat and cap, her neat leather gloves all -were imported and expensive. For the rest, she was a small blonde in -her twenties with a careful, conciliatory look on her face. - -"I'm Mrs. Arthur Chesbro," she said. "Arthur and I drove over from -Summit to see you. Arthur let me off and then he decided he'd better -move the car to a little higher ground, the top of that little shopping -street you have, Sullivan Street, isn't it? After General Sullivan, I -suppose? And he'll be right along and then you two can get on with your -little talk." - -The burgess looked at her vaguely, her chatter only half comprehended. -If she had been a man he would have said something like: "I'm sorry -but I'm tied up now; write me a letter and we'll make an appointment." -Since she was a woman his old-fashioned notions ruled that out. -"I didn't expect Mr. Chesbro," he began. "I've got so much on my -mind right now with the rain--" He noted with wry amusement that -he had started to say "flood" and changed the word. Civic pride or -superstition?--"that I don't think this is the best time for a meeting. -Could you go and head him off, Mrs. Chesbro? It can't be urgent." - -"Arthur thinks it is," she said. "A man phoned him from New York that -this Mickey Groff is on his way and Arthur swore around the house for -fifteen minutes and then told me to get out the car and, well, here I -am." She could ask for a favor and keep her dignity. "I'm sure it won't -take more than a minute. Arthur says it's all cut and dried." - -Chief Brayer came in without knocking. His black slicker streamed and -his mustache was limp. "Henry," he said to the burgess, "I make it -twelve feet and rising at the Sullivan Street bridge. In thirty-five -it was only eight feet and in thirty-nine it was only nine and a half. -What's going on down in the Hollow, God only knows. Anyway, I'd better -get down there with all the boys. All right?" - -"Sure, Red. Get on down. Send somebody to my place in a car with a -trailer hitch; have 'em tow my boat down to the Hollow. It's all set up -on the trailer in the garage, ready to go." He grinned wryly. "I was -thinking I might take Bess up to Cayuga for a day on the water." - -Mrs. Chesbro looked on blankly. - -"Great," the chief said. "It's got a good spotlight, too. We'll need -that. If you don't mind a suggestion, Henry, I'd turn out the fire -department and have them standing by. You may need some able-bodied men -in a hurry. Twelve feet and rising--" He hurried from the office. - -"Excuse me," the burgess said to Mrs. Chesbro, and tried the -interphone on his desk. It worked; so far the main to the north end of -the borough had not been flooded and shorted out. - -"Fire chief," said the interphone. - -"This is Henry, Chief. Red Brayer thinks, and I agree, that you should -sound the general alarm for the volunteers, that they should be -standing by in the engine house with their cars parked in the square. -The Hollow's filling up fast--at least it must be; the water's twelve -feet and rising at the bridge." - -"Right, Henry. That all?" - -"For the present, yes," the burgess sighed. He clicked the box off. -Immediately he heard the klaxon on top of the building hoot three -longs, then pause and hoot again and then again. It was the Emergency -Muster signal, and it would galvanize fifty men scattered throughout -the borough into dropping whatever they were doing, tearing to their -cars and speeding to the borough hall, or more exactly to its ground -floor left wing where the fire department--two LaFrance pumpers, one -ancient and one beautifully new, two full-time employees, the chief and -the driver--were housed. He hoped they wouldn't be too disappointed -when they found they'd be on a boring standby. - -And now, he thought, he really ought to get out and drive around -on a tour of inspection. There wasn't any point to sticking in the -office with the phone out and the firemen and police already committed -to action. He had hoped for some usefulness out of the local radio -station, but it was silent, had been for an hour. The news of the -Hollow explained that; the transmitter tower, a modest spire, was -planted in a marshy field down that way. It had something to do with a -good ground, he had been told once, so they had a good ground and they -were now bugged out the one time they'd be able to do a public service -beyond broadcasting damnfool hillbilly music. - -He was reaching for his raincoat, to the dismay of Mrs. Chesbro, when -a big man came in. The burgess recognized him as her husband, the -redoubtable Arthur Chesbro of Summit. He had, quite consciously, had -as little to do with Arthur Chesbro as possible, but there was an -irreducible minimum of contact with the man that couldn't be avoided. -He was all over the place in Summit, a closely neighboring borough, and -he had feelers out through the entire area. You heard of his interest -in this and that--bankrolling a resort, buying a professional building -a county away and turning it over _fast_, snapping up timber rights -to a farmer's woodlot and turning _them_ over to a firm from over the -state line; snatching an FCC television construction permit from under -the nose of heavy competition and then not building the station after -all for mysterious and profitable reasons. He was a leading citizen, -the burgess supposed, but he had nevertheless carefully avoided him -whenever possible. He was not really sure why, but once after a couple -of bourbons with Chief Brayer he had told the chief that he thought -Arthur Chesbro suffered from a case of moral and ethical halitosis. - -Physically, Chesbro was a picture of success, rather soaked and winded -success at the moment, having hiked in the rain from Sullivan Street -and climbed the steep stairs to the burgess's second-floor office. - -He grasped the burgess's automatically extended hand with a firm and -manly grip. "It's good to see you again, Henry," he intoned. "How's -Bess?" - -"Fine, thanks." - -"And that boy of yours in medical school?" - -"Fine--uh, Arthur." He thought resignedly that you have to go along -with these characters. And maybe, for God's sake, Chesbro actually did -remember Bess and did remember hearing about Ted and actually did wish -them well. Maybe. - -"I see you've met my wife, Henry. Well, it looks like quite a nasty -downpour, doesn't it?" - -Now he's talking about the weather, for God's sake, to put me at my -ease and get the conversation going on a topic of universal interest. -Always start by talking about the weather; nobody's so shy or so stupid -that he can't think of something to say about the weather. Well, sir, -this time the maxim was going to backfire in Arthur Chesbro's red face. -"Glad you mentioned that, Arthur," the burgess said briskly. "I'm -leaving now. I'm afraid we're in for something worse than we got in -thirty-five and thirty-nine, and I'm going to cruise around and have -a look-see. I don't know why you came to see me on a dirty night like -this, but if you can't put it in a nutshell it'll have to wait." - -Arthur Chesbro was disconcerted. "Didn't you see the story in the paper -yesterday, Henry?" - -"I've been mighty busy," the burgess apologized, getting into his -raincoat. - -"Well, it said, roughly--well, never mind the story. What I want to do -is take the old Swanscomb Mill off the borough's hands and put a tidy -rental into the communal pocket--_and_ hire a few of your local people." - -"Sounds fine," the burgess said. He started for the door. "But there's -a fellow with a plant in Brooklyn who's interested too. I understood -he's coming out to see us about it, but I suppose this weather'll hold -him up. I think we'd better table this matter until I hear from him and -have a chance to compare the offers. Now, if you'll excuse me--" - -"I never thought," said Chesbro flatly, "that I'd see a neighbor -selling out to foreign interests when he has a bid from a local man." - -The burgess took his hand off the doorknob and looked at Chesbro -steadily up and down. "I don't like your language worth a damn," -he said. "I'd give you a lecture on manners if I didn't have more -important things to do. You can find your way out, can't you?" - -Chesbro's eyes dropped, but the burgess thought he could read a look of -calculation on his face. "Sorry," he said. "By the way, my car is just -up the hill. Can I help out?" - -"Well," said the burgess, and thought. Might as well save climbing all -the way up West Street--and you couldn't brush off a man who was trying -to do you a favor, just because you thought he stank. "Obliged," he -said. "If you'll drop me at my house I'll pick up my own car." - -He waited with Mrs. Chesbro while her husband dashed through the rain. -She didn't talk, which the burgess approved, and once when he met her -eye she gave him a tired smile. The burgess judged that she was onto -her husband, and seldom had anything to smile about. - - * * * * * - -For that matter, what did anyone have to smile about? The burgess -looked over his borough and hardly heard Artie Chesbro chattering -beside him. The street lamps at the bottom of West Street were out. -One of the big elms that framed the post office was trailing a pair -of enormous branches, broken-winged, across the street; they had to -detour far to the left to pass it. Well, there wouldn't be much traffic -tonight--and you couldn't tell, maybe he'd be lucky and the whole tree -would have to come down; and then they could get on with widening West -Street and the hell with the Garden Club. - -They went up over the West Street hill and down the other side. -"--don't know if you've considered the importance of warehousing -facilities in attracting industry," Chesbro was saying in his ear. "War -plants? Sure. They're a dime a dozen, Henry, and they come and fold up -and then where are you? But you take a town that's got a reputation for -good, low-cost--" - -The burgess felt entirely too surrounded by Chesbros, with Artie -babbling on one side and the wife, silent on the other. Then they -turned into Sycamore. The burgess leaned forward. Funny, he could -hardly see the highway junction at the bottom of the hill. They rolled -down at forty or so, and then everything happened at once. Something -jumped up out of the pavement ahead of them. "Watch out!" yelled the -burgess. "Jesus!" cried Artie Chesbro, slamming on the brakes and -skidding. It looked like a figure, some crazy kind of figure hard to -make out in the rain, that suddenly started to get up in the middle of -the road; it humped itself and flopped back, and then leaped high in -the air, higher than the roof of the car. - -Mrs. Chesbro laughed out loud, nervously. - -"Busted water pipe!" cried Artie Chesbro. "Look, Henry, it's a whole -fountain!" - -It was a fountain, all right, but it wasn't anything broken. The -burgess swallowed hard. Not in '35, not even in '39, had the storm -sewers backed up hard enough and fast enough to send their manhole lids -flying into the air. - - - - - CHAPTER FOUR - - -Dick McCue started off like a jet pilot. "What's the hurry?" Mrs. -Goudeket demanded. "Better go slow and we'll get there." She was -feeling uneasier than ever; because though she had heard the rain -pounding on the house, and seen the rain sluicing down the windows, she -hadn't _felt_ the rain until that two-yard dash from the door to the -station wagon that had wet her to the skin. - -"Sure, Mrs. Goudeket," he said cheerfully, and slowed down--briefly. -Fast, slow--he could drive that blacktop road down to the highway -in his sleep. This was what he liked; something happening. He never -would have taken the agency's offer of this job if he'd known it would -involve running putting contests for rained-in guests who blamed it -all on him. Girls, dances, a chance to sharpen up his game for the -all-important Inter-Collegiate Medalist next year--the agency had made -it sound pretty great. Of course, he had a lot to offer, too--his -maidenhead, for instance, as far as the world of golf was concerned; -now he was definitely and permanently a pro, and some of the doors in -golfing were forever closed to him. Maybe he should have held out for -more money. But what was the difference; Dick McCue knew well enough -that his game wasn't going to support him all his life; he had a good, -powerful drive and a touch with the putter, but everything between the -tee and the cup was hard work. It made him a splendid golf pro for Mrs. -Goudeket's guests, most of whose future golfing would be either on a -driving range or on one of those miniature courses that were coming -back, but that was as far as his talents went. Dick McCue didn't kid -himself--or anyway, not about his golf. - -Mrs. Goudeket cried out and clutched his arm. "Look! Four hundred -dollars worth of topsoil!" But it wasn't four hundred dollars worth of -topsoil any more; it was a lake. She looked at it incredulously. She -remembered distinctly what it had looked like when she and Mr. Goudeket -had taken possession of Goudeket's Green Acres, formerly known as -Holiday Hacienda: It had been a muddy cow pasture, rutted and gullied. -It had taken three days with a bulldozer before they could start -putting the topsoil on-- - -Mrs. Goudeket swallowed, as she considered where the four hundred -dollars for the next batch of topsoil might be coming from. From the -back seat Sharon Froman called sharply: "Watch yourself, Dick!" - -"I see him," McCue said, slowing down. A battered pickup truck was -wallowing around their entrance road, trying to turn around. The driver -was being meticulously careful about staying off the shoulders, which -made it a long process, but finally he got turned around and pulled -over. As the station wagon drew close he leaned out and yelled: "This -ain't the road to Hebertown, is it?" - -Dick McCue leaned over his employer to roll the window down and yell -back: "No! You have to turn left at the road, then the second right, -left at the bridge--Look, just follow me." He barely got his head out -of the window before Mrs. Goudeket rolled it up again. - - * * * * * - -"Follow him! Jeez, I ought to have an airplane!" - -Mickey Groff said, "We ought to be nearly there by now. Does it look -familiar?" - -"Nothing looks familiar," Sam Zehedi complained, trying to keep the -lights of the station wagon in sight. He stole a look at the dashboard. -Forty-two miles they'd come! Backtracking where the bridge was washed -out, taking a shortcut that had turned out impassable, getting lost on -the country roads down toward the river--forty-two miles, and they'd -started out three miles from town. There was a mile marker right in -front of the store.... - -No, not any more there wasn't. Sam Zehedi got a sudden cramp in his -belly thinking about it. The important thing was whether the insurance -covered it or not. He had the impression that he was covered for -everything from artillery fire by the Argentine army to glacier damage; -but that was a long time ago when he signed that check for the policy, -and he couldn't remember what it said about floods. Of course, he told -himself valiantly, that guy in the car was nuts; the store couldn't -have been just washed away. It was just that it was so dark and you -couldn't see through the rain from as close as you dared to get in the -car. Probably there was water in it, sure--but was that so bad? Look -at those people in Missouri and places like that, they go through this -every year. - -He thought of the new freezer, not yet paid for, and moaned. - -Mickey Groff snapped: "Are you sick? Want me to drive?" - -Sam Zehedi swallowed hard. "I'm okay," he said. And he concentrated on -the twin red lights ahead of him, the beating raindrops that slipped -into the cones of the headlights and out again faster than the eye -could follow. He concentrated on the feel of the gas pedal, feeding the -gas delicately. _You're driving_, he told himself. _So drive and don't -worry._ - -But in less than five minutes he humbly asked Groff, "You know anything -about insurance?" - -"Some," Groff said reluctantly. He could guess what was coming. - -"Well, to tell you the truth I don't remember what my policy on the -store was like. Fire, of course, and extended coverage. That means -water damage, doesn't it?" - -"I'm afraid not," Groff told him, feeling rotten. "Under some special -circumstances, yes--but what's back there, no. If it were primarily -windstorm damage with water damage secondary--for instance, if wind -tore your roof off and rain ruined your stock, you could collect. But -nobody's covered against--flood." - -The word was out in the open at last. Zehedi choked back a sob. _You're -driving. So drive._ - -But in less than five minutes he found himself railing to Groff that it -wasn't fair, that he'd lost five years of work, that he would have been -ready to look for a wife in another three years, a good old-fashioned -girl from the New York or Detroit colonies of Syrians, somebody who -could cook the old-country food--God, how sick he was of hamburgers and -soda pop, sometimes he looked at a hamburger when he thought he was -hungry and just put it down and walked away with a pain in his belly. - -"So why," he asked indignantly, a little hysterically, "didn't I stay -in the colony and eat my mother's cooking? I'll tell you why. Because -I wanted to be my own boss, I wanted to be a pioneer, it's no good -crowding into the big cities and working for other people. In this -country you have to make money to be respected, nobody respects you if -you're just a working stiff all your life. So I saved and I bought that -place through a broker and I've been slaving for five years, eating the -lousy food and thinking about broiled lamb I'm going to eat every day -when I find a wife, and then...." - -He subsided and the rain drummed down. - -They're an emotional people, Mickey Groff thought automatically, and -then cursed himself. Damned fool! Here you are thirty years old and -you're babbling stereotypes to save yourself the trouble of thinking. -Why the hell shouldn't he be emotional with his store washed away? I -seem to remember that when Zimmerman slipped the old knife between your -ribs with the trick specially printed discount sheet and cost you forty -thousand dollars you didn't have, forty thousand dollars for him and -Brody to spend on likker and wimmen, forty thousand dollars you might -have air-conditioned the plant with for better productivity and fewer -rejects, you weren't exactly philosophical about it. Your screams, -in fact, were allegedly heard as far west as Council Buffs, Iowa. So -less guff, please, about any "they," who exist only in your head, being -emotional, or stingy, or stoical, or vindictive or, for that matter, -generous and good-hearted. Take 'em as they come, one by one, for what -they show they are. - -Zehedi was under control again. He said; "That guy's driving too fast." - - * * * * * - -"Watch out!" Mrs. Goudeket yelled at Dick McCue. "Watch out!" The white -posts that marked the sharp left curve loomed big, too big, in front of -them. McCue twisted the wheel and stepped on the brake pedal hard and -fast. It was nightmarish to feel the rear of the car swivel around; it -was uncanny to see the road passing in front of him, defying all his -experience of perhaps a hundred thousand miles in a driver's seat. The -white center line flashed across his vision and then headlights glared -into his eyes; it was the truck that had been following them. The skid -continued for an interminable few seconds more; Sharon Froman was -screaming in the back seat. The rear of the car jolted down and McCue -and Mrs. Goudeket were thrown back against the seat as the front of -the car nosed up; metal crunched behind them. Then it all seemed to be -over. McCue took a deep breath, turned off the ignition and waited for -Mrs. Goudeket to skin him alive verbally. - -She said, panting with relief: "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Dick. It -must have made you nervous so that happened." - -He could have kissed her, hairy mole and all. - -"If I'd been driving--" Sharon began coolly from the back. - -"If your aunt had you-know-whats she'd be your uncle," said Mrs. -Goudeket tartly. "No remarks are required from you, Miss Elegant -Loafer." Sharon laughed. - -"Both wheels in the drainage ditch," McCue diagnosed, "and we seem to -be hung up on the transmission." - -"Can you get us out?" Mrs. Goudeket asked. - -"No. But that truck's stopped. I guess we can get a ride." - -Sam Zehedi laid his truck alongside the ditched sedan and got out. -"Anybody hurt?" he called. - -"We're okay, thank God," Mrs. Goudeket told him shakily. "But my driver -tells me the car is through. Could you maybe give us a lift into -Hebertown? We'll be okay from there." - -Mickey Groff got out--soaked again!--and surveyed them. "You two ladies -can fit in the cab with Mr. Zehedi here. The gentleman and I will ride -in the back." - -"Will you take these, please?" Sharon said, opening the rear door. "Put -them in the back. Careful, that's a typewriter. And _very_ careful with -that one--it's manuscript. And these two are just clothes." - -Groff wrenched open the double rear doors of the truck and put the -four pieces of luggage inside. In the darkness there were crates and -cartons. At least they'd be able to sit up instead of crouching on -a metal floor. As the driver of the ditched car passed before the -headlights he saw he was surprisingly young and obviously shaken by the -accident. "Get in," he said. "It might be worse." - -Mrs. Goudeket, puffing, pulled herself up the high running board of the -truck and slid in beside Zehedi. Sharon followed, and slammed the door. -The truck moved cautiously off. - -In the dark rear of the truck Groff and McCue had found milk crates to -sit on. "You all right?" Groff asked the young man. "Didn't bump your -head or anything?" - -"It wasn't that kind of stop," McCue said. He began to laugh. "I'm from -Springfield, Ohio," he said between chuckles. - -"Damned if I see the joke, fella." - -"Well, mister, in Springfield, Ohio, damn near every spring, the little -old Springfield river that runs through town begins to rise and rise. -After a week of this it spills over the banks and the sandbags they -put up every time at the last minute and downtown Springfield is a -lake. Then everybody swears and gets the canoes and rowboats out of the -garage and goes boating glumly around until the water subsides. Well, -mister, I came east to college because I was tired of Springfield and -its foolish floods, and I run into this mess!" - -Through the windows of the double door Groff saw they were passing a -small frame building with gas pumps in front. It was dark. "Cigarette?" -Groff asked steadily. He didn't want to encourage the kid's -near-hysteria. - -"No, thanks. But the difference is, in Springfield it's slow and steady -and this is happening fast. And when it happens fast, sooner or later -a crest comes along and then it isn't one of those years when you just -go boating around; it's one of the years when you head for the goddam -hills, and fast." - -"Then you think we're going to have a flood crest?" - -"Hell, yes. Thirty, forty feet of water smashing down through the -valley. And when it comes, mister, we'd better not be there. Because -those things don't leave much behind." - -They were stopping. "Now what the hell," said Mickey Groff. - -There was a scratching at the double doors, and one of the women from -the ditched car climbed in. "Grand Central," she called. "Change for -the downtown local. Follow the green lights for the shuttle to Times -Square." - -"You're cheerful enough, Sharon," the kid told her. "What's the matter?" - -"Why, it's nothing at all. We're just out of gas, nothing else." She -turned to Mickey Groff. "Mr. Zehedi's compliments, sir, and would you -like to help him scout up some petrol?" - - * * * * * - -They found the blacked-out gas station after squelching for a couple of -interminable minutes through the sopping night. - -"I thought I had plenty of gas. How'd I know we'd be driving all over -the valley? You said just a quarter of a mile down the road and--" - -"Shut up and let's see if we can get in," Groff ordered. Zehedi's -whining was getting on his nerves. - -There wasn't a soul in the station. Not even a night light. Probably -no power, Groff thought. That meant no burglar alarms in case they -couldn't find an unlocked window--though hell, he thought wryly, -wouldn't it be nice if a State Police car did come screeching up? - -"Up you go," he told Zehedi, clasping his hands to receive the toe of -Zehedi's foot. - -"Locked," reported Zehedi after a moment. - -"Break it open. With your elbow. Try not to cut an artery. Then when -you get inside see if--" He jerked his head aside as glass tinkled -around him. - -"Sorry," apologized Zehedi. - -Groff heaved and got him through the window and went back to the front -door to wait. He hoped to God Zehedi would be able to unlock something -from the inside. They would never get the women through that upper -window, and he didn't want to have to break the front door. They would -need every bit of shelter they could get. - -Zehedi appeared, tried the front door from the inside (you idiot, -didn't you see the padlock? Groff thought sourly), and made shadowy -gestures toward the rear. He was yelling something, but you couldn't -hear a gunshot in the crashing rain. Groff got the general idea in any -case, and stumbled around to the back. Zehedi let him in. - -The grocer was all keyed up. "That looks like a fuse box," he -chattered. "Didn't see a switch for the pump motors, but it ought to be -right around there someplace, wouldn't you say? And there're some soda -bottles in case we can't find a gallon jug. All we have to do--" - -"Go get the others, Sam," Groff ordered. He took his fingers off the -light switch he had been trying, though he had known what the results -would be ahead of time. "No electricity, you see? So the gas will just -have to stay in the pumps for a while." - -He closed the door behind the grocer and looked over their refuge. -It wasn't much of a filling station--a couple of pumps out in front, -an ice chest full of soft-drink bottles and a little serving counter -inside. They had come in through a sort of storeroom, and there was the -chance that there might be something useful in there, but it had looked -like nothing more promising than the usual collection of old newspapers -and three-legged chairs. There was a rickety stair to, presumably, a -couple more storerooms. - -Groff made thrifty inventory of what was on and behind the serving -counter. A coffeemaker--no good. No power, though a cup of good hot -coffee would have helped a lot. Easily a dozen cardboard boxes which, -opened, proved to contain peanut-butter-and-cheese crackers and -Orioles. Candy bars and bags of peanuts beyond their utmost powers of -consumption--they might get rickets, but they wouldn't starve. But -water, though--the place didn't seem to have any. - -Scratch water. They could get by on the soft drinks, or if worse came -to worst, there certainly was much more water than they needed right -outside. - -A telephone! He looked through all his pockets without coming up with -anything smaller than a quarter; he slipped the quarter into the slot -and there was a mellow bong to acknowledge it. There was nothing else. -He held the receiver to his ears for a good two minutes, but the line -was dead. - -And then he found the greatest treasure of all, a box of stubby -short candles, under the serving counter. Evidently power failures -were not unheard of around here--something, Groff reminded himself -automatically, to keep in mind when he talked to the burgess tomorrow. - -_If_ he talked to the burgess tomorrow. There was something there that -would need thinking about, too, but the thing to do right now was -locate some matches. His own, of course, were more than merely wet--the -striking surface had soaked right off them. But there was a cigarette -machine, and fortunately a mechanical, not an electrically operated, -one. - -By the time Sam got back with the others Groff was busy by candlelight, -trying to brace a Coca-Cola easel display to cover the window they had -broken. Sharon Froman was hugging the briefcase full of manuscript. - - * * * * * - -You don't last thirty years in the resort business unless you know how -to take your mind off your troubles. Mrs. Goudeket, sipping delicately -from a quart bottle of black cherry soda, chattered gaily: "Soda pop! -Three years I haven't had a drop of soda pop. Now don't tell on me, -Dick. If Dr. Postal ever finds out, he'll kill me next time he comes to -the hotel--" She choked on a swallow of the soda. - -Dick McCue sat on one of the counter stools, sneering at the spectacle -Sharon Froman was making of herself over that Mickey Groff. All the -same, he admitted to himself, it was a real championship performance. -She hadn't had two minutes alone with him, but McCue was willing to -bet she could tell to a nickel how much a transistor manufacturer, in -process of expansion from forty employees to a hundred, was likely to -have in the bank. And there wasn't a chance in the world that this -Groff knew what she was doing. This was the no-nonsense Sharon, the -hard-working first-week-of-the-season Sharon, who was right by Groff's -side when he needed a hand, who didn't ask foolish questions, who kept -calm and ready. And to think that as late as Monday night, sneaking -back to his own room, he had begun to think-- - -Sharon and the manufacturer came in from the storeroom with another -load of newspapers and dumped them. "All right," said Groff, "I guess -that's all we'll need. They won't be very comfortable, but maybe -somebody'll come by before morning." - -"I don't expect to sleep much anyhow," said Sharon cheerfully. She -tapped Zehedi on the shoulder. "Move your feet a little, will you, Sam?" - -The grocer started. He picked his feet up so she could spread the -newspapers, and when she was through she had to remind him he could put -them down again. Five years down the drain. Five more years of hot dogs -and that muddy water they call coffee. I'll be thirty-five years old, -and still three or four years to go-- - -Everybody felt it at once. - -"The wind?" ventured Mrs. Goudeket. They stared at each other; the -building seemed to be vibrating slightly. - -Dick McCue, suddenly white, stumbled across the floor and pressed his -face to the door. - -"Take a look!" he yelled. "That ain't wind!" - -Even in the blackness, they could see the river that had been a road -outside, the comb of current around the gas pumps, the surging water -that lapped at the door. - - - - - CHAPTER FIVE - - -An air watcher, it doesn't matter which one of the thousands he was, -stepped from the hospital elevator at the third, and top floor. He went -through a door marked NO ADMITTANCE and climbed iron stairs to the -roof. It was black and drizzling; he hoped the rain wouldn't get worse, -at least not during his tour of duty. He had heard on a news broadcast -that west of his area there were cloudbursts. - -He was tired from a long day at his appliance store on Broad Street and -he was a little sorry he had signed up for this Ground Observer Corps -thing, but everybody in Rotary was taking a shift so he felt he had -to go along. He threaded his way around the invisible obstacles that -studded the hospital roof and groped at the black-out curtain of the -shack. - -It was dry and bright inside the little cubicle, but somewhat crowded. -The man he was relieving yawned, looked at the clock--so he was two -minutes late!--and said: "Howdy. Ready to go?" - -"Sure. Everything quiet?" - -"Yeah. CMA Flight 24 was early and south of their course, so I phoned -in for the hell of it. Coffee's hot." - -"Maybe later. Well, I relieve you." - -The man passed over the night glasses and went yawning through the -curtains. The air watcher wiped the drizzled lenses of the binoculars, -sighed and stepped out onto the roof. He slumped into the swivel chair, -tilted back in the patter of rain and watched the overcast sky with -boredom. The little town's lights were bright; after a few minutes -outside you could see how far they really shone. And a few minutes -more and you could see the lights of the next little town, fifteen -miles away, as a dim haze on the horizon. By the time his tour was over -they would have gone out and everybody would be in bed, light rain -comfortably pattering on their roofs. - -The phone inside the shack jangled--most unusual! - -He blundered in through the curtains, blinking at the naked bulb. He -picked up the direct-wire phone and gave his GOC post number. - -"Filter Center," said the phone. "Is your town flooded?" - -"No!" he said, astounded. - -"How much rain are you having?" - -"Just a light drizzle. Why?" - -"Thanks," Filter Center said, and hung up. - -"Now what the hell--?" he gasped, standing there with the phone in his -hand, not realizing that he--one of thousands--had just played his part -in alleviating state-wide disaster. - - * * * * * - -The Filter Center was in the basement of the College's newest -structure, the Physical Sciences Building. Its location was a low-grade -secret in that it was never published in the papers. Since it was -staffed mostly by unpaid volunteers, that was about as far as the -secrecy went. - -The government had spent a lot of money on it in 1949. The money had -transformed an ordinary storage and heating-plant basement into an -air-conditioned, soundproofed office of enormous size. There was a -huge table with an inlaid map of the area; this was the heart of the -center and the numerous other installations were designed either to -send information to the table or take information from it. Information -came by phone from watchers like our man on the roof; his messages -buzzed from headsets into the ears of girls who stood at a plexiglas -sheet ruled off in grids. At word from him that he had sighted a -plane--direction traveling, height and type if possible--they scribbled -symbols in china-marking pencil on the sheet. One of the girls around -the map table then shoved a marker to the right spot on the map. The -Air Force liaison officer constantly on duty at the table checked -the marker against his list of submitted flight plans from the Civil -Aeronautics Authority and decided that all was well. If the marker did -not correspond with any submitted flight plan he picked up a phone -and called an interceptor base, usually to find that radar units had -beaten the filter center and its volunteers to the warning, that jet -fighters had scrambled, perhaps that the errant plane had already been -identified as a strayed commercial flight and that the fighters were -down again. Twice in five years the volunteers had beaten the radar, -and the lieutenant considered those two times well worth the cost of -the center and the boredom of duty there. - -It was a very dull night, and the lieutenant was looking forward to his -relief when the call from the State Director of Civil Defense came in. - -"Hell's busting loose, Lieutenant," the director said succinctly. "I'm -getting calls from here and there with spotty reports of flooding, but -mostly from scared people who want to know what's going on and what -they should do about it. Can you call all your air watchers and get a -summary of the situation?" - -"I'll put the chief operator on it, sir," the lieutenant said. "We can -put the reports on the map. I'll report this to Group at once; I'm -sure they can get a meteorologist here at once to try and evaluate it -for you. And maybe the army will lend us an engineer officer with some -experience in flood control." - -The night was turning out to be not so dull after all. -Diplomatically--he was liaison, not command--he filled in the chief -operator, and she made a little speech to the matrons and girls, -detailing half of them to continue meticulously with the aircraft work -and the rest to start phoning the watchers. The lieutenant rapidly -devised a set of symbols to summarize the conditions at each point; -his weather studies helped there. - -Within minutes they were jotting them down on the map table. One girl -came to him with the question, what do you do when you can't get a wire -through? - -"Put down an _F_," he said. "For flooded." - -The director was back on the wire, and he hadn't even called Group -yet. "You'd better send a man of your own down here, sir," he advised. -"Somebody from your staff who can do nothing but report to you." - -"Good idea. He's on his way, Lieutenant." - -He got through to Group, the officer of the day first and then the -sleepy executive officer. The exec carefully avoided commenting on his -action but said, "We'll send you a meteorologist pronto. I'll message -First Army about the engineer officer. Meanwhile, keep at it--and don't -forget your primary mission, Lieutenant." - -He would not forget. One of the girls at the plexiglas scribbled a -symbol, but nobody at the table picked it up; they were too busy -twittering and tutting over the grim picture shaping up along the -rivers of their state. "Get that intercept!" he snapped at the girl who -was responsible for the sector. - -"Sorry," she said, burning red, and picked out a marker to shove -carefully to the right spot on the map. Multi-engine, approximately -angels ten, bearing 280. The lieutenant checked his list; it was CMA -Flight 24 a little off course. - -And the girls kept calling; from some alert watchers they got -unbelievably exact information relayed from local police or -newsmen--normal river depth, present river depth, rise during the past -24 hours, condition of phone and power lines. From others they got -only brief impressions that there was trouble, and how much. From many -they got nothing at all. Down the river valley towns on the map table -crawled the menacing symbol _F_, over and over again. - - - - - CHAPTER SIX - - -The man in the winterized jeep unzipped a window, leaned out and -yelled: "The burgess around here?" - -The four soaked men working around the tow truck didn't even answer. -One of them gestured down the road with an arm and they went back to -trying to get a line to a car that had gone off the road. It was now -roof-deep in the torrent that had once been a drainage ditch, and up to -five minutes ago it had looked as though something was moving behind -the windshield. - -The man in the jeep spat into the rain and drove on. He finally found -the burgess's car parked with its lights on, along with a couple of -others, a few yards from the edge of the river. That was crazy, he -thought, why didn't they park them up on the highway, twenty-five feet -above the water? Then he remembered that he was on the highway. - -"Man wants you, Henry." - -The burgess turned around to face his chief of police. "If it's that -Artie Chesbro again, tell him to take his goddamn car and--" - -"No. Lloyd Eisele--don't know if you know him, he's got a dairy farm up -in the hills." - -"Then why didn't he have sense enough to stay there?" - -"His boy's a radio ham, Henry. He's got a message for you." - -Burgess Starkman snapped at the man: "Well?" - -The dairy farmer said, "The kid has a contact with a phone line open to -the Civil Defense Filter Center in Springfield. They want an estimate -of damage; they want to know what help and supplies you'll need in the -morning. And they've got instructions for you." He took a piece of -paper out of his pocket and handed it over. - -Burgess Starkman said to his chief of police, "What do you think? -Should I send somebody back with him to talk to them?" - -"Sprayragen," said Chief Brayer promptly. "He's too old for this -anyhow. Let him sit down for a while." He went off to get him. - -The dairy farmer looked around at the cars, the fire engine, the men -with flashlights and electric lanterns moving around in the downpour. -"Something happen?" he wanted to know. - -"You could say that," the burgess said wearily. "There was a boy's camp -a mile up the river. It's gone now, and eight of the kids are missing. -We put a boat in the water, and all that happened was we lost a boat." -He glanced at the dairy farmer. "How'd you know where to find me? Have -you been in Hebertown?" - -The dairy farmer nodded. - -"Is it bad there?" - -The dairy farmer coughed. "You haven't been in town for a while, have -you?" He didn't look at the burgess. "The water was up to the corner -where the Moose building is--you know? Somebody told me all the stores -on Front Street are gone." - -He went on from there. By the time the chief of police got back with -old Sprayragen the burgess had pieced together an ugly picture. - -As the jeep turned around, Burgess Starkman yelled, "Oh, by the -way--thanks!" He looked blankly at Brayer. "Did you hear what he said?" - -"Enough." Brayer looked sick. He burst out, "God amighty, Henry, we're -doing this all wrong. We ought to be back in town, running the show, -instead of out here trying to do everything ourselves. We ought to -have two-way radio on the pumpers, and a first-aid emergency truck, -and an organization set up year-round with volunteers trained for -emergency work. Sure, it'd cost a little money, but what the hell, the -taxpayers'll stand for it. Something like this will make godfearing -citizens out of them for a while anyhow." - -"Sure," said the burgess gently. "Sure, Red. You finish up here and -come on back to town and we'll start over." He left the chief of police -there, with his thick mustache running water and his old face worried -and indignant. As he headed back to the car where the Chesbros were -waiting, he thought: Red's a good man and he's right, only he hasn't -finished thinking it through yet. We need all those things all right. -But after this--what taxpayers? - - * * * * * - -Artie Chesbro was sulking. If that power-mad son of a bitch Starkman -had been willing to give him two lousy minutes of his time, they could -have got the whole thing over with and he'd be back in Summit by now, -getting a good night's sleep, instead of catching pneumonia sitting in -the car. He couldn't even help out in their lousy Boy-Scout act--they'd -chased him back to the car the second time he'd fallen in, on the -pretext that they didn't have another flashlight to replace the one -he'd lost. So there went a fine chance to get Starkman's ear. Thank -God, he told himself virtuously, nothing like this could happen back in -Summit. For two cents he'd turn around and head back and the hell with -the burgess--the old Swanscomb place wasn't worth all this trouble. - -Or anyway, it wouldn't be, if it hadn't been for the signed option -agreement he'd given the men from Chillicothe, Ohio.... "Shut up that -damn humming," he snapped at his wife. - -Mrs. Chesbro laughed softly. - -Chesbro didn't even notice the burgess until the door of the car -opened. "How's it going, Henry?" he demanded cordially. "Hope you found -those kids. Damn shame about the camp, but if they will build on low -ground they have to expect something like this." - -"Let's head back for town," said the burgess. He looked at the clock on -Chesbro's dashboard. That couldn't be right! Two--three--four hours -they'd been out here, he counted. - -That was time enough to wash all of Hebertown away. He leaned back, and -let himself be weary. He hadn't been up this late in--in--he couldn't -remember. - -Chesbro was at it again, he noticed abstractedly. It didn't take him -fifty words to get from the flood to Topic A--why the borough of -Hebertown should, ought and must give him the old Swanscomb place. But -the burgess didn't mind. Chesbro was a saturation-talker; his tactic -was to hammer, hammer, hammer away, never giving the other man a chance -to get an adverse word in; and it wasn't too hard, after all, to listen -to the rain on the car roof instead. He realized vaguely that that rain -had been coming down awful hard for an awfully long time. Once, he -remembered, they had had a big summer thunderstorm and Bess had read -him out of the paper the amazing statement that more than four inches -of rain had come out of that one storm. This had to be more than that. -Much more. - -What about Bess, by the way? Their house was high enough up, he -calculated, there wasn't much chance of flood water reaching it. -But had she stayed home? It wouldn't be like Bess to stay home by -herself, especially when he didn't show up and the phones were down. -She would have tried to cross the highway into the borough and found -out that that was impossible. Then she would have--he checked off the -possibilities--probably she would have gone to her sister's house. That -was all right; good location. Barring some freak like a falling tree or -a collapsing roof. - -He leaned back, his mind slowly going blank and relaxed, under the -soothing drone of the flapping windshield wipers and the pounding rain -and Artie Chesbro's ya-ta-ta, ya-ta-ta, ya-ta-ta. Mrs. Chesbro had let -her head slump onto the burgess's shoulders. She was probably used to -that maddeningly persistent voice. Maybe asleep. - -He glanced down at her. - -She wasn't asleep. Her eyes were squeezed shut with anguish and her -mouth was suffering. Not with physical pain. The burgess realized -slowly that she was not used to the maddening voice at all and had -infinitely more reason to hate its clacking than he. - -"Cigarette?" Artie Chesbro said again. Now what was the matter with the -old son of a bitch? He said more loudly: "Cigarette, Henry?" - -"Uh, sure." Chesbro grinned wisely; the burgess had just come across -Polly in one of her queer moods. He reached over to the glove -compartment. "Matches? Here, here's my lighter." - -The burgess spun the wheel of the lighter and held the flaming wick to -his cigarette for a long second while he took three puffs. Mrs. Chesbro -moved over a little. The darkness outside and the momentary brightness -inside the car turned the windshield into a mirror; he could see her -tortured smile. - -The brightness inside almost wrecked them. As the burgess snapped the -lighter shut and you could see through the windshield again, Chesbro -gasped and tramped on the brake; fast as he was, the car was already -nosing into a surging stream that cut across the road. - -The engine chugged and died. There was a long moment of silence. How -little we know our land, the burgess thought, too tired for panic, -filled with resignation. The hills and valleys we know and name, but -the little draws in the hills down which the heavens drain into our -river, we glance stupidly at them in a dry season and see nothing. But -this torrent before us is one of those draws. No doubt we paid just -enough attention to it--only where it crossed this road--to bury a -culvert that would guide it in time of rain and thought we were through -with it for all time. But the rain began and first it soaked into the -pasture and woodlot duff until they could hold no more; the rain went -on and raced in a sheet across pasture and cropland until it found the -draw and gurgled into it and raced down the hillside safely channeled, -hit the culvert with a gurgle and poured through and tumbled down the -hill on the other side, and still the rain sheeted down and the culvert -filled, and when it was gorged to the full the rain still fell, and the -water rose above the culvert and blindly poured across the road six -inches deep, a foot, a yard, and here we are. Try to get through and -blue sparks will snap from the sparkplug terminals to the wet block, -the vapor in the cylinders will not fire and Artie Chesbro's pride, his -joy, his car, will soon be a coffin for three drowned bodies, costlier -than any bronze sarcophagus. - -But Chesbro was swearing and tramping on the starter. "Stay in!" he -yelled as his wife half-opened the door. "I'll get this son of a bitch -started or know the reason why!" - -There was a lopsided chugging. One terminal was dry enough; it had been -only spray. And then the motor roared. The car backed violently up the -hill in the dark. "There was a side road," Chesbro panted. "Headed -uphill. Can't turn around on this damn thing, we'd go into the ditch, -but I can flip onto the side road when we come to it." - -He felt good; this was what he was good at. From high school on he had -been a fast, hard driver who delighted in tricky maneuvering; for years -now he had been in the habit of passing anything on the road; it made -him feel good and he felt good now. He backed the car, roaring, twisted -full around in the seat and peering into the dark. He remembered a -straightaway and a left curve; as the car backed into the curve he -slowed a little but not much. And then they came to the side road. -"What did I tell you?" he cried happily. "There's the son of a bitch -right where I said it would be!" - -He shifted and roared into the right turn up the hill. "Where does this -take us, Henry?" he snapped, as from the bridge to the chartroom. - -The burgess smiled in the dark. "I don't know, Arthur," he said. "How -little we know our land...." - -"Eh?" The old man was tired and rambling. Too bad; now it was all -on his shoulders. But when he got at him later he'd remind him that -he had, in a way, saved his life, that he didn't expect anything for -himself, but that he wanted to do something for the community-- - -"There's a light!" screamed Mrs. Chesbro. - -It seemed to be a filling station; there were the pumps and there -was a two-storey frame building behind them. One of those crossroads -groceries, Chesbro thought as they swept past. - -"But aren't you going to stop, Arthur?" she asked. - -"Nonsense, dear," he grunted. "We started for Hebertown and that's -where we're going." - -How little we know our land, thought the burgess again. For there, -ahead in the twin beams, was a sheet of muddy water. Their speed was -such that they plowed into it with a tremendous gush of spray. "We'll -make it," Chesbro cried. Water rose chillingly inside the car to their -calves as they plowed heavily forward and then lurched to a stop. - -Chesbro said between his teeth: "Like last time." He ground the starter -three times; the fourth time he tramped on the button nothing happened. -The battery was shorted out. - -"Here we are," Mrs. Chesbro said inanely. - -Chesbro tramped on the dead button again and again. - -"It's rising, isn't it?" said the burgess. "Let's get out and wade -before we have to swim." - -Hating him, his wife and himself, hating the car and the water, Arthur -Chesbro opened the door; more water swirled in, seat-high. "Let's go," -he said gruffly. "Five minutes and we'll be in that filling station, -grocery, whatever it was." - -He gingerly lowered himself into the water; it came to his waist and -chilled the bone. "I'll lead," he said. "Come on." - -Surprisingly there was a strong current; he had thought it would be a -sort of pond. Instead it was a temporary catch basin for the living -water that was thundering down from the heavens on its way to the -river and finally the sea. They were simply in a low spot where water -was detained for a while before rushing on. The same cubic yard of -water could wash out a power line running along a high ridge, wash out -a dirt road lower down on the hill, pour through a farmhouse lower -down smashing the windows and depositing stinking mud on the floor, -short his battery here, trapping the three of them, and still rage on -with a long career of ruin before it. It was the secret of the flood's -destructiveness. - -Chesbro inched his way forward, taking care to keep the current abeam -of him, feeling for the hardtop with his feet. The burgess and his wife -held the skirt of his raincoat, one to a side. - -He stepped on something slippery and crashed face-forward into the -muddy water; it was the burgess who, with unexpected wiry strength -hauled him upright again while he floundered. - -"Fish or something," he sputtered. - -They trudged forward, dead-tired after fifty feet of it, the current -and the sullen resistance of the water itself, but the level was -dropping about them as they climbed the rim of the basin in the land. - -In ten minutes they kicked through inch-deep water to the road surface, -wet only with the pelting rain. Silently they splashed along the road. - -"Wait," the burgess said abruptly. They stopped. He still had Chesbro's -lighter; he crouched and snapped it alight. "The water's still rising," -he said. "Following right along behind us." As they stood there it -lapped at the soles of their shoes. - -Ten more interminable minutes--hard walking, their weight increased -fifty per cent by their sodden clothes--and Mrs. Chesbro said: "There's -the light." - -They shambled into a trot by unspoken agreement. It suddenly seemed -very important to them all that they should get to a warm, dry place, -shed their clothes, eat, sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER SEVEN - - -Sharon Froman shepherded the woman from the car, this Mrs. Chesbro, -into the back room--a queer one, she was, but that could wait. "Take -off what you can spare and hang it up," she said briskly, efficiently, -and headed back for the front room. There had been something when the -woman's husband and Mickey Groff met. Sharon Froman wanted to see. - -They were comparing notes on the flood, and that was all right. If you -didn't have an ear skilled in detecting the grace notes of conflict -it might have sounded like any other strangers in common trouble, but -Sharon's ear caught resonances beyond that. Take the woman's husband, -for instance. He was chattering away to, of all people, sick-pup Dick -McCue; but his eyes kept wandering to Mickey Groff. - -Mrs. Goudeket scolded: "Sharon! The blanket for Mr. Starkman, you -forgot it?" - -"He can take mine," Sharon said--she didn't want to go back to the -storeroom just then. She handed the holed, grease-spotted rag to the -old man, then remembered and carefully draped it around his shoulders. -"They stink," she told him cheerfully. "And I think they've got bugs; -but they're better than pneumonia." She grinned at Mickey Groff. - -"Thank you, Miss," said Henry Starkman. He had not failed to notice -that the girl was playing up to Groff. Gold digger, he diagnosed, -archaically and without passion. He was waiting for Chesbro to switch -his attention from the kid to Groff. Starkman had sat enough hours -in the law-offices of county politicians to smell the beginnings of -a deal before it really existed. Chesbro wasn't ready yet; he hadn't -even made up his mind to offer something to Groff--quite. But it was -in the air. Pretty soon Chesbro would turn to the manufacturer and say -something bluff and hearty like, "Well, I see we're going to be chewing -each other's ears off in the ring tomorrow," and then, if Chesbro could -find a private place to do it, the two of them would be talking quietly -for a while.... - -Starkman hugged the smelly blanket around him. Shivering, he thought -querulously: What's the matter with Bess? I want my cocoa. - -He shook his head to clear it, and got up to look at the rain outside. -He shouldn't be here at all, of course; what had the people made him -burgess for, at that fat and sought-after salary of two hundred dollars -a year, if not to be on hand when the community was in trouble? And if -a flood wasn't trouble-- - -A sort of choking sound from Mrs. Goudeket made him turn around. - -The Chesbro woman was standing in the doorway to the storeroom. In the -light from the candles she had no eyes, the ragged blankets she wore -were robes, she was blindly staring marble. She had swept the blankets -spirally around her body and over her wet hair; a hobble skirt at one -end and a turban at the other. She was striking, and she stood for a -moment posed as though she knew it. - -Mrs. Goudeket made a tongue-smacking sound. Artie Chesbro looked around -vaguely. "Oh, hello, honey," he said. "Now, this thunderstorm we had in -Summit in forty-six a couple of cellars were flooded all right, but--" -Dick McCue nodded mechanically, his eyes fixed on the woman. - -She came over to Starkman and sat down next to him. At close range, -the costume didn't seem as extreme as half-lit by the candles, but the -burgess felt uneasy. She was too close to him, that was it; she was -sitting on the floor, looking up at him. - -"I'd better get you something to sit on," he said, and escaped. - - * * * * * - -They managed to build a fire in the storeroom--there were a couple of -sheet-metal soft-drink signs; they raised one, punctured for draft, on -a row of bottles and placed another one underneath to catch the hot -ashes. It worked. Mickey Groff had placed his bet on the normal air -leakage around the window frames carrying off the worst of the smoke, -and so it did. It didn't pay to sit too close to it. You had to watch -it minute by minute to keep it fed and keep it from setting fire to the -shack. But it served to dry out their clothes, and besides it felt more -cheerful. - -The men settled among themselves a plan for rotating guard -duty--guarding against fire and flood. Sam Zehedi and Dick McCue took -the first shift, one to keep the other awake; they sat and looked at -each other. They had nothing to say; and besides, it was hard enough -for the others to sleep without their talking. - -Artie Chesbro, sharing a double pad of newspapers with his wife, -schemed feverishly: He hasn't said a word, he's waiting for me to make -the first move. How much should I cut him in for? Or for that matter, -do I have to--? - -Well, yes. He'd seen enough of the burgess by now to know that the -deal he had optimistically outlined in the newspaper was out. Starkman -wouldn't cave in; you could use the anti-outsider theme just so far, -and then you had to come across with something tangible for Starkman -himself, or for the borough of Hebertown. On the other hand, what about -this: Suppose Groff cooled off on the location after being stuck in -this crazy flood they had down here? Maybe it wouldn't be too hard to -convince him Hebertown was a lousy idea--maybe even, this was a chance -to do something with the old Ackerman tract north of Summit. He doubted -that; Groff would know a swamp when he saw one; but suppose, an hour -and eight minutes from now, when they went on guard duty together as he -had carefully arranged, he merely suggested it to the manufacturer and -made it sound good.... He wished his wife would stop that damn humming -in his ear. God, why couldn't they at least be home, where they could -be decently asleep in their own individual rooms? - -Asleep, Mrs. Goudeket's face was curved in a smile. She was dreaming -of 1926, a bride, the rooming house at Brighton Beach. Between her and -Mickey Groff, Sharon's face was smiling too, sweetly and trustfully, -as she nestled obliviously against the manufacturer, but of course she -wasn't asleep. - - * * * * * - -Sam Zehedi sat torpidly over the fire, waiting for the last of it to -burn itself out. He'd nearly dropped off three times, and he and McCue, -consulting, had decided it was more dangerous to leave it burning than -to put it out. It did stink pretty bad, he thought fuzzily; putting -water on it had been a mistake. It smelt a little oily. - -He swallowed and rubbed his stomach. That lousy candy bar, he didn't -like it, he didn't want it, why had he eaten it? He wistfully turned -his thoughts to pickled mussels wrapped in grape leaves, now farther -out of reach than ever, and a nice, plump black-eyed girl to serve them. - -McCue had dozed off, he noticed. A kid. Well, let him sleep. What -difference did it make? - -Funny, he thought dizzily, not even broiled lamb seemed attractive -right now. He shouldn't have drunk that cream soda either--he gulped -and wrenched his thoughts away from that cream soda. The smell of the -dying fire was getting pretty strong and he felt nauseous, as if the -floor were moving about underneath him. - -Now the sleepers were turning and coughing. There was something wrong, -Sam Zehedi fuzzily thought. He swayed to his feet and lurched toward -the door. Clear the air, he thought. The last embers of the fire winked -out and he thought for a vague moment that he had lost his eyesight. -He flung the door open with his last strength and took a deep sobbing -breath. Images of white-tiled walls, green-painted corridors swirled -through his head; he was ten again and they were wheeling him along -the green-painted corridors to have his tonsils cut out, Morrisania -Hospital-- - -He fell heavily across the restless, coughing shape of Mickey Groff. - -Groff sat up slowly, choking. His head thudded as if with the hangover -to end them all. - -_Gas._ - -"Get up!" he cried, swaying. "Get up!" Around him they stirred and -coughed. - -"Gasoline fumes!" he yelled. "Get up! Up the stairs! Move!" He -staggered through the dark room, kicking at them and yelling. The -stairs were in back--back. And this was--a wall. He leaned against it. -It would be good to slump down and rest for a moment, just a moment-- - -He lurched along the wall to the corner, to the open stairway that let -to the upstairs room. "Over here!" he choked at them. "I'm standing by -the stairs. Come on! Come on!" - -One by one they stumbled to the sound of his voice and began to drag -themselves up the shaky stairs. - -One. Two. Three.... Four.... Five.... - -"Come on! I'm standing by the stairs. The stairs. This way. This." - -Two more to come. Two. More. Some fool was striking a light, a -blue-green light to blow them to hell. But no; it was his eyes, glazed -and burning, that made the light. Two more to come. - -His raw throat and bursting lungs silenced him. He lurched across the -floor and stumbled over something soft. He knelt, took it under the -armpits and dragged it to the wall, followed the wall to the corner, to -the stairs. Feet on the stairs. - -A young voice in the darkness choked: "Mr. Groff. Come up. I'll get -him. Can you make it?" Young McCue. Strong arms took his burden over -and it bumped up the steps. That was seven. One to go. He headed back -into the thick sweetness of the fumes and crashed to the floor. He -never felt McCue come to his aid and heave him up the steps, but -through it he was muttering: "One more." - - * * * * * - -They were a sick lot when he awoke an hour later. - -In the dark upstairs, cluttered with boxes and cans Mrs. Goudeket was -saying: "The water, it seeped into the gas tanks underground, it must -be. The gas floated up and all around us on top of the water. God be -thanked, nobody lit a match and the fire was out. As it was we were -almost poisoned in our sleep, thanks to that Arab." There was hatred in -her voice, fifteen centuries of it. - -Burgess Starkman's voice emerged from an attack of coughing. "He's -dead, Mrs. Goudeket. You shouldn't--" He broke into coughing again. - -Mickey Groff grunted, trying to talk. It was important to clear that -up. His head was pounding, but Mrs. Goudeket didn't understand. "He was -a Syrian," he croaked. "A civilized Christian people." - -"Mr. Groff!" said Mrs. Goudeket. "You're better! We were afraid--You're -a hero, Mr. Groff. You saved our lives. Except--" - -"Zehedi?" he asked. - -He knew that she was nodding in the darkness, just as he knew that she -was bitterly ashamed of her outburst. "Too late," she sighed. "Ai, too -late. Dick went down with the handkerchief around his mouth and pulled -him up the stairs. His heart was going, and then it wasn't. Maybe -fifteen minutes. Too late." - -A plump arm slid around him and Sharon Froman's voice said in his ear, -"Try to sit up. We all felt better after we sat up." She supported his -back and eased his trunk upright; he thought his head would explode. He -leaned against her dizzily and felt her cool palm against his forehead. -"Better," he grunted. "Thanks." - -The burgess's old voice said abruptly, "Sing a psalm for Sam Zehedi, -the sad Syrian. Bess? Bess?" - -"He's wandering," Sharon said very softly to Mickey Groff. "He won't -sleep." - -Mrs. Chesbro moved across the floor to the sound of the burgess's voice. - -"Where are you going, Polly?" Arthur Chesbro snapped. - -"To the poor old man," she said. "Maybe I can talk him into signing the -lease before he takes wing." - -Now, what did she mean by that? They didn't have a pen, there would -have to be witnesses, Groff was right there to break things up if -they tried to pressure him, it wouldn't work in a million years. The -stupidity of that woman was sometimes absolutely astounding. - -She found the bony bundle that was Burgess Harry Starkman. "How little -we know ..." he was mumbling. "I was at Belleau Wood, you know. -Leatherneck couple wars back. They poured gas shells in for forty-eight -hours, but the leathernecks didn't have gas casualties. Court-martial -for gas casualties. Not like the doughboys, threw away their masks. Got -through Belleau Wood and here I am a gas casualty anyway, thirty-seven -years later. Ambushed in Hebertown Township. The boys at the Legion'll -get a kick out of that." He sat up abruptly and anxiously called out: -"Bess?" - -She soothed him and urged him down. "Rest," she said. She felt and -unbuttoned his shirt, loosened the blanket around her and spread it -over the two of them, pressing herself against his bare chest. - -"I remember," he said. "King Solomon. Old reprobate. But don't go away, -child." He fell into an uneasy doze, his breath rattling in his chest. -She pressed herself against him and lay still and silent. - -Dick McCue said, "I wonder if it's safe to smoke." - -Mrs. Goudeket snapped: "In a situation like this you don't take -chances." - -Groff said slowly, "I think it's all right. Gas fumes are heavy; they -hug the ground. If we hadn't been sleeping on the floor--" - -"I guess I'd better not," McCue said uncertainly. "You can't smell -much up here but--I wonder where the water level is now." - -"We'll know in the morning," Chesbro said. "Couple of hours. My God, -who would have thought it yesterday?" - -Sharon Froman said, "It's bad, Mr. Chesbro. It means a permanent loss -of industry--unless we move fast." - -"What permanent loss?" Chesbro snapped. "We shovel out the mud, we -replace the machines, we get going again. The government'll help any -sound business in a case like this." - -"I am thinking," she said, "of the South." - -"The South? What's the South got to do with this?" - -"This is the godsend they've been waiting for! Think, Mr. Chesbro! -They've spent millions on advertising and promotion to attract -industry--to steal it, if you like. Tax exemptions. Rent-free plant. -This flood is worth a billion dollars to them, Mr. Chesbro. If it's as -big as it looks from here, it's worth all the sixteen-page ads they'll -ever run in the Sunday _Times_. Believe me, I know. There are going -to be task-forces from the Bureau of Industrial Development of every -southern state calling on every manufacturer and distributor in this -area. 'Frightful about your tragedy,' and 'Us Delta folks want to he'p -you any way we can,' and 'Don't get us wrong, friend, we ain't out to -steal industry from the No'th at a time like this, but--' And then it -starts. They'll woo them with sites, with tax write-offs, with cheap -labor rates. They'll strip the area of industry, clean as a whistle. -Unless." - -"My God!" said Chesbro, appalled. - -He had never considered the angle but she was, God knew, dead-right. - -Nor, he reflected self-pityingly, would _he_ get any such offers. What -did he have that would attract a Mississippi chamber of commerce? It -was all intangibles that his fortune was going to come from--was almost -coming from already, he assured himself panickily. He had come pretty -close; it was only a question of time until the legislature authorized -the trotting track, until the money borrowed from his wife's father -and invested in that promising Geiger-positive tract north of Summit -turned up real pay dirt, until-- - -Until never, now. Not if this frighteningly plausible young woman was -right. And she sounded right. - -He said slowly, "You're a very smart young woman, Miss Froman. Have you -had any experience in this field?" - -She smiled candidly. "Only enough to get the feel of it, Mr. Chesbro. -I'm a writer. You might say I've made a study of everything." (And -besides, I typed Hesch's thesis for him, didn't I? _The War Between The -States, Round Two: A Study in Industrial Dynamics._) - -He nodded. "You said 'unless.' Unless what?" - -She said composedly, "Unless we get there first. Unless we form an -organization immediately--on a regional basis--to hammer home our side. -_Skilled_ labor that's been through the birth-pangs of organizational -strikes. They're the roughest kind, and they still lie ahead for the -South. Access to the markets. A good life for the management and -supervisory workers. Bracing climate. Sound Republican territory." - -She had him. She could feel it, and she was never wrong. Let him nibble -at the bait a while; let him taste it and want it, and bite down into -it all by himself--bite down on that buried "we" that would hook him, -deep and clean and gasping. - -It had looked like a mighty dull autumn, but things were looking -better, thought Sharon Froman contentedly. True, if she was going to -help this interesting Mr. Chesbro with the curious wife it would mean -deferring work on her novel again. Too bad. But she didn't mind the -sacrifice. She had made it often enough before. - - * * * * * - -Regional organization. Hammer hard. Grants from the government? Sure. -Tax breaks from the northern states, panicky attempts to match whatever -the South might offer? Sure, thought Artie Chesbro; he could arrange -that easily. And then? - -No more waiting for the legislature to approve or for the assayers to -report or for any of the other soul-killing delays that had been the -sum of his life; he would be in, he would be at the top of something -big. Where he had always wanted to be. Where he deserved to be. - -He looked across to where his wife had gone. And her, he thought, -satisfied, she would learn at last! Everything he had had to put up -with from her, over. Just because her father had a little money she'd -thought she owned him--him! Artie Chesbro! - -He cleared his throat. "We'd better get some sleep, Miss Froman," he -told the girl. "We've got to talk about this in the morning. I think -there's a good deal in it--for both of us." - -Mrs. Goudeket almost pounded the floor with her fists. Again on her -feet! Always this Miss Froman would land on her feet! Without hard -work, without virtue, always by black magic being in the right place, -always by the smiling face and the straightforward look fooling the one -person she had to fool. And this time it wasn't one man, it was two. So -let Mickey Groff slip through one snare, she had Artie Chesbro caught -in another. God, you call this fair? she demanded. - -Better she should have left her at Goudeket's Green Acres. What could -she have caught there? That star of stage and screen and _brissim_, -Dave Wax? The horse-wire expert, Mr. Semmel? But no! She had to throw -the girl out--into this! - -Mrs. Goudeket moaned and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the -maddening words. - - - - - CHAPTER EIGHT - - -That star of stage, screen and _brissim_ shouted fuzzily at the door: -"Go to hell! Let me sleep!" - -"Dave!" It was Mr. Semmel's voice. "There's some men here. They want to -talk to you." - -Dave Wax made an obscene suggestion to Mr. Semmel. He was a tummeler, -not the manager of the hotel; let Mrs. Goudeket come back and talk if -somebody should do it--"Wait a minute. What'd you say, Semmel?" - -The concessionaire repeated it. "The flood's over?" demanded Dave Wax. -"The roads are dry?" He staggered over to the window to see the miracle -for himself. - -Semmel let himself in. "They came in a boat." - -"Oh." But it was no surprise. It was still raining. "All right. I'll -come down." - -He found himself hurrying in spite of himself. It was only a couple -of minutes before he was hurrying through the lobby. He saw with a -shock that the sofas and chairs in the lobby were occupied--guests too -panicky to sleep in their rooms, too exhausted to stay awake; they were -sprawled and snoring. - -The men from the boat were in the kitchen drinking coffee that the -cooks had somehow contrived to make. "I'm Brayer--Hebertown police -chief. You people all right here?" - -"All right?" You call a hundred and sixty scared, sore guests all -right? You call wondering if the whole damn place is going to float -away all right? "I guess so," Dave Wax said slowly. He was almost -afraid to ask: "How--how is it outside?" - -The man rubbed at his mustache. "It's a flood," he said succinctly. -"Ask me in the morning. Anyway, we're beginning to get a little -organized." His voice took on a mechanical, rehearsed quality. "Don't -let anybody drink water unless it's been boiled for ten minutes. Use up -everything you can that's in the refrigerators tomorrow morning. What's -in the freezers ought to be good till tomorrow night, if you don't open -them too often. What you don't eat by then, _don't eat_. Throw it away. -You probably don't have any water pressure, do you? Your own electric -pump, I guess? All right; you'll have to set up latrines--use chamber -pots if you have to. Dump them in the river to empty them--you're far -enough away from everything here." - -"Wait a minute." Dave was a little slow to grasp the implications of -it. "You mean even by tomorrow night we won't have the power back?" - -"I'll consider us very lucky," the police chief said heavily, "if -Hebertown ever has power again." - -He got up. "They say that by daybreak the weather will be clear -enough for helicopters. If you need anything--a doctor if there's an -emergency, anything like that--hang a white sheet out of a window and -keep somebody standing by. When a helicopter or boat patrol comes by -they'll see it and investigate; then you wave another sheet at them and -they'll see that somebody gets here." - -Dave Wax and Mr. Semmel watched Brayer and his boatman chug away. -"Hebertown Chief of Police," said Wax. "Isn't he a little out of his -jurisdiction?" - -"He said they were looking for somebody. Wanted to know if we'd picked -up any refugees. God forbid." Mr. Semmel shook his head firmly. "A -mess. Now, in New Hampshire there would _never_--" - - * * * * * - -It was cracking daylight when Brayer got back to Hebertown. He sat down -in the police station, now an emergency shelter with men, women and -children sprawled all over everywhere, and dazedly pushed away the -coffee somebody offered him. He hoped he would never see another cup of -coffee again. - -He said heavily, "Henry'll turn up. I have a lot of confidence in Artie -Chesbro's instinct for self-preservation; he'll find a place to hole up -in." - -"Sure, Red." The head of Hebertown's Civil Defense Squad, an -organization with an honorable history extending back nearly four -hours, dug his fingers into the bags under his eyes and tried to stay -awake. He owned a ready-to-wear establishment on North Front, and he -had once allowed the Red Cross to use his second-floor storeroom as a -fund-drive headquarters, a record of achievement which had done very -little to fit him for staying up all night. "I went down at eleven -o'clock to look at the water," he said meditatively. "I didn't want -my cellar flooded again, like in thirty-nine, so I shoveled dirt up -against the windows, and then I went home to bed." He laughed. He had -gone by his store again two hours later--in a boat--and had had to bend -down to look through the windows of the loft the Red Cross once had -used. "I heard on the radio a list of all the cities that were hit--the -worst ones. They didn't even mention Hebertown.... Say, what are you -going to tell Bess Starkman?" - - - - - CHAPTER NINE - - -Gray light filtered through the dirty panes of the second-floor window. -Arthur Chesbro woke slowly, aching in every bone. When he opened his -eyes stickily and peered across the grimy little room he could not at -first believe what he saw. - -"Polly!" he choked, amazement and outrage blended. His wife, apparently -unclothed, was snuggled close to old Harry Starkman, under a single -blanket. - -She looked up, smiling. "Hush," she said. "I finally got him to sleep. -His chest sounds terrible and he has a fever, but if he sleeps he can't -be too bad--for now." - -She got up gracefully, managing to swirl the blanket around her without -showing, Chesbro hoped, _too_ much. Then he noted that the youngster -from the hotel was gawking. He cleared his throat loudly and the kid -looked away. - -Mrs. Goudeket grunted to her feet. "Fever?" she asked. "Let me." She -went to the sleeping old man and felt his forehead. "He's burning up," -she announced grimly. "An old man to walk through the rain and then he -got his lungs full of gasoline fumes. I suppose it's pneumonia." - -They were silent. - -"Excuse me," said Mrs. Goudeket. "I'm going downstairs, nobody should -follow me until I come back." - -Mickey Groff thought: sensible woman. Somebody had to speak up. He -stood for a moment over Sam Zehedi. The poor guy had died hard, -fighting it; his eyes were ugly and his mouth contorted. His face in -the dim light was bluish, the hue of a swimmer's lips when he's been in -too long on a cool day. - -Groff went to the window. Some time during the night the rain had -lightened; it pattered now instead of drumming. There was mist. He -struggled with the window and managed to inch it open against the -swelling of its frame and old incrustations of paint. Fresh air swept -gratifyingly through the storage room--and then he thought of the -burgess. - -Sharon Froman understood his glance. She threw her blanket over the old -man and said, "He'll be all right." She stretched stiffly. "The old -woman's taking forever," she said. - -Arthur Chesbro said firmly, "Mrs. Chesbro will be the next to go -downstairs. To find her clothes and put them on." - -Polly Chesbro grinned amiably. "This thing _is_ scratchy," she said. - -Groff leaned out and peered through the mist. All he could tell was -that there was water below; how much of it the enigmatic surface did -not say. - -Mrs. Goudeket puffed up the stairs, a big carton in her arms. "Cheese -wafers," she announced. "Somebody open them." - -Polly glided to the door, sculptural in her improvised robe, and went -down the stairs. - -McCue, with the appetite of youth and an athlete, tore open the -corrugated cardboard and began gobbling wafers from the first carton he -came to. - -"Manners, Dickie." Sharon Froman smiled. He swallowed his mouthful -convulsively and eyed her. - -"Help yourself," he said coldly. "You're no cripple." - -"Why _Dickie_," she purred. "After all we've _been_ to each other!" - -Mrs. Goudeket looked up. "What's this?" she snapped. - -Sharon looked amused and said nothing. - -"I don't know what she's talking about," McCue said. The tone -automatically indicted, tried, convicted and sentenced him for unlawful -cohabitation. "I'll talk to you later," Mrs. Goudeket promised grimly. - -Dick McCue found the cheese wafers were ashes in his mouth. He chewed -mechanically and wondered how he had managed to get simultaneously on -all these s.o.b. lists when all he wanted was a little innocent fun for -free-- - -He glanced at Sharon sullenly and saw she was chatting animatedly with -Chesbro about a publicity campaign enlisting all media, the possibility -of newspaper and magazine space and radio-TV time being donated if they -played their cards right. "Tear their heartstrings out," she urged. -"Get editorials; I've got some contacts in New York. You'd be The Man -Who Saved the Valley, Mr. Chesbro." - -"Call me Arthur," he said. "We're going to be working closely together; -I can see that. My prestige and your ideas--" - -Polly Chesbro came upstairs in her suit and raincoat; they were -wrinkled and damply steaming out the smell of wool but they were no -longer sopping. She was carrying her blanket; she draped it over the -sighing form of the burgess. His breathing was almost a crow. "He'll -never make it without penicillin fast," she commented, helped herself -to a box of the wafers and began to eat methodically. - -Mickey Groff looked around; nobody was making a move for the stairs. He -stepped over the body of Sam Zehedi and went down. First outside into -the drizzle, where water was ankle-deep. He attended to his needs and -went back into the store. A bottle of pop caught his eye and he was -suddenly burning with thirst. He tore off the cap on a wall opener and -gulped it down as fast as the stuff would gurgle from the narrow neck; -after a queasy moment he ran for the door and made it in time. The pop -gushed up again violently. He sat down, swaying, on the wooden step up -to the door and retched a couple of times experimentally. He'd have to -be careful eating and drinking for a while. He had got a stiff dose of -the fumes. - -Zehedi's blue-green, well-worn panel truck was just visible down the -road in water to the hubcaps, looking bulky and competent. The goddam -thing. And there stood the two gas pumps, goddam them too, and if -you could only get the pumps to work you could pump gas from their -underground tank into the truck and away they'd buzz, getting somehow -into town where the old man could be pumped full of penicillin and -dosed with oxygen as needed instead of dying like a sick dog in this -kennel. - -He went wearily upstairs and said, "Next." - -Sharon got up and said, "Excuse me, Arthur." - -"Keep out of the cash drawer," Mrs. Goudeket said sourly. - -"Did you leave anything?" Sharon asked, wide-eyed. Arthur Chesbro -laughed a laugh which turned hastily into a cough when Mrs. Goudeket -glared his way. - -McCue said suddenly, "I think the rain's stopped." They crowded to the -window; he was right. The drizzle had ended and the mist was clearing. - -"Good," Chesbro said. "They'll be able to get helicopters up. It's only -a matter of time now until they spot us." - -Groff said, "I don't think the old man can wait." - -Chesbro spread his hands eloquently. "What can we do?" - -"Pack him in on our backs," Groff said. - -Chesbro said soothingly, "I don't think that'd be practical, Mickey. -We're all exhausted, we've all had a touch of gas poisoning. We know -more or less where we are and we know which way the town is, but we -don't know what lies between us and the town. We may just circle around -until we drop from exhaustion. There's a better chance of us being -spotted if we stay in this place." - -"We're three able-bodied men," Groff said, his temper rising. "We can -take turns. A helicopter's just as likely to spot us on a road as it is -to spot us here. Chesbro, _I'd_ like to sit here and wait to be rescued -too; _I_ don't have a yen to go sloshing through the water with -Starkman on my back either. But I don't think he can wait. We've got to -do everything we can." - -"I've got my manuscript to carry," Sharon said apologetically. - -"We'll _do_ everything we can," Chesbro said reasonably. "But what's -the sense of endangering all of us uselessly? The trip wouldn't be good -for him. And the women--my wife isn't strong, Mickey, she shouldn't be -subjected to--" - -"Arthur," said his wife. "Shut up." - -She smiled pleasantly at the gathering. "Who's going to be the first to -pack him?" - - * * * * * - -Naturally that's me, of course, Dick McCue thought sourly, sliding -in the mud. I'm an athlete, so they figure I'm Superman or somebody. -He missed his footing and nearly fell. They might just as well have -carried him pickaback as on this door, wrenched out of the upper -rooms.... From behind him Mickey Groff called: "Time for you to take -over, Chesbro." - -McCue relinquished his end of the improvised stretcher to Artie -Chesbro. His arms felt wrenched out of their sockets, and they had -covered five hundred yards, at the most. - -The rain hadn't really stopped, not quite. There was still water to be -wrung out of the scudding stratus, and it came down in little bursts of -droplets. Polly Chesbro stumbled along beside the sick man, trying to -keep the rain off him when it came, ready with a smile when his eyes -jolted open and, for a moment, he stared wonderingly about him. - -It was going to be a long trip. They had had to skirt around a sort of -contour line instead of following the road. Polly wondered briefly if -there would come a point where the road dipped down into the streaming -water, and there wasn't any useful hill handy. She didn't know this -road at all; had seen Hebertown only once or twice before last night; -had only the vaguest impression of what the terrain might be like. For -that matter, none of them knew much about the country they were hiking -across. On this Day, her mind inscribed in a crabbed hand, our Party -suffered the Loss of Its two Aboriginals, reposing our Destiny to the -care of the Greatest Guide of All. - -Mickey Groff was remembering the Ligurian coast of Italy. The American -bombers had smashed it flat from Anzio to Genoa, and Groff had thought -proudly, a little selfishly, that no such destruction could ever come -to his own country. But this was as bad, at least as bad. They had come -across few houses, but there were ominous objects sailing down stream -that once had been houses and barns and all the other structures man -builds and his enemies sweep away. He tried to reconstruct the terrain -as it must have been before the flood, but there was a rightness about -the broad sheets of water that made it impossible. They were there; -they must always have been there. Why did people build their homes down -near the water, anyhow? Was a burbling brook in the back yard worth -having if suddenly, unpredictably, it could destroy your home? - -He wondered if the War Department was able to look itself in the face -that morning, remembering the careful charts the colonels had shown -him that called for dispersal, concealment, removal of such essential -industries as his own. Suppose, they had said gravely, New York should -take a bomb; you'd be out of commission; you must move out of the -city to where you can be safe, since the production of your shop is -of great importance to the country's defense. And they had showed him -the maps, marked "Secret," of the instrument plants in Connecticut, -the explosives factories in the Delaware valley, the electronics -laboratories along the Jersey streams. - -Two-forty-eight, two-forty-nine, two-fifty. "All right, Dick," he told -the golf pro, "you can take over for a while." He surrendered the back -end of the stretcher and looked around. - -"Wait a minute!" he ordered sharply. "What's that up there?" - -There was a private dirt road slanting down toward them, and something -was moving. They all set up a waving and bellowing, and a group of -horsemen appeared on the rim of the highway and came toward them, three -or four of them, picking their way through the mud. - -"The United States Cavalry," said Polly Chesbro clearly, "is charging -to the rescue." - - * * * * * - -Two of the riders were men in chaps and sombreros and the third was -a thirteen-year-old girl. They goggled unbelievingly at the litter -bearers. They were from a dude ranch up in the hills, and they were on -their way to Hebertown to complain because their lights and phone were -off. - -"Jesus! We knew there was some rain last night, but we never had any -idea--" The cowboys stared at each other. - -"How about giving us a hand?" Mickey Groff requested. "This man's in -bad shape. If we don't get him to a doctor I don't think he'll make it." - -The cowboys scratched their heads for a while, and finally Mickey Groff -showed them how to sling the stretcher between two of the horses. "Hold -them tight and walk them slow," he ordered, putting a cowboy at the -head of each horse. "The ladies can take turns riding the other horse, -I guess." - -But he got no customers for that; Mrs. Goudeket was scandalized, and -the young girl was too excited, and Polly Chesbro wouldn't get that -far from the sick man. Finally Artie Chesbro said off-handedly, "Hell, -no sense in _wasting_ the horse." He was in the saddle before anybody -could object. - -It didn't make things good, but it made them better. Mickey Groff, -walking ahead, reasoned that he had disposed his forces well. -According to the cowboys, they had a good three miles to go on the -road--_if_ they could follow the road even approximately. An hour and -a half--double it because of the weather--maybe double it again, he -thought worriedly, if there were too many detours. He looked back at -the motionless figure between the horses. That was stretching it, but -there was a chance the old man might hang on that long. - -Maybe the cowboys' first idea--slinging the old man across a saddle -bow and galloping away--was the right one after all. But no; they had -to stick together, at least until they found out if the road would -take them all the way. And besides, thought Mickey Groff, aware of his -limitations but also aware that he had succeeded to the command of the -party, you have to make up your mind and stick to it. - -The girl came prancing up beside him. "You look like a good guy," she -commented. "Here." - -He took the bottle from her; it was a pocket-sized half-pint of -whiskey. It was like a gift from God. He took two measured swallows and -put the cap back on; he could feel it biting in his throat, invading -the back of his nose, spreading warmly through his chest. - -"God bless you," he told the girl sincerely. - -"Sure. But don't tell on Charley, will you? I knew he had it, but if -Mrs. Koontz ever finds out she'll pulverize him." He started to hand -the bottle back to her. "No, you keep it. You might want some more, and -if Charley gets his hands on it again, good-by whiskey." - -"Thanks." He slipped it into his pocket; then, remembering the rest of -the party, turned and glanced at them. McCue was plodding along head -down; Chesbro was glaring at him; Mrs. Goudeket was watching but she -caught his eye, smiled faintly and shook her head. Good enough, thought -Mickey Groff; we'll save what's left. He tried to remember what the -current position was on giving liquor to old men dying of pneumonia. If -it looks bad enough, he decided, we'll try giving him a shot; otherwise -better not. - -The girl was chattering: "Won't the old lady plotz when she hears -about all this? That joker on the horse back there says he thinks the -whole town's washed away." - -"I doubt it." - -The girl was disappointed. "Well," she said, "I bet there's going to -be plenty of excitement in Hebertown, anyway. I always wanted to be a -nurse--you know, not in a hospital, a Red Cross nurse or something like -that, going away in the wars and all like that. My sister was a nurse's -aide, only they wouldn't let me in because I was too young." - -"Eh? Nurse?" He glanced at her quickly. "Know anything about pneumonia -cases?" - -"Sure. Penicillin, keep them warm, bed rest--" - -"That's enough. Thanks." It had been a hope, but looking at her killed -hope. - -They plodded on and came to a blacktop. "I know where we are," one of -the phony cowboys said. "Straight on in to Hebertown, two miles. It's a -ridge road; it ought to be clear sailing." - -A car was buzzing in the distance; frantically they flagged it down -as it closed up on them. It was a late-model suburban with a New York -plate in the rear, man and wife in the front seat, three kids rioting -in the back. They all looked very strange to Mickey Groff, and he -realized at last what the strangeness consisted of. They were clean, -fed and rested. - -"What do you want?" the man asked from behind the wheel, a little -nervously. - -_What did they want._ Penicillin. Beds. Warmth. Coffee. - -"Take us into town, will you?" Mickey Groff said wearily. - -The man hit the lock button on his door and cranked the window up a -little. "It's only a little way on," he said evasively. "We aren't -going any place special, we just heard about it on the radio and -thought we'd come and see what was up--" - -He hit the gas and the car zoomed on. - -"Sightseers," Mrs. Goudeket said, wide-eyed. "God in Heaven, -sightseers." - -Mrs. Chesbro was swearing. - -Arthur Chesbro was swearing and trying to remember what the -license-plate numerals were. - -After a while they trudged on, there being nothing else to do. - -A helicopter came from the west as they marched, dipped low above -them and hovered for a moment while they yelled and waved. The pilot -pointed back into the body of the chopper with big exaggerated gestures -after they had pointed at the burgess on his litter. Then he buzzed on -eastward. - -Mickey Groff said: "I guess he was telling us he was full up." He -rubbed his back for a moment. "Maybe he meant he'll be back for us." -But he didn't really think so, and the helicopter didn't come back -their way. - - - - - CHAPTER TEN - - -When they topped the rise and stood overlooking Hebertown there was a -moment of silence and then a groan of horror burst from them all. - -"Gutted," Arthur Chesbro said succinctly. "Not a thin dime left in -town; not a nickel." - -The true flood crest which they had missed in the hills had left a -plain wake through the town. It was dark brown and even from their -height they could smell its stink. Sewage, chemical waste, mud churned -up from river bottoms where it had been rotting for a century. The -brown smear lay over two-thirds of Hebertown, and there was something -worse at its center, a long streak scores of yards to either side of -the river. It seemed almost to have been bulldozed clean. - -The river still boiled many feet above its normal height, and flotsam -rolled past, dotting its swell. There were tree trunks, chicken houses, -timber and swollen things you didn't want to guess at. The bridges were -out, the stout PWA bridge and the two rickety county bridges. - -Chesbro studied the view. "Gramatan Mills are wrecked," he said. -"They'll never come back. They rebuilt on the river in ninety-seven -right where the old waterpower mill was. Half their plant's--torn away." - -"Let's get on down," Groff said. - -McCue volunteered: "I'd try the school--if it's standing. That's where -you always set up cots and aid stations." - -Chesbro said: "The junior high's standing. Built well on the outskirts. -Lucky it's on this side of the river." - -They started down the hill. The stink grew worse. - -First they came to frame houses with picket fences and vegetable -gardens in the back. The porches were full; exhausted people looked -dully at them. At the third or fourth house a man came to his gate to -watch them pass. - -Groff said, "We've got your burgess here. He seems to have pneumonia. -Can we make him comfortable in your place and get a doctor for him?" - -The man said tiredly, "There's no room in my place. I have twenty-five, -thirty people. And the doctors won't make house calls, not today. All -three of 'em are down at the school. Take him there." - -Mrs. Goudeket said, "Could you maybe put me up, mister? We've been -walking and walking--?" - -"No room," he said. "I'm full up. Everybody's full up. Go to the -school. They got stretchers there. The Air Force dropped 'em in the -athletic field. I hope Henry gets better. Go down to the school. -They'll take care of you there." - -"For ten dollars, maybe--" Mrs. Goudeket began. - -"Money's no good," the man said. His voice began to rise hysterically. -"Nothing's no good. I work at the Gramatan Mills and look at it. I -worked there twenty-seven years, I was going to get my pension in 1958, -and now the mill's gone. My father drove down into town before it hit -to see if he could help and he isn't back yet and I don't know if he's -alive or dead." He took sudden hold of himself. "I have to go and tend -the cookstove. You have to boil your water now. Thirty people drink a -lot of water, we keep boiling it all the time. Take care of Henry." He -went back up his path and inside. - -Past the rustic houses on the fringe they came to a belt of substantial -older places, the homes of the borough petty aristocracy. Here the -smear of brown had reached; the horses picked their way uncertainly, -fetlock-deep in stinking mud. A mad-eyed woman in a housecoat was on -one of the handsome porches shoveling and shoveling; the silt plopped -into the silt that covered her lawn. - -They passed a house with a broken back. A towering poplar, surely the -pride of the owner once, had stood in his front yard. The flood water -had come; it had loosened the soil to the consistency of porridge; -the tree had tilted a little, leaned; its wide shallow root system -had given way and the trunk had crashed across the roof, caving and -crumpling it in. - -There was a house with black, dead eyes. Somehow fire had started; -candles, or a fireplace carelessly laid for warmth when the -electrically fanned oil heater clicked silent. The innards of the house -had burned, and the fireman had not come. There was a pathetic pile of -furniture outside, but where the people were you couldn't tell. - -There was a house that, in all that chaotic destruction, had survived -unscathed. Its windows had their glass, its doors were neatly locked, -there were two spindly iron chairs on the porch. And then you looked -and saw that it rested in the middle of a road, where the water had let -it drop. - -But it was the smell that hurt. You could imagine a hurt town mending -itself and growing again. But this stench from the river bottoms was -the stink of death. "I'll bet," said Artie Chesbro with a dreamer's -eyes, "you could pick up any mortgage in town for five cents on the -dollar today." - - * * * * * - -Dr. Soames was the town's only specialist. He had built a white -Georgian house and a three-car garage out of something less than a -quarter of a cubic foot of the human female anatomy. He was an expert -on every fold and canal from the _labium minus_ to the hydatid of -Morgagni, and of the hundred and four babies born in the borough of -Hebertown and surrounding territory in the past twelve months, he -had delivered ninety-three. They told scandalous anecdotes about his -extra-official life--"Mrs. Hoglund? Hoglund? Oh, I didn't recognize -you with your pants up"--and there had been a suggestion at the County -Medical Association that some of his most profitable pregnancies -were not permitted to come to term. But there was no human being in -Hebertown and environs who doubted that Dr. Soames was the greatest -doctor on earth. - -And what good was he doing now, he demanded silently, swabbing alcohol -on the morning's twenty-fifth rump to ready it for the needle. - -He sighed and jabbed home the needle of yellowish fluid. The kid jumped -and howled; Dr. Soames's hand was not as dexterous with injections as -it might once have been. They were working themselves into a coma, all -three of the doctors, with routine shots against typhoid and penicillin -to keep the sniffles of the kids from getting worse; but any ambulance -driver could have done as much. What these people needed--homes; help; -money--was not in their little black bags. - -"Dr. Soames!" Chief of Police Brayer was coming into the school's gym. -The tired old face looked worried--almost panicked; Soames had thought -the time for panic was over. "They're bringing Henry in, Doctor. He -looks bad." - -The burgess came in, under clean blankets, on an aluminum-frame -stretcher at last. Soames took a quick look. Fever; coma; and the -unmistakable racking, hard-fought breaths. Pneumonia? "Wake up Doctor -Brandeis," he ordered; but he found a hypodermic and loaded it without -waiting. - -The other doctor's eyes were bleary when he staggered in, but there -wasn't much doubt. "Pneumonites, all right," he said, auscultating -the burgess's chest. "We ought to have oxygen, Frank." Chief Brayer -listened to the doctors. He cut in, "Don't we have any oxygen?" Soames -shook his head; and Brayer remembered. The oxygen was there, all right, -in the firehouse, where it was handy for the pumpers to take along in -case of drowning or asphyxiation or any of the other things Hebertown -called out its fire department for; but it wasn't handy at all in case -of floods, since the firehouse was in the Borough Hall. You couldn't -even see the roof yet, though the water had gone down. - -He blundered out of the room and buttonholed one of the other -volunteers. "Who've we got who can swim underwater?" he demanded. "We -have to get the oxygen out of the firehouse--Henry needs it." - -They found a couple of high-school kids, on the swimming team, and they -went down to survey the drowned-out hall. The water had slowed enough -to put a boat out; they rowed down Front Street, over the back yards of -the cottages, into the River Road. "Must be around here," Brayer said -doubtfully, staring at the muddy water. "Some of the houses got moved, -I guess...." - -It wasn't there. One of the boys eventually went down, but only for a -moment. He came up sputtering and grunting, his eyes squeezed tight; -when they got him into the boat and he could talk coherently again he -said, "Sorry, Mr. Brayer. Maybe there's still some of the firehouse -down there. But that isn't water, it's plain mud. Even if I had a face -mask, I couldn't see--and I don't have a face mask." They took him -back to the school to have his eyes looked after. Chief Brayer leaned -dizzily against the door frame, watching Dr. Brandeis bathing the kid's -eyes. What, he wondered, was Hebertown going to be like without Henry? - - * * * * * - -Mickey Groff woke up. They must have given me a shot of something, he -thought clearly, and sat up. - -A girl in a white uniform with gold bars at the collar leaned over him -and said, "You ought to go back to sleep. You've only had about two -hours." - -He shook his head. "How's the old man?" - -"Which one?" - -"Starkman--the burgess." But she didn't know the name. Groff stood -up and staggered to a chair. What was an army nurse doing here, he -wondered. Wings and a bar; maybe they'd flown in help from outside. - -Somebody helped him to a garage, empty of cars, with duckboards laid -over the mud on the floor; there was a sort of emergency feeding -station organized there and he got hot coffee laced with thick canned -milk, syrupy with sugar. He went out in the sunshine and drank it -gratefully. - -Sunshine! - -He slowly accepted the fact that it wasn't raining any more. The sky -was spotty with clouds, but there was a lot of blue. - -"Mr. Groff." He tried to get to his feet; it was Artie Chesbro's wife. -She stopped him. - -"Where's everybody?" he asked. - -"Sleeping, mostly. Except my husband, who is out looking for orphans to -rob. Have you seen Henry?" - -He blinked. "Henry?" - -"The burgess. Mr. Starkman." He shook his head. She said gently, "I've -been with him all morning. If they don't get help for him soon--" - -He noticed that her eyes were unaccountably filled with tears. "I -thought I saw an army nurse--" - -"Yes. But they didn't have oxygen, and that's what he needs. It's on -its way, I guess, or anyway they say it is." She looked at the coffee. -"Wait a minute. I want some of that." - -Mickey Groff looked after her and sighed. Now, why was she mothering -the old man? And what was that "orphans to rob" remark? It had been -fairly obvious that she and her husband were not cut from the same -bolt, but was it possible for her to see her husband that clearly, and -keep on living with him? - -He was beginning to wonder whether he shouldn't get up and start -somehow helping out when she came back and sat beside him. She was -humming to herself, he noticed, and glanced at her curiously; evidently -she wasn't so upset after all. - -"I knew," she said, dreamily swirling the coffee around in the mug to -stir it, "that two of us would go. It is the difference between six and -eight." - -"The what?" - -She laughed as if a child had done something clever. "I knew you -weren't a student of the Great Science," she said cheerfully. "There -are perfect numbers, and imperfect numbers; the imperfect numbers -are--imperfect, and the worst of them are the deficient ones. Eight -is an imperfect number, you see." She grinned at him. "You think I've -flipped," she commented. - -"Well, I wouldn't say--" - -"But you'd think it. No matter, Mickey--do you mind if I call you -Mickey? I'm quite sane--I have the advantage of you, you see, because I -have my diploma to prove it." She sipped her coffee. "That's what makes -Artie so mad," she said pleasantly. "He got me committed to the Haven, -and they kept me there for nearly a year; and now when he threatens to -tell people I'm crazy I don't have to worry, because six perfectly fine -psychiatrists agree that I'm not." - -Mickey Groff said weakly, "That's very nice, Mrs.--Polly, I mean." - -She said seriously, "You mustn't think that the Great Science is one -of these crackpot cultist affairs. I know gematry has a bad name, but -you'd be astonished at the great minds that have worked on it. Fermat, -Bachet--back as far as Diophantos, in fact. Why, if you'd just--oh, -please, Mickey." She touched his arm as he started to move. "I'll stop. -This isn't the time to talk about important things." - -"Important." - -"This," she said, "is a time for shallow, surfacy affairs, a time -when distractions come crowding in and cannot be ignored. One such -distraction is that Mr. Starkman is dying and needs oxygen." - -"I have an idea," he said. "Come on." - -There was a boy of fourteen standing by with a handkerchief tied around -his left arm, an improvised brassard. "Son," Groff said, "do you go to -the junior high?" - -"Yes." - -"The burgess, Mr. Starkman, needs oxygen and they can't get at the -firehouse tanks. It occurred to me that there might be some in the -school--those little tanks they call lecture bottles that they use for -demonstrations in chemistry classes." - -"I haven't taken chem yet, mister, I don't know," the boy said -unhappily. - -"Are there any teachers here?" - -"Yes sir! Mr. Holtz the math teacher's making the coffee back there." - -Groff approached Holtz, a small, harried man. Holtz listened and said: -"Not in the junior high, no. No lecture demonstrations, just recitation -and lab. But the senior high across the river would have some. My -good friend Mr. Anderson lectures there and he believes in making it -spectacular. Yes; they would have lecture flasks. I'd guide you there -if I weren't assigned. Perhaps you can find somebody--" - -Groff decided he would not. These people were working at top capacity -now. He could do the job on his own. - -Groff and Polly picked their way through the silt to the river bank. A -rowboat manned by two husky youngsters with the improvised brassards -was unloading a weeping woman and a silent child. - -"Get to the school," one of them told her in an important, basically -uncertain voice. "They'll take care of you there. They've got nurses -and everything." - -She walked off clutching the child's hand, still weeping. - -The kids looked after her, round-eyed. They told Groff: "That's Mrs. -Vostek. Her husband drowned. We just found her sitting on her porch -crying. Maybe she's gone crazy." - -"Can you get us across the river? We want to get into the high school -and look for oxygen bottles. The sick cases need it." - -"That's what we're here for, mister!" - -Good kids.... - -On the other bank, perilously attained, the kids pointed Groff and -Polly in the right direction and took aboard two grim brassarded men -who carried a limp, moaning girl of ten between them. - -The other side of the river was the older part of town; the inevitable -slum had grown up there. Here in the streets and on the steps they saw -drunken men and women with blank despair in their eyes tilting bottles -skyward. One of them drained his bottle and yelled: "To hell with it!" -and hurled the empty through the plate-glass window of a silt-choked -little magazine-and-candy store. A man, not young, sitting in the store -came charging out with a sawed-off ball bat in his hands, swinging. -"You cheap rotten bum!" he yelled. "Things aren't bad enough, you have -to make them worse!" - -While the drunk stared stupidly, Groff rushed between them and caught -the wrists of the man with the bat. "Easy," he said. "For God's sake, -you'll kill him with that thing." - -The drunk came to life. "Let him kill," he yelled. "What's the damn -difference now? No job, no house, no furniture. Let him kill!" But he -reeled off down the street while Groff held the furious man. - -"Stupid bastard," the proprietor swore. "I'll give him bottles. -Three-fifty he owes me, I'll give him bottles!" Then the fight suddenly -evaporated out of him. Groff let go and they walked on, looking back to -see him shamble into his store again and sit down with the bat across -his knees. - -They passed a bar, and there was no nonsense about that. Two men who -looked like brothers stood grimly at the door. Each had a shotgun over -his arm. When Groff and Polly walked by they shifted the guns a little -and said nothing. - -A corner grocery had become a sort of involuntary relief station. There -was a long unruly line leading to the door. The grocer stood there; -behind him in the store his wife was bringing up canned goods, bottled -pop, everything. The grocer, sweating and afraid, was handing out the -food and drink to the sullen people as they passed. - -"Please," he was saying, "I haven't got time to write this down. Please -remember what you take and come around and settle when things clear up." - -After a fashion he was avoiding the sack of his store. - -The high school was an old red brick building, smaller than the new -junior high across the river. Groff marched up the steps and tried the -door. "Bloody hell," he said. "Locked, of course." - -She pointed. "There's an open window." - -They climbed in and found themselves in the principal's office. Three -men with sledge hammers and crow-bars were knocking the knob off the -safe. They turned menacingly. - -"Go ahead." Groff shrugged. "I can't stop you." - -"Get the hell out of here," one of them said. - -"We came to get some oxygen," Polly said. "For the sick people across -the river." - -"Sick people? Okay." - -They went into the corridor and wandered from room to room; on the -second floor they found an old-fashioned lecture theater, bowl-shaped -with steep rows of seats focusing on a laboratory bench piped for water -and gas. There was a promising-looking door behind it. - -It was locked. Groff kicked at the door and swore with pain; the -building was old-fashioned brick and its woodwork was old-fashioned -golden oak, the stuff you can hardly drive a nail into. He trudged down -to the office again. The three men were gone; the door of the safe -swung open. They had left one sledge; somehow he had expected to find -all the tools dropped, but apparently they were going to work their way -methodically through every safe they could find. - -He returned with the sledge and bashed at the golden-oak door until -its latch sprung and it swung open. It was the storeroom for lecture -supplies and the gas flasks were neatly stacked on the top shelf. -There was a complete carton of a dozen twelve-inch cylinders marked -O_{2} and another carton with eight cylinders. - -"Thank God," he said. "Let's go." - -The things were horribly heavy. - -As they retraced their way to the river bank they were stopped three -times by loungers collected in groups of half a dozen and had to show -them the cartons' contents and explain that it was for the sick people -across the river. - -There was a long wait before they could hail one of the boats passing -back and forth; finally a rowboat with a roaring outboard motor pulled -up. Two men with American Legion caps manned it. They explained their -mission and were taken aboard. One of the Legionnaires asked: "How are -things in Old Town?" - -"Breaking up fast," Groff said. - -The man understood perfectly. "The goons," he said, nodding. "There's -talk about sending in the National Guard," he said. "Meanwhile I guess -it's our problem." - -He took the heavier carton from Groff when they reached the river bank -and Groff took Polly's; together they walked to the gymnasium where -Harry Starkman lay. - -One of the doctors--Brandeis?--looked at the lecture bottles dully, -took one and shambled over to the burgess's litter. He drew the blanket -over Starkman's face, slipped the bottle under and cracked the needle -valve for a few hissing minutes, then checked the old man's pulse. - -"Very good," he said at last to Groff and Polly. "There's something to -hope for now. Now clear out, you two. Find something useful to do." - -"There's going to be trouble in Old Town tonight," Groff said. "And it -may spill over here." - -Polly, preoccupied, said, "The number is still imperfect. Two of us -will have to go. I do hope it won't be you, Mickey." - - - - - CHAPTER ELEVEN - - -There was a solid line of cars, bumper to bumper, on the northbound -side of the highway. It ended against a roadblock consisting of -two state troopers, one standing in the middle of the lane with a -double-barreled shotgun over his arm, the other by the roadside where -he could look into the cars. Their patrol car was pulled over on the -soggy shoulder, its motor idling. - -A new Lincoln with a middle-aged man at the wheel was next. - -"Why do you want to get through, mister?" the trooper demanded. He -had long ago given up the time-consuming request for registration and -operator's permit. - -The man was flustered. "I have some friends in Newtown," he said. "I -thought maybe there was something I could do for them--" - -The trooper glanced into the back of the car. Empty. "You haven't got -anything they need," he said. "Turn around and go home." - -Meekly the man U-turned around the trooper in the road and sped south. - -The next car was a tired, top-down convertible with two young couples -who might have been high-school seniors, college freshmen or young -working stiffs. The driver explained, too glibly, indicating the girl -by his side: "Her mother lives in Bradley, so she got me to drive her -in. You know the railroads and buses aren't running, officer." - -But the girl giggled. - -"Where does she live in Bradley?" asked the trooper. The girl hesitated -and took a deep breath before beginning to lie. The trooper gave a -weary shushing gesture. "Skip it," he said. "Turn around and go home. -This is no circus." - -The driver began to bluster. "I've got a license, I can drive where I -want--" - -"Turn around and go home," the trooper said. "If you keep arguing I'll -run you in for obstructing traffic. If you're stupid enough to proceed -down that road, Schultz there will fire one warning shot and will then -blow your goddam head off. Move." - -The boy roared his motor spitefully to say the things he didn't dare -say, let up suddenly on his clutch and spun around the patrolman with -the shotgun in a U-turn. - -The next car was black and driven by a man in black. Its rear and the -seat beside the driver were filled with cartons; the trunk lid was -half-up, tied by a rope to the bumper over more cartons. - -"I'm from the Beaver Run Meeting of the Society of Friends," the man -said quietly. "We've gathered some things they may need in there. -Medicine, bandages, Sterno, flashlights." - -The trooper hesitated. "We're supposed to accept contributions and turn -you back, then a truck comes and takes them in. But I haven't seen any -truck and I don't know whether there's going to be one or if it was -just talk. You look as if you can take care of yourself, mister. Go on -in and don't get hurt." He called to the trooper in the road: "Let him -through." - -"Thank you," said the Quaker, and drove on at a careful thirty-five -miles per hour. - -Down the southbound lane, the deserted left strip of the highway, a big -car purred, slowing obediently to a stop at the outraged shout of the -trooper. The old man who was driving said nothing; the young woman with -him put out her head and called, "Dr. Buloff, Factoryville, New York. -Are there any instructions?" - -The trooper backed around the car and read the New York plates. The -second two characters were MD. He said to the old man, "Just go in and -free-lance, doc. They can use you." - -"Thank you, officer," the old man said with a good trace of German -accent, and the car purred on. - -In rapid succession three imbeciles followed the doctor's example of -using the southbound lane. All were sightseers, and all were turned -back with curses. - -The next car in line was a '39 Ford driven by a white-faced young man -with the jitters and a narrow mustache. He had identification papers -ready in his sweating hand. "John C. Barshay," he said precisely. "As -you can see from the address on this envelope I live at 437 Olney -Street, Newtown. I work in New York City and come home weekends. My -wife--I haven't been able to get through on the phone." His voice was -rising hysterically. "I demand to be let through, officer!" - -"Calm down," the trooper said gently. "Of course you can get through. -We're not here to stop people like you. I hope everything's all right." - -The young man fought his way back to composure. "Thank you, officer," -he said precisely, and drove on. - -Then there was a phenomenon, a car coming _from_ the flooded area. It -was coming fast until the driver, presumably, could see that the hassle -up ahead was a roadblock and then it stopped and began to wheel around. - -"Hold 'em, Schultzie!" the trooper yelled at his partner with the -shotgun. He leaped into the idling patrol car, spun its wheels for an -instant in the soft shoulder and then zoomed free down the highway. The -other car had barely finished its turn; he had it crowded off the road -in seconds. He got out with his gun drawn and a casual bead on the head -of the unshaven, slack-jawed man in the driver's seat. "Get out with -your hands up," he said, his body shielded behind the front of his car. - -The driver got out, dull-eyed. - -"Turn around." - -He did, and the trooper frisked him. There were things in his pockets, -none of them gun-size. The trooper, from behind, pulled out watches, a -costly new spinning reel and some rhinestone rings and necklaces. - -The back of the car was filled with new suits and dresses, some -crumpled and mud-stained. The trooper lifted the trunk lid and found -shiny new appliances--a pressure-cooker, a steam iron, a handsome floor -fan, a sandwich grill, a rotisserie. - -"Is this car yours?" the trooper asked interestedly. - -"No," the man mumbled. - -"You'll be sorry for this day's work, boy," the trooper promised. "Keep -your back turned." - -He rolled up the windows, took the car keys from the ignition and -locked it up. With the man beside him he drove back to the roadblock -and prodded him out with his gun. - -"Looter," he said to his partner. "Stolen car locked up down there, -full of plunder. Watch him." To the man he said: "Stand over there and -don't try to run or you'll get killed. Now, who's next?" - -"Press," said a jaunty young man in a convertible, showing a card -quickly. - -"Do that again," the officer requested. Reluctantly the young man did. -The officer read aloud: "The Zeidler News Service requests that police -and fire officials extend all press courtesies to its representative -George E. Neumann." He grinned. "Back to Pittsburgh, Mr. George E. -Neumann." - -The young man shrugged and wheeled his car around. - -The next two cars were, or appeared to be, driven by legitimate -relatives of people in the flood area; at least they were filled with -sensible supplies. The trooper passed them. The next was a year-old -Dodge sedan with an oldish driver and a youngish passenger. "Haggarty," -the driver said. "New York _Daily Globe_. This is Vince Ruffino, my -photographer. The press card." It was a little green folder with -picture--an embossed city seal through it--thumbprint, description, and -the signature of the police commissioner. "Fire badge," said Haggarty, -flipping open a leather folder. "Okay?" - -"Okay," the trooper said, and waved them on. - -The line of waiting cars was beginning to break up. The number of -people turned back and the sour replies they had called as they passed -those still in line explained it. - -Another vehicle coming away from the flood area, fast. It had a -cardboard sign with a red cross on it stuck in the windshield. A -station wagon, full. - -The trooper at the checkpoint paused to watch. The driver of the -station wagon stopped by the trooper with the shotgun, spoke to him for -a minute, nodded and slid into gear again. The trooper at the check -point stared at the faces inside the station wagon, some drawn, some -nervously exuberant, as it went past. - -The trooper with the shotgun was walking down the road toward him. -"Transients," he said. "They're getting them out." - -The other trooper said hesitantly, "Did--did you ask--" - -"Yeah. They haven't found anybody answering your wife's description, -not that the driver knew about anyway. She'll be all right." - -"Sure. Thanks." The trooper with the shotgun turned and walked back. -His partner sighed and moved on to the car at the head of the line. It -was stretched out of sight again. - - * * * * * - -"You want me to stop for any of this?" - -The photographer said, "Nope. I'll wait until we get in the town. But -jeez, it's pretty beat up, isn't it?" - -Jay Haggarty nodded and concentrated on his driving. One of the beat-up -elements of the landscape was the road they were on. Water had scoured -gravel out from under the surfacing in places, and there were potholes; -water had rushed across the road in a flood in other places, and left -mud and debris. - -A man in a leather windbreaker yelled at them to slow down, and -Haggarty obediently put his foot on the brake. He followed the -man's instructions and they crawled across what had recently been a -four-million-dollar toll-bridge. It seemed to be vibrating as they -crossed it, Haggarty had to remind himself that they wouldn't have been -allowed on it if it weren't safe. The river was within two feet of the -surface of the roadway, and there was an uneven thudding as flotsam -rammed into the accumulated tangle on the upstream side. - -They passed between the empty toll booths and headed for Hebertown. - -Haggarty said, "I was here just before the war, Vince. Nice, quiet -little town. It doesn't look as if it's been built up much since then." - -Ruffino said, "Who the hell would want to build a house around here? -You wake up some morning and you're under water. Give me Passaic." - -There was a second roadblock just before the sign that said: -ENTERING HEBERTOWN. Haggarty showed his card and leaned out -of the window to ask where the emergency relief headquarters was. The -directions turned out to be pretty complicated: It's straight down -Center Street, only you can't get through there--trees across the -road. So turn left on Maple, but you won't be able to take the bridge -at White Street because it's blocked off; go three blocks further and -cross on the highway bridge. Then you'll have to watch out for soft -pavement on Locust.... - -Ruffino said, unbelievingly, "Jeez, Jay, it's worse here than it was -down by the river. Do you mean that little creek had enough water in it -to do all this?" He stared at the little gray stream that flowed under -the highway bridge, and at the twisted, half-collapsed warehouses and -storefronts that were easily five feet above water level. - -"It's the little streams that do the damage," Haggarty told him. "Once -the water gets into the rivers it's all right. It can flow away. But -you see how close these buildings are set to the creek here? As soon -as the water came up a couple of feet it clobbered them." - -He stopped, because the photographer was opening the door of the parked -car and no longer listening. It was as good a place to get started as -any. Haggarty pulled over to the curb, locked the ignition and got out. - - - - - CHAPTER TWELVE - - -Mrs. Goudeket caught up with Polly and Groff. "So long I slept," she -said, panting. "They wouldn't wake me up. How's Mr. Starkman?" - -"They think he'll be all right for a while, anyway," said Mickey Groff. -"There's a whole field hospital coming in, somebody said. If he holds -out until then he's got a good chance." - -"Thank God," said Mrs. Goudeket, beaming. "And Mr. Chesbro?" - -Polly Chesbro said cheerfully, "I haven't seen him all day." - -Mrs. Goudeket looked at her appraisingly. All she said was, "I guess -he's pretty busy." - -Mickey Groff coughed. "Uh, the diner up the hill is in business, Mrs. -Goudeket. We were just about to go up and get something to eat. Would -you like to come along?" - -"Why not? Then I got to find a car to get back to the hotel. Imagine," -she laughed. "One hundred and sixty guests, and the only one there to -keep an eye on them is Dave Wax. Believe me, Goudeket's Green Acres -is one place they'll never come back to again!" She was very gay -about it, Groff thought.... If you didn't look too closely. He had a -sudden picture in his mind of what the last twenty-four hours meant -to Goudeket's Green Acres and to Mrs. Goudeket herself. One hundred -and sixty guests. At, say, five dollars per day per head. Over eight -hundred dollars a day; and out of that you could pay for the putting -green and the swimming pool, pay the salaries of the cooks, trumpet -player and chambermaids and busboys, pay the installments on the -mortgage and the electric bill. And squeeze out a profit; enough to -keep you for a year on what you made in a summer. But, although your -one hundred and sixty guests could cancel themselves out overnight, -reservations or no reservations, you couldn't cancel the trumpet player -or the mortgage or the putting green.... - -They had to wait in line, but they finally got a booth in the diner. -The menu was soup, sandwiches, and stew--apparently slapped together in -a hurry out of what would otherwise have spoiled in the refrigerator. -There still was no power; evidently the diner was operating its stoves -on bottled gas. - -But it tasted good to all three of them. Outside the diner again, with -coffee in cartons for Groff and Polly Chesbro for them to drink at -their leisure, Mrs. Goudeket said, "Listen, what are you going to do -now? You still have business here, Mickey?" - -Groff shrugged. "That's what I came up for. But I doubt I can do -anything about it today." - -"So stay overnight at Goudeket's Green Acres," she said hospitably. - -"You think we can get back there?" - -"Must be somebody with a car. I can pay." - -Groff looked around. There were a lot of cars, and not many of them -were going. As he watched, a big sedan chugging down the road with a -load of dirty-faced children coughed and stopped. A man in a Legion -cap, red-eyed and bearded, got out and wearily opened the door for the -kids. They apathetically began to trudge down the hill to the temporary -hospital. - -"Out of gas," Groff said. "They're all running out of gas." - -And then one car that was not out of gas, a low-slung sports job, came -rocketing along the road, took a turn too fast and skidded on the -mud-slick street. Its fishtail swerved left into a fire hydrant with -a crash that made the dishes behind the diner counter rattle. On the -rebound the car's remaining energy sent it nosing to the right through -the plate window of a clothing store. By then it was burning fiercely -from the tail. Two figures, dark in the glare of burning gas, spilled -frantically from the bucket seats and flailed their way through the -smoke and jagged glass. - -"Come on!" Groff yelled, a general invitation to perhaps half a dozen -weary, red-eyed men standing about with coffee cartons of their own. -They ran for the smoky blaze; it beat fiercely against Groff's forehead -and cheeks. He found himself almost racing crazily into the flames -before he stopped. Groff peered into the holocaust and saw nothing. - -A man tugged his arm, drawing him back a couple of yards. The man said, -preoccupied: "That was Ed von Lutz's little car. A Porsche. Ed's got a -garage, he had that thing for advertising." - -Groff said, watching two people die, "Why's he racing it around town?" - -"Oh, that wasn't Ed," the man told him. "Ed got killed in his -garage hours ago. Water undermined the sills and footing, he was in -there trying to straighten up and then the floor gave way and his -air-compressor storage tank rolled over him. That wasn't Ed. That must -of been some crazy kid that's been hanging around thinking about the -little sports car ever since he got it in, and he thought this was his -chance for a free ride. I guess that was his girl with him." - -The quick, fierce gasoline flame was burning itself out; now the blaze -had passed to the clothes on display, the fixtures, the shelves. The -building was a long brick row, not battered by the worst of the current -but horribly soiled. The clothing store was the central one of seven -shops; there were apartments upstairs. - -"Let's get the burning stuff out before it spreads," Groff said grimly. -He walked into the smoke and, holding his breath, came out with a -smoldering armful of suits off a rack. He dumped them in the gutter, -where they charred and stank. - -"Axes," a man sighed. "Hardware store around the corner." - -"I'll get 'em," shouted Mrs. Goudeket, trotting off. "Save the man's -stock. Don't let the fire spread." - -The next half hour was a nightmare of chopping and prying at burning -wood, dashing out for smokefree air when you had got a little ahead of -the flames. Groff burned his left forearm when he brushed once against -the still-blistering frame of the car. Midway through the job somebody -covered the two charred figures from the car with a pair of topcoats -each and they carried them out and laid them on the curb. Later they -were gone; somebody, Groff never knew who, had taken them to the -temporary morgue in the M.E. church basement. - -He woke once from his daze of chopping and prying to find Polly Chesbro -pulling on him. "They're stealing everything, Mickey," she said -insistently. "Can't you stop them?" - -Groff looked around. The store was gutted, the fire only an evil -smoulder here and there. He coughed and walked out, sidling around the -twisted, blackened little car with the bashed-in tail. He breathed -fresh air outside; to his surprise it was late afternoon. - -The pile of clothes from the store was dwindling before his eyes. -People were picking it over and grabbing; Mrs. Goudeket was screaming -at them: "Leave the man's stock alone! I'll--I'll--" She took an axe -and made a feeble pass at a man in mechanic's coveralls. He shoved -her hard and sent her sprawling. Polly Chesbro began to curse the man -fluently; he ignored her as if she were a buzzing fly. Groff went and -picked up the gasping old woman. "You hurt?" he asked. - -She rubbed her behind and shook her head, glaring murderously. -"Loafers," she said. "Bums without brains to run a business themselves. -Look at them!" - -Groff looked at them. From the wrong side of the tracks--river in this -town. Sick, neurotic faces, shrill neurotic voices as they squabbled -over tidbits like carrion crows. Feeble slum types, most of them, -but a few of the gorillas that every slum produces in defiance of -malnutrition. Men, women and gorillas, there were about a dozen of -them. This was his cue to deliver a ringing oration on the rights of -property and shame them away from the only chance most of them would -ever have at an eighty-five dollar suit or topcoat. - -He took up Mrs. Goudeket's axe and walked purposefully toward the -carrion crows. "Break it up!" he yelled hoarsely. "If you can't do -anything useful you can go home and not make any more trouble." - -The gorilla who had shoved Mrs. Goudeket looked at him appraisingly, -picked up the bundle of clothes he had neatly laid aside and walked off -with them in his arms. There was a nice charcoal-gray single-breasted -suit on top. - -"Put those down!" Groff snarled. The man just kept walking. There was -a crackle of laughter from the others around the pile. Where were the -decent people, Groff wondered angrily. They were on the fringes and -they were waiting. Their world was balanced on a razor's edge, and they -dared not breathe. Let it tip one way and looting would tilt again to -law and order; let it tip the other and looting would tilt over into -murder. - -Groff balanced the doubled-bitted axe in his right hand and hurled it -at the departing gorilla. It flew like an arrow; its flat top thudded -into the small of the man's back. He fell, howling, on the soft bundle -of clothes he embraced. Groff walked up to him and rolled him over with -his foot. The man cursed him and Groff drew back his foot for a kick at -his bullet head. The man stopped instantly, glaring. "Go home," Groff -told him. - -The decent people on the fringes had come to life. They cried to the -carrion crows: "Go home. Leave the man's stock where it is. Get back -where you belong." - -And it worked, because it was still daylight. - -On the way back to the school, the GHQ of the town, Groff and Polly -Chesbro and Mrs. Goudeket saw again the ruin and the despair, and -something new: hatred. A couple railed at a man standing on his porch -that he had plenty of room, that they had to have a place to sleep, -they _knew_ he had plenty of room--but the man grinned hatred at them -and calmly shook his head. - -"That," said Polly Chesbro in a low voice, "could be the paying off -of an ancient score. The couple in the mud could be Mr. and Mrs. Town -Banker, suddenly poor because they haven't a bed, and the man on the -porch could be the village bum, owes everybody in town, brink of -financial disaster, but suddenly rich because he has a bed. This is the -day of jubilee, Groff, the day of leveling." - -They passed a house canted off its foundations; they saw a man calmly -building a rubbish fire against one corner of it and almost went on, -so natural did it seem. His eyes were bright when he looked up, and he -seemed only a little offended when they kicked his fire apart. - -"It's the insurance," he explained. "Twelve thousand dollars, fire with -extended coverage. You know what it'll cost me to get this straightened -up? Rent a crane, a big gang of men with hydraulic jacks, a week's -work easing the house back on the footings, and then everything will -be sprung, the whole house'll have to be replastered. Five thousand -dollars, easy, and I haven't got it. So I figured, we're covered for -fire, make a clean start, the kids are grown now and we don't need a -place this size--" Of the adjoining houses he had not thought at all. - -They walked him down to the school; he chattered volubly all the way, -quite unhinged. Polly efficiently vanished in search of a doctor with -a needleful of morphine, and eventually she led one of the army medics -toward them. - -The arsonist snapped to and said crisply, "Sir, these civilians tried -to prevent me from carrying out my mission. If you ask me, they're -Krauts." - -The medic led him away, protesting. - - * * * * * - -Artie Chesbro said worriedly, "Sharon, are you sure Akslund's coming -here? None of these dopes seem to know anything." - -Sharon Froman said, "Positive. This is the only road in from the north. -He'll have to stop at the check point even if he is a congressman." -She paused, added, "The captain who told me was the detachment -communications officer. He got it right off the radio himself." She -gave Chesbro a smile of good fellowship. It never hurt to remind a man -how helpful you were being. - -Chesbro sighed, "I'm getting tired of waiting here, all the same. These -tinhorn heroes are getting under my skin. The next idiot that wants to -know if I'll help out with the salvage squads or let them take this car -for emergency duty gets a tire-iron across the face." - -Sharon said sympathetically, "You'd think they'd know enough to leave -you alone, wouldn't you?" There was a siren scream from down the road, -and they both sat up straight to look. But it was only an ambulance; it -slowed briefly at the roadblock, the troopers waved it by and it sped -away. - -Sharon took out a cigarette and pressed the dashboard lighter; then -she remembered it didn't work and lit the cigarette with a match. It -wasn't much of a car they were in; but it was the best car Chesbro had -been able to rent for what money he had in his pocket. And naturally he -wouldn't have been able to do it by himself, she thought comfortably. -She was the one who had learned that Representative Akslund was coming -into the disaster area on an inspection tour; she was the one who had -located the car; and she was the one who had put the idea in Chesbro's -head of meeting the congressman and riding with him. Nicely done, -Sharon, she told herself; and the best part of all was that she had -succeeded in making him think it was his own idea. - -"I wonder how Polly's making out," Chesbro said. - -Sharon permitted herself a frown, her face turned away. She said -gaily, "Probably loving every minute of it, Arthur. It must be pretty -exciting for her. Anyway," she added blandly, "Mickey Groff's probably -taking good care of her." - -"Mickey Groff?" He looked at her with surprise. "Polly?" - -Sharon said, "Well, he _did_ seem rather interested--" - -Chesbro shook his head. "Oh, no. You don't know Polly. Believe me, men -aren't her--" He hesitated, and said, "Believe me, she has too much -sense to get involved with a two-bit operator like him. She's loyal, -Sharon. Absolutely loyal to me." He was silent for a moment and then, -without looking at the girl, he said, "Polly's a funny kid. She isn't, -uh, _normal_, if you know what I mean, like you'd think a wife would -be--but she's loyal. Absolutely." - -Sharon Froman took a deep, quiet breath. Ah-ha, Mr. Chesbro, she -thought to herself with satisfaction, the wife isn't quite normal, -eh? Somehow or other she doesn't respond when you get that urge, and -the years go by, and then you notice that you aren't getting the urge -as often--as far as she's concerned at any rate. So after a while you -don't even worry when she's off with another man. - -Sharon nodded wisely to herself. Just the way it had been with Hesch -and his first wife. She'd made a man out of Hesch, even if he had -finally let her down, and she could make a man out of this unpromising -lout too-- - -The unpromising lout sat up sharply. "Hey," he yelled, "something's -coming! It's got a state-police escort. Maybe it's Akslund!" - - * * * * * - -The congressman was on the best of terms with the Air Force--possibly -because he held appointments on three appropriations committees. -The Air Force had been delighted to fly him up from Washington that -morning, and had been eager to fly him right into the disaster area in -a helicopter; but Representative Akslund himself had put his foot down -about that. Transport planes were one thing; helicopters were something -else. So the last fifteen miles of his trip were in a car furnished -through the courtesy of the state police. - -"Unbelievable," he murmured--but enunciating every syllable crisply and -clearly. "It looks as if a war had been fought over every inch of this -lovely countryside. I estimate the damage I have already seen is in the -millions." Out of the corner of his eye he observed that the AP man -who had tagged along wasn't writing anything down. Disappointing; but -Akslund was too old a hand to try to hint about it. The AP man would be -with him for a good many hours yet. There was plenty of time for direct -quotes. - -The police car ahead sounded its siren. The congressman craned his neck. - -"Road block," the driver explained. "They'll pass us right through, -sir." - -But they didn't. The driver of the car ahead stuck out his arm and -semaphored a stop; the congressman's chauffeur braked sharp and smooth, -and stopped a yard away from the other car's bumper. - -A state trooper on point duty walked over and said, "Sorry to hold you -up, sir. You can pass, of course, but there's a man here who says he--" - -Artie Chesbro appeared, panting. He stuck his hand in the open window. -"Good to see you again, Halmer," he said. "I'm Artie Chesbro. State -delegation. Perhaps you remember our little chat at the Waldorf last -year--the fund dinner." - -Representative Akslund opened the matchless filing case in his head -and riffled through the cards. He remembered. "Glad to see you again, -Chesbro. Are you in this mess?" - -"Up to my eyebrows. From the very start. There were eight of us trapped -in a building all night long; one was killed by gasoline fumes, -another's in the hospital with pneumonia this minute. But that's not -the point. I've been thinking heavily about relief and reconstruction, -Halmer, and I've developed some ideas I'd like to share with you. Mind -if I come along?" - -Representative Akslund noticed that the AP man was scribbling at last. -Eight trapped all night, one dead, one dying. This Chesbro knew what -he was talking about. His interests were medium-big and diversified, -said the _Chesbro_ card in Akslund's head; he'd be able to give him the -sound businessman's viewpoint. Akslund knew he had to move fast; the -first public figure to hit the headlines and newscasts with a formal -plan would skim the publicity cream. How to be a statesman-humanitarian -in one easy lesson. Chesbro would save him time. - -"Get in," he told Artie. - -"Room for my assistant, Miss Froman?" Artie asked. - -"Of course, Chesbro. I need facts and I need them fast." - -Artie waved the come-on to Sharon in the car on the shoulder. - -She reached into the back of the car for her manuscript briefcase and -gaily ran for the limousine. She didn't even bother to lock up the car, -which Artie had rented with a solemn promise that he'd return it to the -garage in exactly two hours. It would get back to the man somehow, she -thought contentedly. Big things were happening now; no time for trivia. - - * * * * * - -The AP man leaned forward and asked: "C-H-E-S-B-R-O?" - -"Right. Arthur Chesbro, of Summit. I own a piece of the Hebertown -newspaper, I have some real estate, I'm interested in broadcasting. -Thirty-nine years old." - -"Veteran?" - -"Ah, I was a consultant to the War Manpower Commission; I wasn't -actually in the service." - -"Who's the man who died?" - -"Sam Zehedi, Z-E-H-E-D-I, I think it goes. A grocer, about thirty. -We were holed up in a filling station on State Highway 7, just two -carloads of people who couldn't get through the flood. The sick man -is, I'm sorry to say, my very dear friend Henry Starkman, the Burgess -of Hebertown. In the morning when we realized he had pneumonia we -carried him about twelve miles into town. He's in that improvised -hospital they have there. When I saw him last his condition was poor. -He is about sixty-five. He was in my car when we got stopped; we were -looking at conditions and making plans. On a small scale, what Mr. -Akslund is here for." Cue to Sharon! - -Sharon said to the congressman, "The networks are probably trying to -get mobile broadcasting units in right now. They should be set up and -sending by midnight. By morning they'll have all they need to lead the -disaster strong in the breakfast newscasts." - -It was a reminder that they had better get down to brass tacks on a -concrete proposal for relief and reconstruction. Dramatically issued -from the site of the flood, it would be unbeatable. - -They were rolling slowly into Hebertown proper. - -Artie said to the driver, "Drive around for a while." - -"Yes," said Akslund. "Show me everything." - -Sharon added: "Drop me off at the school. I'll get the police chief to -find a room for us somehow. We'll have work to do." - -"Lots of it," Akslund said thoughtfully, looking through the window at -the wreckage. - - * * * * * - -No cars! - -Mrs. Goudeket rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. She had tried two -garages, and no cars for rent. Chief Brayer, they said. He had -_commandeered_ them, if you please, had them driven to a "motor pool." -The couple of cars going through the streets that she had flagged down -were "on missions." See Chief Brayer. - -Well, she would see this new dictator, this Hitler of Hebertown. She -reached the schoolhouse, and there, sure enough, was the motor pool -in the teachers' parking lot across the street--a strange collection -of vehicles ranging from a two-ton farm truck to somebody's little -Rambler. There was a man with a clipboard at a table, on guard. - -She sniffed and walked into the marble lobby of the school, which -was crowded and noisy with the talk of fifty busy people. There were -two uniformed men at card tables; one was in a fireman's queer, boxy -uniform cap and the other must be this Brayer. - -He was talking to a boy scout--at a time like this!--but she waited -until he was finished. Then she burst out, "I've got to have a car. I'm -Mrs. S. Goudeket of Goudeket's Green Acres. I've got to get back to my -place. Now." - -The mustached old man looked up. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "We need all -the cars for public service. Maybe later after some help comes in. Why -don't you--" - -"Did you hear who I am?" she yelled. - -"I don't give a damn who you are," he yelled back, standing up. "The -town is drowning. People are sick. People are looting and burning. -We're trying to hold it together for a few hours until help comes. -Don't come here grabbing for a car. Go and find something useful to do. -They need help in the hospital, people to make beds and carry slops. -You can do that, or if you don't want to do that you can at least get -out of everybody's way!" - -He sat down and turned to a man wearing a handkerchief around his arm -and immediately was in thoughtful, intense conversation with him. - -Mrs. Goudeket recoiled a step, then walked slowly from the lobby. - -Maybe--maybe he was right. There was Polly, waiting for her. - -She said to the girl, "No cars. We should go work in the hospital they -set up for a while, Polly. They need help." - -Polly Chesbro nodded. Together they walked to the improvised excuse for -a hospital. - -Mrs. Goudeket was thinking: Mr. Goudeket wouldn't have stormed up to -that busy old man. He would have seen that making beds in the hospital -right now is more important than whether Green Acres is in the black -this year. Mr. Goudeket may have been right about more things than I -ever knew before.... - -She wondered idly how the orange groves in Palestine for which they had -donated year after year were growing. - - * * * * * - -Ten minutes later Sharon was at the desk, telling Chief Brayer: "You've -got to. He's the head of three committees. He can turn the faucet and a -million, five million dollars runs into Hebertown. Or he can leave the -faucet shut. Think of your town, Chief!" - -Brayer sighed and wished Henry were there. At last he beckoned to one -of the deputies and said, "Take two men. Go to the new Fielding place, -that little ranch-house thing on Sullivan. Turn everybody out. We need -it for Congressman Akslund and his, uh, staff. Leave a man there to see -that nobody sneaks back in. Better leave a man there as long as the -Congressman's there, for a guard and in case there are any messages." - -"Thanks, Chief," Sharon said warmly. "You're doing the right thing. -I'll just wait here; they'll pick me up. And can you let us have a -guide to show us the way to the house?" - -"Sure," said Brayer. "God, it must be smooth to be a congressman!" - - * * * * * - -They had dropped off the AP man, and Artie could talk freely. "Another -thing I didn't want to say in front of him, Halmer, is the Southern -angle. Those Democrats from Dixie are going to be swarming around -the valley offering sites and tax write-offs and hell knows what to -persuade damaged industries to relocate. This means you build up the -Democratic South and drain strength out of our state. Unemployment and -discontent. We're G.O.P. here, but not by such a margin that a sharp -local depression couldn't put the state over the line. The cities, -frankly, we lost last time but we have the counties as of now. If the -valley isn't saved, Halmer, it might cost us a senator--and you know -what that would mean. Knocking off Bolling and his sixteen years of -seniority and the committee appointments that go with it would be a -very serious thing for us nationally. I'm not exaggerating when I say -that a large, prompt injection of cash is vital to everything you and I -stand for." - -Akslund hooded his wise old eyes and nodded. - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTEEN - - -Polly Chesbro went through the ranks of litters to the one on which -the burgess lay. A nurse in the pinstriped cotton fatigue uniform had -shoved a thermometer under his tongue and was looking at her watch. - -"How is he, Lieutenant?" Polly asked. - -The nurse whipped out the thermometer, read it, jotted down a figure on -her clipboard and said, "Holding his own. Excuse me." She shook down -the thermometer, popped it into a glass that held many thermometers, -picked out another one and slipped it under the tongue of the person -in the next litter, a girl of ten with a dry, burning face and dry, -burning eyes. - -In the marble lobby of the schoolhouse Mickey Groff was studying an -extraordinary organization that had sprung up within a very few hours. -Card tables had been set up and conference tables dragged from offices -and classrooms. For an ad-hoc government with the wires out you wanted -everything under one roof, in one room, instead of scattered through a -town hall. When a man came to you with trouble you could fix, this way -there was no phone to pick up; this way you called across the room and -things happened fast. - -There were two main centers around the fire chief and the police chief. -They retained roughly their old jurisdictions, respectively over the -destructiveness of nature and the cussedness of man. While Groff -watched, a woman came coolly to the fire chief in her turn to say that -her undermined house was beginning to sag and she had twenty refugees. -They had gone out into the street, could he find places for them? And, -as an afterthought, could they do anything about the house? The fire -chief called to three boy scouts, part of his combined field force and -housing records. One knew a big thirteen-room place on the outskirts -which, when he last checked, had only twelve people in it. Thirteen -rooms. Space for twenty more. And the house? - -"George," the fire chief called to a brassarded man, "get some people, -a dozen if you can, and see if you can do anything about Mrs. Comden's -place. She says it's beginning to lean badly. Be a pity to see it go -now." - -George, an electric-company rigger, said, "What kind of a house, Mrs. -Comden? How big? Which way's it going?" - -"Frame. Two-story, eight rooms. It's going into the street, maybe gone -by now, I don't know." - -"What's in the back yard? Do you have a back yard?" - -She passed her hand vaguely across her forehead, brushing back her -hair. "Back yard? Just a back yard. A vegetable garden..." - -"Good," said George with satisfaction. "I know where there's some wire -rope and oil drums. We'll dig in the drums for deadmen and anchor the -house to them with the rope. I'll need a truck, Chief." - -"You get a car," the chief said. "Sorry." He scribbled a note which -would go to the guardian of the improvised motor pool outside. George -walked off with it slowly, collecting waiting men. He picked them -big and burly. The woman trailed apathetically after. The chief was -already engaged with a man who wanted a gang to clear away snapped -and fallen electrical cables which would set his house afire--and, as -an afterthought, the neighborhood it was in--the instant current came -through again. He got two men with axes and a felling saw to cut away -the fallen tree that had brought down the cables. - -It was getting dim in the marble lobby, in spite of the tall windows. -On a couple of the card tables candles stuck in their own wax were -being lit; across the room somebody was pumping up a Coleman lamp. It -lit, in a dazzling green-white flare, and the gloom was gone for a -while. - -On the police chief's side the reports were more bitter. "Goons from -across the river, Red. So far they're just hanging around and talking -it up, but they've got bottles. It's just a matter of time before they -get brave enough to smash my window and grab the furs. There's a dozen -of them and I've got to have at least six men. So help me, if I don't -get six men I'm going to kill the first drunken s.o.b. that makes a -move at our place. I've got my brother there with the shotgun now--" - -"Skip the rest, Pete. You and your brother are two able-bodied men and -you've got a shotgun. You don't need any help." - -"I don't _want_ to blast 'em!" the furrier wailed. "Why do we hire you -guys, anyway?" - -"We're spread too thin, Pete. We'll send the patrol car past and put -a scare into your friends, but don't expect us to tie up six men for -every shop on Broad Street. We're spread too thin and we have to keep -moving. Matter of fact, I ought to let your brother handle the store -himself and deputize you right here and now." - -"No you don't, Red!" The man backed away and was gone. - -A wide-eyed scout darted up and gave old Red the three-fingered salute. -"Big fight, Chief, down on the river, foot of Sullivan. I don't know -what it's about, maybe one of the boats--" - -The chief yelled at two waiting men in Legion caps: "Take a car. -They're trying to take over one of the ferries at Sullivan Street. -Break it up and keep patrolling the river. We've got to keep the boats -in our hands." The men stolidly moved off to the car pool. - -Mickey Groff knew by then where he'd be useful. He went up to the -chief's table and said, "I'd like to be deputized." - -The old man stared at him. "And go looting with a badge? Who're you, -mister? I haven't seen you in town before." - -"Mickey Groff. From New York. I came in to see your burgess about -taking over the old Swanscomb Mill for a factory of mine." - -"Groff. Henry talked about your offer. All right--Groff." The old man -suddenly grinned. "Think I'll even trust you with a gun. Know how to -use one?" - -"Yes. The army." - -The chief snorted. "Army! I hoped you might be a hunter. Well, maybe -you'll do. Put up your hand." - -Groff did. - -In a rapid mumble the old man asked him whether he swore to uphold and -defend the laws and constitution of the State of Pennsylvania, so help -him God. Groff said he would, and the old man said he hereby appointed -him a special deputy policeman of the Borough of Hebertown. "And," he -added, "I sure hope this is legal because I've been doing it all day. -Sign your name on this list. Clarence, give this man a thirty-eight. -Have you got a handkerchief, mister? No? Clarence, give the man a clean -handkerchief to tie around his arm." - -He clanked down an enormous revolver and five cartridges on the table. - -"Five?" Groff asked. - -"Army!" the chief snorted. "The chamber under the hammer is kept empty -in civilian life, Groff. Let me see you load it." - -Fishing in his memory, Groff broke the revolver, set the safety, loaded -it and closed it, being very careful where he pointed the thing. - -The chief said, "I guess I won't have to take it back after all. Now -you stick around and wait. Talk to Murphy over there. He's been a -deputy before this." - -Murphy was small and quiet. He volunteered that he was a plumber and -that there'd be a lot of work for him after all this was over. He -showed Groff how to carry his pistol in the waistband of his pants -and said cautioningly, "Of course we ain't going to use them, you -understand." - -Groff, who had his doubts about it, said he understood and watched -while a battery-operated receiver-transmitter on another of the card -tables came to life under the ministrations of a sixteen-year-old boy. -The fire chief and the police chief both charged over; so after a while -did a doctor from the outside when the word reached him. The three -tried simultaneously to dictate messages to the bulldozed teen-ager. - -The fire chief wanted chemical trucks sent in, as many as could be -rounded up. The police chief wanted National Guardsmen, at least a -battalion. The doctor wanted to know where the hell the goddam army -field hospital was. It was an interesting fight and Mickey Groff was -sorry when a trouble call came in and he and Murphy missed the end of -it. - - * * * * * - -The man in the Legion cap said, "You best give me that gun, fella. I -can handle it." - -"So can I," said Mickey Groff. He wasn't nasty about it; but the man in -the Legion cap shrugged and let it go. "This the place?" Groff asked as -the car stopped. - -"This is the place." The Legionnaire scowled worriedly. "They took all -the boats across the river. You see anything over there?" - -Groff got out of the car and looked. It was full dark now, and the -river was wide. There were lights of some kind on the opposite bank, -but he couldn't have told you what they were. Flashlights and electric -lanterns, most likely. - -But they looked a little bit close. - -Groff ordered, "Turn the car to the right. Put the brights on." The -Legionnaire cramped the wheels around and inched forward. He kicked the -button of the highway-beam headlights. - -"They're coming, all right," said Groff. Shapes were lying on the -water, punctuated with hand lights. - -"Sons of bitches," said the Legionnaire bitterly. "Now there'll be hell -to pay. Four of us against every goddam goon on the river--and Harry -and me ain't even got guns." - -"Take it easy, Walt," Murphy said. But in the reflection from the -headlights Groff could see his face was worried. - -Murphy, who had appointed himself in charge of the detail, sent the -Legionnaire named Walt after the Legionnaire named Harry; and he -disposed them as best he could. Groff got the place of honor--he had -a gun. He was put on the end of a little loading jetty; Murphy took a -position on a floating landing platform; Walt and Harry were left to -stand by the car, to keep the lights on the boats. - -And the boats came on, four of them, put-putting through the water in -convoy formation. Funny, thought Groff abstractedly; if I were them -I'd come ashore upstream a little way. This is the natural place for -deputies to be waiting for them. If they used their heads they'd know -that, and they'd come ashore somewhere else-- - -He thanked his lucky stars that the goons evidently were not using -their heads. - -Harry, behind the wheel of the car, was making a fantastic amount -of racket grinding gears, racing the motor, shifting back and forth -to pick out one boat after another with the headlights. Damn fool, -thought Groff aggrievedly. He could hardly hear the deputy named Murphy -shouting at the approaching boats. There was some kind of answer from -them, but he couldn't make that out at all. - -But they were getting close. - -Groff carefully dropped to one knee, rested his hand with the revolver -in it on the railing of the jetty, and took aim at the lead boat. How -long had it been since he'd fired the pistol-dismounted qualifying -range? Nearly fifteen years, he guessed; it was in the first few -months of basic training, and always after that it had been a carbine -or an M-1. - -Somebody was coming up behind him. - -Good God, he thought, they've made another landing! He started to turn. - -It was the man Walt, grabbing for the gun. "Leggo, you!" he panted, -clutching at the revolver. "If you're too yellow to shoot let me have -it!" - -Walt was no kid; he was in his late fifties at the least. But he was -big and solid, and Groff was off balance. For a moment he staggered at -the end of the jetty, Walt leaning on him.... - -They both went in. - -The water was cold and the current was fast. What became of the -revolver Groff didn't know. He broke surface, spluttering and choking. - -Walt was splashing right beside him. "Help me!" he bawled. "For God's -sake, help me! I can't swim!" - -Groff had one bitter moment of temptation--let him drown! cried his -subconscious. But then the decision was out of his hands. Walt flailed -toward him and caught him. Groff went under, choking; he struggled -upward, carrying the panicky man with him, got a breath, went under -again-- - -The next time he came to the surface someone was there to grab him. - -The goons! Instinctively he tried to fight free, but somebody in the -boat had a good grip on his arm. They hauled him in, and another boat -had Walt. - -"You all right?" one of the men in the boat demanded anxiously. Groff -said dizzily, "Sure. But--" - -"Take it easy," said the man in the boat. "We'll take you up to the -emergency center. We figured you people'd need some help, so after we -got things under control on our side we came on over." He said proudly, -"They thought I was nuts, keeping after everybody to join the Civil -Defense squads. I guess they'll change their minds now!" - -Chief Brayer was looking a little ashamed of himself, but he recovered -quickly. All the men from the other side of the river had guns; all of -them were personally vouched for by the Civil Defense man; they made -valuable reinforcements for the exhausted deputies Brayer had been -swearing in. - -They found dry clothes for Groff, and Brayer put him in charge of the -dispatcher's desk to give him a chance to warm up. It had turned windy -with nightfall. - -There was a commotion outside, and a couple of state troopers came in. -Groff looked past them; there was a dignified-looking old man, somebody -of importance, by the way the troopers stood by him. - -And with him were Artie Chesbro and Sharon Froman. - -Groff stood up to get a better look. Chesbro glanced around the room, -caught Groff's eye, looked away, gave him a fishy smile, spoke to the -dignified-looking old man, and shepherded him out of the room, along -with Chief Brayer and a couple of other top men. - -Something didn't smell good. Groff called another deputy over and asked -him to take care of the desk. He walked over to one of the troopers and -said: "Who's that you came in with?" - -The trooper said, "Congressman Akslund, that's the old guy. The other -fellow's some kind of local big shot, I guess. You ought to know him -better than me." - -Local big shot. - -Mickey Groff looked thoughtfully at the door Chesbro and the -congressman and the village elders had gone out through. - -Back at the filling station. The night Zehedi had died. What was Sharon -Froman selling Chesbro? "A big regional organization to fight back -against the inroads of the South. You and me, Mr. Chesbro." - -You and me--and Congressman Akslund, it looked like. - -Mickey Groff shook his head, half-enraged, half-admiring. You had to -hand it to Chesbro; he always kept his eye on the ball. - - - - - CHAPTER FOURTEEN - - -By midnight the United States Army was working one of its accustomed -miracles. - -It involved a number of things, starting with a phone call at noon from -the White House to Fort Lowder, New Jersey. A major general commanding -a division in training there said to the phone call, "Yes sir," and -after he hung up, to his one-star assistant commander, "Excellent -training for the 432nd, Jim. Get it done." The brigadier made some -calls and then he and the C.G. finished their lunch serenely. The calls -whipped Fort Lowder to a froth of activity that looked senseless at -first; an engineer officer took off like a bat out of hell in one of -the division's light planes and soared over the flood valley 175 miles -away, swooped low over promising field after field, and returned. -Leaves were canceled for the division's quartermaster battalion of -two-and-a-half-ton, six-by-six trucks. Ordnance mechanics of the -division's heavy maintenance company swarmed like maggots around a -dozen red-lined vehicles under orders to get them rolling at any cost. -Warehouses were skillfully looted of parts by ordnance sergeants while -ordnance lieutenants engaged guards in casual conversations that ended -when they got the high sign that all was well. And the cause of all -the activity, the 432nd field-hospital battalion, which had almost -forgotten that it _was_ a field-hospital battalion, got the pitch by -early afternoon. Long broken up into their training-camp formation, -scattered through dispensaries and the base hospital, they were -abruptly reminded of their battle mission by an announcement over the -base PA system by the division surgeon, their commander. - -Wonderingly, the six hundred officers and men formed on the parade -ground, many still in hospital whites. They were young M.D. first -lieutenants grinding out their drafted service wearily. They were -male R.N.'s with their big perennial bitch that they were lucky to -get a rocker while a woman of equal training automatically got a gold -bar. They were corporals who knew one end of a hypodermic needle from -another, pharmacists who ached to inventory their own stock of trusses, -penicillin, candy bars, yo-yo's and bulk vanilla ice cream in their own -corner stores again, privates and recruits who could swing a sledge or -mop a corridor. They were a handful of majors and lieutenant colonels -who were honest-to-God career military surgeons passionately interested -in the problems and possibilities of their work. On the parade ground -the division surgeon reminded them of something. It was that they were -trained to move into a given bare field and turn it, in two hours, into -a functioning, five-hundred-bed hospital. - -They dispersed to almost-forgotten warehouses where they broke out -field medical chests of instruments and medicine. They found again -the long coiled snakes of green treated canvas, tons of it, the 500 -litters, and the thousand tent pegs, big and small, and the jointed -tent poles and the miles of rope, each piece in its place, and the -sledges to drive the pegs, and the Coleman lanterns to hang on the -poles. The trucks of the quartermaster battalion backed up and the tiny -handful of field-grade officers buzzed everywhere, yelling and cajoling -and consulting loading lists, and trucks were unloaded and reloaded a -dozen times in some cases to get the right load in its right place in -the line of convoy. - -The engineers had finished an overlay strip map of the route by then, -and mimeographs began to spin out copies for the quartermaster drivers. -An MP platoon moved out in a truck and one man was dropped at each -tricky intersection to wave the convoy through. Each MP had a couple of -K-rations with him, because he'd be busy long into the night; as the -convoy went past the rearmost men they'd be picked up in the truck and -leap-frogged ahead of the foremost men to the next tricky intersections. - -The water trucks went as a matter of course, but it took a flash of -genius for somebody to realize that the area would be short of gas, and -this got the infantry into it. A puzzled rifle company found itself -yanked off the firing range and assigned to the mysterious chore of -filling five-gallon jerry cans with gas from the pumps of the division -motor pool and stacking them solid in three six-by-sixes. - -It took a flash of West Point tradition for the division band to be -massed at the camp gate when the 432nd rolled off shortly before -sunset. The division commander was there; the band oompahed and -he impassively took the salute from the startled doctors in the -command cars. A few of the enlisted men of the battalion rolling past -remembered vaguely about crossing the arms and sitting at attention. -There wasn't a man there who was not, though they'd hoot at the word, -inspired by the ancient tradition of the field music and the ancient -greeting they were exchanging with the tough old pro who was sending -them on their way. - -They rolled for six hours, until their tailbones were bruised and -their bladders ready to burst, along highway and detour and miserable -blacktop. It was dark soon, but the sound of some of the bridges they -rumbled over scared them silly. K-rations and canteen water staved off -the boredom, and so did banter when they crept through the towns. - -They arrived eventually at the field the engineer officer had spotted -from his division plane and stiffly went about turning the field into a -five-hundred-bed hospital. It took cursing and coaxing, and five men, -utterly out of condition, doubled up clutching at brand-new hernias -while they manhandled the tons of canvas and pegs and poles. Another -was doping off in the dark and a truck backed over him, killing him. -The casualty rate for the operation was one per cent, which was not bad. - -While the tents rose in the headlights' glare the officers in their -jeeps and command cars were spreading out to the stricken communities. -One of them found Hebertown, two miles away. - - * * * * * - -The young lieutenant, for a few hours not wearily grinding through -his period of drafted service, said to Chief Brayer, "We're prepared -to take over your entire medical load. Who's in charge on the medical -side?" - -The police chief said to one of his men wearily, "Get Dr. Soames. Good -news for him." - -But Soames had seen the jeep and medics in it. He burst in and roared: -"Tench-_hut_!" Automatically the lieutenant popped to. "Suck in -that gut!" Soames snarled, and then broke into relieved, hysterical -laughter. "My God, you looked funny as hell," he wheezed at the -officer. "Haven't had so much fun since we bribed the cooks to serve -the division surgeon fricassee of haemoangioma!" - -The lieutenant looked a little green and asked stiffly, "How many cases -have you, doctor?" - -"Ninety-five, shavetail. Take 'em away. We're all beat to our socks -here. The town medics, the emergency people they flew in--we're beat." -Dr. Soames sagged into a chair and seemed to lose interest. - -The lieutenant went outside to his jeep and told the signal corps man -with the SCR 6300: "Ambulance-fitted trucks for ninety-five cases. I'll -check 'em over and get them classified." - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Goudeket and Polly Chesbro had, semi-automatically, fallen into -the routine of the improvised hospital. For hours they had been doling -out rationed water, mopping brows, jumping to the "Here-you" of the -handful of nurses and doctors, cleaning up vomit and blood, dumping -and washing ducks and bedpans. Mrs. Goudeket first saw the brisk new -lieutenant talking crisply to an exhausted nurse. - -"That one," she said. "He isn't tired." - -Polly said wanly, "That's nice." She wasn't listening, particularly. -She'd come to the hospital in the first place to keep an eye on the -burgess, but he was off in an upper room, what they humorously called -the "quiet" ward because there was, in fact, fractionally less noise -and confusion there than on the lower level. She hadn't seen him for -hours. - -Mrs. Goudeket insisted, "Look, darling. There's another one. Maybe -another ambulance came in?" - -"That's nice," said Polly, escaping. They were moving two of the -patients again, and it was her sector of the floor. The patients were -carried off in litters--new green ones, Polly noticed wearily; maybe -there was another ambulance in. Strip the cots, bundle the bedding, -scrounge through the stacks of afghans and torn sheets and quilted -comforters for something to make a new bed with, turn down the covers -and help the new patient in. - -But there wasn't any new patient, not for either of the beds. - -Two pink-faced kids in clean green fatigues brushed by her and set a -litter down next to the bed with the eleven-year-old boy in it. Polly -started to warn them about his probable fractured ribs; he had been -under most of a frame dwelling for eight hours before he was found. But -they seemed to know what they were doing; they rolled him gently to one -side, slipped the litter under, rolled him gently back. - -She watched them carrying him away. Funny. A lot of the patients were -going away, carried by these frighteningly expert, incredibly fresh new -people. - -It had to be true. Help had arrived--help in quantities, enough to meet -the need. - -Polly stood up straight. "That's nice," she said dizzily, and pitched -headfirst across the bed she was stripping down. - - * * * * * - -Dick McCue, young and healthy and very tired after toting the burgess -in, had slept twelve hours, awakening in darkness in the school -gymnasium. A child was crying on one of the other litters and a weary -mother was trying to soothe it. McCue was enormously hungry; his last -"meal" had been a cup of syrupy coffee before he staggered into the -improvised dormitory and passed out; his last before that had been -breakfast on cheese crackers in the gas station. His stomach was -actively growling. - -He headed for a dim door, stumbling over litters and bundles of -personal possessions; he was cursed a couple of times. - -The dark corridor outside was lighted at its end, and he emerged into -the school lobby full of men with homemade armbands. From somewhere -came a tantalizing smell of coffee. - -He asked one of the brassarded men. "Just coffee here," the man said. -"Nearest food's the diner up the hill. Can't miss it; it's lit." - -And the diner did stand out like a bonfire by virtue of one pressure -lamp. He found a cop there to keep order and a chipper waitress who -looked at him, grinned and set out a bowl of breakfast food, crunched -open a can of condensed milk with the corner of a cleaver and poured -the whole can into the bowl. "Sugar," she said, and shoved the -dispenser at him. - -"Thanks." He poured sugar on and began to spoon down the cloying -mixture as fast as he could. - -"Another?" the waitress asked when he was done. - -He patted his stomach experimentally. "I guess not," he said. "You have -any coffee?" - -"Coming up." She slapped a mugful at him and he sipped it down. - -"Better," he said. "How much?" - -"For free," she said. She assumed a Greek accent. "Mr. Padopolous says, -America's so good to him this is his chance to say thank you." - -"Well, thank Mr. Padopolous for me when he gets back." - -He walked out into the dark and bummed a cigarette from the cop. After -a deep drag he told him, "I'm a transient. In town by accident." - -"You're lucky," the cop said sourly. "I live here." - -"Yeah. Well--I mean, is there anything I can do?" - -The cop shrugged. "Not much. Help's getting here, lots of it. The army -rolled in a hospital and the governor sent a battalion of National -Guards. One of them's supposed to show up here and relieve me so I -can get some sleep." He yawned tremendously and sat down on the diner -steps. "My advice to you, get some sleep and in the morning they'll -have something fixed up for you. Maybe those army trucks'll get you -where you want to go." - -Dick said, "Thanks," and walked off. Well, he'd missed it. Slept right -through it. - -The cop called after him, "Hey, kid. Not toward River Street. The Guard -sent a sound truck around. Unsafe buildings, wide-open warehouses and -stores. They're patrolling with guns. Got it?" - -"Got it," said the too-late hero. "Thanks." He turned right and walked -on. He'd be able to find the school again; it was the only place in -town, maybe the only place for miles, with _two_ lights in front, one -shining through the door and the other hung to a spike in a phone pole -outside where the motor-pool man guarded a weird collection of vehicles. - -He rambled down one dark street cursing inwardly. He was sure the big, -dynamic Mickey Groff hadn't slept through it, had seized the chance for -leadership and heroism. - -Quite suddenly his chance arrived and he almost walked right past it. -Two writhing figures in a doorway, a woman and a man in a silent, -deadly struggle. He had one arm around her head and his paw over her -mouth; her dress was torn down the front. - -It flashed through his head. He was about to Defend the Virtue of -a Maiden against the assault of a Lust-Maddened, Drink-Crazed Human -Beast. Chivalry stuff. - -He grabbed the man's shoulder and heaved, but his heart wasn't in it. - -A fist flailed from nowhere and smashed him high on the right -cheek, hard enough to make an icy area of numbness for a moment and -then--hell's own pain. From that moment his heart was in it. While the -woman, shoved aside, lay on the ground panting, he waded into the man. -After the first few blows it was no longer a fight but first-degree -assault. He battered the man to the ground and stood over him grimly, -his chest heaving. "You want any more?" he croaked. - -The man mumbled something. It could have been "no." - -He looked around for the woman; she was reeling down the street, one -arm propping her against the wall. A couple came scurrying past, stared -at her and gave her a wide berth. He hastened after her. "Can I help -you?" he asked. - -She said sluggishly, "Went to see if my sister was--no. Jus' go away. -Thanks, and everything. But leave me alone. Please." - -He backed off and watched her slowly make her way down the street. She -turned a corner and he crossed the street to see. She painfully climbed -the steps of a frame house with a porch, went inside and the great -adventure was over. - -Except for the damnable aching of his cheekbone. - -In Hollywood, he thought sourly, it would have been just the beginning. -The boy and the girl meet cute and you take it from there. In real life -you save them from rape and they don't want to have anything to do with -you. She was probably embarrassed, horribly so, and wanted no part of -anybody who had seen her with her dress torn, about to be violated. - -As he walked he constructed a face-saving fantasy about another maiden -who might be less preoccupied and more grateful, but it was uphill -work. His cheek was very bad, and it occurred to him that it might be -more than a bruise; people did get fractures there. Also he seemed to -have broken a knuckle. - -The hero business didn't pay very well. - -He turned around and headed back for the school. Maybe he could find a -doctor there to take a look at his face; he was by then almost sure he -could feel bones grating when he worked his jaw. - - * * * * * - -It was a panel truck, like any other panel truck you might see except -for the name on the side and the thirty-meter whip antenna sticking up -from the roof. It parked out in front of the schoolhouse and Mickey -Groff stepped outside to see what was going on. _Federal Broadcasting -System Mobile Unit Four_, he read. One of the men in the front seat -wore headphones, was talking into a hand microphone. - -It was nearly two o'clock in the morning. Hell of a fat audience -they'll have to listen to them now, thought Groff. It didn't occur to -him that all over the country listeners were staying up past their -bedtimes for just such eyewitness, on-the-spot accounts as this. - -Chief Brayer came out and said, "You still here? Get some sleep." - -It was good advice for the chief too, Groff thought. He was too old -a man for this sort of carrying-on. The national guardsmen had taken -over the problems of patrolling the flooded-out, burned-out areas, and -most of the temporary deputies had turned in their guns and armbands. -But Groff wasn't sleepy. He was tired, dead-sick tired, but he wasn't -sleepy. - -He said, "Chief, what was Artie Chesbro doing with the congressman?" - -Brayer rubbed his chin. "I forgot you and him were competitors," he -said, almost apologetically. - -"Keep on forgetting it," said Groff. "That isn't why I'm asking." - -Brayer looked at him thoughtfully and shrugged. "You think Chesbro's -horning in on something? Maybe you're right. He's thick as thieves with -old Akslund, all right, and I'd swear they never saw each other before -today. The congressman's all hotted up about a regional disaster-relief -agency. He's been sending out statements and messages--right through -our own radio; I read some of them. One of them went right to the White -House, boy. He's asking for a billion dollars grant." - -"And I suppose Artie Chesbro wants to have something to say about -spending it?" - -The chief said slowly, "Wouldn't you?" - -"No!" said Groff, suddenly hot. "What's the matter with you, Brayer? -You know this Chesbro--Starkman knows him. He's a cheap angle-shooting -county politician. Not even your own county, for God's sake! I came -up here to start a factory--maybe not a very big factory, compared to -Ford or R.C.A., but the biggest damned factory I ever tried to start; -and Chesbro was in on the ground floor ahead of me, trying to steal my -factory site for some two-bit deal of his own. You think he cares about -Hebertown? You think he's going to worry about whether the right people -get the right money, or whether the area makes a recovery from this? He -cares about Artie Chesbro, and that's all!" - -"Now, hold on a minute, boy--" - -"Hold on, hell! If Henry Starkman wasn't half-dead, he wouldn't let -Chesbro get away with this! What right have you got to--" - -"Hold on, boy!" The old man was suddenly erect, forceful. "You don't -have to tell me what Henry likes and doesn't like. Forty-one years -we've been friends, and between us we pretty near run this town. And -you know what's been happening? Every year a couple more buildings off -the tax rolls, every year another couple thousand dollars short in -collections. Chesbro? Sure, boy. He's out for number one. But I saw -that message that went to the White House. It said a billion dollars. -God, man--do you know what any part of a billion dollars would mean to -Hebertown?" - -He glared at Groff without speaking for a moment. Then he leaned back -and rubbed his eyes wearily. "A billion dollars," he said, and it was -like a prayer. - - * * * * * - -The little ranch house had been perfectly untouched by the flood; it -was well uphill on Sullivan Street. Representative Akslund worked -comfortably through the day in the pine-paneled den. His work consisted -mostly of conversation with Artie Chesbro while Sharon sat by and took -notes by candlelight. Agreement was reached, a statement was signed, -the old man yawned politely and shuffled off to the master bedroom. -"You release this to the network," he said from the door. "The wire -services can take it off the air. Good night." - -And Sharon and Chesbro raced to the school. - -"Damn it," said Chesbro peevishly. The mobile broadcasting truck was -gone. They scurried around with flashlights; Sharon found a state -trooper who thought he remembered seeing it heading down toward the -roped-off area at the foot of River Street. The houses there were -either down or abandoned, and the only permitted persons were national -guardsmen, theoretically patrolling against looters. - -"Hello," said Mickey Groff. Sharon Froman jumped and turned around. - -She said, projecting throatily, "Mickey! Thank heaven. It's good to see -you, Mickey. We were worried." - -Artie Chesbro caught her eye and slid away. Sharon said gaily, "Hasn't -this been a day? We haven't slept ten minutes altogether since we saw -you last. Luckily I'm a writer." She lifted her briefcase with a smile. - -"What's that got to do with it?" - -"We writers have our little secrets," she said. She put her hand on his -shoulder, strolling him away. - -"Where'd Chesbro go?" - -"He'll be back," Sharon assured him. "Buy me a cup of coffee and tell -me what's been going on." - -"Buying" a cup of coffee consisted of rinsing out a cup and ladling -black coffee out of the tarry stew that had been bubbling over a -gasoline flame for six hours. Groff let himself be steered and took a -sip of the coffee. It was awful, but it was coffee. He said, "I've been -helping out around here as best I could. So has Chesbro's wife, and so -has Mrs. Goudeket. And you?" - -Sharon said with a quiet pride, "We've been doing our share, believe -me. We've spent the whole day with Congressman Akslund. He just went to -bed a few minutes ago." - -"Alone?" Mickey Groff asked. - -Sharon looked at him with cold resentment. "That's an unpleasant -remark, Groff," she said thinly. "If that's the way you intend to talk, -I'll leave you alone." She turned her back on him and walked haughtily -away. - -Anyway, Artie Chesbro was already out of sight; there was no chance -that Groff could find him before he reached the mobile unit. - -Poor Mickey Groff, thought Sharon with deep and sincere sympathy, he -would take it hard when he heard Chesbro had Congressman Akslund's -backing to head the Emergency Relief Committee. But he had had his -chance. He had seen her first, but he had chosen to throw in his lot -with Mrs. Goudeket and that fantastic Chesbro woman; and she had gone -over to the better man. - -Poor Mickey Groff, Sharon thought comfortably. Maybe some other -time.... - - - - - CHAPTER FIFTEEN - - -Mrs. Goudeket tottered into the marble lobby of the schoolhouse. A -flaring pressure lamp threw grotesque shadows against the polished -walls and the room was almost empty. Some men dozed over their card -tables and desks. Outside the last of the ambulance-fitted six-by-sixes -was rolling noisily away with the last of the casualties. - -Chief Brayer's head snapped up from a nodding doze as she cleared her -throat. - -"Chief?" Mrs. Goudeket said timidly. "Just a few hours since I asked, -but I think things have changed a lot, hah?" - -He focused on her with difficulty and said at last, "Oh. The lady from -the hotel." - -"Goudeket's Green Acres," she said automatically, with pride. "I was -thinking that now maybe things are more under control, hah? So maybe -you could spare me a car, some gas. I have to get back, look over my -property--" If it still is my property, the thought came, unwelcome. - -"A car?" - -Mrs. Goudeket was exasperated. "You heard. A car! Look, if it makes you -feel better, I could take some people with me. You need shelter? I have -room. Believe me, by now I bet I have more room than you can imagine. -We have food, too." Food for the booked-solid week, which would now be -a week of hundred-per-cent cancellations and empty tables. - -Chief Brayer looked wearily interested. "Yes," he said absently, "you -would have food. All right. I yelled at you before, didn't I? I'm -sorry--" - -She shrugged. "No apologies, please. Your language--But you meant well. -You were busy." - -"We needed the cars," he said doggedly. "We had to keep them for an -emergency, you see. That's all that counted. In case there was a fire -or a burglary, the cars had to be here." - -"Don't explain. Please, do I get a car? I'll be careful. I could write -out a check, leave a deposit--" She had almost said five hundred -dollars. "A hundred dollars?" - -"Don't have to." Like a man in a slow-motion movie he hauled a memo pad -across the desk, hoisted a pen from his uniform coat pocket. He wrote -painfully. "Give this to Mr. Cioni--you know where the cars are? Across -the street? All right. How far do you have to go?" - -She threw up her hands. "Who knows? Always before it was seventeen -miles. Now we have to go around and around--who knows?" There was an -edge to her voice. - -"Tell him I said to give you a half a tank of gas." - -"Thank you," said Mrs. Goudeket. - -Across the street, three trucks and four pleasure cars, one of them -with the tires flat. The motor pool. A civilian in charge, and in the -back a national guardsman with a gun. - -The man in charge of the motor pool studied the note with a flashlight -whose beam was fading to orange. He looked at her doubtfully. "You -going to drive it?" - -"Don't worry, mister," she snapped. "Do you want to see my license?" - -"Me? Nah." He pottered over to a '47 Dodge sedan and copied the plate -number on the chief's note. "Give me your address, lady?" - -She did. He copied it down with the license number. "Sign," he said, -and she did. Mr. Cioni copied the data onto another sheet, signed it -and carefully put the original chit in his pocket. He gave her his -copy. "This is your trip ticket," he said. "In case you get stopped by -a state trooper, this proves you didn't steal the car. We hope." - -Now garrulous, he added: "She's yours. I don't know if this is legal, -but it makes sense, doesn't it? At least we got records. After things -are straightened out I guess somebody'll get in touch with you to -return the car." - -She misread his fatigue and his nerves as suspicion. She said -haughtily, "Young fella, at Goudeket's Green Acres we have a fleet of -late-model cars and station wagons. And to be very frank with you, if -a guest should drive up in a forty-seven car in this condition, the -room clerk would discover that his reservation had not been received, -believe me." Almost she believed it, in the heat of the moment. Almost -Goudeket's Green Acres was the Concord or the Grossinger's they had -meant it for. - -The aspersion passed clean through the weary ears of Mr. Cioni. - -"I guess that's right," he said. "Good luck." - -"Please, you should give me a half a tank of gas. Mr. Brayer said so." -She looked pointedly at the stack of jerry cans that had been dumped by -one of the quartermaster trucks. - -Mr. Cioni wearily climbed into the car, snapped on the dash light and -turned the key. The gas needle stayed on zero. Mrs. Goudeket inhaled -triumphantly. - -He banged the dial with the heel of his hand and watched it creep -joltingly up to the halfway mark. He said to nobody, "I know these -babies." He said to Mrs. Goudeket, "You got your half a tank. Good -luck." - -She said, "Watch nobody else takes my car, will you? I'll get my -friends." - -Her feet were killing her. Across the street, back into the -schoolhouse, up the stairs. - - * * * * * - -She hiked wearily into the deserted "quiet ward," where Polly Chesbro -was sprawled on one stained cot and Dick McCue, looking like the -returned stray cat he was, on another. - -She shook him gently. "Your face better, Dick?" - -He sneered experimentally. "I guess so." He yawned, and that did hurt; -but not too much. "I thought maybe it was a broken bone, but it just -hurts on the skin now. I'll live." He was feeling pretty cheerful. The -disappointing parts of his Rout of the Drunken Beast were dropping out -of his recollection. He said, "Did you get the car, Mrs. G.?" - -"Of course," she said, surprised. "Why not? Things have quieted down. -They have time for a reasonable request from an important local -business proprietor." He looked at her sharply, but there was no -expression on her face. For the first time it occurred to Dick McCue -that here was a woman, not so very smart, not so very young, capable of -being wrong, capable of having foolish hopes. She thought she was still -an important local business proprietor. A ramshackle summer hotel. They -folded by the hundreds, year after year; it didn't take a flood to put -them out of business. The flood was only the mercy bullet through the -blindfold, after the man was down. - -Polly was awake. She said, "Mrs. Goudeket, it's nice of you to offer to -take us in, but--" - -"But?" repeated Mrs. Goudeket. "What but?" - -Polly Chesbro said, "I don't want to leave Mr. Starkman." - -Mrs. Goudeket snapped angrily, "He's your father, maybe? A whole -hospital they bring in on trucks to take care of him, and you can't -trust the doctors to fix him up? So stay, Mrs. Chesbro! Hang around the -old man some more, make a fool out of yourself. But I have to get to -work!" - -She glared furiously at the other woman, trembling with anger. Polly -Chesbro was wiser than she; Polly felt the anger, and knew it was -directed not at herself but at something inside the old lady. Polly -said perceptively, "Don't worry, Mrs. Goudeket. Everything always works -out." - -The old lady was crying. Dick McCue stared in wonder as Polly Chesbro -put her arms around the woman and protected her from the harsh -surrounding world. - -After a moment Mrs. Goudeket pushed herself away, sniffing. "You have -a Kleenex?" she inquired, embarrassed. "I don't know what got into me, -Polly. Please, you have to excuse--" - -"There's nothing to excuse," said Polly Chesbro. "We're all worn out." - -"No, not worn out. Tired, yes. Sick, maybe." Mrs. Goudeket wiped her -streaming nose and said dismally, "Ever since Sam died it's slave, -slave, slave. You know what Sam said? Every year. 'Next year we go to -the Holy Land, why not?' And always I found a reason. So we kept on -with the hotel, and it killed him." She patted Polly's arm absently. -"Worn out is from a summer with the guests complaining about the food -and changing their rooms. From something like this flood you only get -tired." - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Goudeket pulled herself together after a while. Polly left her, -and then came back. "Mr. Starkman's wife is with him," she reported. -"I suppose I might as well go with you, Mrs. Goudeket--if the offer's -still open." - -"Open? Of course it's still open. And Mr. Starkman?" - -"Much better. They think he'll be all right now." Polly Chesbro's -expression was grave and joyous. They'd pulled the old man through; -and Bess Starkman had been more than grateful for Polly's help to her -husband. Polly said, "Let's get the others." - -"Others?" Mrs. Goudeket demanded suspiciously. - -"Mr. Groff and Arthur--and Miss Froman." - -Mrs. Goudeket looked mutinous. "Mr. Groff is perfectly welcome to come -if he is so inclined," she said. "Likewise Mr. Chesbro. But as for Miss -Froman, believe me, Polly, I know her better than you. She'll get along -wherever she is, trust her, but it isn't going to be at Goudeket's -Green Acres." - -Dick McCue explained, "Goudeket's Green Acres has _had_ Miss Froman." - -Polly was stubborn and silent, but she went down the stairs with them -uncomplainingly. - -They found the three in the ground-floor cloakroom where coffee had -been dispensed through the day. Mickey Groff was the gray-looking one. -Sharon and Artie Chesbro seemed to have tapped some source of strength -and wakefulness not given to ordinary humans. - -Mrs. Goudeket announced flatly, "I've got a car, to go to my place, -Goudeket's Green Acres. I think it is a good idea if you all come with -me. Here is finished; they have the army now, and plenty of doctors, -National Guard, everything. Why should we be a burden? I have plenty of -room for--" - -She hesitated; the words didn't want to come out. She glowered at them: -Big, solid Groff; big, sly Chesbro; soiled, amused-by-it-all Sharon -Froman. _Yenta_, she thought scathingly. Dirty, low female--but still -she needs help. As I may need help some day. As from the Mountain we -were told to give help. - -She said with difficulty, "That means everybody, naturally." - -Sharon caroled, "Why, Mrs. Goudeket, you've forgiven your naughty -little girl!" - -So full of energy and joy! Mrs. Goudeket muttered angrily to herself, -but all she said out loud was, "Well, yes or no?" - -Artie Chesbro said cheerfully, "That's very nice of you, Mrs. Goudeket. -I think I'd better stay in Hebertown, though--some important things to -take care of. There's a radio truck around somewhere and I want to--" - -Sharon interrupted loudly, with a warning look, "Mr. Chesbro means -Congressman Akslund has left him some work to do. Anyway, Mrs. -Goudeket--" - -Oh, she was arch! And no sleep, marveled Mrs. Goudeket--"much as I'd -_love_ to join your little party and share the finest of accommodations -for which your hotel is noted, there are big things to be done. So -thanks, but no thanks." - -"Fine," said Mrs. Goudeket. "Stay here with your big things. Now before -somebody steals my car, we better go." She folded the trip ticket from -the motor pool and put it down on the table next to Dick McCue. Mickey -Groff said, "Wait a minute, Mrs. Goudeket. What are these 'big things?'" - -Chesbro laughed. "Groff, does Macy's tell Gimbel's? I tell you what. -You want the Swanscomb place, right?" He shrugged generously. "It's -yours. I won't buck you." - -"If you won't buck me it's because you don't want it any more," Groff -said. "You're after bigger game. What would that be, Chesbro? A finger -in a billion-dollar pie? A chance to spread federal funds around the -way you want to? Maybe the break you've been waiting for?" - -Chesbro said fretfully, "Now Mickey, _please_. Why can't you be -reasonable? You're an outlander here, you've got nothing to do with the -community. You want to move in with your nickel factory? Go ahead. I -won't stand in your way. I'll even help you. But you can't do anything -with the federal grants, because you don't have the connections, -because you don't have the information about who needs what, because -you aren't local and wouldn't be allowed to come within smelling -distance of it in the first place. Why not live and let live?" - -He was open and honest, Groff saw--as open and honest as the likes of -Artie Chesbro ever knew how to be. You work your side of the street, -he was saying, and I'll work mine. Under the ethical stands of Artie -Chesbro he had made an honorable proposal. It would never have occurred -to him to entertain propositions like-- - -Federal funds are money in trust-- - -A time of catastrophe is not a time to feather one's nest-- - -Or even-- - -A businessman who opposes what you want to do is not necessarily a -jealous rival. - -There simply was no handle, Groff thought, by which you could get -hold of the man. He was completely out of touch. Off in a kind of a -dream. It was almost as if he was drunk; but that, of course, was -impossible--liquor would have put him out on his feet in seconds. - -Polly Chesbro said suddenly, "What did you want the radio truck for?" - -Artie looked alarmed. "Now, honey, don't you get mixed up in--" - -She said, "Artie, I know how your mind works. Did you think if you -got on the radio and told them that you and the congressman were -handling relief here, that would keep him from backing out? Did you -think everybody in the country would be listening--at this time of the -morning!--and that would make it official?" - -"They're recording," Artie Chesbro said sullenly. "They're going to -rebroadcast in the morning. I already talked to one of the men from the -network." - -Dick McCue said, "Mr. Chesbro, it's nothing to me one way or another. -But there's a curfew, you know. You can't go running around out there -tonight." - -Artie Chesbro's expression was petulant. "Leave me alone, will you? I -know what I'm doing!" - -Polly Chesbro folded her hands and looked at him. "Artie, don't you -ever learn?" Her expression was gentle, her voice was calm--even warm, -Groff thought, with a sudden shock that was almost jealousy. "Remember -the television station?" - -Artie whined, "Honey, I told you a thousand times--" - -"You were all set to make a million dollars out of television," she -said. "Remember? Only you wouldn't wait for the F.C.C. to grant the -license. 'We'll start building,' you said, 'and then they won't -have the guts to turn us down.' Only they did. You never got that -construction permit. What was it my father put up? Fifteen thousand -dollars? And you lost it all, remember?" - -"Honey! These people don't want to hear--" - -"Then there was the drive-in theater. You only got five thousand out -of my father for that. But that went down the drain, too, like all your -other million-dollar ideas. What was it that time? You figured you -could buck the motion-picture projectionists' union? And then--" - -Mickey Groff cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, Polly. You're -embarrassing everybody." - -Polly laughed gently. "I'm sorry. But really, I hate to see my husband -go off like this again." - -Groff said to Chesbro, "Like I say, I don't want to butt in; but -remember what McCue said about the curfew, Chesbro. I happen to have -been around when the national guardsmen got their orders; I wouldn't go -out there if I were you." - -Mrs. Goudeket said heavily, "That's right, Mr. Chesbro. I was down by -the motor-pool place, and they've got guns and--" - -"Now you just listen to me!" It was Sharon Froman, her eyes flashing, -her face a Valkyrie face. "Arthur Chesbro knows what he's doing, and it -isn't up to any of us to try to stop him! You make me sick, all of you. -I spent the whole day with Arthur and Congressman Akslund and, believe -me, the congressman knows Arthur understands how to do things. And if -Arthur's all right with the congressman, I don't see why he shouldn't -be all right with a wet-behind-the-ears kid--" Dick McCue's jaw dropped -open--"or a fat old biddy--" Mrs. Goudeket began to sputter--"or a -mental case--" Polly Chesbro only nodded judiciously, but Mickey Groff -sat up straight and cut in. - -"Just a minute, Miss Froman!" he started; but he couldn't make himself -heard. They were all talking at once-- - -To Sharon Froman. Nobody paying any attention to Artie Chesbro at all. - -By the time anyone got around to paying attention to Artie, he wasn't -there. - - * * * * * - -He closed the door quietly behind him and walked out the main door, -nodding pleasantly to the guardsman, across the street to the car pool. -It was all going so well, he thought dreamily, so very well. He even -managed a little wry chuckle of amusement about the silly spectacle his -wife had made of herself. That silly old business of the television -station! That ridiculous story about the drive-in theater! But he could -afford good-humoredly to overlook her raking up those long dead scores, -because everything was going very well indeed. - -Curfew? Not a problem, he thought with satisfaction, not as long as he -had been wise and clever enough to pick up Mrs. Goudeket's trip ticket. -The car was his now--he'd just have to say Mrs. Goudeket had sent him. -He wouldn't be on foot for any length of time, and no one would bother -him in the car, with a regulation trip ticket. The whole world was well -within his grasp, he realized with satisfaction and joy. - -And it was due at least in part to Sharon Froman. He nodded to -himself in the darkness, picking his way carefully down the slippery -street. She had written the official announcement of the plan for a -Tri-State Emergency Allocations Supervisory Board that he and the -congressman--with Sharon Froman--had cooked up. - -Artie Chesbro chuckled out loud. Why, it was even Sharon who had -been so resourceful about the matter of the benzedrine. He had been -pretty near passed out with fatigue early in the day, even before the -congressman had arrived; and she had produced, out of what she gaily -called her "kit of writing tools," the little bottle of ten-grain -tablets that had waked him up, sharpened his brain, made it possible -for him to work on through the endlessly exhausting day. - -A fine girl. A great acquisition. They would go far together, thought -Artie Chesbro, stumbling dreamily down the misty street, filled with -the sense of power, alive with the joy of achievement--coked to the -eyebrows. - - - - - CHAPTER SIXTEEN - - -Mr. Cioni saw the man approach jauntily. Who, he wondered, can be full -of bounce at this hour--one of the new people from the field hospital? -But as the man came into the cone of light from the shaded Coleman -lantern he saw that the fellow wasn't army, that he wore in fact the -uniform of an old-timer who had been through the day and a half on the -spot. The uniform was a stained and shapeless suit, mud-caked shoes, -red eyes and a growth of beard. - -"I'm Mr. Chesbro," the man said to Mr. Cioni. "I've come to pick up the -car allotted to Mrs. Goudeket." - -"The hotel lady? She said she'd be back herself." - -Chesbro smiled and handed over the trip ticket. "She's exhausted. I'll -pick her up and drive." - -"I see. It's that Dodge. Be careful." - -Artie almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of advice from this nobody -to _him_, confidant of Akslund, Johnny on the most wonderful spot -imaginable. - -He drove off. River Street? Yes; the broadcasters were at River Street. -He turned left and heard faintly a shout from the little nobody of the -motor pool. - -A fragment of the Rubaiyat--now _there_ was a poem, not like those -jumbled things Polly wrote!--drifted by. _Would we not shatter it -to bits, and then remold it closer to the heart's desire?_ Which -was exactly what was going to happen. He had never really had a big -chance before, but by waiting and building and sending out his lines -of communication he had survived until the big chance came along. The -county was shattered to bits, and he would remold it. It wouldn't look -like much to an outsider--Akslund. To Akslund and his staff he would -seem a disinterested and patriotic businessman working his guts out -with no hope of personal gain to reconstruct the smitten area. - -He had better start thinking about his lists. - - * * * * * - -The five walked into the motor pool. Mrs. Goudeket stared blankly -at the empty space where the Dodge had been. She said to Mr. Cioni -hopefully, "You moved it? Into the street?" - -Mr. Cioni looked sick. "Guy had your trip ticket," he said. -"Mr.--Cheese?" - -"Chesbro," Dick McCue said. "Rat bastard Chesbro, to be exact." - -"Just resourceful," grinned Sharon Froman. "He'll be back. Let's -wait. He just wants to get the statement out to the country. Time's -important, you know. He's got to hit the morning papers and newscasts." -And I, she thought comfortably, pointed that out to him. The boy's -geared to a country-weekly tempo, but he's got talent all the same. - -Mrs. Goudeket said something long, eloquent and heartfelt in Yiddish. -Groff, the New Yorker, got the gist. It was a prayer that Artie Chesbro -die of cholera upside-down with his head stuck in the ground like a -radish and worms eating out his ears. - - * * * * * - -His lists. There would be two of them, one of people to get the nod and -the other of people to get the nix. - -"A sound businessman and a hard worker, that boy. Built his place -up from nothing. Guts and brains, the kind of man we want to help -first--fast. I know his stock and his turnover, and I'd say fifty -thousand would set him on his feet again. Of course he's the kind -who'll consider it a debt of honor, won't rest until it's clear...." - -And the other. "Um. Yes. Know the man well. We've got to help him, of -course, but I wouldn't put him at the top of the list. The _vital_ -services have got to be restored first, of course. I know people need -(shoes, gasoline, bread, hardware) but it's my feeling that a more -efficient man should be assisted first. We don't want any free riders -and we don't want to subsidize chaotic competition in the first month." - -No indeed. We want to organize the area. A nod to Flaherty, the fuel -man whose note I hold. A nix to Greenlease, the hardware man who -unpatriotically carries his current obligations and improvement loans -in Philadelphia. A nod to Erpco Feed, who buy their sacks from my very -good friend and associate Don Rider, who is under my thumb because of -his lease. A nix to Fowling, the appliance wholesaler who won't use my -trucks when he's in my territory. A man who doesn't encourage local -business is asking for trouble, and this is his chance to get it. An -emphatic nod to Rorty and his skinny new wholesaling business; in a -year he'll pass Fowling and I'll be in the driver's seat. - -Turn nobody down, he cautioned himself. Merely postpone, and postpone, -and postpone. And eventually there will be no more money left and the -nixed will find themselves in a poor competitive position and a little -later they'll find they're broke and out of business. And the people in -business will be my men. - -I will have approximately one hundred operations tied to me, covering -every phase of manufacturing, real estate, wholesaling, retailing, -distribution and finance in the area. I'll trade with myself, supply -myself, transport myself and finance myself and anybody who tries to -move in will never know what hit him. It will be positively pathetic if -anybody tries to compete with Artie Chesbro. - -The car crept slowly along the littered road toward River Street. His -thinking had never been so clear and lightning-fast--and his heart had -never thudded so alarmingly. The benzedrine, he supposed. Well, you use -things for what they're worth and take the incidental consequences like -a man. - -A big man. First the valley area, perhaps a year to consolidate -it. Then move down- and upriver, slowly at first. But he knew the -pace always accelerated. The bigger you get the faster you grow. -Rockefeller, Morgan, Zeckendorf, Odlum--they all had started somewhere. -This was his somewhere. Artie Chesbro considered quietly that he'd be -running the state by 1959. If there was a war, knock a year off the -timetable. Wars were good business for a good businessman. - -And, he thought quietly, with the clarity of benzedrine, they pruned -the human tree. - - * * * * * - -An eighteen-year-old sprig of the human tree, Luther G. Bayswater, was -walking slowly down River Street with a feeling of intense unreality -enveloping him. - -It seemed frightfully queer that he should have a helmet on his head, -heavy boots with two-buckle flaps on his feet and around his waist -a full cartridge belt with a first-aid kit, a bayonet and a canteen -hitched to it. Queerest of all was the rifle slung on his right -shoulder, whose sling he held in the fork between thumb and fore-finger -like a hick eternally about to snap his gallus. - -Luther was a private in the National Guard because his mother had a -confused notion that this would keep him from overseas service, ever. -Somebody had told her so. She missed her little boy, she said, when he -was away on summer training and she didn't like the idea of him going -through the dark streets--so late, and in strange neighborhoods!--for -his armory sessions, but she comfortably reported that it was all -worthwhile for her to have her peace of mind about Luther not having to -go overseas. - -His mother was at that moment in bed with a high fever induced by the -phone call from the company clerk that had mobilized Luther. - -His mission--unreal!--as given him by the hardware merchant who was his -platoon leader was to cover two blocks of River Street like a cop on a -beat. - -"It isn't interior guard duty," the lieutenant explained. "None of -that halt-advance-officer-of-the-day-post-number-four stuff. Just make -like a cop and don't let any monkey-business happen. Fire a warning -shot if you have to. And, ah--" The lieutenant was embarrassed. "If -you have to, uh, shoot _at_ anybody, aim for the legs. Any questions?" -There were questions, a world of questions, but Luther wasn't sure what -they were. And besides the hardware-lieutenant was in a hurry to get -back to Company, where the captain was waiting for an explanation of -why the platoon sergeant had been found to have his pockets stuffed -with half-pint liquor bottles. - -Private Bayswater saw lights and heard a motor running and, in his -state of acute disbelief in what was around him, stood stock-still for -most of a minute, staring at the vehicle. It was parked at the foot of -Wharf Avenue, a panel truck. By and by he made out that it was a radio -broadcasting truck, and remembered that the lieutenant had told him it -was in the area. Perfectly all right. - -He stayed near it; it was less lonesome there. Until by and by Private -Bayswater became conscious of a nagging yearning for a smoke. - -Luther didn't smoke much, because his mother had proved to him, with -graphs and charts and doctors' reports, that terrible things went on in -the lungs of men who smoked cigarettes. But he wanted a cigarette bad. -And anyway, there wasn't anyone around. Everybody in town knew that the -National Guard was patrolling, with orders to shoot if they had to. -Nobody would be stupid enough to try anything. Nobody had--and he'd -been on duty for nearly an hour. - -He leaned against a sagging warehouse-front experimentally, and it -didn't sag any more than before. He bounced on the steps, and though -they shook it didn't seem likely he would fall through. He stepped -inside, closed the door as nearly as it would go, and greedily tore the -paper on the pack getting a cigarette out. - -Cupping the cigarette, he looked out of an unglassed window and was -pleased to find that he could observe the streets as well from in here -as from outside. Fantastic! It was the first good chance he had had to -look over the damage done to Hebertown. He wondered briefly about what -kind of people were crazy enough to build their houses in a place like -this, where the water could come up and do what had been done to these, -but Luther Bayswater was not much given to worry about other people's -troubles-- - -And besides, he heard a noise. - -It sounded like a door slamming. Car door? But he could see the -panel truck. Nobody was moving there. The two men were still inside, -busy about whatever they had to be busy about, or else just waiting -for daybreak and their first direct broadcast. A door in one of the -buildings? - -Maybe. Luther Bayswater wished he had been listening more attentively. -A door slamming in a building--that might be just the wind, of course. -But if it wasn't the wind, it was one of the hazy mythological figures -called looters that he was supposed to be on the lookout for. - -He swore a tepid oath, ground out his cigarette and opened the door. It -made a frightful racket; he hadn't noticed anything of the kind when he -came into the building. - -The noise scared him. He unslung the rifle and gripped it in the -approved port-arms position, crosswise over his chest, one hand -comfortingly near the trigger guard; and he stepped out into the -inimical street. - -Somebody was moving, not near the radio truck but in the other -direction; someone who seemed to be trying to stay out of sight, moving -in and out of the shelter of the buildings. - -Luther Bayswater pulled the bolt of the rifle back. It made a tiny, -unmenacing sound--he'd hoped it would crash through the streets like -a thunderbolt and send the terrified criminal fleeing. He raised it -to his shoulder and called waveringly: "Halt! Who's there?" Perfectly -safe; there was no chance the gun would go off and make him appear an -idiot, not as long as he didn't close the bolt. - -The figure stumbled and ducked out of sight. Baffled, Luther lowered -the rifle, which was wearingly heavy. Almost absent-mindedly he shoved -the bolt home--still perfectly safe, still nothing that would make him -look ridiculous, for he knew enough to keep his finger off the trigger. -He cleared his throat and called again: "Come out of there! I see you!" - -Fantastic cowboys-and-Indians scene! Luther couldn't help feeling -embarrassed at how badly he was doing his part of it. Suppose the man -did come out? Suppose he came running at him, with a knife or a pistol, -and Luther was standing there flatfooted and gapmouthed, trailing the -gun? He brought the butt up to his shoulder, snapped up the range -leaf, curled his finger lightly through the trigger guard--perfectly, -perfectly safe; these Springfields took a good heavy tug to go off--and -as meticulously as on any qualifying range laid the bead of the front -sight between the V-edges of the rear, just at knee level, just where -the man had been. He waited. - - * * * * * - -Good-humoredly, Artie Chesbro shrugged and parked the car. He got out -and started to walk down the rubbly street; there was no sense trying -to drive down here, where the river had swept beams and bottles and -cinder-blocks helter-skelter across the pavement; he had decided that -the third time he had spotted something in his way and wildly swerved -the wheel, and hit something else instead. He thought detachedly that -perhaps his reflexes were a touch overstimulated by the benzedrine. -Amusing. But it didn't in the least matter, not when he could see -everything in the clear luminous light the benzedrine gave. - -He tripped over something, stepped down on something else that rolled, -and stumbled almost into one of the buildings. Careful, he warned -himself, suppressing a chuckle. Why, it was almost like getting a load -on! But without any of the disadvantages, because he certainly wasn't -slowed down or incapacitated in the least; he could feel it. - -Somebody yelled at him. Artie Chesbro paused thoughtfully to -listen--what had the man said?--and became conscious of the deeper, -louder thudding of his heart. Possibly that fourth tablet had been one -too many, he admitted; better get this over with and rest for a while. -A touch concerned--after all, he didn't want to be too exhausted for -the big day tomorrow--he stepped forward to see what the man wanted. - -He ran right into something he hadn't seen. It shoved him back on the -ground, brutally strong, remorselessly hard. Damn it, he thought, -gasping--It didn't hurt, though, not for a moment. And then it did -hurt, very much. And then neither it nor anything else ever hurt -again.... - -The private was sobbing: "I _did_ aim for the knees, Lieutenant! He -wouldn't stop! I _told_ him! I thought he was a looter, like you said, -and I _did_ aim for the knees...." - -The company commander leaned in front of the lights of the weapons -carrier and crooked a finger at the lieutenant. He was holding the -private's M-17, pointing to the sights. The leaf was set for a hundred -yards; the shot had been not more than twenty-five. - -A bullet leaving a rifle goes up before it goes down; the line of sight -is straight, the line of trajectory curves in a parabola; an aim that -would be dead-on at a hundred yards will strike high at twenty-five. -Not very high. About as high as the difference between a man's knees -and the middle of his chest. - -The company commander looked significantly at the lieutenant, and -snapped the sighting leaf closed. "You did your duty," he told the -private. "All right. Let's clean up here," he told the others gathered -round. - - - - - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - - -"The skunk's never coming back," Dick McCue said bitterly. His face was -hurting again. He wanted to lie down again in his comfortable room at -Goudeket's Green Acres, horror and fatigue far behind. - -Mrs. Goudeket didn't even hear. She had taken her place on the one good -chair, near the door, and she was waiting for the moment when Artie -Chesbro, the thief of cars, should walk back inside. That, thought -Mickey Groff, would be a moment to watch. Chesbro had been asking for -it for a long time. It would be a pleasure to see the old lady taking -him apart. - -He thought wrong. - -The old lady sighed and said, "How long now? A day and a half I been -away from Goudeket's Green Acres, and all the time I been worried sick. -You know something? Now I'm not worried." - -Mickey Groff said, "That's right, Mrs. Goudeket. There's nothing to -worry about. Everything's all right there, you'll see." - -She looked at him surprised. "All right? Nah." She shook her head. "All -wrong, you mean. Believe me, Mickey, I know what can happen to a place -like Goudeket's Green Acres when it should only rain three days in a -row, much less something like this. Goudeket's Green Acres is finished. -What's the sense trying to kid myself? I should know better." - -Groff looked at her uncomfortably. But she didn't seem panicky, didn't -seem on the verge of despair. She was calm enough for six. He said, -"What are you going to do?" - -She leaned forward and patted him. "I'm going to sell, Mickey," she -announced. "You think I'm doing the right thing? No, don't tell me--I'm -going to do it anyhow. My husband, Mr. Goudeket, he was always after me -to sell and go to Palestine. 'Sell, Mrs. Goudeket,' he'd say--always -I kept the hotel in my name, you see--'sell and let's live a little.' -And every time I'd say next year, next year. Now--it's next year. I'm -sixty-three years old, Mickey. It's time I took it easy for a while." -She brooded silently. "Why should I lie?" she asked. "Sixty-six." - -Mickey Groff said reassuringly, "I think it's the right thing to do. -You'll like it in Israel. Nice climate, plenty of things going on, a -whole new country rising out of the desert--" - -She looked at him incredulously. "Mickey, a nice climate? Nice with the -Egyptians raining down out the sky like clouds in their jet airplanes? -Please, I'm not a child; if I go there I give up nice things in order -to be with my people. But it's what Mr. Goudeket wanted, and I stole -it from him, so now I'll go. I can sell Goudeket's Green Acres like -_that_." She snapped her fingers proudly. "Only--why didn't I do it -while Mr. Goudeket was still alive?" - -A light truck banged past the schoolhouse down toward the river, -and almost immediately another followed. Dick McCue said curiously, -"Something going on? I _thought_ I heard shooting." - -"There's plenty going on, Dicky," Sharon Froman informed him kindly. -"Things are very busy around here tonight. But you wouldn't understand." - -No one paid any attention to her. After a moment she laughed and lit a -cigarette. Clods, she thought with gentle contempt. Naturally they were -jealous of her and of Artie Chesbro. There were two kinds of people. -One kind was the doers--herself, that is; and along with her such other -persons as she temporarily dragged along to heights of accomplishment -and success. The other kind was everybody else. Not even her worst -enemy, she mused, trickling smoke out of her nostrils--not even Hesch, -or Paul, or Bert, or any of the others she had temporarily blessed -with her help and presence before withdrawing--not any of them could -deny that she had moved fast and successfully this day. - -Polly Chesbro got up and crossed over to Mickey Groff. "May I have one -of _your_ cigarettes?" she asked. - -"Sure." Groff lit it for her. - -She said, "What are you going to do now, Mickey? After things clear up -a little, I mean." - -He hesitated. The question had not occurred to him for some time. "Go -ahead as planned, I guess. Chief Brayer said the Swanscomb place wasn't -damaged, and your husband seems to have given up the idea of making a -warehouse out of it." - -She laughed, not maliciously. "I wonder if he remembers that he signed -a lease on it," she said. - -"Lease?" - -She nodded. "There were a couple of men from Ohio in to see him last -week. He drew up a lease on the spot, and they paid him a binder." - -Groff said, "Hell. Well, that was pretty stupid of him, but if it's a -matter of getting--him--in trouble I suppose I could find some other--" - -"Get Artie in trouble? Small chance, Mickey. He lands on his feet. -And if he doesn't, he always has the family money to bail him out--my -family, that is. What you really mean is you'd back out in order to do -me a favor, isn't it? Don't answer. It wouldn't be a favor, Mickey. I -decided a long time ago that I couldn't mother Artie. I had to let him -get in his own scrapes and get out by himself, if he could get out. It -hasn't made a man of him yet, but there's always the chance it may." - -She tipped the ash of her cigarette neatly into a thick china saucer. -"Stay around, Mickey," she said. "All of us need people like you around -here. For much more than business." - -A quality in her voice touched him, deeper perhaps than she had -intended, deeper than he could remember being touched before. -Responsibility. That was the word. Someone had to help. And it was -something very different from ego that made him think too: Someone has -to lead. - -Dick McCue heaved himself to his feet. His whole head was hurting now, -and he was feeling savage. "I'm going to hit up the chief for another -trip ticket, Mrs. Goudeket," he announced. "Half an hour's long enough -to wait for the b--for Mr. Chesbro." - -"Why not?" said Mrs. Goudeket. She went with him. Groff could hear the -discussion clear from the cloakroom; but they won their point. They -came back with another scribbled slip of paper, and the whole party -headed for the motor pool--even Sharon, though no one had asked her. - -There was somebody down by the motor pool. - -As they drew close another little truck came up, making a convoy of -three of them, and the driver of one of them hopped out, heading -for the motor pool's Coleman lamp. The driver was a captain, and -upset about something; he said to Mr. Cioni, "I understand there's a -temporary morgue somewhere around here." - -"Basement of the Methodist Church," Cioni said, absently walking over -to the open jeep. "That's at--" - -He had leaned over to peer at what was huddled in the back of the jeep. -He crossed himself and stared at Mrs. Goudeket. "Here's the guy that -got your car, lady!" he called. - -"Artie!" gasped Polly Chesbro. She sped to the jeep and unbelievingly -lifted the head on its stiffening neck, staring into the blank face. - -The captain, his nerves twanging through his voice, snapped, "Please -don't give us any trouble, lady. This is no business of yours." - -Groff said, "He's her husband." - -The officer lamely said, "I'm sorry. Very sorry." And then, -defensively, "A warning shot was fired. He didn't stop. This area -is under full martial law and the sound truck announced it to -everybody--" He saw that she wasn't listening, was staring in -disbelief. He got out of the jeep and lit a cigarette and waited. - -Groff beckoned him to one side. "What happened?" he asked. - -"Shot for looting," the captain said brusquely. "He was in a roped-off -prohibited area. He didn't halt. The kid was absolutely right." - -"Kid?" asked Groff. The captain had told him more than he had intended -to, and realized it now. "Somebody panicked?" - -"Who are you, mister?" the captain asked. - -"Not a reporter. I've got a factory in Brooklyn. I knew the man." - -"Close friend?" - -"Hated his guts." - -The captain was shocked and reacted with the truth. "As a matter of -fact," he said in a low voice, "maybe it shouldn't have happened. But -we're legally in the clear. Was he important?" - -"Very. But I don't think you'll find anybody who'll press an -investigation." - -The captain took a deep, relieved drag on his cigarette and flipped it -away. "What about his wife?" he asked. "Is she going to keep this stuff -up?" - -"I'll do what I can," Groff said. He went over to the jeep and the -staring woman. - -"Polly," he said. - -She turned and told him in a dry, controlled voice: "I'm all right. -It's just so strange to think that it's--over. Him and his bragging, -him and his plans, him and his tramps. It's over. I suppose you miss -a tumor when they cut it out of you. That's the way I miss him." She -sagged against Groff in a half-faint. He led her to a chair where she -sat like a stick. The captain, in a businesslike way, asked Cioni, -"Just where's this church?" - -Cioni told him and the jeep rolled away. - -"No, no, no," Sharon Froman was saying faintly. - -Then she smiled and said to Groff: "Girl backed the wrong horse, didn't -she? Mickey, how'd you like to meet Congressman Akslund first thing in -the morning? Artie's gone, one with the martyrs, but Akslund's still -going to need expert advice on the reconstruction. I've got an in -there." - -"Keep it," said Groff, and put his arm around Polly. - -She turned to Dick McCue. Her smile was becoming ghastly. She said, -"Got a kind word for an old friend, Dick? We've had some fun together. -Shall bygones be bygones?" - -"No," said Dick McCue. "If you keep bothering me I'll take out your -upper plate and step on it." - -Her hand flew to her mouth. There was a bark of laughter from Mrs. -Goudeket. "You thought nobody knew? You thought you could see through -everybody, Miss Sharon Froman, but nobody could see through you? We -all know you have an upper plate. We all know you'll never finish your -book or hold a man. We all see through you because we all see through -each other, but we know also that we're seen through. That makes us -sometimes kind to each other--we have to be. But you, you have to think -you're perfect and that if anybody sees anything less than perfect in -you it's because they're fools." - -The '47 Dodge rolled slowly into the motor pool. A scared young voice -asked: "Is this the place I'm supposed to leave the car?" - -"I guess so," Mr. Cioni said. - -The young soldier climbed out wearily. "Boy," he said, and wiped his -brow. "I'm supposed to wait here until they come by on patrol and pick -me up." - -Groff moved out of earshot of the women. "Hear about the shooting?" he -asked quietly. - -The soldier shuddered. "Heck, I'm the guy that did it. Had no choice. A -cop shoots if somebody runs and doesn't stop, doesn't he? Well, I was -supposed to be a cop." And he added defensively and illogically, "How -could I check the sighting leaf in the dark?" - -That told the story. Of course he could have checked the sighting -leaf in the dark by the clicks if he had known enough about it. Artie -Chesbro, struck down in full career by a quarter-trained child who had -not meant to kill. Something--God? Chance? Compensation?--had laid a -finger briefly on the balances and dressed them. The world was saved -from Artie Chesbro--until the next one came along. - -"Get in the car," Mrs. Goudeket grunted, sliding behind the wheel. - -"Come on, Polly," Groff said. She leaned against him on the short walk; -a certain excitement--compounded of a feeling for her and of a sense -of challenging opportunity--began to tingle through him. She sensed it -and smiled; it would be nice, she thought. In the back of the car she -dropped her head on his shoulder and was asleep. - -Dick McCue got in beside Mrs. Goudeket and slammed the door. - -"Mrs. G.?" asked Sharon Froman. "You can't _mean_ this?" - -Mrs. Goudeket snorted, put the car in gear and ground off down the road -to Goudeket's Green Acres. - -"Bitch," said Sharon softly. She walked over to the motor pool man. -"You're Mr. Cioni, aren't you? Somebody said you were a plumbing -engineer." - -"Just a plumber," said Mr. Cioni modestly, but flattered. - -"There's going to be a lot of work for you before long." - -"Oughtta do pretty well out of it. The shop's hardly touched. My wife, -thank God, hardly knew it was happening. She's an invalid." - -"How terrible! But shouldn't somebody be taking care of her? I'm a sort -of practical nurse, you know--" - -"Well, say, that would be--" - -Sharon Froman was very tired. Even while she moved through the pickup -ritual for perhaps the twentieth time a crazy, spinning maggot grew -in her head that she really ought to throw herself on the ground and -scream; it was the only sensible thing to do. With a great deal of -effort she resisted and forced out the foolish idea, knowing it would -come back. - -Mrs. Goudeket twisted the wheel of the car hard, to avoid a fallen -telephone pole. "Such a thing, such a thing," she muttered as she -avoided the muddy shoulder. - -"Only a telephone pole, Mrs. G.," said Dick McCue. - -"No, I meant that no-good, that Sharon, that there should be a girl -like that." She shook her head. - -"And always will be," said Groff, with Polly's head pleasantly pressing -his shoulder, her nearness making him feel confident and quiet. "But -that's not what's important. The Sharons and the--the--"--he didn't -utter Chesbro's name because Polly might not be asleep--"the others, -they're the ones the pessimists and cynics are always thinking about, -pointing at, making a thing of. But I'm going to remember something -else out of all this. Starkman. That doctor almost ready to drop on -his feet. The kids who did the diving. All the dozens and dozens who -were _there_ when they were needed. Fast. With both hands and with -everything they had." - -"It's a fact," said Dick McCue. "It's as if when things are okay, -everyone just sort of buys and sells and takes care of his own and -locks the front door. But when there's a real jam they, I don't know, -they get bigger. Most of them, anyway." - -"Yep," said Groff quietly. "That's why, in spite of the unholy mess, -this town isn't licked. That's why, even though I could forget -Hebertown and locate somewhere else, I don't think I'm going to. Maybe -I ought to have my head examined, but I'm sort of--proud of this place." - -"You going to be welcome," said Mrs. Goudeket, smiling at the clearing -road ahead. "You going to be very welcome." - - * * * * * - - - - - _A Savage Flood Changed Their World_ - -It was a pleasant little town in the Northeast. It had never been -hurricane country. When they heard that Diane was coming, they couldn't -really believe it would harm them. And the hurricane itself didn't -touch them. - -But the rains caused by the hurricane ravaged their little town as -viciously as the worst artillery attack could have done. - -This is a powerful and tremendously graphic novel of people trapped in -that town: and how they learned what a flood really means. - -And how they found out what they themselves were like. - - - THIS IS AN ORIGINAL NOVEL--NOT A REPRINT. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Town Is Drowning</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 19, 2021 [eBook #66768]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TOWN IS DROWNING ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<div class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop"> - <img src="images/illusc.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1>A TOWN IS DROWNING</h1> - -<h2>by<br /> -FREDERIK POHL<br /> -and<br /> -C. M. KORNBLUTH</h2> - - -<p>BALLANTINE BOOKS<br /> -NEW YORK</p> - -<p>This is an original novel—not a reprint—<br /> -published by Ballantine Books, Inc.</p> - -<p>© 1955 by Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth</p> - -<p>Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 55-12407</p> - -<p>PRINTED IN U.S.A.</p> - - -<p>BALLANTINE BOOKS, INC.<br /> -404 Fifth Avenue, New York 18, N. Y.</p> - - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any<br /> -evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - - -<p><i>By Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth</i><br /> -<br /> -<i>Contemporary Novel</i><br /> -<br /> -A TOWN IS DROWNING<br /> -<br /> -<i>Science Fiction</i><br /> -<br /> -THE SPACE MERCHANTS<br /> -SEARCH THE SKY<br /> -GLADIATOR-AT-LAW</p> - - -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">TORN FROM TODAY'S HEADLINES</p> - - -<p>This novel takes you right into the heart of the <i>new</i> flood country, -the Northeast United States which had generally been free of hurricanes -and attendant floods. Now disaster has struck, more than once—terrible -and grim.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Although this novel will give you an accurate and brilliantly -vivid picture of what it's like to live through a flood, even more -importantly it will show you what the people are like who fought the -catastrophe and how those who survived are still fighting. In the -persons of Starkman the burgess, Groff the dynamic young executive, -Sharon the shrewd opportunist, Mrs. Goudeket, the resort owner, and -others, you will meet and understand the varying human elements that -the flood unleashed and intensified. Through it all you will sense a -growing feeling of pride—that despite the selfishness of some, the -people of the town met the terrible onslaught with courage and a sense -of mutual help.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Already well known for their superb science fiction, Frederik Pohl and -C. M. Kornbluth demonstrate here their equal power in the realistic -contemporary novel.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER ONE</p> - - -<p>The man in the filling station was clearly of two minds about it, but -finally he buttoned up his raincoat and pulled on his hat and came out -to Mickey Groff's car. "Sorry to make you come out in the rain like -this," Groff said. "Fill it up, will you?"</p> - -<p>He rolled up the window and picked out the least soaked wad of Kleenex -to wipe the mist off the inside of the windshield. The car radio -stopped playing show tunes and began to talk about freezer food plans. -Groff snapped it off and leaned back to watch the turning dials on the -gas pump. By the time the man had put back the cap and sloshed around -to the window Groff had the exact change ready in his hand. "How far is -it to Hebertown?"</p> - -<p>"Five miles," the attendant said, and went inside without counting the -money. As Groff pulled out he saw the lights go out on the pumps and -the big sign overhead.</p> - -<p>You couldn't blame him, he thought; there weren't enough cars out in -this rain to make it worth while. He had been lucky to find even one -station open.</p> - -<p>It was nearly impossible to see the road, no matter how hard the -windshield wipers worked. Rain was spraying in somehow; all the windows -were closed tight, but Groff could feel the thin mist on his face. He -rolled around a long, downgrade curve, and when he touched the brake -for a moment there was a queasy slipping sensation; the rain was coming -down faster than it could flow off the highway.</p> - -<p>Foolish to drive all the way to Hebertown, Groff reflected; but the -only alternative, actually, was to take a bus. The railroads didn't -bother much with this little out-of-the-way corner of the state. And -that was something to keep firmly in mind when he talked to the burgess -the next morning, he reminded himself. An industry-hungry town could -make you some tempting offers; there was a firm promise of a tax break -and bank credit, and the suggestion that maybe a suitable factory -building could be turned over to you for nearly nothing at all. But you -had to keep freight differentials in mind too; and what about labor -supply? Well, no; he crossed that off. That was the whole point of the -burgess's cooperative attitude; Hebertown had plenty of available labor -ten months of the year, it was only when the vacationers came up from -New York and the other big cities that local unemployment and the state -of the local tax rolls ceased to be a problem. Still, what about that? -Were you supposed to close down in the months of July and August?</p> - -<p>He shifted in his seat, forcing himself to lean back—it did no good -to peer into the rain—and tried to relax. Mickey Groff was a big man -and not used to sitting. It gave him a cramped, unwelcome feeling of -confinement.</p> - -<p>There was a light ahead; it turned out to be a store with a neon sign -that said <i>Sam's Grocery</i>, but it gave Groff enough help to let him -pick up his speed to nearly thirty-five miles an hour. He had been -nearly an hour covering the last twenty miles, he saw irritably. Of -course, it didn't matter—it meant just one hour less to spend sitting -in the lobby of the Heber House, since there wasn't a thing he could do -until the next morning in this rain. But why did he have to pick this -particular Thursday to come up?</p> - -<p>He passed the store, and at once the road was invisible in front of him -again. He tramped on the brake, slipped and skidded, and straightened -out. That was foolish, he told himself. He carefully slowed as the road -curved again....</p> - -<p>Not enough. It was the other car's fault, of course; he saw the lights -raging at him down the middle of the road and automatically pulled over -quickly. At once he felt the sidewise slip and sway of the skid, but -it was too late to do anything about it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It <i>could</i> have been worse. Thank God there was a good wide shoulder -right there. The only thing was, he seemed to be stuck in the mud.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff wasn't much of a waiter. There wasn't a showdog's chance -of a car stopping to help him, of course—even if one came by, they'd -hardly be able to see him. Anyway, Sam's Grocery couldn't be more than -a quarter of a mile back along the road, and from there he could phone -for a wrecker—or at worst, if the wreckers had their own problems on -a night like this, for a cab to get him into Hebertown. Once the rain -stopped, it wouldn't be much of a problem to get pulled out of the mud.</p> - -<p>He almost changed his mind when he stepped out into the rain, but by -the time he had locked the car door behind him it was too late—it was -hard to imagine how he could get any wetter than he was. Mickey Groff -had heard of rain coming down in sheets, but he had never experienced -it before. This was something beyond all expectations; in ten seconds -he was wet to the skin, in a minute he was drenched as a Channel -swimmer. There was wind with the rain, too; part of the time it came -swiping at him from the side, stinging into his eyes, infiltrating his -ears, slipping up the cuffs of his sodden sleeves. By the time he got -around the curve in the road he was shaking with chill.</p> - -<p>After ten minutes of staggering through the storm he wondered why he -couldn't see the lights of the store. Then he saw why, and it was like -a fist under the heart; the lights were out. There was the store just -ahead, but the neon was black, the windows were black, there was only -the faintest suggestion of a glimmer at the edges of the glass.</p> - -<p>He went stumbling across a little gravel parking lot with water -sloshing around his shoes and banged on the door. Then he saw that -there was a light in the back of the store; it was a candle. He tried -the door handle and it opened.</p> - -<p>Inside, the noise of the rain changed and dulled; instead of a -slashing at his ears it was a drumming overhead. A man came out of a -storeroom at the back, carrying a gasoline lantern, and the whole store -brightened and began to look more normal.</p> - -<p>"Oh," said Mickey Groff. "Your power's out. I thought maybe you were -closing up."</p> - -<p>The man said sourly, "I might as well be. Jesus, did you ever see -weather like this in your life? I been here—"</p> - -<p>"Have you got a phone?" Groff interrupted.</p> - -<p>"Phone's out too."</p> - -<p>Groff sluiced some of the water off his face and hair. "Well," he -said. Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that the phones might not be -working. There wasn't much sense in going back to the car again; he -knew a mudded-in wheel when he saw one. You could push blankets and -boards under those rear wheels all night and the mud would just swallow -up what the wheels didn't slide right off. "Maybe you can help me," -he said. "I'm stuck in the mud down the road and I've got to get into -Hebertown."</p> - -<p>The grocer glanced at him appraisingly and then bent to adjust the -flame on the gasoline lantern. "I'm all alone here," he mentioned.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff waited.</p> - -<p>"I hate to close up before time," the grocer said virtuously. "I'd like -to help you out—You stuck bad?"</p> - -<p>"Pretty bad. Anyway, I can't rock it out. I was hoping to call a tow -truck from Hebertown."</p> - -<p>"I got a pickup truck with four-wheel drive," the grocer said -thoughtfully. "You're welcome to wait here till I close if you want to. -Wouldn't be more than a couple of—"</p> - -<p>"How about ten bucks if you do it now?"</p> - -<p>The grocer's eyes flickered, but he shook his head. "You don't know -the people around here," he complained. "They wait till I'm just ready -to close, and bingo, two-three cars come zooming up. Milk for Junior, -catfood for the cat, coffee, they gotta have coffee, they wouldn't -bother me if it wasn't so jeezly important. Sit down and wait, mister. -It's only—" He squinted at the advertising clock above his door, -shadowed from the flare of the pressure lamp by a stack of tall cans on -a top shelf—"It's only half an hour."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff thought of lying to the man, giving him a story about a -medical emergency or a big deal with a deadline, something he couldn't -decently brush off for the sake of two or three catfood customers. -Then, because he didn't like to lie, he shrugged, made a disgusted -grimace at himself in the near-dark and sat down in a spindle-back -chair to wait out the thirty minutes. He knew what the trouble was; -it was the old thing. He had been born, apparently, geared up about -twenty-five per cent faster than most people. This was very handy in -some ways; he was a Rising Young Businessman at thirty and pretty soon -now he'd be a Rising Young Industrialist. His picture had been printed -in <i>Nation's Business</i> along with eleven other promising youngsters -who owned their own plants, and one day it would appear alone. He knew -it and he knew it would be due to his built-in overgearing. But that -didn't make it any easier to sit and wait for the catfood customers.</p> - -<p>The storekeeper—as most people did—sensed his mood. "Like to look at -the paper?" he asked, and handed him an eight-page sheet. It was the -latest—yesterday's—issue of the <i>Hebertown Weekly Times</i>. Groff had -studied the last four issues preceding it, as well as those of a dozen -other country papers, trying to get the feel of the communities they -served. On one of those communities he would soon have to stake his -play for the jump from forty employees to a hundred.</p> - -<p>He held the paper up to the lamplight and read the main headline, -covering the three right columns. The chair crashed behind him as he -snapped to his feet. "God damn it to hell!" he said.</p> - -<p>The storekeeper backed away, scared. "What's the matter, mister?"</p> - -<p>"Sorry," Groff said. "I didn't mean you. I just thought of something I -forgot to do."</p> - -<p>Which was a lie. He forced himself to set up the chair again, sat -down and reread the headline, pulses hammering at his temples. BORO -MAY GRANT SWANSCOMB MILL TO CHESBRO AT NOMINAL RENT; MOVE HAILED AS -EMPLOYMENT BOOM; OLD PLANT TO BE USED AS WAREHOUSE.</p> - -<p>The former Swanscomb Mill was the building he had his eye on as the -shell for his projected new factory. It was ideal. It was empty -and unwanted by anybody since Swanscomb had moved south; it was -a low-maintenance brick shell with plenty of adjoining room for -expansion; it was solidly built and able to support his machine tools; -it had its own siding and a loading deck for trucks. And somebody -else, by incredible coincidence, was after it too. The pounding pulses -subsided and he steadied himself to read the story. It was one column -down the right and it was strangely uninformative. It led off: "Civic -leaders today hailed the announcement that Arthur Chesbro hopes to -secure the old Swanscomb Mill from the Borough as a warehouse for the -storage of materials and supplies." It didn't say who the civic leaders -were. It went on to recapitulate the familiar history of the plant. It -concluded by quoting Arthur Chesbro as hoping that at least a dozen -local citizens would be employed as warehousemen in the plant.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A car's headlights outside turned the streaming store window into a -sheet of refracted yellow glare. A woman bustled in and peered about -uncertainly in the gloom. The storekeeper yes-ma'amed her and she -apologized for coming so late, the rain was so terrible she could -barely <i>crawl</i>, and could she have three cans of catfood?</p> - -<p>The storekeeper gave her the cans, and when he closed the door behind -her—rain drove in during the brief moment and drenched a square yard -of floor—turned to Groff and said: "What did I tell you?"</p> - -<p>"Who's this Arthur Chesbro?" Groff demanded. "The one in the paper."</p> - -<p>"Chesbro? A big wheel over in the next county. Justice of the Peace. -Owns business buildings; couple of radio stations; the newspaper, I -don't know the name. I just get copies of the <i>Weekly Times</i>; they send -them so I can check my ads. Every week I take one. You look on page -seven, tell me what you think of it."</p> - -<p>Groff yanked the paper open, looked at the grocer's little ad on page -seven and said: "You're Sam Zehedi? Syrian?"</p> - -<p>The man looked gratified. "How'd you know?"</p> - -<p>"A couple of your boys used to work for me. Damn fine millwrights."</p> - -<p>"That's us!" Sam Zehedi said. "You give a Syrian a busted machine and -a wrench, he'll have it going in five minutes. We're a civilized, -Christian people. We been Christian a lot longer than the French or -the Germans. And you know what some dumb people called me when I first -bought the store? An Ay-rab. A heathen Ay-rab."</p> - -<p>"They'll learn." Groff shrugged. He studied the newspaper story. -So this Chesbro was interested in newspapers. It looked, it very -definitely looked, as though he might have a piece of the <i>Hebertown -Weekly Times</i> in his pocket; the story was pure propaganda.</p> - -<p>Sam Zehedi went on: "Oh, they're learning. It's been five years now, -and I didn't let any grass grow under my feet. I'm a respected man -in this community, mister. You don't hear any Ay-rab talk any more, -except maybe from some of the summer people. Jews—they're bitter about -Ay-rabs, but then somebody sets them straight. I guess I'm the first -Syrian boy around here except for peddlers going through in the old -days the way they used to. It's like being a pioneer. Or a missionary." -He glanced at the clock. "What the hell," he said, "I don't think -anybody else is coming in this rain. I'll get the truck started and -pull her around the front, then you can hop right in and I'll lock up, -then we'll go tow you out."</p> - -<p>"Fine," Groff said. "I appreciate it very much." The storekeeper -disappeared in the back; a door slammed and over the drumming rain -Groff heard a truck engine roar into life. Zehedi gunned it and held it -for a minute and then took off, swinging the pickup around in front. -Groff dashed for the cab when the door swung open and vaulted in. His -speed hadn't helped him a bit; he was wet all over again from his brief -exposure.</p> - -<p>Zehedi got out on his side, sensibly swathed in a slicker, put out the -lantern in the store and locked up. He climbed back into the cab and -had to raise his voice to be heard above the rain beating on the top. -"Well, here we go, mister. About how far?"</p> - -<p>"Quarter of a mile, maybe."</p> - -<p>"We'll get you there." He put the truck in gear and crawled away from -the store, feeding the gas lightly. "My tires are pretty good," he -said. "I'd hate to start spinning my wheels, though." They crawled up -the long, gentle grade into the driving torrents.</p> - -<p>"Notice my store's located at the foot of the hill?" he chattered. "I -picked it partly for that. People have time to see the sign, not like a -flat straightaway where they go whizzing past fast as they can."</p> - -<p>Groff cranked down the window and stuck his head out. He couldn't be -wetter and he wasn't perfectly sure that through the rain-streaked -window his ditched car would be visible. The headlights seemed to bore -yellow cones through the teeming rain without illuminating anything -outside their sharp margins. The drops battered at his face and hair; -he pulled his head in feeling a little stunned. The violence of this -storm—he had a vague feeling that it couldn't go on without something -giving. What, he didn't know.</p> - -<p>Headlights stabbed at their eyes from the rear-view mirror. Behind them -a horn howled and out of the darkness behind plunged a shape. Zehedi -gasped and twitched his wheel to the right. The car from behind zoomed -past them, cut into the right lane again and roared on; its taillights -soon were dim and then disappeared.</p> - -<p>"Crazy idiot!" the storekeeper gasped, appalled. "He could have wrecked -us! He must have been going fifty! In <i>this</i>!"</p> - -<p>Groff twisted in the seat and stared through the rear window. There -were headlights, far back but coming up fast. And the headlights went -out as he watched, with a glimmer....</p> - -<p>He knew suddenly what had given. Even a city man, born and bred in city -safety, could recognize the signs.</p> - -<p>"<i>Step on it</i>," he said to the storekeeper swiftly. "<i>Floodwater behind -us. Get us to the top of the hill. Fast.</i>"</p> - -<p>Zehedi didn't argue or hesitate. Few people argued or hesitated when -Groff used that tone of voice. Quickly and steadily he stepped on the -gas. They whirled around the curve where Groff's car stood empty and -past it. It was a long, straight upgrade from there. Either the rain -had slackened off a little or Zehedi was more worried about what was -behind them than about the rain; they roared up the hill, accelerating -all the way, and only stopped when they saw another car parked by the -side of the road, lights on and windshield wipers flapping, and a man -leaning out of the opened door, staring back.</p> - -<p>It was the car that had passed them. Zehedi recklessly stopped -alongside him, making it a tight squeeze in case another car wanted to -get by. The other driver misinterpreted the move.</p> - -<p>"Jesus!" he said. "That's a good idea! Keep them from getting past into -that. Jesus!"</p> - -<p>He was in a flap, Groff observed. It wasn't surprising. "Flood?" he -called. But he knew the answer.</p> - -<p>"Flood? Christ a-mighty, the whole goddam Atlantic Ocean's down there. -I was trying to pass a lousy milk tank truck for five miles—they -ought to widen this road, you get stuck behind a truck on these hills -and—anyway, I finally got past him, and all of a sudden I hear him -blowing his horn like a son of a bitch and I turn around and—" The -man choked. "Jesus!" he said again. "That lousy little creek. This time -of year, half the time it's practically dry. And here's the whole creek -jumping up out of the ground at me. I stepped on the gas and got the -hell out of there." He peered back nervously, as though the creek might -still be following, though they were easily two hundred feet up. "You -haven't seen that milk truck, have you?"</p> - -<p>It would be a long time, Groff was absolutely sure, before anybody saw -that milk truck again.</p> - -<p>Zehedi leaned across him. "Hey, mister. You think there was much damage -down there? I own the store back there—you know, Sam's Grocery, down -at the foot of the hill."</p> - -<p>The man laughed. It sounded very nervous. "Not any more you don't," he -said.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER TWO</p> - - -<p>If you had smoothed out the crumpled paper to look at the ad, you would -have read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="ph1">GOUDEKET'S GREEN ACRES</p> - -<p>Your happy vacation hideaway, tucked away in the heart of the majestic -Shawanganunks. Golf! Tennis! Riding! Swimming (Two Pools)! Moonlight -dancing! That grand Goudeket Cuisine (Dietary Laws Observed)! Under -personal direction of Mrs. S. Goudeket.</p></div> - -<p>However, you would have had trouble smoothing it out, because it was -soaked; it had been thrown in the middle of both of Goudeket's Green -Acres by a dissatisfied customer, raging at the malicious trick Mrs. -Goudeket had played on her by causing it to rain for three consecutive -days.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket, wearing a set smile that was ghastly even in the -candlelight, moved among her guests. She was arch and gay with some -of them, apologetic and sympathetic with others, as circumstances -indicated; but in her heart she was torn between rage and fear. Now -it rains! For two months not a drop, so the grass is dying and the -dug well for the swimming pools goes dry, and the guests complain, -complain, complain, it's hotter than Avenue A, Mrs. Goudeket, and -couldn't you air-condition a little, Mrs. Goudeket, and frankly, Mrs. -Goudeket, what I wouldn't give to be back in our apartment on Eastern -Parkway right now, we always get a breeze from the ocean. And now it -comes down pouring, almost all of last week, and now it starts again -so hard the lights go out and the phone goes out, and there's a hundred -and sixty-five guests looking for something to do.</p> - -<p>She told herself pridefully: Thank God Mr. Goudeket didn't have to put -up with this.</p> - -<p>Not that he could have handled it; he would have retreated to his -room with a stack of Zionist journals, written letters to friends in -Palestine, wistful letters saying that maybe next year they'd have -enough for a winter cruise—</p> - -<p>There had never been enough for a winter cruise; Mrs. Goudeket had -efficiently seen to that. First things first. A new roof before a -winter cruise to visit Palestine, new pine paneling in the recreation -room, things you could lay your hand on. And Goudeket's Green Acres -grew. Because of <i>her</i>.</p> - -<p>But she had been kind and reasonable. She had let him send a hundred -dollars a year for planting orange groves. She had never argued when he -talked about retiring some day and going to Palestine—he always called -it that, even after it was Israel—to <i>live</i>. She could have argued; -she could have told him plenty. That this is America, that here you -don't retire and doze in the sun, here you drive hard and get big.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dave Wax came half-trotting through the dim rooms looking for her. -He started to call to her, changed his mind and came close before he -half-whispered. "It's the telephone, Mrs. Goudeket. It's working again!"</p> - -<p>"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Why are you keeping it a secret? It's good news, -let's tell everybody—they can use a little good news. You see—" -She turned to the nearest couple—"they've fixed the telephone lines -already. I bet they'll have the electricity on in ten minutes, you wait -and see. Did you call up, Dave?"</p> - -<p>"Call who, Mrs. Goudeket?"</p> - -<p>"The electric company, Dave!" He shook his head. "Go call them! No, -wait—better I'll call them myself." Let him talk to the guests a -while, she told herself grimly. Perhaps when the lights were on again -and things were back in their normal swing she would want to talk to -her guests again. Or perhaps, she thought, hurrying across the dark and -deserted entrance lobby, she would go up in her room and lock the door -and pull the covers over her head, as she wanted to about once an hour -from May through September of every year since Mr. Goudeket died.</p> - -<p>The phone was working all right, but it wasn't working well. Mrs. -Goudeket got the Hebertown operator and asked for the number of the -power company's repair service, but there was so long a wait after -that, filled with scratchings and squeals on the wire, that she began -to think something had gone wrong. She pulled out the jack and tried -again on another line.</p> - -<p>All it took was waiting, it turned out. While she waited Mrs. Goudeket -had plenty of time to think of the meaning of the long wait to get -connected with the repair service. Not that that was any surprise, -actually, because she had been through storms before in the majestic -Shawanganunks; but always before it had been maybe a quick, violent -thunderstorm coming up after a hot spell, and it was a lark for the -guests because it was a change, or maybe a violent autumn storm when -only a handful remained. But here were a hundred and sixty-five who had -been penned in the hotel for days already and....</p> - -<p>"Hello, hello?" She tried to hear the scratchy voice at the other end. -"Can you hear me? This is Mrs. S. Goudeket, from Goudeket's Green -Acres."</p> - -<p>The scratchy voice was trying to say something, but she couldn't hear; -evidently, though, they could hear her so she went right on: "Our -electricity is off. Can you hear me? Our electricity has been off -for two hours. They fixed the phone lines, why can't you people fix -the power lines?" More scratchy sounds. Mrs. Goudeket listened to -them—first casually, out of politeness, then very, very hard. Then -there was a click.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket looked thoughtfully at the switchboard for a moment.</p> - -<p>This is new, she thought. Her mind was cold and alert; she knew she -could not afford rage. The electric company here is not a good company, -not like the wonderful Consolidated Edison in New York City. Here they -overcharge you—by mistake, they say—and here the meter readers are -underpaid and insolent, even with good customers like me. Their repair -men are unshaven and lazy and when they finally get to you they stretch -out a job forever so they don't have to hurry on to the next. But this -is new, this hanging up. I'm no fool, not after thirty years in the -resort business; I know their phone girls are under orders to kid the -customers along, promise anything, <i>not to hang up</i>.</p> - -<p>Something must be happening, something bad.</p> - -<p>She walked slowly into the lobby, with a mechanical smile for each -sullenly accusing guest. At the cigar stand she told little Mr. Semmel: -"A pack of cigarettes. Any kind."</p> - -<p>He raised his eyebrows and passed one over. As she clumsily tore open -the pack, extracted one and lit it he began to grumble: "Some hotel. -Some light-and-power company. By now I should be getting the overnight -lines for Monmouth, Hialeah and Sportsman's, by now I should have -booked two hundred dollars on tomorrow. Believe me, Mrs. Goudeket, this -is my last year at Green Acres. This kind of thing doesn't happen up at -New Hampshire Notch; I don't pay good money for the concession so this -kind of thing happens."</p> - -<p>A fattish, red-faced man bulged up to the counter, breathing whiskey -at them. That's a Young Married, Mrs. Goudeket thought with distaste; -that's what I have to take at this place because I can't get enough -nice young people. "Sammy," the red-faced man complained hoarsely, -"isn't the damn ticker working yet? I've got fifty bucks I have to -play. You're busting my system to hell."</p> - -<p>Mr. Semmel said politely: "I'll see, Mr. Babin." He opened the plywood -door behind the stand, looked into the little room where the teletype -horse ticker stood, and closed the door again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Babin," -he said, with a look at Mrs. Goudeket. "I think the wire's okay, but -you got to have power to run the machine and there isn't any power. If -it comes on later maybe I can phone Chicago for a repeat—if there's -time before midnight."</p> - -<p>"Nuts," Babin said, and headed through the candlelit gloom for the bar.</p> - -<p>"You see?" Mr. Semmel hissed, in a hate-filled whisper. "You see what -you're costing me? Never again, Mrs. Goudeket!"</p> - -<p>She wandered off, preoccupied. Semmel was a nobody, a clerk hired by -the big brokers, in spite of his pretensions. But if the brokers, in -their cold and analytical way, did decide at the end of the season -that Goudeket's Green Acres didn't handle enough to make the operation -worth their while, next year nobody would come around and bid for the -horse-book concession. And it was the concession that pushed the resort -over the line between red and black ink.</p> - -<p>You had to make money and you had to grow. Mr. Goudeket had never -understood that. Orange trees were all very well, but since 1926 she -had been the driver, the doer, the builder. And Mr. Goudeket had never -got to Palestine after all, which showed that dreaming got you nowhere. -She felt a guilty twinge. One year they could have made the cruise. -One year there had been nothing urgent, which is a miraculous year -in the resort business. She had put the money aside as a reserve and -said nothing about it, and poor Mr. Goudeket couldn't understand a -financial statement. The guests loved him, his Zionist connections had -been valuable, though he never suspected it, and he had been a fine -all-around handyman since the days in the Brighton Beach boarding -house; he had saved them thousands of dollars with his clever hands and -brought in thousands of dollars with his connections. But grow? He had -never understood. And so he never got to see Palestine? What of it, -anyway? And again Mrs. Goudeket felt the guilty twinge.</p> - -<p>She peered into the bar; it was doing a good business by candlelight. -Her Young Marrieds—she grimaced—were getting drunk early. Dave Wax -was on a barstool with an on-the-rocks glass in front of him; he was -telling one of his stories.</p> - -<p>"Dave," she said softly, "when you've finished your drink why don't you -give a little show for the people outside?"</p> - -<p>The comedian theatrically gulped from his glass and told his barmates -loudly: "I love this dear lady. Just like my mother, she is. Just like -my mother—always hollering, '<i>Get to work, ya bum!</i>'"</p> - -<p>He pranced out, grinning, on the tide of half-drunk laughter. She -watched him from the bar for a minute; he went looping through the room -loudly announcing a one-man show by that star of stage, screen, TV and -radio, Dave Wax, also available for weddings and bar mitzvahs, call -Murray Hill 3-41798805427—it went trailing on and on and on as he led -them to circle him around the piano. He pounded out the introductory -chords of his "Nervous in the Service" routine, which was very funny -and not too dirty; from there she hoped he'd go into a community sing; -that would calm the people down.</p> - -<p>She went to the switchboard again and snapped the toggle for the -outside line. Try the electric company, get some kind of a real promise -out of them, maybe bully her way through to the Load Dispatcher, a -really responsible person, not like their phone girls.</p> - -<p>"Hello," she said. "Operator, hello?" The line wasn't stone-cold dead, -but it wasn't buzzing with the reassuring familiarity of the dial -tone. A delusive droning kept encouraging her to try; mechanically -she switched off and on again, asked for the operator, tried dialing -various service numbers. As she went through the motions she thought -abstractedly that something had to work; the horse-book concession -was absolutely vital. She'd always known she should have an auxiliary -generator, paid for God knows how, so the teletype could be kept -going—but what good was a teletype with power and no line in? It was -dawning on her that the place was cut off from the outside world, that -the wires were down and would stay down for hours.</p> - -<p>Radios? The radio must be saying something. There was a little station -in Hebertown that played nothing but records and news a couple of times -a day from the <i>Weekly Times</i> office. Junk like who's in the hospital, -the borough council meeting, "want ads of the air," traffic things. -<i>They'd</i> know what this rain was doing, they'd have an estimate from -the power and phone companies of the damage to the lines and when -they'd be back in service.</p> - -<p>The radio would tell her everything she needed to know; then a calm -announcement to the guests and everybody would go to bed cheerfully, -rather enjoying the excitement....</p> - -<p>But little Mrs. Fiedler came up and she had her portable radio in her -hand, weighing her down like a suitcase; it wasn't one of those little -pocket jobs but a substantial long-range outfit. Little Mrs. Fiedler -made something of a nuisance of herself when she played it beside the -swimming pool—highbrow music from New York City stations.</p> - -<p>"Could you get me an outside line, Mrs. Goudeket?" she said. "I want to -call my mother in New York so she won't worry."</p> - -<p>"Worry? About somebody at Goudeket's Green Acres?" the old woman -kidded. "She should have such worries. But I'm sorry, the phone's out -again. I don't know for how long. But why should she worry?"</p> - -<p>"There was a news broadcast from New York, there's a flood up in -Richardstown. Of course that's a hundred miles away, but to my mother, -the mountains are the mountains."</p> - -<p>"Ah. Richardstown. Mrs. Fiedler, did you try the local station? Let's -go into my office and see what they have to say."</p> - -<p>But even the big, powerful portable failed to pick up the local -station. Mrs. Goudeket refused to think of what <i>that</i> might mean.</p> - -<p>Alone again, she realized that she'd have to send somebody out into -that terrible rain, send them to town, the <i>Times</i> office or any other -phone they could reach. She had to know what was coming next. Send who? -Not the bartender; he was the most valuable man on the premises right -now. Dave Wax was next, and the kitchen help couldn't be spared. Dick -McCue, the "golf pro"—nineteen years old, doubling in trumpet—where -was <i>he</i>? He should be in the social hall backing up Dave Wax, keeping -the people busy, keeping their minds off—whatever it was. Where <i>was</i> -he?</p> - -<p>And then she thought, distastefully, of exactly whom she'd have to -send. Sharon Froman, she called herself, and in the wild week before -opening she had let Sharon Froman foist herself on Green Acres as a -"publicity director"—just room, board, ten a week for the season. At -first Sharon Froman had actually worked; she had written good stories -that actually appeared, not cut too badly, in the issues of the New -York <i>Post</i> which also carried Green Acres advertisements; maybe she -had even got them a couple of guests. That lasted for about ten days, -and then Sharon Froman had slowly withdrawn from any hotel activity -except eating; when you passed her room at any time of the day or night -you were as likely as not to hear the muffled thudding of a noiseless -portable. When Mrs. Goudeket barged in or met her in the dining room -and asked how the publicity stories were coming, Sharon Froman would -smile vaguely, teasingly, and say something that didn't, after you -stopped to think of it, make sense. "I think I've got a very dynamic -program lined up, Mrs. Goudeket, and I'm polishing the rough spots."</p> - -<p>Black-haired, square-jawed, near-sighted, in her early thirties, a -persuasive talker—Mrs. Goudeket was the living proof of that—groomed -either to perfection or not at all, maybe five feet six, easily twenty -pounds overweight. Sharon Froman. The perfect expendable to go out and -learn the score. Mrs. Goudeket started grimly up the steps. You better -be feeling good and dynamic, Miss Sharon Froman, she thought, nerving -herself for a battle. I got some real rough spots for you to polish now.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the bat's nest that that sneaking old hag Goudeket called a room, -Miss Sharon Froman was lovingly recopying chapter one of Her Novel. -Her only light was a candle socketed in the sticky neck of an empty -Southern Comfort bottle, and the flame flickered and turned blue -regularly as the wind swept through the closed windows. What a shack, -thought Miss Sharon Froman, not in anger but in judgment.</p> - -<p>But it had its compensations. She could see the jacket copy for the -novel now: "<i>Spraddled Evening</i> is an odd book, written at odd times -in odd places. Begun in a shabby trailer outside a Mississippi Army -camp—" She grimaced, remembering how perfectly foul Ritchie had been -when she'd had story conferences with Don while Ritchie was restricted -to the post—"it was shaped and polished by turns in the club car of a -transcontinental train, a cold-water flat in the East Bronx, a luxury -resort hotel and a Jersey fishing village, reaching its evocative -climax while Miss Froman was—" Well, that you would have to wait and -see, thought Miss Froman, taking page 2 out of the typewriter. But the -end was almost in sight. The first chapter set the tone for the whole -book; and now that that was nearly perfect it was only a dash to the -finish line.</p> - -<p>She lit a cigarette from the candle before she put page three into -the typewriter. Page three was the one that would do Hesch in the -eye. He'd be sure to recognize the savagely drawn, feudal-minded pants -presser if he read it—and he'd be goddam sure to read it, if he had to -hock the watch she'd given him to get the price. Sixty bucks that watch -had cost out of her share of his Christmas bonus, and it was the only -decent thing he owned. "So why doesn't he sell it," she demanded of the -wind, "if he's so broke he can't keep up the alimony?"</p> - -<p>She knew as soon as she heard the knock on the door that it was Mrs. -Goudeket. The chapter went into the bulging file under the bed; the -half-page beginning on the story about Dick McCue went into the -typewriter, using the paper bail so Old Bat-Ears wouldn't hear the -ratchet clicking. "Come in, please," she called, with just the proper -annoyance at being interrupted.</p> - -<p>She glanced coldly at her employer.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket sat down without waiting to be asked; those stairs were -getting steeper every day. "Sharon, honey," she wheezed, "I want you to -do me a favor. Frankly, I'm a little worried."</p> - -<p>Sharon listened with minimal courtesy. Unbelievable, she thought to -herself, now the old harpy expected her to go driving out in this crazy -rain to find out if it was really raining. So suppose she got into -Hebertown, what could she find out? The lines were down? They knew -that. And what else could there conceivably be?</p> - -<p>Since it was a point of principle, she knew what she had to say. -"I'm sorry, Mrs. Goudeket," she said gently. "It just isn't my job." -Besides, the season was practically over; so let Old Bat-Ears fire her.</p> - -<p>"Aw, Sharon," wheedled Mrs. Goudeket. "Who else have I got? Believe me, -it's not for me, it's for all of us. Suppose—"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"No!" shrilled Mrs. Goudeket. "I feed you the whole summer, for what? -One little thing I want you to do, and what do I get? Listen here, -young lady, I'm telling you for the last time—" It went on for ten -minutes, during which Mrs. Goudeket quite forgot to worry about the -storm.</p> - -<p>She was still breathing hard when she appeared at the door of the Game -Room and signaled imperiously to Dick McCue.</p> - -<p>"You got to drive me into Hebertown," she ordered.</p> - -<p>"But Mrs. Goudeket!" He nodded back at the room, where a couple of -sullen guests were doggedly putting golf balls into a tumbler. "I got a -contest going. Dave said I had to help out; he said—"</p> - -<p>"This is more important," Mrs. Goudeket said firmly. "You think I like -going myself? God knows what the guests will think, so don't tell them. -Let them look."</p> - -<p>"All right, Mrs. Goudeket. I'll tell you what, I'll go get the car and -meet you at the kitchen entrance. Just the two of us going?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket smiled frostily. "Three," she said. "Miss Froman is -leaving us."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER THREE</p> - - -<p>The burgess of Hebertown wasn't having any luck with his call to the -weather bureau. Because he was the burgess, he had got his own line to -the central office back in service; but the central office was having a -hell of a time getting through to any point outside.</p> - -<p>If he had got through, he wouldn't have had much luck either, because -there were plenty of lines down, but practically all the ones that were -left were trying to get onto the same three instruments in the bureau's -outer office.</p> - -<p>The chief of bureau was talking into one of them, kept open with a -direct line to the nearest Civil Defense filter center: "Charley? -Here's the latest. No chance of the rain stopping for at least several -hours, that's the big thing. Some places it's hitting an inch an hour. -There's all that wet air that Diane pulled in from the Atlantic, and -now the winds have pushed it up; when it gets cold the water has to -come out. How much?" He blinked at the phone; he had been in that -office for seventeen hours and, he suddenly remembered, he'd never got -around to having lunch sent up. "Call it ten inches, average through -the area affected. What?" He sat up straight. "Now listen, Charley! -I've busted forecasts and I've admitted it; but you can't hang this one -on me—"</p> - -<p>The station duty forecaster, on the phone next to him, was saying: -"Sure, we're sticking by our forecast. Go ahead and print it. Flood -damage? No, I can't give you anything; not our line. Please, won't you -read the forecast? We said heavy rain. We said prospect of danger from -flooding because the soil is saturated—no room for the rain to soak -in, it has to run off somewhere. The only thing we didn't say was -'positively.'" He hung up, but didn't take his hand off the phone; it -would ring again in seconds. It didn't much matter what they printed, -of course; the newspaper that had been on the wire was in a town that -had grown rich from the two rivers that joined in its heart, and the -forecaster had his own feelings about what those two rivers might do.</p> - -<p>He took his other hand off the clipboard and found he had crumpled -their copy for the last forecast into a ball. He tossed it in the -basket, hardly hearing his chief shouting into the phone next to him; -it didn't matter, he knew it by heart now anyhow, but as the phone rang -again, he made a dive and recovered the forecast. He smoothed it out -carefully. It might, he suddenly realized, be very important indeed, -over the next weeks and months when the investigating commissions and -legislative committees began sniffing through the debris.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mrs. Chesbro came smiling into the burgess's office. "Excuse me," she -said. "I knocked, but you were busy on the phone—"</p> - -<p>"Not very," said the burgess, slamming the instrument down. Now he -couldn't even get the central office again. "What can I do for you?" -He didn't know the woman. She was expensively dressed; the burgess, -whose wife read <i>Vogue</i>, realized that her flat-heeled leather shoes, -her matching waterproof tweed coat and cap, her neat leather gloves all -were imported and expensive. For the rest, she was a small blonde in -her twenties with a careful, conciliatory look on her face.</p> - -<p>"I'm Mrs. Arthur Chesbro," she said. "Arthur and I drove over from -Summit to see you. Arthur let me off and then he decided he'd better -move the car to a little higher ground, the top of that little shopping -street you have, Sullivan Street, isn't it? After General Sullivan, I -suppose? And he'll be right along and then you two can get on with your -little talk."</p> - -<p>The burgess looked at her vaguely, her chatter only half comprehended. -If she had been a man he would have said something like: "I'm sorry -but I'm tied up now; write me a letter and we'll make an appointment." -Since she was a woman his old-fashioned notions ruled that out. -"I didn't expect Mr. Chesbro," he began. "I've got so much on my -mind right now with the rain—" He noted with wry amusement that -he had started to say "flood" and changed the word. Civic pride or -superstition?—"that I don't think this is the best time for a meeting. -Could you go and head him off, Mrs. Chesbro? It can't be urgent."</p> - -<p>"Arthur thinks it is," she said. "A man phoned him from New York that -this Mickey Groff is on his way and Arthur swore around the house for -fifteen minutes and then told me to get out the car and, well, here I -am." She could ask for a favor and keep her dignity. "I'm sure it won't -take more than a minute. Arthur says it's all cut and dried."</p> - -<p>Chief Brayer came in without knocking. His black slicker streamed and -his mustache was limp. "Henry," he said to the burgess, "I make it -twelve feet and rising at the Sullivan Street bridge. In thirty-five -it was only eight feet and in thirty-nine it was only nine and a half. -What's going on down in the Hollow, God only knows. Anyway, I'd better -get down there with all the boys. All right?"</p> - -<p>"Sure, Red. Get on down. Send somebody to my place in a car with a -trailer hitch; have 'em tow my boat down to the Hollow. It's all set up -on the trailer in the garage, ready to go." He grinned wryly. "I was -thinking I might take Bess up to Cayuga for a day on the water."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chesbro looked on blankly.</p> - -<p>"Great," the chief said. "It's got a good spotlight, too. We'll need -that. If you don't mind a suggestion, Henry, I'd turn out the fire -department and have them standing by. You may need some able-bodied men -in a hurry. Twelve feet and rising—" He hurried from the office.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," the burgess said to Mrs. Chesbro, and tried the -interphone on his desk. It worked; so far the main to the north end of -the borough had not been flooded and shorted out.</p> - -<p>"Fire chief," said the interphone.</p> - -<p>"This is Henry, Chief. Red Brayer thinks, and I agree, that you should -sound the general alarm for the volunteers, that they should be -standing by in the engine house with their cars parked in the square. -The Hollow's filling up fast—at least it must be; the water's twelve -feet and rising at the bridge."</p> - -<p>"Right, Henry. That all?"</p> - -<p>"For the present, yes," the burgess sighed. He clicked the box off. -Immediately he heard the klaxon on top of the building hoot three -longs, then pause and hoot again and then again. It was the Emergency -Muster signal, and it would galvanize fifty men scattered throughout -the borough into dropping whatever they were doing, tearing to their -cars and speeding to the borough hall, or more exactly to its ground -floor left wing where the fire department—two LaFrance pumpers, one -ancient and one beautifully new, two full-time employees, the chief and -the driver—were housed. He hoped they wouldn't be too disappointed -when they found they'd be on a boring standby.</p> - -<p>And now, he thought, he really ought to get out and drive around -on a tour of inspection. There wasn't any point to sticking in the -office with the phone out and the firemen and police already committed -to action. He had hoped for some usefulness out of the local radio -station, but it was silent, had been for an hour. The news of the -Hollow explained that; the transmitter tower, a modest spire, was -planted in a marshy field down that way. It had something to do with a -good ground, he had been told once, so they had a good ground and they -were now bugged out the one time they'd be able to do a public service -beyond broadcasting damnfool hillbilly music.</p> - -<p>He was reaching for his raincoat, to the dismay of Mrs. Chesbro, when -a big man came in. The burgess recognized him as her husband, the -redoubtable Arthur Chesbro of Summit. He had, quite consciously, had -as little to do with Arthur Chesbro as possible, but there was an -irreducible minimum of contact with the man that couldn't be avoided. -He was all over the place in Summit, a closely neighboring borough, and -he had feelers out through the entire area. You heard of his interest -in this and that—bankrolling a resort, buying a professional building -a county away and turning it over <i>fast</i>, snapping up timber rights -to a farmer's woodlot and turning <i>them</i> over to a firm from over the -state line; snatching an FCC television construction permit from under -the nose of heavy competition and then not building the station after -all for mysterious and profitable reasons. He was a leading citizen, -the burgess supposed, but he had nevertheless carefully avoided him -whenever possible. He was not really sure why, but once after a couple -of bourbons with Chief Brayer he had told the chief that he thought -Arthur Chesbro suffered from a case of moral and ethical halitosis.</p> - -<p>Physically, Chesbro was a picture of success, rather soaked and winded -success at the moment, having hiked in the rain from Sullivan Street -and climbed the steep stairs to the burgess's second-floor office.</p> - -<p>He grasped the burgess's automatically extended hand with a firm and -manly grip. "It's good to see you again, Henry," he intoned. "How's -Bess?"</p> - -<p>"Fine, thanks."</p> - -<p>"And that boy of yours in medical school?"</p> - -<p>"Fine—uh, Arthur." He thought resignedly that you have to go along -with these characters. And maybe, for God's sake, Chesbro actually did -remember Bess and did remember hearing about Ted and actually did wish -them well. Maybe.</p> - -<p>"I see you've met my wife, Henry. Well, it looks like quite a nasty -downpour, doesn't it?"</p> - -<p>Now he's talking about the weather, for God's sake, to put me at my -ease and get the conversation going on a topic of universal interest. -Always start by talking about the weather; nobody's so shy or so stupid -that he can't think of something to say about the weather. Well, sir, -this time the maxim was going to backfire in Arthur Chesbro's red face. -"Glad you mentioned that, Arthur," the burgess said briskly. "I'm -leaving now. I'm afraid we're in for something worse than we got in -thirty-five and thirty-nine, and I'm going to cruise around and have -a look-see. I don't know why you came to see me on a dirty night like -this, but if you can't put it in a nutshell it'll have to wait."</p> - -<p>Arthur Chesbro was disconcerted. "Didn't you see the story in the paper -yesterday, Henry?"</p> - -<p>"I've been mighty busy," the burgess apologized, getting into his -raincoat.</p> - -<p>"Well, it said, roughly—well, never mind the story. What I want to do -is take the old Swanscomb Mill off the borough's hands and put a tidy -rental into the communal pocket—<i>and</i> hire a few of your local people."</p> - -<p>"Sounds fine," the burgess said. He started for the door. "But there's -a fellow with a plant in Brooklyn who's interested too. I understood -he's coming out to see us about it, but I suppose this weather'll hold -him up. I think we'd better table this matter until I hear from him and -have a chance to compare the offers. Now, if you'll excuse me—"</p> - -<p>"I never thought," said Chesbro flatly, "that I'd see a neighbor -selling out to foreign interests when he has a bid from a local man."</p> - -<p>The burgess took his hand off the doorknob and looked at Chesbro -steadily up and down. "I don't like your language worth a damn," -he said. "I'd give you a lecture on manners if I didn't have more -important things to do. You can find your way out, can't you?"</p> - -<p>Chesbro's eyes dropped, but the burgess thought he could read a look of -calculation on his face. "Sorry," he said. "By the way, my car is just -up the hill. Can I help out?"</p> - -<p>"Well," said the burgess, and thought. Might as well save climbing all -the way up West Street—and you couldn't brush off a man who was trying -to do you a favor, just because you thought he stank. "Obliged," he -said. "If you'll drop me at my house I'll pick up my own car."</p> - -<p>He waited with Mrs. Chesbro while her husband dashed through the rain. -She didn't talk, which the burgess approved, and once when he met her -eye she gave him a tired smile. The burgess judged that she was onto -her husband, and seldom had anything to smile about.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For that matter, what did anyone have to smile about? The burgess -looked over his borough and hardly heard Artie Chesbro chattering -beside him. The street lamps at the bottom of West Street were out. -One of the big elms that framed the post office was trailing a pair -of enormous branches, broken-winged, across the street; they had to -detour far to the left to pass it. Well, there wouldn't be much traffic -tonight—and you couldn't tell, maybe he'd be lucky and the whole tree -would have to come down; and then they could get on with widening West -Street and the hell with the Garden Club.</p> - -<p>They went up over the West Street hill and down the other side. -"—don't know if you've considered the importance of warehousing -facilities in attracting industry," Chesbro was saying in his ear. "War -plants? Sure. They're a dime a dozen, Henry, and they come and fold up -and then where are you? But you take a town that's got a reputation for -good, low-cost—"</p> - -<p>The burgess felt entirely too surrounded by Chesbros, with Artie -babbling on one side and the wife, silent on the other. Then they -turned into Sycamore. The burgess leaned forward. Funny, he could -hardly see the highway junction at the bottom of the hill. They rolled -down at forty or so, and then everything happened at once. Something -jumped up out of the pavement ahead of them. "Watch out!" yelled the -burgess. "Jesus!" cried Artie Chesbro, slamming on the brakes and -skidding. It looked like a figure, some crazy kind of figure hard to -make out in the rain, that suddenly started to get up in the middle of -the road; it humped itself and flopped back, and then leaped high in -the air, higher than the roof of the car.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chesbro laughed out loud, nervously.</p> - -<p>"Busted water pipe!" cried Artie Chesbro. "Look, Henry, it's a whole -fountain!"</p> - -<p>It was a fountain, all right, but it wasn't anything broken. The -burgess swallowed hard. Not in '35, not even in '39, had the storm -sewers backed up hard enough and fast enough to send their manhole lids -flying into the air.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER FOUR</p> - - -<p>Dick McCue started off like a jet pilot. "What's the hurry?" Mrs. -Goudeket demanded. "Better go slow and we'll get there." She was -feeling uneasier than ever; because though she had heard the rain -pounding on the house, and seen the rain sluicing down the windows, she -hadn't <i>felt</i> the rain until that two-yard dash from the door to the -station wagon that had wet her to the skin.</p> - -<p>"Sure, Mrs. Goudeket," he said cheerfully, and slowed down—briefly. -Fast, slow—he could drive that blacktop road down to the highway -in his sleep. This was what he liked; something happening. He never -would have taken the agency's offer of this job if he'd known it would -involve running putting contests for rained-in guests who blamed it -all on him. Girls, dances, a chance to sharpen up his game for the -all-important Inter-Collegiate Medalist next year—the agency had made -it sound pretty great. Of course, he had a lot to offer, too—his -maidenhead, for instance, as far as the world of golf was concerned; -now he was definitely and permanently a pro, and some of the doors in -golfing were forever closed to him. Maybe he should have held out for -more money. But what was the difference; Dick McCue knew well enough -that his game wasn't going to support him all his life; he had a good, -powerful drive and a touch with the putter, but everything between the -tee and the cup was hard work. It made him a splendid golf pro for Mrs. -Goudeket's guests, most of whose future golfing would be either on a -driving range or on one of those miniature courses that were coming -back, but that was as far as his talents went. Dick McCue didn't kid -himself—or anyway, not about his golf.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket cried out and clutched his arm. "Look! Four hundred -dollars worth of topsoil!" But it wasn't four hundred dollars worth of -topsoil any more; it was a lake. She looked at it incredulously. She -remembered distinctly what it had looked like when she and Mr. Goudeket -had taken possession of Goudeket's Green Acres, formerly known as -Holiday Hacienda: It had been a muddy cow pasture, rutted and gullied. -It had taken three days with a bulldozer before they could start -putting the topsoil on—</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket swallowed, as she considered where the four hundred -dollars for the next batch of topsoil might be coming from. From the -back seat Sharon Froman called sharply: "Watch yourself, Dick!"</p> - -<p>"I see him," McCue said, slowing down. A battered pickup truck was -wallowing around their entrance road, trying to turn around. The driver -was being meticulously careful about staying off the shoulders, which -made it a long process, but finally he got turned around and pulled -over. As the station wagon drew close he leaned out and yelled: "This -ain't the road to Hebertown, is it?"</p> - -<p>Dick McCue leaned over his employer to roll the window down and yell -back: "No! You have to turn left at the road, then the second right, -left at the bridge—Look, just follow me." He barely got his head out -of the window before Mrs. Goudeket rolled it up again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Follow him! Jeez, I ought to have an airplane!"</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff said, "We ought to be nearly there by now. Does it look -familiar?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing looks familiar," Sam Zehedi complained, trying to keep the -lights of the station wagon in sight. He stole a look at the dashboard. -Forty-two miles they'd come! Backtracking where the bridge was washed -out, taking a shortcut that had turned out impassable, getting lost on -the country roads down toward the river—forty-two miles, and they'd -started out three miles from town. There was a mile marker right in -front of the store....</p> - -<p>No, not any more there wasn't. Sam Zehedi got a sudden cramp in his -belly thinking about it. The important thing was whether the insurance -covered it or not. He had the impression that he was covered for -everything from artillery fire by the Argentine army to glacier damage; -but that was a long time ago when he signed that check for the policy, -and he couldn't remember what it said about floods. Of course, he told -himself valiantly, that guy in the car was nuts; the store couldn't -have been just washed away. It was just that it was so dark and you -couldn't see through the rain from as close as you dared to get in the -car. Probably there was water in it, sure—but was that so bad? Look -at those people in Missouri and places like that, they go through this -every year.</p> - -<p>He thought of the new freezer, not yet paid for, and moaned.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff snapped: "Are you sick? Want me to drive?"</p> - -<p>Sam Zehedi swallowed hard. "I'm okay," he said. And he concentrated on -the twin red lights ahead of him, the beating raindrops that slipped -into the cones of the headlights and out again faster than the eye -could follow. He concentrated on the feel of the gas pedal, feeding the -gas delicately. <i>You're driving</i>, he told himself. <i>So drive and don't -worry.</i></p> - -<p>But in less than five minutes he humbly asked Groff, "You know anything -about insurance?"</p> - -<p>"Some," Groff said reluctantly. He could guess what was coming.</p> - -<p>"Well, to tell you the truth I don't remember what my policy on the -store was like. Fire, of course, and extended coverage. That means -water damage, doesn't it?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid not," Groff told him, feeling rotten. "Under some special -circumstances, yes—but what's back there, no. If it were primarily -windstorm damage with water damage secondary—for instance, if wind -tore your roof off and rain ruined your stock, you could collect. But -nobody's covered against—flood."</p> - -<p>The word was out in the open at last. Zehedi choked back a sob. <i>You're -driving. So drive.</i></p> - -<p>But in less than five minutes he found himself railing to Groff that it -wasn't fair, that he'd lost five years of work, that he would have been -ready to look for a wife in another three years, a good old-fashioned -girl from the New York or Detroit colonies of Syrians, somebody who -could cook the old-country food—God, how sick he was of hamburgers and -soda pop, sometimes he looked at a hamburger when he thought he was -hungry and just put it down and walked away with a pain in his belly.</p> - -<p>"So why," he asked indignantly, a little hysterically, "didn't I stay -in the colony and eat my mother's cooking? I'll tell you why. Because -I wanted to be my own boss, I wanted to be a pioneer, it's no good -crowding into the big cities and working for other people. In this -country you have to make money to be respected, nobody respects you if -you're just a working stiff all your life. So I saved and I bought that -place through a broker and I've been slaving for five years, eating the -lousy food and thinking about broiled lamb I'm going to eat every day -when I find a wife, and then...."</p> - -<p>He subsided and the rain drummed down.</p> - -<p>They're an emotional people, Mickey Groff thought automatically, and -then cursed himself. Damned fool! Here you are thirty years old and -you're babbling stereotypes to save yourself the trouble of thinking. -Why the hell shouldn't he be emotional with his store washed away? I -seem to remember that when Zimmerman slipped the old knife between your -ribs with the trick specially printed discount sheet and cost you forty -thousand dollars you didn't have, forty thousand dollars for him and -Brody to spend on likker and wimmen, forty thousand dollars you might -have air-conditioned the plant with for better productivity and fewer -rejects, you weren't exactly philosophical about it. Your screams, -in fact, were allegedly heard as far west as Council Buffs, Iowa. So -less guff, please, about any "they," who exist only in your head, being -emotional, or stingy, or stoical, or vindictive or, for that matter, -generous and good-hearted. Take 'em as they come, one by one, for what -they show they are.</p> - -<p>Zehedi was under control again. He said; "That guy's driving too fast."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Watch out!" Mrs. Goudeket yelled at Dick McCue. "Watch out!" The white -posts that marked the sharp left curve loomed big, too big, in front of -them. McCue twisted the wheel and stepped on the brake pedal hard and -fast. It was nightmarish to feel the rear of the car swivel around; it -was uncanny to see the road passing in front of him, defying all his -experience of perhaps a hundred thousand miles in a driver's seat. The -white center line flashed across his vision and then headlights glared -into his eyes; it was the truck that had been following them. The skid -continued for an interminable few seconds more; Sharon Froman was -screaming in the back seat. The rear of the car jolted down and McCue -and Mrs. Goudeket were thrown back against the seat as the front of -the car nosed up; metal crunched behind them. Then it all seemed to be -over. McCue took a deep breath, turned off the ignition and waited for -Mrs. Goudeket to skin him alive verbally.</p> - -<p>She said, panting with relief: "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Dick. It -must have made you nervous so that happened."</p> - -<p>He could have kissed her, hairy mole and all.</p> - -<p>"If I'd been driving—" Sharon began coolly from the back.</p> - -<p>"If your aunt had you-know-whats she'd be your uncle," said Mrs. -Goudeket tartly. "No remarks are required from you, Miss Elegant -Loafer." Sharon laughed.</p> - -<p>"Both wheels in the drainage ditch," McCue diagnosed, "and we seem to -be hung up on the transmission."</p> - -<p>"Can you get us out?" Mrs. Goudeket asked.</p> - -<p>"No. But that truck's stopped. I guess we can get a ride."</p> - -<p>Sam Zehedi laid his truck alongside the ditched sedan and got out. -"Anybody hurt?" he called.</p> - -<p>"We're okay, thank God," Mrs. Goudeket told him shakily. "But my driver -tells me the car is through. Could you maybe give us a lift into -Hebertown? We'll be okay from there."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff got out—soaked again!—and surveyed them. "You two ladies -can fit in the cab with Mr. Zehedi here. The gentleman and I will ride -in the back."</p> - -<p>"Will you take these, please?" Sharon said, opening the rear door. "Put -them in the back. Careful, that's a typewriter. And <i>very</i> careful with -that one—it's manuscript. And these two are just clothes."</p> - -<p>Groff wrenched open the double rear doors of the truck and put the -four pieces of luggage inside. In the darkness there were crates and -cartons. At least they'd be able to sit up instead of crouching on -a metal floor. As the driver of the ditched car passed before the -headlights he saw he was surprisingly young and obviously shaken by the -accident. "Get in," he said. "It might be worse."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket, puffing, pulled herself up the high running board of the -truck and slid in beside Zehedi. Sharon followed, and slammed the door. -The truck moved cautiously off.</p> - -<p>In the dark rear of the truck Groff and McCue had found milk crates to -sit on. "You all right?" Groff asked the young man. "Didn't bump your -head or anything?"</p> - -<p>"It wasn't that kind of stop," McCue said. He began to laugh. "I'm from -Springfield, Ohio," he said between chuckles.</p> - -<p>"Damned if I see the joke, fella."</p> - -<p>"Well, mister, in Springfield, Ohio, damn near every spring, the little -old Springfield river that runs through town begins to rise and rise. -After a week of this it spills over the banks and the sandbags they -put up every time at the last minute and downtown Springfield is a -lake. Then everybody swears and gets the canoes and rowboats out of the -garage and goes boating glumly around until the water subsides. Well, -mister, I came east to college because I was tired of Springfield and -its foolish floods, and I run into this mess!"</p> - -<p>Through the windows of the double door Groff saw they were passing a -small frame building with gas pumps in front. It was dark. "Cigarette?" -Groff asked steadily. He didn't want to encourage the kid's -near-hysteria.</p> - -<p>"No, thanks. But the difference is, in Springfield it's slow and steady -and this is happening fast. And when it happens fast, sooner or later -a crest comes along and then it isn't one of those years when you just -go boating around; it's one of the years when you head for the goddam -hills, and fast."</p> - -<p>"Then you think we're going to have a flood crest?"</p> - -<p>"Hell, yes. Thirty, forty feet of water smashing down through the -valley. And when it comes, mister, we'd better not be there. Because -those things don't leave much behind."</p> - -<p>They were stopping. "Now what the hell," said Mickey Groff.</p> - -<p>There was a scratching at the double doors, and one of the women from -the ditched car climbed in. "Grand Central," she called. "Change for -the downtown local. Follow the green lights for the shuttle to Times -Square."</p> - -<p>"You're cheerful enough, Sharon," the kid told her. "What's the matter?"</p> - -<p>"Why, it's nothing at all. We're just out of gas, nothing else." She -turned to Mickey Groff. "Mr. Zehedi's compliments, sir, and would you -like to help him scout up some petrol?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They found the blacked-out gas station after squelching for a couple of -interminable minutes through the sopping night.</p> - -<p>"I thought I had plenty of gas. How'd I know we'd be driving all over -the valley? You said just a quarter of a mile down the road and—"</p> - -<p>"Shut up and let's see if we can get in," Groff ordered. Zehedi's -whining was getting on his nerves.</p> - -<p>There wasn't a soul in the station. Not even a night light. Probably -no power, Groff thought. That meant no burglar alarms in case they -couldn't find an unlocked window—though hell, he thought wryly, -wouldn't it be nice if a State Police car did come screeching up?</p> - -<p>"Up you go," he told Zehedi, clasping his hands to receive the toe of -Zehedi's foot.</p> - -<p>"Locked," reported Zehedi after a moment.</p> - -<p>"Break it open. With your elbow. Try not to cut an artery. Then when -you get inside see if—" He jerked his head aside as glass tinkled -around him.</p> - -<p>"Sorry," apologized Zehedi.</p> - -<p>Groff heaved and got him through the window and went back to the front -door to wait. He hoped to God Zehedi would be able to unlock something -from the inside. They would never get the women through that upper -window, and he didn't want to have to break the front door. They would -need every bit of shelter they could get.</p> - -<p>Zehedi appeared, tried the front door from the inside (you idiot, -didn't you see the padlock? Groff thought sourly), and made shadowy -gestures toward the rear. He was yelling something, but you couldn't -hear a gunshot in the crashing rain. Groff got the general idea in any -case, and stumbled around to the back. Zehedi let him in.</p> - -<p>The grocer was all keyed up. "That looks like a fuse box," he -chattered. "Didn't see a switch for the pump motors, but it ought to be -right around there someplace, wouldn't you say? And there're some soda -bottles in case we can't find a gallon jug. All we have to do—"</p> - -<p>"Go get the others, Sam," Groff ordered. He took his fingers off the -light switch he had been trying, though he had known what the results -would be ahead of time. "No electricity, you see? So the gas will just -have to stay in the pumps for a while."</p> - -<p>He closed the door behind the grocer and looked over their refuge. -It wasn't much of a filling station—a couple of pumps out in front, -an ice chest full of soft-drink bottles and a little serving counter -inside. They had come in through a sort of storeroom, and there was the -chance that there might be something useful in there, but it had looked -like nothing more promising than the usual collection of old newspapers -and three-legged chairs. There was a rickety stair to, presumably, a -couple more storerooms.</p> - -<p>Groff made thrifty inventory of what was on and behind the serving -counter. A coffeemaker—no good. No power, though a cup of good hot -coffee would have helped a lot. Easily a dozen cardboard boxes which, -opened, proved to contain peanut-butter-and-cheese crackers and -Orioles. Candy bars and bags of peanuts beyond their utmost powers of -consumption—they might get rickets, but they wouldn't starve. But -water, though—the place didn't seem to have any.</p> - -<p>Scratch water. They could get by on the soft drinks, or if worse came -to worst, there certainly was much more water than they needed right -outside.</p> - -<p>A telephone! He looked through all his pockets without coming up with -anything smaller than a quarter; he slipped the quarter into the slot -and there was a mellow bong to acknowledge it. There was nothing else. -He held the receiver to his ears for a good two minutes, but the line -was dead.</p> - -<p>And then he found the greatest treasure of all, a box of stubby -short candles, under the serving counter. Evidently power failures -were not unheard of around here—something, Groff reminded himself -automatically, to keep in mind when he talked to the burgess tomorrow.</p> - -<p><i>If</i> he talked to the burgess tomorrow. There was something there that -would need thinking about, too, but the thing to do right now was -locate some matches. His own, of course, were more than merely wet—the -striking surface had soaked right off them. But there was a cigarette -machine, and fortunately a mechanical, not an electrically operated, -one.</p> - -<p>By the time Sam got back with the others Groff was busy by candlelight, -trying to brace a Coca-Cola easel display to cover the window they had -broken. Sharon Froman was hugging the briefcase full of manuscript.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>You don't last thirty years in the resort business unless you know how -to take your mind off your troubles. Mrs. Goudeket, sipping delicately -from a quart bottle of black cherry soda, chattered gaily: "Soda pop! -Three years I haven't had a drop of soda pop. Now don't tell on me, -Dick. If Dr. Postal ever finds out, he'll kill me next time he comes to -the hotel—" She choked on a swallow of the soda.</p> - -<p>Dick McCue sat on one of the counter stools, sneering at the spectacle -Sharon Froman was making of herself over that Mickey Groff. All the -same, he admitted to himself, it was a real championship performance. -She hadn't had two minutes alone with him, but McCue was willing to -bet she could tell to a nickel how much a transistor manufacturer, in -process of expansion from forty employees to a hundred, was likely to -have in the bank. And there wasn't a chance in the world that this -Groff knew what she was doing. This was the no-nonsense Sharon, the -hard-working first-week-of-the-season Sharon, who was right by Groff's -side when he needed a hand, who didn't ask foolish questions, who kept -calm and ready. And to think that as late as Monday night, sneaking -back to his own room, he had begun to think—</p> - -<p>Sharon and the manufacturer came in from the storeroom with another -load of newspapers and dumped them. "All right," said Groff, "I guess -that's all we'll need. They won't be very comfortable, but maybe -somebody'll come by before morning."</p> - -<p>"I don't expect to sleep much anyhow," said Sharon cheerfully. She -tapped Zehedi on the shoulder. "Move your feet a little, will you, Sam?"</p> - -<p>The grocer started. He picked his feet up so she could spread the -newspapers, and when she was through she had to remind him he could put -them down again. Five years down the drain. Five more years of hot dogs -and that muddy water they call coffee. I'll be thirty-five years old, -and still three or four years to go—</p> - -<p>Everybody felt it at once.</p> - -<p>"The wind?" ventured Mrs. Goudeket. They stared at each other; the -building seemed to be vibrating slightly.</p> - -<p>Dick McCue, suddenly white, stumbled across the floor and pressed his -face to the door.</p> - -<p>"Take a look!" he yelled. "That ain't wind!"</p> - -<p>Even in the blackness, they could see the river that had been a road -outside, the comb of current around the gas pumps, the surging water -that lapped at the door.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER FIVE</p> - - -<p>An air watcher, it doesn't matter which one of the thousands he was, -stepped from the hospital elevator at the third, and top floor. He went -through a door marked NO ADMITTANCE and climbed iron stairs to the -roof. It was black and drizzling; he hoped the rain wouldn't get worse, -at least not during his tour of duty. He had heard on a news broadcast -that west of his area there were cloudbursts.</p> - -<p>He was tired from a long day at his appliance store on Broad Street and -he was a little sorry he had signed up for this Ground Observer Corps -thing, but everybody in Rotary was taking a shift so he felt he had -to go along. He threaded his way around the invisible obstacles that -studded the hospital roof and groped at the black-out curtain of the -shack.</p> - -<p>It was dry and bright inside the little cubicle, but somewhat crowded. -The man he was relieving yawned, looked at the clock—so he was two -minutes late!—and said: "Howdy. Ready to go?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. Everything quiet?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah. CMA Flight 24 was early and south of their course, so I phoned -in for the hell of it. Coffee's hot."</p> - -<p>"Maybe later. Well, I relieve you."</p> - -<p>The man passed over the night glasses and went yawning through the -curtains. The air watcher wiped the drizzled lenses of the binoculars, -sighed and stepped out onto the roof. He slumped into the swivel chair, -tilted back in the patter of rain and watched the overcast sky with -boredom. The little town's lights were bright; after a few minutes -outside you could see how far they really shone. And a few minutes -more and you could see the lights of the next little town, fifteen -miles away, as a dim haze on the horizon. By the time his tour was over -they would have gone out and everybody would be in bed, light rain -comfortably pattering on their roofs.</p> - -<p>The phone inside the shack jangled—most unusual!</p> - -<p>He blundered in through the curtains, blinking at the naked bulb. He -picked up the direct-wire phone and gave his GOC post number.</p> - -<p>"Filter Center," said the phone. "Is your town flooded?"</p> - -<p>"No!" he said, astounded.</p> - -<p>"How much rain are you having?"</p> - -<p>"Just a light drizzle. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Thanks," Filter Center said, and hung up.</p> - -<p>"Now what the hell—?" he gasped, standing there with the phone in his -hand, not realizing that he—one of thousands—had just played his part -in alleviating state-wide disaster.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Filter Center was in the basement of the College's newest -structure, the Physical Sciences Building. Its location was a low-grade -secret in that it was never published in the papers. Since it was -staffed mostly by unpaid volunteers, that was about as far as the -secrecy went.</p> - -<p>The government had spent a lot of money on it in 1949. The money had -transformed an ordinary storage and heating-plant basement into an -air-conditioned, soundproofed office of enormous size. There was a -huge table with an inlaid map of the area; this was the heart of the -center and the numerous other installations were designed either to -send information to the table or take information from it. Information -came by phone from watchers like our man on the roof; his messages -buzzed from headsets into the ears of girls who stood at a plexiglas -sheet ruled off in grids. At word from him that he had sighted a -plane—direction traveling, height and type if possible—they scribbled -symbols in china-marking pencil on the sheet. One of the girls around -the map table then shoved a marker to the right spot on the map. The -Air Force liaison officer constantly on duty at the table checked -the marker against his list of submitted flight plans from the Civil -Aeronautics Authority and decided that all was well. If the marker did -not correspond with any submitted flight plan he picked up a phone -and called an interceptor base, usually to find that radar units had -beaten the filter center and its volunteers to the warning, that jet -fighters had scrambled, perhaps that the errant plane had already been -identified as a strayed commercial flight and that the fighters were -down again. Twice in five years the volunteers had beaten the radar, -and the lieutenant considered those two times well worth the cost of -the center and the boredom of duty there.</p> - -<p>It was a very dull night, and the lieutenant was looking forward to his -relief when the call from the State Director of Civil Defense came in.</p> - -<p>"Hell's busting loose, Lieutenant," the director said succinctly. "I'm -getting calls from here and there with spotty reports of flooding, but -mostly from scared people who want to know what's going on and what -they should do about it. Can you call all your air watchers and get a -summary of the situation?"</p> - -<p>"I'll put the chief operator on it, sir," the lieutenant said. "We can -put the reports on the map. I'll report this to Group at once; I'm -sure they can get a meteorologist here at once to try and evaluate it -for you. And maybe the army will lend us an engineer officer with some -experience in flood control."</p> - -<p>The night was turning out to be not so dull after all. -Diplomatically—he was liaison, not command—he filled in the chief -operator, and she made a little speech to the matrons and girls, -detailing half of them to continue meticulously with the aircraft work -and the rest to start phoning the watchers. The lieutenant rapidly -devised a set of symbols to summarize the conditions at each point; -his weather studies helped there.</p> - -<p>Within minutes they were jotting them down on the map table. One girl -came to him with the question, what do you do when you can't get a wire -through?</p> - -<p>"Put down an <i>F</i>," he said. "For flooded."</p> - -<p>The director was back on the wire, and he hadn't even called Group -yet. "You'd better send a man of your own down here, sir," he advised. -"Somebody from your staff who can do nothing but report to you."</p> - -<p>"Good idea. He's on his way, Lieutenant."</p> - -<p>He got through to Group, the officer of the day first and then the -sleepy executive officer. The exec carefully avoided commenting on his -action but said, "We'll send you a meteorologist pronto. I'll message -First Army about the engineer officer. Meanwhile, keep at it—and don't -forget your primary mission, Lieutenant."</p> - -<p>He would not forget. One of the girls at the plexiglas scribbled a -symbol, but nobody at the table picked it up; they were too busy -twittering and tutting over the grim picture shaping up along the -rivers of their state. "Get that intercept!" he snapped at the girl who -was responsible for the sector.</p> - -<p>"Sorry," she said, burning red, and picked out a marker to shove -carefully to the right spot on the map. Multi-engine, approximately -angels ten, bearing 280. The lieutenant checked his list; it was CMA -Flight 24 a little off course.</p> - -<p>And the girls kept calling; from some alert watchers they got -unbelievably exact information relayed from local police or -newsmen—normal river depth, present river depth, rise during the past -24 hours, condition of phone and power lines. From others they got -only brief impressions that there was trouble, and how much. From many -they got nothing at all. Down the river valley towns on the map table -crawled the menacing symbol <i>F</i>, over and over again.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER SIX</p> - - -<p>The man in the winterized jeep unzipped a window, leaned out and -yelled: "The burgess around here?"</p> - -<p>The four soaked men working around the tow truck didn't even answer. -One of them gestured down the road with an arm and they went back to -trying to get a line to a car that had gone off the road. It was now -roof-deep in the torrent that had once been a drainage ditch, and up to -five minutes ago it had looked as though something was moving behind -the windshield.</p> - -<p>The man in the jeep spat into the rain and drove on. He finally found -the burgess's car parked with its lights on, along with a couple of -others, a few yards from the edge of the river. That was crazy, he -thought, why didn't they park them up on the highway, twenty-five feet -above the water? Then he remembered that he was on the highway.</p> - -<p>"Man wants you, Henry."</p> - -<p>The burgess turned around to face his chief of police. "If it's that -Artie Chesbro again, tell him to take his goddamn car and—"</p> - -<p>"No. Lloyd Eisele—don't know if you know him, he's got a dairy farm up -in the hills."</p> - -<p>"Then why didn't he have sense enough to stay there?"</p> - -<p>"His boy's a radio ham, Henry. He's got a message for you."</p> - -<p>Burgess Starkman snapped at the man: "Well?"</p> - -<p>The dairy farmer said, "The kid has a contact with a phone line open to -the Civil Defense Filter Center in Springfield. They want an estimate -of damage; they want to know what help and supplies you'll need in the -morning. And they've got instructions for you." He took a piece of -paper out of his pocket and handed it over.</p> - -<p>Burgess Starkman said to his chief of police, "What do you think? -Should I send somebody back with him to talk to them?"</p> - -<p>"Sprayragen," said Chief Brayer promptly. "He's too old for this -anyhow. Let him sit down for a while." He went off to get him.</p> - -<p>The dairy farmer looked around at the cars, the fire engine, the men -with flashlights and electric lanterns moving around in the downpour. -"Something happen?" he wanted to know.</p> - -<p>"You could say that," the burgess said wearily. "There was a boy's camp -a mile up the river. It's gone now, and eight of the kids are missing. -We put a boat in the water, and all that happened was we lost a boat." -He glanced at the dairy farmer. "How'd you know where to find me? Have -you been in Hebertown?"</p> - -<p>The dairy farmer nodded.</p> - -<p>"Is it bad there?"</p> - -<p>The dairy farmer coughed. "You haven't been in town for a while, have -you?" He didn't look at the burgess. "The water was up to the corner -where the Moose building is—you know? Somebody told me all the stores -on Front Street are gone."</p> - -<p>He went on from there. By the time the chief of police got back with -old Sprayragen the burgess had pieced together an ugly picture.</p> - -<p>As the jeep turned around, Burgess Starkman yelled, "Oh, by the -way—thanks!" He looked blankly at Brayer. "Did you hear what he said?"</p> - -<p>"Enough." Brayer looked sick. He burst out, "God amighty, Henry, we're -doing this all wrong. We ought to be back in town, running the show, -instead of out here trying to do everything ourselves. We ought to -have two-way radio on the pumpers, and a first-aid emergency truck, -and an organization set up year-round with volunteers trained for -emergency work. Sure, it'd cost a little money, but what the hell, the -taxpayers'll stand for it. Something like this will make godfearing -citizens out of them for a while anyhow."</p> - -<p>"Sure," said the burgess gently. "Sure, Red. You finish up here and -come on back to town and we'll start over." He left the chief of police -there, with his thick mustache running water and his old face worried -and indignant. As he headed back to the car where the Chesbros were -waiting, he thought: Red's a good man and he's right, only he hasn't -finished thinking it through yet. We need all those things all right. -But after this—what taxpayers?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Artie Chesbro was sulking. If that power-mad son of a bitch Starkman -had been willing to give him two lousy minutes of his time, they could -have got the whole thing over with and he'd be back in Summit by now, -getting a good night's sleep, instead of catching pneumonia sitting in -the car. He couldn't even help out in their lousy Boy-Scout act—they'd -chased him back to the car the second time he'd fallen in, on the -pretext that they didn't have another flashlight to replace the one -he'd lost. So there went a fine chance to get Starkman's ear. Thank -God, he told himself virtuously, nothing like this could happen back in -Summit. For two cents he'd turn around and head back and the hell with -the burgess—the old Swanscomb place wasn't worth all this trouble.</p> - -<p>Or anyway, it wouldn't be, if it hadn't been for the signed option -agreement he'd given the men from Chillicothe, Ohio.... "Shut up that -damn humming," he snapped at his wife.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chesbro laughed softly.</p> - -<p>Chesbro didn't even notice the burgess until the door of the car -opened. "How's it going, Henry?" he demanded cordially. "Hope you found -those kids. Damn shame about the camp, but if they will build on low -ground they have to expect something like this."</p> - -<p>"Let's head back for town," said the burgess. He looked at the clock on -Chesbro's dashboard. That couldn't be right! Two—three—four hours -they'd been out here, he counted.</p> - -<p>That was time enough to wash all of Hebertown away. He leaned back, and -let himself be weary. He hadn't been up this late in—in—he couldn't -remember.</p> - -<p>Chesbro was at it again, he noticed abstractedly. It didn't take him -fifty words to get from the flood to Topic A—why the borough of -Hebertown should, ought and must give him the old Swanscomb place. But -the burgess didn't mind. Chesbro was a saturation-talker; his tactic -was to hammer, hammer, hammer away, never giving the other man a chance -to get an adverse word in; and it wasn't too hard, after all, to listen -to the rain on the car roof instead. He realized vaguely that that rain -had been coming down awful hard for an awfully long time. Once, he -remembered, they had had a big summer thunderstorm and Bess had read -him out of the paper the amazing statement that more than four inches -of rain had come out of that one storm. This had to be more than that. -Much more.</p> - -<p>What about Bess, by the way? Their house was high enough up, he -calculated, there wasn't much chance of flood water reaching it. -But had she stayed home? It wouldn't be like Bess to stay home by -herself, especially when he didn't show up and the phones were down. -She would have tried to cross the highway into the borough and found -out that that was impossible. Then she would have—he checked off the -possibilities—probably she would have gone to her sister's house. That -was all right; good location. Barring some freak like a falling tree or -a collapsing roof.</p> - -<p>He leaned back, his mind slowly going blank and relaxed, under the -soothing drone of the flapping windshield wipers and the pounding rain -and Artie Chesbro's ya-ta-ta, ya-ta-ta, ya-ta-ta. Mrs. Chesbro had let -her head slump onto the burgess's shoulders. She was probably used to -that maddeningly persistent voice. Maybe asleep.</p> - -<p>He glanced down at her.</p> - -<p>She wasn't asleep. Her eyes were squeezed shut with anguish and her -mouth was suffering. Not with physical pain. The burgess realized -slowly that she was not used to the maddening voice at all and had -infinitely more reason to hate its clacking than he.</p> - -<p>"Cigarette?" Artie Chesbro said again. Now what was the matter with the -old son of a bitch? He said more loudly: "Cigarette, Henry?"</p> - -<p>"Uh, sure." Chesbro grinned wisely; the burgess had just come across -Polly in one of her queer moods. He reached over to the glove -compartment. "Matches? Here, here's my lighter."</p> - -<p>The burgess spun the wheel of the lighter and held the flaming wick to -his cigarette for a long second while he took three puffs. Mrs. Chesbro -moved over a little. The darkness outside and the momentary brightness -inside the car turned the windshield into a mirror; he could see her -tortured smile.</p> - -<p>The brightness inside almost wrecked them. As the burgess snapped the -lighter shut and you could see through the windshield again, Chesbro -gasped and tramped on the brake; fast as he was, the car was already -nosing into a surging stream that cut across the road.</p> - -<p>The engine chugged and died. There was a long moment of silence. How -little we know our land, the burgess thought, too tired for panic, -filled with resignation. The hills and valleys we know and name, but -the little draws in the hills down which the heavens drain into our -river, we glance stupidly at them in a dry season and see nothing. But -this torrent before us is one of those draws. No doubt we paid just -enough attention to it—only where it crossed this road—to bury a -culvert that would guide it in time of rain and thought we were through -with it for all time. But the rain began and first it soaked into the -pasture and woodlot duff until they could hold no more; the rain went -on and raced in a sheet across pasture and cropland until it found the -draw and gurgled into it and raced down the hillside safely channeled, -hit the culvert with a gurgle and poured through and tumbled down the -hill on the other side, and still the rain sheeted down and the culvert -filled, and when it was gorged to the full the rain still fell, and the -water rose above the culvert and blindly poured across the road six -inches deep, a foot, a yard, and here we are. Try to get through and -blue sparks will snap from the sparkplug terminals to the wet block, -the vapor in the cylinders will not fire and Artie Chesbro's pride, his -joy, his car, will soon be a coffin for three drowned bodies, costlier -than any bronze sarcophagus.</p> - -<p>But Chesbro was swearing and tramping on the starter. "Stay in!" he -yelled as his wife half-opened the door. "I'll get this son of a bitch -started or know the reason why!"</p> - -<p>There was a lopsided chugging. One terminal was dry enough; it had been -only spray. And then the motor roared. The car backed violently up the -hill in the dark. "There was a side road," Chesbro panted. "Headed -uphill. Can't turn around on this damn thing, we'd go into the ditch, -but I can flip onto the side road when we come to it."</p> - -<p>He felt good; this was what he was good at. From high school on he had -been a fast, hard driver who delighted in tricky maneuvering; for years -now he had been in the habit of passing anything on the road; it made -him feel good and he felt good now. He backed the car, roaring, twisted -full around in the seat and peering into the dark. He remembered a -straightaway and a left curve; as the car backed into the curve he -slowed a little but not much. And then they came to the side road. -"What did I tell you?" he cried happily. "There's the son of a bitch -right where I said it would be!"</p> - -<p>He shifted and roared into the right turn up the hill. "Where does this -take us, Henry?" he snapped, as from the bridge to the chartroom.</p> - -<p>The burgess smiled in the dark. "I don't know, Arthur," he said. "How -little we know our land...."</p> - -<p>"Eh?" The old man was tired and rambling. Too bad; now it was all -on his shoulders. But when he got at him later he'd remind him that -he had, in a way, saved his life, that he didn't expect anything for -himself, but that he wanted to do something for the community—</p> - -<p>"There's a light!" screamed Mrs. Chesbro.</p> - -<p>It seemed to be a filling station; there were the pumps and there -was a two-storey frame building behind them. One of those crossroads -groceries, Chesbro thought as they swept past.</p> - -<p>"But aren't you going to stop, Arthur?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense, dear," he grunted. "We started for Hebertown and that's -where we're going."</p> - -<p>How little we know our land, thought the burgess again. For there, -ahead in the twin beams, was a sheet of muddy water. Their speed was -such that they plowed into it with a tremendous gush of spray. "We'll -make it," Chesbro cried. Water rose chillingly inside the car to their -calves as they plowed heavily forward and then lurched to a stop.</p> - -<p>Chesbro said between his teeth: "Like last time." He ground the starter -three times; the fourth time he tramped on the button nothing happened. -The battery was shorted out.</p> - -<p>"Here we are," Mrs. Chesbro said inanely.</p> - -<p>Chesbro tramped on the dead button again and again.</p> - -<p>"It's rising, isn't it?" said the burgess. "Let's get out and wade -before we have to swim."</p> - -<p>Hating him, his wife and himself, hating the car and the water, Arthur -Chesbro opened the door; more water swirled in, seat-high. "Let's go," -he said gruffly. "Five minutes and we'll be in that filling station, -grocery, whatever it was."</p> - -<p>He gingerly lowered himself into the water; it came to his waist and -chilled the bone. "I'll lead," he said. "Come on."</p> - -<p>Surprisingly there was a strong current; he had thought it would be a -sort of pond. Instead it was a temporary catch basin for the living -water that was thundering down from the heavens on its way to the -river and finally the sea. They were simply in a low spot where water -was detained for a while before rushing on. The same cubic yard of -water could wash out a power line running along a high ridge, wash out -a dirt road lower down on the hill, pour through a farmhouse lower -down smashing the windows and depositing stinking mud on the floor, -short his battery here, trapping the three of them, and still rage on -with a long career of ruin before it. It was the secret of the flood's -destructiveness.</p> - -<p>Chesbro inched his way forward, taking care to keep the current abeam -of him, feeling for the hardtop with his feet. The burgess and his wife -held the skirt of his raincoat, one to a side.</p> - -<p>He stepped on something slippery and crashed face-forward into the -muddy water; it was the burgess who, with unexpected wiry strength -hauled him upright again while he floundered.</p> - -<p>"Fish or something," he sputtered.</p> - -<p>They trudged forward, dead-tired after fifty feet of it, the current -and the sullen resistance of the water itself, but the level was -dropping about them as they climbed the rim of the basin in the land.</p> - -<p>In ten minutes they kicked through inch-deep water to the road surface, -wet only with the pelting rain. Silently they splashed along the road.</p> - -<p>"Wait," the burgess said abruptly. They stopped. He still had Chesbro's -lighter; he crouched and snapped it alight. "The water's still rising," -he said. "Following right along behind us." As they stood there it -lapped at the soles of their shoes.</p> - -<p>Ten more interminable minutes—hard walking, their weight increased -fifty per cent by their sodden clothes—and Mrs. Chesbro said: "There's -the light."</p> - -<p>They shambled into a trot by unspoken agreement. It suddenly seemed -very important to them all that they should get to a warm, dry place, -shed their clothes, eat, sleep.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER SEVEN</p> - - -<p>Sharon Froman shepherded the woman from the car, this Mrs. Chesbro, -into the back room—a queer one, she was, but that could wait. "Take -off what you can spare and hang it up," she said briskly, efficiently, -and headed back for the front room. There had been something when the -woman's husband and Mickey Groff met. Sharon Froman wanted to see.</p> - -<p>They were comparing notes on the flood, and that was all right. If you -didn't have an ear skilled in detecting the grace notes of conflict -it might have sounded like any other strangers in common trouble, but -Sharon's ear caught resonances beyond that. Take the woman's husband, -for instance. He was chattering away to, of all people, sick-pup Dick -McCue; but his eyes kept wandering to Mickey Groff.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket scolded: "Sharon! The blanket for Mr. Starkman, you -forgot it?"</p> - -<p>"He can take mine," Sharon said—she didn't want to go back to the -storeroom just then. She handed the holed, grease-spotted rag to the -old man, then remembered and carefully draped it around his shoulders. -"They stink," she told him cheerfully. "And I think they've got bugs; -but they're better than pneumonia." She grinned at Mickey Groff.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Miss," said Henry Starkman. He had not failed to notice -that the girl was playing up to Groff. Gold digger, he diagnosed, -archaically and without passion. He was waiting for Chesbro to switch -his attention from the kid to Groff. Starkman had sat enough hours -in the law-offices of county politicians to smell the beginnings of -a deal before it really existed. Chesbro wasn't ready yet; he hadn't -even made up his mind to offer something to Groff—quite. But it was -in the air. Pretty soon Chesbro would turn to the manufacturer and say -something bluff and hearty like, "Well, I see we're going to be chewing -each other's ears off in the ring tomorrow," and then, if Chesbro could -find a private place to do it, the two of them would be talking quietly -for a while....</p> - -<p>Starkman hugged the smelly blanket around him. Shivering, he thought -querulously: What's the matter with Bess? I want my cocoa.</p> - -<p>He shook his head to clear it, and got up to look at the rain outside. -He shouldn't be here at all, of course; what had the people made him -burgess for, at that fat and sought-after salary of two hundred dollars -a year, if not to be on hand when the community was in trouble? And if -a flood wasn't trouble—</p> - -<p>A sort of choking sound from Mrs. Goudeket made him turn around.</p> - -<p>The Chesbro woman was standing in the doorway to the storeroom. In the -light from the candles she had no eyes, the ragged blankets she wore -were robes, she was blindly staring marble. She had swept the blankets -spirally around her body and over her wet hair; a hobble skirt at one -end and a turban at the other. She was striking, and she stood for a -moment posed as though she knew it.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket made a tongue-smacking sound. Artie Chesbro looked around -vaguely. "Oh, hello, honey," he said. "Now, this thunderstorm we had in -Summit in forty-six a couple of cellars were flooded all right, but—" -Dick McCue nodded mechanically, his eyes fixed on the woman.</p> - -<p>She came over to Starkman and sat down next to him. At close range, -the costume didn't seem as extreme as half-lit by the candles, but the -burgess felt uneasy. She was too close to him, that was it; she was -sitting on the floor, looking up at him.</p> - -<p>"I'd better get you something to sit on," he said, and escaped.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They managed to build a fire in the storeroom—there were a couple of -sheet-metal soft-drink signs; they raised one, punctured for draft, on -a row of bottles and placed another one underneath to catch the hot -ashes. It worked. Mickey Groff had placed his bet on the normal air -leakage around the window frames carrying off the worst of the smoke, -and so it did. It didn't pay to sit too close to it. You had to watch -it minute by minute to keep it fed and keep it from setting fire to the -shack. But it served to dry out their clothes, and besides it felt more -cheerful.</p> - -<p>The men settled among themselves a plan for rotating guard -duty—guarding against fire and flood. Sam Zehedi and Dick McCue took -the first shift, one to keep the other awake; they sat and looked at -each other. They had nothing to say; and besides, it was hard enough -for the others to sleep without their talking.</p> - -<p>Artie Chesbro, sharing a double pad of newspapers with his wife, -schemed feverishly: He hasn't said a word, he's waiting for me to make -the first move. How much should I cut him in for? Or for that matter, -do I have to—?</p> - -<p>Well, yes. He'd seen enough of the burgess by now to know that the -deal he had optimistically outlined in the newspaper was out. Starkman -wouldn't cave in; you could use the anti-outsider theme just so far, -and then you had to come across with something tangible for Starkman -himself, or for the borough of Hebertown. On the other hand, what about -this: Suppose Groff cooled off on the location after being stuck in -this crazy flood they had down here? Maybe it wouldn't be too hard to -convince him Hebertown was a lousy idea—maybe even, this was a chance -to do something with the old Ackerman tract north of Summit. He doubted -that; Groff would know a swamp when he saw one; but suppose, an hour -and eight minutes from now, when they went on guard duty together as he -had carefully arranged, he merely suggested it to the manufacturer and -made it sound good.... He wished his wife would stop that damn humming -in his ear. God, why couldn't they at least be home, where they could -be decently asleep in their own individual rooms?</p> - -<p>Asleep, Mrs. Goudeket's face was curved in a smile. She was dreaming -of 1926, a bride, the rooming house at Brighton Beach. Between her and -Mickey Groff, Sharon's face was smiling too, sweetly and trustfully, -as she nestled obliviously against the manufacturer, but of course she -wasn't asleep.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Sam Zehedi sat torpidly over the fire, waiting for the last of it to -burn itself out. He'd nearly dropped off three times, and he and McCue, -consulting, had decided it was more dangerous to leave it burning than -to put it out. It did stink pretty bad, he thought fuzzily; putting -water on it had been a mistake. It smelt a little oily.</p> - -<p>He swallowed and rubbed his stomach. That lousy candy bar, he didn't -like it, he didn't want it, why had he eaten it? He wistfully turned -his thoughts to pickled mussels wrapped in grape leaves, now farther -out of reach than ever, and a nice, plump black-eyed girl to serve them.</p> - -<p>McCue had dozed off, he noticed. A kid. Well, let him sleep. What -difference did it make?</p> - -<p>Funny, he thought dizzily, not even broiled lamb seemed attractive -right now. He shouldn't have drunk that cream soda either—he gulped -and wrenched his thoughts away from that cream soda. The smell of the -dying fire was getting pretty strong and he felt nauseous, as if the -floor were moving about underneath him.</p> - -<p>Now the sleepers were turning and coughing. There was something wrong, -Sam Zehedi fuzzily thought. He swayed to his feet and lurched toward -the door. Clear the air, he thought. The last embers of the fire winked -out and he thought for a vague moment that he had lost his eyesight. -He flung the door open with his last strength and took a deep sobbing -breath. Images of white-tiled walls, green-painted corridors swirled -through his head; he was ten again and they were wheeling him along -the green-painted corridors to have his tonsils cut out, Morrisania -Hospital—</p> - -<p>He fell heavily across the restless, coughing shape of Mickey Groff.</p> - -<p>Groff sat up slowly, choking. His head thudded as if with the hangover -to end them all.</p> - -<p><i>Gas.</i></p> - -<p>"Get up!" he cried, swaying. "Get up!" Around him they stirred and -coughed.</p> - -<p>"Gasoline fumes!" he yelled. "Get up! Up the stairs! Move!" He -staggered through the dark room, kicking at them and yelling. The -stairs were in back—back. And this was—a wall. He leaned against it. -It would be good to slump down and rest for a moment, just a moment—</p> - -<p>He lurched along the wall to the corner, to the open stairway that let -to the upstairs room. "Over here!" he choked at them. "I'm standing by -the stairs. Come on! Come on!"</p> - -<p>One by one they stumbled to the sound of his voice and began to drag -themselves up the shaky stairs.</p> - -<p>One. Two. Three.... Four.... Five....</p> - -<p>"Come on! I'm standing by the stairs. The stairs. This way. This."</p> - -<p>Two more to come. Two. More. Some fool was striking a light, a -blue-green light to blow them to hell. But no; it was his eyes, glazed -and burning, that made the light. Two more to come.</p> - -<p>His raw throat and bursting lungs silenced him. He lurched across the -floor and stumbled over something soft. He knelt, took it under the -armpits and dragged it to the wall, followed the wall to the corner, to -the stairs. Feet on the stairs.</p> - -<p>A young voice in the darkness choked: "Mr. Groff. Come up. I'll get -him. Can you make it?" Young McCue. Strong arms took his burden over -and it bumped up the steps. That was seven. One to go. He headed back -into the thick sweetness of the fumes and crashed to the floor. He -never felt McCue come to his aid and heave him up the steps, but -through it he was muttering: "One more."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They were a sick lot when he awoke an hour later.</p> - -<p>In the dark upstairs, cluttered with boxes and cans Mrs. Goudeket was -saying: "The water, it seeped into the gas tanks underground, it must -be. The gas floated up and all around us on top of the water. God be -thanked, nobody lit a match and the fire was out. As it was we were -almost poisoned in our sleep, thanks to that Arab." There was hatred in -her voice, fifteen centuries of it.</p> - -<p>Burgess Starkman's voice emerged from an attack of coughing. "He's -dead, Mrs. Goudeket. You shouldn't—" He broke into coughing again.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff grunted, trying to talk. It was important to clear that -up. His head was pounding, but Mrs. Goudeket didn't understand. "He was -a Syrian," he croaked. "A civilized Christian people."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Groff!" said Mrs. Goudeket. "You're better! We were afraid—You're -a hero, Mr. Groff. You saved our lives. Except—"</p> - -<p>"Zehedi?" he asked.</p> - -<p>He knew that she was nodding in the darkness, just as he knew that she -was bitterly ashamed of her outburst. "Too late," she sighed. "Ai, too -late. Dick went down with the handkerchief around his mouth and pulled -him up the stairs. His heart was going, and then it wasn't. Maybe -fifteen minutes. Too late."</p> - -<p>A plump arm slid around him and Sharon Froman's voice said in his ear, -"Try to sit up. We all felt better after we sat up." She supported his -back and eased his trunk upright; he thought his head would explode. He -leaned against her dizzily and felt her cool palm against his forehead. -"Better," he grunted. "Thanks."</p> - -<p>The burgess's old voice said abruptly, "Sing a psalm for Sam Zehedi, -the sad Syrian. Bess? Bess?"</p> - -<p>"He's wandering," Sharon said very softly to Mickey Groff. "He won't -sleep."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chesbro moved across the floor to the sound of the burgess's voice.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going, Polly?" Arthur Chesbro snapped.</p> - -<p>"To the poor old man," she said. "Maybe I can talk him into signing the -lease before he takes wing."</p> - -<p>Now, what did she mean by that? They didn't have a pen, there would -have to be witnesses, Groff was right there to break things up if -they tried to pressure him, it wouldn't work in a million years. The -stupidity of that woman was sometimes absolutely astounding.</p> - -<p>She found the bony bundle that was Burgess Harry Starkman. "How little -we know ..." he was mumbling. "I was at Belleau Wood, you know. -Leatherneck couple wars back. They poured gas shells in for forty-eight -hours, but the leathernecks didn't have gas casualties. Court-martial -for gas casualties. Not like the doughboys, threw away their masks. Got -through Belleau Wood and here I am a gas casualty anyway, thirty-seven -years later. Ambushed in Hebertown Township. The boys at the Legion'll -get a kick out of that." He sat up abruptly and anxiously called out: -"Bess?"</p> - -<p>She soothed him and urged him down. "Rest," she said. She felt and -unbuttoned his shirt, loosened the blanket around her and spread it -over the two of them, pressing herself against his bare chest.</p> - -<p>"I remember," he said. "King Solomon. Old reprobate. But don't go away, -child." He fell into an uneasy doze, his breath rattling in his chest. -She pressed herself against him and lay still and silent.</p> - -<p>Dick McCue said, "I wonder if it's safe to smoke."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket snapped: "In a situation like this you don't take -chances."</p> - -<p>Groff said slowly, "I think it's all right. Gas fumes are heavy; they -hug the ground. If we hadn't been sleeping on the floor—"</p> - -<p>"I guess I'd better not," McCue said uncertainly. "You can't smell -much up here but—I wonder where the water level is now."</p> - -<p>"We'll know in the morning," Chesbro said. "Couple of hours. My God, -who would have thought it yesterday?"</p> - -<p>Sharon Froman said, "It's bad, Mr. Chesbro. It means a permanent loss -of industry—unless we move fast."</p> - -<p>"What permanent loss?" Chesbro snapped. "We shovel out the mud, we -replace the machines, we get going again. The government'll help any -sound business in a case like this."</p> - -<p>"I am thinking," she said, "of the South."</p> - -<p>"The South? What's the South got to do with this?"</p> - -<p>"This is the godsend they've been waiting for! Think, Mr. Chesbro! -They've spent millions on advertising and promotion to attract -industry—to steal it, if you like. Tax exemptions. Rent-free plant. -This flood is worth a billion dollars to them, Mr. Chesbro. If it's as -big as it looks from here, it's worth all the sixteen-page ads they'll -ever run in the Sunday <i>Times</i>. Believe me, I know. There are going -to be task-forces from the Bureau of Industrial Development of every -southern state calling on every manufacturer and distributor in this -area. 'Frightful about your tragedy,' and 'Us Delta folks want to he'p -you any way we can,' and 'Don't get us wrong, friend, we ain't out to -steal industry from the No'th at a time like this, but—' And then it -starts. They'll woo them with sites, with tax write-offs, with cheap -labor rates. They'll strip the area of industry, clean as a whistle. -Unless."</p> - -<p>"My God!" said Chesbro, appalled.</p> - -<p>He had never considered the angle but she was, God knew, dead-right.</p> - -<p>Nor, he reflected self-pityingly, would <i>he</i> get any such offers. What -did he have that would attract a Mississippi chamber of commerce? It -was all intangibles that his fortune was going to come from—was almost -coming from already, he assured himself panickily. He had come pretty -close; it was only a question of time until the legislature authorized -the trotting track, until the money borrowed from his wife's father -and invested in that promising Geiger-positive tract north of Summit -turned up real pay dirt, until—</p> - -<p>Until never, now. Not if this frighteningly plausible young woman was -right. And she sounded right.</p> - -<p>He said slowly, "You're a very smart young woman, Miss Froman. Have you -had any experience in this field?"</p> - -<p>She smiled candidly. "Only enough to get the feel of it, Mr. Chesbro. -I'm a writer. You might say I've made a study of everything." (And -besides, I typed Hesch's thesis for him, didn't I? <i>The War Between The -States, Round Two: A Study in Industrial Dynamics.</i>)</p> - -<p>He nodded. "You said 'unless.' Unless what?"</p> - -<p>She said composedly, "Unless we get there first. Unless we form an -organization immediately—on a regional basis—to hammer home our side. -<i>Skilled</i> labor that's been through the birth-pangs of organizational -strikes. They're the roughest kind, and they still lie ahead for the -South. Access to the markets. A good life for the management and -supervisory workers. Bracing climate. Sound Republican territory."</p> - -<p>She had him. She could feel it, and she was never wrong. Let him nibble -at the bait a while; let him taste it and want it, and bite down into -it all by himself—bite down on that buried "we" that would hook him, -deep and clean and gasping.</p> - -<p>It had looked like a mighty dull autumn, but things were looking -better, thought Sharon Froman contentedly. True, if she was going to -help this interesting Mr. Chesbro with the curious wife it would mean -deferring work on her novel again. Too bad. But she didn't mind the -sacrifice. She had made it often enough before.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Regional organization. Hammer hard. Grants from the government? Sure. -Tax breaks from the northern states, panicky attempts to match whatever -the South might offer? Sure, thought Artie Chesbro; he could arrange -that easily. And then?</p> - -<p>No more waiting for the legislature to approve or for the assayers to -report or for any of the other soul-killing delays that had been the -sum of his life; he would be in, he would be at the top of something -big. Where he had always wanted to be. Where he deserved to be.</p> - -<p>He looked across to where his wife had gone. And her, he thought, -satisfied, she would learn at last! Everything he had had to put up -with from her, over. Just because her father had a little money she'd -thought she owned him—him! Artie Chesbro!</p> - -<p>He cleared his throat. "We'd better get some sleep, Miss Froman," he -told the girl. "We've got to talk about this in the morning. I think -there's a good deal in it—for both of us."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket almost pounded the floor with her fists. Again on her -feet! Always this Miss Froman would land on her feet! Without hard -work, without virtue, always by black magic being in the right place, -always by the smiling face and the straightforward look fooling the one -person she had to fool. And this time it wasn't one man, it was two. So -let Mickey Groff slip through one snare, she had Artie Chesbro caught -in another. God, you call this fair? she demanded.</p> - -<p>Better she should have left her at Goudeket's Green Acres. What could -she have caught there? That star of stage and screen and <i>brissim</i>, -Dave Wax? The horse-wire expert, Mr. Semmel? But no! She had to throw -the girl out—into this!</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket moaned and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the -maddening words.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER EIGHT</p> - - -<p>That star of stage, screen and <i>brissim</i> shouted fuzzily at the door: -"Go to hell! Let me sleep!"</p> - -<p>"Dave!" It was Mr. Semmel's voice. "There's some men here. They want to -talk to you."</p> - -<p>Dave Wax made an obscene suggestion to Mr. Semmel. He was a tummeler, -not the manager of the hotel; let Mrs. Goudeket come back and talk if -somebody should do it—"Wait a minute. What'd you say, Semmel?"</p> - -<p>The concessionaire repeated it. "The flood's over?" demanded Dave Wax. -"The roads are dry?" He staggered over to the window to see the miracle -for himself.</p> - -<p>Semmel let himself in. "They came in a boat."</p> - -<p>"Oh." But it was no surprise. It was still raining. "All right. I'll -come down."</p> - -<p>He found himself hurrying in spite of himself. It was only a couple -of minutes before he was hurrying through the lobby. He saw with a -shock that the sofas and chairs in the lobby were occupied—guests too -panicky to sleep in their rooms, too exhausted to stay awake; they were -sprawled and snoring.</p> - -<p>The men from the boat were in the kitchen drinking coffee that the -cooks had somehow contrived to make. "I'm Brayer—Hebertown police -chief. You people all right here?"</p> - -<p>"All right?" You call a hundred and sixty scared, sore guests all -right? You call wondering if the whole damn place is going to float -away all right? "I guess so," Dave Wax said slowly. He was almost -afraid to ask: "How—how is it outside?"</p> - -<p>The man rubbed at his mustache. "It's a flood," he said succinctly. -"Ask me in the morning. Anyway, we're beginning to get a little -organized." His voice took on a mechanical, rehearsed quality. "Don't -let anybody drink water unless it's been boiled for ten minutes. Use up -everything you can that's in the refrigerators tomorrow morning. What's -in the freezers ought to be good till tomorrow night, if you don't open -them too often. What you don't eat by then, <i>don't eat</i>. Throw it away. -You probably don't have any water pressure, do you? Your own electric -pump, I guess? All right; you'll have to set up latrines—use chamber -pots if you have to. Dump them in the river to empty them—you're far -enough away from everything here."</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute." Dave was a little slow to grasp the implications of -it. "You mean even by tomorrow night we won't have the power back?"</p> - -<p>"I'll consider us very lucky," the police chief said heavily, "if -Hebertown ever has power again."</p> - -<p>He got up. "They say that by daybreak the weather will be clear -enough for helicopters. If you need anything—a doctor if there's an -emergency, anything like that—hang a white sheet out of a window and -keep somebody standing by. When a helicopter or boat patrol comes by -they'll see it and investigate; then you wave another sheet at them and -they'll see that somebody gets here."</p> - -<p>Dave Wax and Mr. Semmel watched Brayer and his boatman chug away. -"Hebertown Chief of Police," said Wax. "Isn't he a little out of his -jurisdiction?"</p> - -<p>"He said they were looking for somebody. Wanted to know if we'd picked -up any refugees. God forbid." Mr. Semmel shook his head firmly. "A -mess. Now, in New Hampshire there would <i>never</i>—"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was cracking daylight when Brayer got back to Hebertown. He sat down -in the police station, now an emergency shelter with men, women and -children sprawled all over everywhere, and dazedly pushed away the -coffee somebody offered him. He hoped he would never see another cup of -coffee again.</p> - -<p>He said heavily, "Henry'll turn up. I have a lot of confidence in Artie -Chesbro's instinct for self-preservation; he'll find a place to hole up -in."</p> - -<p>"Sure, Red." The head of Hebertown's Civil Defense Squad, an -organization with an honorable history extending back nearly four -hours, dug his fingers into the bags under his eyes and tried to stay -awake. He owned a ready-to-wear establishment on North Front, and he -had once allowed the Red Cross to use his second-floor storeroom as a -fund-drive headquarters, a record of achievement which had done very -little to fit him for staying up all night. "I went down at eleven -o'clock to look at the water," he said meditatively. "I didn't want -my cellar flooded again, like in thirty-nine, so I shoveled dirt up -against the windows, and then I went home to bed." He laughed. He had -gone by his store again two hours later—in a boat—and had had to bend -down to look through the windows of the loft the Red Cross once had -used. "I heard on the radio a list of all the cities that were hit—the -worst ones. They didn't even mention Hebertown.... Say, what are you -going to tell Bess Starkman?"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER NINE</p> - - -<p>Gray light filtered through the dirty panes of the second-floor window. -Arthur Chesbro woke slowly, aching in every bone. When he opened his -eyes stickily and peered across the grimy little room he could not at -first believe what he saw.</p> - -<p>"Polly!" he choked, amazement and outrage blended. His wife, apparently -unclothed, was snuggled close to old Harry Starkman, under a single -blanket.</p> - -<p>She looked up, smiling. "Hush," she said. "I finally got him to sleep. -His chest sounds terrible and he has a fever, but if he sleeps he can't -be too bad—for now."</p> - -<p>She got up gracefully, managing to swirl the blanket around her without -showing, Chesbro hoped, <i>too</i> much. Then he noted that the youngster -from the hotel was gawking. He cleared his throat loudly and the kid -looked away.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket grunted to her feet. "Fever?" she asked. "Let me." She -went to the sleeping old man and felt his forehead. "He's burning up," -she announced grimly. "An old man to walk through the rain and then he -got his lungs full of gasoline fumes. I suppose it's pneumonia."</p> - -<p>They were silent.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," said Mrs. Goudeket. "I'm going downstairs, nobody should -follow me until I come back."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff thought: sensible woman. Somebody had to speak up. He -stood for a moment over Sam Zehedi. The poor guy had died hard, -fighting it; his eyes were ugly and his mouth contorted. His face in -the dim light was bluish, the hue of a swimmer's lips when he's been in -too long on a cool day.</p> - -<p>Groff went to the window. Some time during the night the rain had -lightened; it pattered now instead of drumming. There was mist. He -struggled with the window and managed to inch it open against the -swelling of its frame and old incrustations of paint. Fresh air swept -gratifyingly through the storage room—and then he thought of the -burgess.</p> - -<p>Sharon Froman understood his glance. She threw her blanket over the old -man and said, "He'll be all right." She stretched stiffly. "The old -woman's taking forever," she said.</p> - -<p>Arthur Chesbro said firmly, "Mrs. Chesbro will be the next to go -downstairs. To find her clothes and put them on."</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro grinned amiably. "This thing <i>is</i> scratchy," she said.</p> - -<p>Groff leaned out and peered through the mist. All he could tell was -that there was water below; how much of it the enigmatic surface did -not say.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket puffed up the stairs, a big carton in her arms. "Cheese -wafers," she announced. "Somebody open them."</p> - -<p>Polly glided to the door, sculptural in her improvised robe, and went -down the stairs.</p> - -<p>McCue, with the appetite of youth and an athlete, tore open the -corrugated cardboard and began gobbling wafers from the first carton he -came to.</p> - -<p>"Manners, Dickie." Sharon Froman smiled. He swallowed his mouthful -convulsively and eyed her.</p> - -<p>"Help yourself," he said coldly. "You're no cripple."</p> - -<p>"Why <i>Dickie</i>," she purred. "After all we've <i>been</i> to each other!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket looked up. "What's this?" she snapped.</p> - -<p>Sharon looked amused and said nothing.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what she's talking about," McCue said. The tone -automatically indicted, tried, convicted and sentenced him for unlawful -cohabitation. "I'll talk to you later," Mrs. Goudeket promised grimly.</p> - -<p>Dick McCue found the cheese wafers were ashes in his mouth. He chewed -mechanically and wondered how he had managed to get simultaneously on -all these s.o.b. lists when all he wanted was a little innocent fun for -free—</p> - -<p>He glanced at Sharon sullenly and saw she was chatting animatedly with -Chesbro about a publicity campaign enlisting all media, the possibility -of newspaper and magazine space and radio-TV time being donated if they -played their cards right. "Tear their heartstrings out," she urged. -"Get editorials; I've got some contacts in New York. You'd be The Man -Who Saved the Valley, Mr. Chesbro."</p> - -<p>"Call me Arthur," he said. "We're going to be working closely together; -I can see that. My prestige and your ideas—"</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro came upstairs in her suit and raincoat; they were -wrinkled and damply steaming out the smell of wool but they were no -longer sopping. She was carrying her blanket; she draped it over the -sighing form of the burgess. His breathing was almost a crow. "He'll -never make it without penicillin fast," she commented, helped herself -to a box of the wafers and began to eat methodically.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff looked around; nobody was making a move for the stairs. He -stepped over the body of Sam Zehedi and went down. First outside into -the drizzle, where water was ankle-deep. He attended to his needs and -went back into the store. A bottle of pop caught his eye and he was -suddenly burning with thirst. He tore off the cap on a wall opener and -gulped it down as fast as the stuff would gurgle from the narrow neck; -after a queasy moment he ran for the door and made it in time. The pop -gushed up again violently. He sat down, swaying, on the wooden step up -to the door and retched a couple of times experimentally. He'd have to -be careful eating and drinking for a while. He had got a stiff dose of -the fumes.</p> - -<p>Zehedi's blue-green, well-worn panel truck was just visible down the -road in water to the hubcaps, looking bulky and competent. The goddam -thing. And there stood the two gas pumps, goddam them too, and if -you could only get the pumps to work you could pump gas from their -underground tank into the truck and away they'd buzz, getting somehow -into town where the old man could be pumped full of penicillin and -dosed with oxygen as needed instead of dying like a sick dog in this -kennel.</p> - -<p>He went wearily upstairs and said, "Next."</p> - -<p>Sharon got up and said, "Excuse me, Arthur."</p> - -<p>"Keep out of the cash drawer," Mrs. Goudeket said sourly.</p> - -<p>"Did you leave anything?" Sharon asked, wide-eyed. Arthur Chesbro -laughed a laugh which turned hastily into a cough when Mrs. Goudeket -glared his way.</p> - -<p>McCue said suddenly, "I think the rain's stopped." They crowded to the -window; he was right. The drizzle had ended and the mist was clearing.</p> - -<p>"Good," Chesbro said. "They'll be able to get helicopters up. It's only -a matter of time now until they spot us."</p> - -<p>Groff said, "I don't think the old man can wait."</p> - -<p>Chesbro spread his hands eloquently. "What can we do?"</p> - -<p>"Pack him in on our backs," Groff said.</p> - -<p>Chesbro said soothingly, "I don't think that'd be practical, Mickey. -We're all exhausted, we've all had a touch of gas poisoning. We know -more or less where we are and we know which way the town is, but we -don't know what lies between us and the town. We may just circle around -until we drop from exhaustion. There's a better chance of us being -spotted if we stay in this place."</p> - -<p>"We're three able-bodied men," Groff said, his temper rising. "We can -take turns. A helicopter's just as likely to spot us on a road as it is -to spot us here. Chesbro, <i>I'd</i> like to sit here and wait to be rescued -too; <i>I</i> don't have a yen to go sloshing through the water with -Starkman on my back either. But I don't think he can wait. We've got to -do everything we can."</p> - -<p>"I've got my manuscript to carry," Sharon said apologetically.</p> - -<p>"We'll <i>do</i> everything we can," Chesbro said reasonably. "But what's -the sense of endangering all of us uselessly? The trip wouldn't be good -for him. And the women—my wife isn't strong, Mickey, she shouldn't be -subjected to—"</p> - -<p>"Arthur," said his wife. "Shut up."</p> - -<p>She smiled pleasantly at the gathering. "Who's going to be the first to -pack him?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Naturally that's me, of course, Dick McCue thought sourly, sliding -in the mud. I'm an athlete, so they figure I'm Superman or somebody. -He missed his footing and nearly fell. They might just as well have -carried him pickaback as on this door, wrenched out of the upper -rooms.... From behind him Mickey Groff called: "Time for you to take -over, Chesbro."</p> - -<p>McCue relinquished his end of the improvised stretcher to Artie -Chesbro. His arms felt wrenched out of their sockets, and they had -covered five hundred yards, at the most.</p> - -<p>The rain hadn't really stopped, not quite. There was still water to be -wrung out of the scudding stratus, and it came down in little bursts of -droplets. Polly Chesbro stumbled along beside the sick man, trying to -keep the rain off him when it came, ready with a smile when his eyes -jolted open and, for a moment, he stared wonderingly about him.</p> - -<p>It was going to be a long trip. They had had to skirt around a sort of -contour line instead of following the road. Polly wondered briefly if -there would come a point where the road dipped down into the streaming -water, and there wasn't any useful hill handy. She didn't know this -road at all; had seen Hebertown only once or twice before last night; -had only the vaguest impression of what the terrain might be like. For -that matter, none of them knew much about the country they were hiking -across. On this Day, her mind inscribed in a crabbed hand, our Party -suffered the Loss of Its two Aboriginals, reposing our Destiny to the -care of the Greatest Guide of All.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff was remembering the Ligurian coast of Italy. The American -bombers had smashed it flat from Anzio to Genoa, and Groff had thought -proudly, a little selfishly, that no such destruction could ever come -to his own country. But this was as bad, at least as bad. They had come -across few houses, but there were ominous objects sailing down stream -that once had been houses and barns and all the other structures man -builds and his enemies sweep away. He tried to reconstruct the terrain -as it must have been before the flood, but there was a rightness about -the broad sheets of water that made it impossible. They were there; -they must always have been there. Why did people build their homes down -near the water, anyhow? Was a burbling brook in the back yard worth -having if suddenly, unpredictably, it could destroy your home?</p> - -<p>He wondered if the War Department was able to look itself in the face -that morning, remembering the careful charts the colonels had shown -him that called for dispersal, concealment, removal of such essential -industries as his own. Suppose, they had said gravely, New York should -take a bomb; you'd be out of commission; you must move out of the -city to where you can be safe, since the production of your shop is -of great importance to the country's defense. And they had showed him -the maps, marked "Secret," of the instrument plants in Connecticut, -the explosives factories in the Delaware valley, the electronics -laboratories along the Jersey streams.</p> - -<p>Two-forty-eight, two-forty-nine, two-fifty. "All right, Dick," he told -the golf pro, "you can take over for a while." He surrendered the back -end of the stretcher and looked around.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute!" he ordered sharply. "What's that up there?"</p> - -<p>There was a private dirt road slanting down toward them, and something -was moving. They all set up a waving and bellowing, and a group of -horsemen appeared on the rim of the highway and came toward them, three -or four of them, picking their way through the mud.</p> - -<p>"The United States Cavalry," said Polly Chesbro clearly, "is charging -to the rescue."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Two of the riders were men in chaps and sombreros and the third was -a thirteen-year-old girl. They goggled unbelievingly at the litter -bearers. They were from a dude ranch up in the hills, and they were on -their way to Hebertown to complain because their lights and phone were -off.</p> - -<p>"Jesus! We knew there was some rain last night, but we never had any -idea—" The cowboys stared at each other.</p> - -<p>"How about giving us a hand?" Mickey Groff requested. "This man's in -bad shape. If we don't get him to a doctor I don't think he'll make it."</p> - -<p>The cowboys scratched their heads for a while, and finally Mickey Groff -showed them how to sling the stretcher between two of the horses. "Hold -them tight and walk them slow," he ordered, putting a cowboy at the -head of each horse. "The ladies can take turns riding the other horse, -I guess."</p> - -<p>But he got no customers for that; Mrs. Goudeket was scandalized, and -the young girl was too excited, and Polly Chesbro wouldn't get that -far from the sick man. Finally Artie Chesbro said off-handedly, "Hell, -no sense in <i>wasting</i> the horse." He was in the saddle before anybody -could object.</p> - -<p>It didn't make things good, but it made them better. Mickey Groff, -walking ahead, reasoned that he had disposed his forces well. -According to the cowboys, they had a good three miles to go on the -road—<i>if</i> they could follow the road even approximately. An hour and -a half—double it because of the weather—maybe double it again, he -thought worriedly, if there were too many detours. He looked back at -the motionless figure between the horses. That was stretching it, but -there was a chance the old man might hang on that long.</p> - -<p>Maybe the cowboys' first idea—slinging the old man across a saddle -bow and galloping away—was the right one after all. But no; they had -to stick together, at least until they found out if the road would -take them all the way. And besides, thought Mickey Groff, aware of his -limitations but also aware that he had succeeded to the command of the -party, you have to make up your mind and stick to it.</p> - -<p>The girl came prancing up beside him. "You look like a good guy," she -commented. "Here."</p> - -<p>He took the bottle from her; it was a pocket-sized half-pint of -whiskey. It was like a gift from God. He took two measured swallows and -put the cap back on; he could feel it biting in his throat, invading -the back of his nose, spreading warmly through his chest.</p> - -<p>"God bless you," he told the girl sincerely.</p> - -<p>"Sure. But don't tell on Charley, will you? I knew he had it, but if -Mrs. Koontz ever finds out she'll pulverize him." He started to hand -the bottle back to her. "No, you keep it. You might want some more, and -if Charley gets his hands on it again, good-by whiskey."</p> - -<p>"Thanks." He slipped it into his pocket; then, remembering the rest of -the party, turned and glanced at them. McCue was plodding along head -down; Chesbro was glaring at him; Mrs. Goudeket was watching but she -caught his eye, smiled faintly and shook her head. Good enough, thought -Mickey Groff; we'll save what's left. He tried to remember what the -current position was on giving liquor to old men dying of pneumonia. If -it looks bad enough, he decided, we'll try giving him a shot; otherwise -better not.</p> - -<p>The girl was chattering: "Won't the old lady plotz when she hears -about all this? That joker on the horse back there says he thinks the -whole town's washed away."</p> - -<p>"I doubt it."</p> - -<p>The girl was disappointed. "Well," she said, "I bet there's going to -be plenty of excitement in Hebertown, anyway. I always wanted to be a -nurse—you know, not in a hospital, a Red Cross nurse or something like -that, going away in the wars and all like that. My sister was a nurse's -aide, only they wouldn't let me in because I was too young."</p> - -<p>"Eh? Nurse?" He glanced at her quickly. "Know anything about pneumonia -cases?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. Penicillin, keep them warm, bed rest—"</p> - -<p>"That's enough. Thanks." It had been a hope, but looking at her killed -hope.</p> - -<p>They plodded on and came to a blacktop. "I know where we are," one of -the phony cowboys said. "Straight on in to Hebertown, two miles. It's a -ridge road; it ought to be clear sailing."</p> - -<p>A car was buzzing in the distance; frantically they flagged it down -as it closed up on them. It was a late-model suburban with a New York -plate in the rear, man and wife in the front seat, three kids rioting -in the back. They all looked very strange to Mickey Groff, and he -realized at last what the strangeness consisted of. They were clean, -fed and rested.</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" the man asked from behind the wheel, a little -nervously.</p> - -<p><i>What did they want.</i> Penicillin. Beds. Warmth. Coffee.</p> - -<p>"Take us into town, will you?" Mickey Groff said wearily.</p> - -<p>The man hit the lock button on his door and cranked the window up a -little. "It's only a little way on," he said evasively. "We aren't -going any place special, we just heard about it on the radio and -thought we'd come and see what was up—"</p> - -<p>He hit the gas and the car zoomed on.</p> - -<p>"Sightseers," Mrs. Goudeket said, wide-eyed. "God in Heaven, -sightseers."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chesbro was swearing.</p> - -<p>Arthur Chesbro was swearing and trying to remember what the -license-plate numerals were.</p> - -<p>After a while they trudged on, there being nothing else to do.</p> - -<p>A helicopter came from the west as they marched, dipped low above -them and hovered for a moment while they yelled and waved. The pilot -pointed back into the body of the chopper with big exaggerated gestures -after they had pointed at the burgess on his litter. Then he buzzed on -eastward.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff said: "I guess he was telling us he was full up." He -rubbed his back for a moment. "Maybe he meant he'll be back for us." -But he didn't really think so, and the helicopter didn't come back -their way.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER TEN</p> - - -<p>When they topped the rise and stood overlooking Hebertown there was a -moment of silence and then a groan of horror burst from them all.</p> - -<p>"Gutted," Arthur Chesbro said succinctly. "Not a thin dime left in -town; not a nickel."</p> - -<p>The true flood crest which they had missed in the hills had left a -plain wake through the town. It was dark brown and even from their -height they could smell its stink. Sewage, chemical waste, mud churned -up from river bottoms where it had been rotting for a century. The -brown smear lay over two-thirds of Hebertown, and there was something -worse at its center, a long streak scores of yards to either side of -the river. It seemed almost to have been bulldozed clean.</p> - -<p>The river still boiled many feet above its normal height, and flotsam -rolled past, dotting its swell. There were tree trunks, chicken houses, -timber and swollen things you didn't want to guess at. The bridges were -out, the stout PWA bridge and the two rickety county bridges.</p> - -<p>Chesbro studied the view. "Gramatan Mills are wrecked," he said. -"They'll never come back. They rebuilt on the river in ninety-seven -right where the old waterpower mill was. Half their plant's—torn away."</p> - -<p>"Let's get on down," Groff said.</p> - -<p>McCue volunteered: "I'd try the school—if it's standing. That's where -you always set up cots and aid stations."</p> - -<p>Chesbro said: "The junior high's standing. Built well on the outskirts. -Lucky it's on this side of the river."</p> - -<p>They started down the hill. The stink grew worse.</p> - -<p>First they came to frame houses with picket fences and vegetable -gardens in the back. The porches were full; exhausted people looked -dully at them. At the third or fourth house a man came to his gate to -watch them pass.</p> - -<p>Groff said, "We've got your burgess here. He seems to have pneumonia. -Can we make him comfortable in your place and get a doctor for him?"</p> - -<p>The man said tiredly, "There's no room in my place. I have twenty-five, -thirty people. And the doctors won't make house calls, not today. All -three of 'em are down at the school. Take him there."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket said, "Could you maybe put me up, mister? We've been -walking and walking—?"</p> - -<p>"No room," he said. "I'm full up. Everybody's full up. Go to the -school. They got stretchers there. The Air Force dropped 'em in the -athletic field. I hope Henry gets better. Go down to the school. -They'll take care of you there."</p> - -<p>"For ten dollars, maybe—" Mrs. Goudeket began.</p> - -<p>"Money's no good," the man said. His voice began to rise hysterically. -"Nothing's no good. I work at the Gramatan Mills and look at it. I -worked there twenty-seven years, I was going to get my pension in 1958, -and now the mill's gone. My father drove down into town before it hit -to see if he could help and he isn't back yet and I don't know if he's -alive or dead." He took sudden hold of himself. "I have to go and tend -the cookstove. You have to boil your water now. Thirty people drink a -lot of water, we keep boiling it all the time. Take care of Henry." He -went back up his path and inside.</p> - -<p>Past the rustic houses on the fringe they came to a belt of substantial -older places, the homes of the borough petty aristocracy. Here the -smear of brown had reached; the horses picked their way uncertainly, -fetlock-deep in stinking mud. A mad-eyed woman in a housecoat was on -one of the handsome porches shoveling and shoveling; the silt plopped -into the silt that covered her lawn.</p> - -<p>They passed a house with a broken back. A towering poplar, surely the -pride of the owner once, had stood in his front yard. The flood water -had come; it had loosened the soil to the consistency of porridge; -the tree had tilted a little, leaned; its wide shallow root system -had given way and the trunk had crashed across the roof, caving and -crumpling it in.</p> - -<p>There was a house with black, dead eyes. Somehow fire had started; -candles, or a fireplace carelessly laid for warmth when the -electrically fanned oil heater clicked silent. The innards of the house -had burned, and the fireman had not come. There was a pathetic pile of -furniture outside, but where the people were you couldn't tell.</p> - -<p>There was a house that, in all that chaotic destruction, had survived -unscathed. Its windows had their glass, its doors were neatly locked, -there were two spindly iron chairs on the porch. And then you looked -and saw that it rested in the middle of a road, where the water had let -it drop.</p> - -<p>But it was the smell that hurt. You could imagine a hurt town mending -itself and growing again. But this stench from the river bottoms was -the stink of death. "I'll bet," said Artie Chesbro with a dreamer's -eyes, "you could pick up any mortgage in town for five cents on the -dollar today."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dr. Soames was the town's only specialist. He had built a white -Georgian house and a three-car garage out of something less than a -quarter of a cubic foot of the human female anatomy. He was an expert -on every fold and canal from the <i>labium minus</i> to the hydatid of -Morgagni, and of the hundred and four babies born in the borough of -Hebertown and surrounding territory in the past twelve months, he -had delivered ninety-three. They told scandalous anecdotes about his -extra-official life—"Mrs. Hoglund? Hoglund? Oh, I didn't recognize -you with your pants up"—and there had been a suggestion at the County -Medical Association that some of his most profitable pregnancies -were not permitted to come to term. But there was no human being in -Hebertown and environs who doubted that Dr. Soames was the greatest -doctor on earth.</p> - -<p>And what good was he doing now, he demanded silently, swabbing alcohol -on the morning's twenty-fifth rump to ready it for the needle.</p> - -<p>He sighed and jabbed home the needle of yellowish fluid. The kid jumped -and howled; Dr. Soames's hand was not as dexterous with injections as -it might once have been. They were working themselves into a coma, all -three of the doctors, with routine shots against typhoid and penicillin -to keep the sniffles of the kids from getting worse; but any ambulance -driver could have done as much. What these people needed—homes; help; -money—was not in their little black bags.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Soames!" Chief of Police Brayer was coming into the school's gym. -The tired old face looked worried—almost panicked; Soames had thought -the time for panic was over. "They're bringing Henry in, Doctor. He -looks bad."</p> - -<p>The burgess came in, under clean blankets, on an aluminum-frame -stretcher at last. Soames took a quick look. Fever; coma; and the -unmistakable racking, hard-fought breaths. Pneumonia? "Wake up Doctor -Brandeis," he ordered; but he found a hypodermic and loaded it without -waiting.</p> - -<p>The other doctor's eyes were bleary when he staggered in, but there -wasn't much doubt. "Pneumonites, all right," he said, auscultating -the burgess's chest. "We ought to have oxygen, Frank." Chief Brayer -listened to the doctors. He cut in, "Don't we have any oxygen?" Soames -shook his head; and Brayer remembered. The oxygen was there, all right, -in the firehouse, where it was handy for the pumpers to take along in -case of drowning or asphyxiation or any of the other things Hebertown -called out its fire department for; but it wasn't handy at all in case -of floods, since the firehouse was in the Borough Hall. You couldn't -even see the roof yet, though the water had gone down.</p> - -<p>He blundered out of the room and buttonholed one of the other -volunteers. "Who've we got who can swim underwater?" he demanded. "We -have to get the oxygen out of the firehouse—Henry needs it."</p> - -<p>They found a couple of high-school kids, on the swimming team, and they -went down to survey the drowned-out hall. The water had slowed enough -to put a boat out; they rowed down Front Street, over the back yards of -the cottages, into the River Road. "Must be around here," Brayer said -doubtfully, staring at the muddy water. "Some of the houses got moved, -I guess...."</p> - -<p>It wasn't there. One of the boys eventually went down, but only for a -moment. He came up sputtering and grunting, his eyes squeezed tight; -when they got him into the boat and he could talk coherently again he -said, "Sorry, Mr. Brayer. Maybe there's still some of the firehouse -down there. But that isn't water, it's plain mud. Even if I had a face -mask, I couldn't see—and I don't have a face mask." They took him -back to the school to have his eyes looked after. Chief Brayer leaned -dizzily against the door frame, watching Dr. Brandeis bathing the kid's -eyes. What, he wondered, was Hebertown going to be like without Henry?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mickey Groff woke up. They must have given me a shot of something, he -thought clearly, and sat up.</p> - -<p>A girl in a white uniform with gold bars at the collar leaned over him -and said, "You ought to go back to sleep. You've only had about two -hours."</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "How's the old man?"</p> - -<p>"Which one?"</p> - -<p>"Starkman—the burgess." But she didn't know the name. Groff stood -up and staggered to a chair. What was an army nurse doing here, he -wondered. Wings and a bar; maybe they'd flown in help from outside.</p> - -<p>Somebody helped him to a garage, empty of cars, with duckboards laid -over the mud on the floor; there was a sort of emergency feeding -station organized there and he got hot coffee laced with thick canned -milk, syrupy with sugar. He went out in the sunshine and drank it -gratefully.</p> - -<p>Sunshine!</p> - -<p>He slowly accepted the fact that it wasn't raining any more. The sky -was spotty with clouds, but there was a lot of blue.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Groff." He tried to get to his feet; it was Artie Chesbro's wife. -She stopped him.</p> - -<p>"Where's everybody?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Sleeping, mostly. Except my husband, who is out looking for orphans to -rob. Have you seen Henry?"</p> - -<p>He blinked. "Henry?"</p> - -<p>"The burgess. Mr. Starkman." He shook his head. She said gently, "I've -been with him all morning. If they don't get help for him soon—"</p> - -<p>He noticed that her eyes were unaccountably filled with tears. "I -thought I saw an army nurse—"</p> - -<p>"Yes. But they didn't have oxygen, and that's what he needs. It's on -its way, I guess, or anyway they say it is." She looked at the coffee. -"Wait a minute. I want some of that."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff looked after her and sighed. Now, why was she mothering -the old man? And what was that "orphans to rob" remark? It had been -fairly obvious that she and her husband were not cut from the same -bolt, but was it possible for her to see her husband that clearly, and -keep on living with him?</p> - -<p>He was beginning to wonder whether he shouldn't get up and start -somehow helping out when she came back and sat beside him. She was -humming to herself, he noticed, and glanced at her curiously; evidently -she wasn't so upset after all.</p> - -<p>"I knew," she said, dreamily swirling the coffee around in the mug to -stir it, "that two of us would go. It is the difference between six and -eight."</p> - -<p>"The what?"</p> - -<p>She laughed as if a child had done something clever. "I knew you -weren't a student of the Great Science," she said cheerfully. "There -are perfect numbers, and imperfect numbers; the imperfect numbers -are—imperfect, and the worst of them are the deficient ones. Eight -is an imperfect number, you see." She grinned at him. "You think I've -flipped," she commented.</p> - -<p>"Well, I wouldn't say—"</p> - -<p>"But you'd think it. No matter, Mickey—do you mind if I call you -Mickey? I'm quite sane—I have the advantage of you, you see, because I -have my diploma to prove it." She sipped her coffee. "That's what makes -Artie so mad," she said pleasantly. "He got me committed to the Haven, -and they kept me there for nearly a year; and now when he threatens to -tell people I'm crazy I don't have to worry, because six perfectly fine -psychiatrists agree that I'm not."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff said weakly, "That's very nice, Mrs.—Polly, I mean."</p> - -<p>She said seriously, "You mustn't think that the Great Science is one -of these crackpot cultist affairs. I know gematry has a bad name, but -you'd be astonished at the great minds that have worked on it. Fermat, -Bachet—back as far as Diophantos, in fact. Why, if you'd just—oh, -please, Mickey." She touched his arm as he started to move. "I'll stop. -This isn't the time to talk about important things."</p> - -<p>"Important."</p> - -<p>"This," she said, "is a time for shallow, surfacy affairs, a time -when distractions come crowding in and cannot be ignored. One such -distraction is that Mr. Starkman is dying and needs oxygen."</p> - -<p>"I have an idea," he said. "Come on."</p> - -<p>There was a boy of fourteen standing by with a handkerchief tied around -his left arm, an improvised brassard. "Son," Groff said, "do you go to -the junior high?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"The burgess, Mr. Starkman, needs oxygen and they can't get at the -firehouse tanks. It occurred to me that there might be some in the -school—those little tanks they call lecture bottles that they use for -demonstrations in chemistry classes."</p> - -<p>"I haven't taken chem yet, mister, I don't know," the boy said -unhappily.</p> - -<p>"Are there any teachers here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes sir! Mr. Holtz the math teacher's making the coffee back there."</p> - -<p>Groff approached Holtz, a small, harried man. Holtz listened and said: -"Not in the junior high, no. No lecture demonstrations, just recitation -and lab. But the senior high across the river would have some. My -good friend Mr. Anderson lectures there and he believes in making it -spectacular. Yes; they would have lecture flasks. I'd guide you there -if I weren't assigned. Perhaps you can find somebody—"</p> - -<p>Groff decided he would not. These people were working at top capacity -now. He could do the job on his own.</p> - -<p>Groff and Polly picked their way through the silt to the river bank. A -rowboat manned by two husky youngsters with the improvised brassards -was unloading a weeping woman and a silent child.</p> - -<p>"Get to the school," one of them told her in an important, basically -uncertain voice. "They'll take care of you there. They've got nurses -and everything."</p> - -<p>She walked off clutching the child's hand, still weeping.</p> - -<p>The kids looked after her, round-eyed. They told Groff: "That's Mrs. -Vostek. Her husband drowned. We just found her sitting on her porch -crying. Maybe she's gone crazy."</p> - -<p>"Can you get us across the river? We want to get into the high school -and look for oxygen bottles. The sick cases need it."</p> - -<p>"That's what we're here for, mister!"</p> - -<p>Good kids....</p> - -<p>On the other bank, perilously attained, the kids pointed Groff and -Polly in the right direction and took aboard two grim brassarded men -who carried a limp, moaning girl of ten between them.</p> - -<p>The other side of the river was the older part of town; the inevitable -slum had grown up there. Here in the streets and on the steps they saw -drunken men and women with blank despair in their eyes tilting bottles -skyward. One of them drained his bottle and yelled: "To hell with it!" -and hurled the empty through the plate-glass window of a silt-choked -little magazine-and-candy store. A man, not young, sitting in the store -came charging out with a sawed-off ball bat in his hands, swinging. -"You cheap rotten bum!" he yelled. "Things aren't bad enough, you have -to make them worse!"</p> - -<p>While the drunk stared stupidly, Groff rushed between them and caught -the wrists of the man with the bat. "Easy," he said. "For God's sake, -you'll kill him with that thing."</p> - -<p>The drunk came to life. "Let him kill," he yelled. "What's the damn -difference now? No job, no house, no furniture. Let him kill!" But he -reeled off down the street while Groff held the furious man.</p> - -<p>"Stupid bastard," the proprietor swore. "I'll give him bottles. -Three-fifty he owes me, I'll give him bottles!" Then the fight suddenly -evaporated out of him. Groff let go and they walked on, looking back to -see him shamble into his store again and sit down with the bat across -his knees.</p> - -<p>They passed a bar, and there was no nonsense about that. Two men who -looked like brothers stood grimly at the door. Each had a shotgun over -his arm. When Groff and Polly walked by they shifted the guns a little -and said nothing.</p> - -<p>A corner grocery had become a sort of involuntary relief station. There -was a long unruly line leading to the door. The grocer stood there; -behind him in the store his wife was bringing up canned goods, bottled -pop, everything. The grocer, sweating and afraid, was handing out the -food and drink to the sullen people as they passed.</p> - -<p>"Please," he was saying, "I haven't got time to write this down. Please -remember what you take and come around and settle when things clear up."</p> - -<p>After a fashion he was avoiding the sack of his store.</p> - -<p>The high school was an old red brick building, smaller than the new -junior high across the river. Groff marched up the steps and tried the -door. "Bloody hell," he said. "Locked, of course."</p> - -<p>She pointed. "There's an open window."</p> - -<p>They climbed in and found themselves in the principal's office. Three -men with sledge hammers and crow-bars were knocking the knob off the -safe. They turned menacingly.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead." Groff shrugged. "I can't stop you."</p> - -<p>"Get the hell out of here," one of them said.</p> - -<p>"We came to get some oxygen," Polly said. "For the sick people across -the river."</p> - -<p>"Sick people? Okay."</p> - -<p>They went into the corridor and wandered from room to room; on the -second floor they found an old-fashioned lecture theater, bowl-shaped -with steep rows of seats focusing on a laboratory bench piped for water -and gas. There was a promising-looking door behind it.</p> - -<p>It was locked. Groff kicked at the door and swore with pain; the -building was old-fashioned brick and its woodwork was old-fashioned -golden oak, the stuff you can hardly drive a nail into. He trudged down -to the office again. The three men were gone; the door of the safe -swung open. They had left one sledge; somehow he had expected to find -all the tools dropped, but apparently they were going to work their way -methodically through every safe they could find.</p> - -<p>He returned with the sledge and bashed at the golden-oak door until -its latch sprung and it swung open. It was the storeroom for lecture -supplies and the gas flasks were neatly stacked on the top shelf. -There was a complete carton of a dozen twelve-inch cylinders marked -O<sub>2</sub> and another carton with eight cylinders.</p> - -<p>"Thank God," he said. "Let's go."</p> - -<p>The things were horribly heavy.</p> - -<p>As they retraced their way to the river bank they were stopped three -times by loungers collected in groups of half a dozen and had to show -them the cartons' contents and explain that it was for the sick people -across the river.</p> - -<p>There was a long wait before they could hail one of the boats passing -back and forth; finally a rowboat with a roaring outboard motor pulled -up. Two men with American Legion caps manned it. They explained their -mission and were taken aboard. One of the Legionnaires asked: "How are -things in Old Town?"</p> - -<p>"Breaking up fast," Groff said.</p> - -<p>The man understood perfectly. "The goons," he said, nodding. "There's -talk about sending in the National Guard," he said. "Meanwhile I guess -it's our problem."</p> - -<p>He took the heavier carton from Groff when they reached the river bank -and Groff took Polly's; together they walked to the gymnasium where -Harry Starkman lay.</p> - -<p>One of the doctors—Brandeis?—looked at the lecture bottles dully, -took one and shambled over to the burgess's litter. He drew the blanket -over Starkman's face, slipped the bottle under and cracked the needle -valve for a few hissing minutes, then checked the old man's pulse.</p> - -<p>"Very good," he said at last to Groff and Polly. "There's something to -hope for now. Now clear out, you two. Find something useful to do."</p> - -<p>"There's going to be trouble in Old Town tonight," Groff said. "And it -may spill over here."</p> - -<p>Polly, preoccupied, said, "The number is still imperfect. Two of us -will have to go. I do hope it won't be you, Mickey."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER ELEVEN</p> - - -<p>There was a solid line of cars, bumper to bumper, on the northbound -side of the highway. It ended against a roadblock consisting of -two state troopers, one standing in the middle of the lane with a -double-barreled shotgun over his arm, the other by the roadside where -he could look into the cars. Their patrol car was pulled over on the -soggy shoulder, its motor idling.</p> - -<p>A new Lincoln with a middle-aged man at the wheel was next.</p> - -<p>"Why do you want to get through, mister?" the trooper demanded. He -had long ago given up the time-consuming request for registration and -operator's permit.</p> - -<p>The man was flustered. "I have some friends in Newtown," he said. "I -thought maybe there was something I could do for them—"</p> - -<p>The trooper glanced into the back of the car. Empty. "You haven't got -anything they need," he said. "Turn around and go home."</p> - -<p>Meekly the man U-turned around the trooper in the road and sped south.</p> - -<p>The next car was a tired, top-down convertible with two young couples -who might have been high-school seniors, college freshmen or young -working stiffs. The driver explained, too glibly, indicating the girl -by his side: "Her mother lives in Bradley, so she got me to drive her -in. You know the railroads and buses aren't running, officer."</p> - -<p>But the girl giggled.</p> - -<p>"Where does she live in Bradley?" asked the trooper. The girl hesitated -and took a deep breath before beginning to lie. The trooper gave a -weary shushing gesture. "Skip it," he said. "Turn around and go home. -This is no circus."</p> - -<p>The driver began to bluster. "I've got a license, I can drive where I -want—"</p> - -<p>"Turn around and go home," the trooper said. "If you keep arguing I'll -run you in for obstructing traffic. If you're stupid enough to proceed -down that road, Schultz there will fire one warning shot and will then -blow your goddam head off. Move."</p> - -<p>The boy roared his motor spitefully to say the things he didn't dare -say, let up suddenly on his clutch and spun around the patrolman with -the shotgun in a U-turn.</p> - -<p>The next car was black and driven by a man in black. Its rear and the -seat beside the driver were filled with cartons; the trunk lid was -half-up, tied by a rope to the bumper over more cartons.</p> - -<p>"I'm from the Beaver Run Meeting of the Society of Friends," the man -said quietly. "We've gathered some things they may need in there. -Medicine, bandages, Sterno, flashlights."</p> - -<p>The trooper hesitated. "We're supposed to accept contributions and turn -you back, then a truck comes and takes them in. But I haven't seen any -truck and I don't know whether there's going to be one or if it was -just talk. You look as if you can take care of yourself, mister. Go on -in and don't get hurt." He called to the trooper in the road: "Let him -through."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," said the Quaker, and drove on at a careful thirty-five -miles per hour.</p> - -<p>Down the southbound lane, the deserted left strip of the highway, a big -car purred, slowing obediently to a stop at the outraged shout of the -trooper. The old man who was driving said nothing; the young woman with -him put out her head and called, "Dr. Buloff, Factoryville, New York. -Are there any instructions?"</p> - -<p>The trooper backed around the car and read the New York plates. The -second two characters were MD. He said to the old man, "Just go in and -free-lance, doc. They can use you."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, officer," the old man said with a good trace of German -accent, and the car purred on.</p> - -<p>In rapid succession three imbeciles followed the doctor's example of -using the southbound lane. All were sightseers, and all were turned -back with curses.</p> - -<p>The next car in line was a '39 Ford driven by a white-faced young man -with the jitters and a narrow mustache. He had identification papers -ready in his sweating hand. "John C. Barshay," he said precisely. "As -you can see from the address on this envelope I live at 437 Olney -Street, Newtown. I work in New York City and come home weekends. My -wife—I haven't been able to get through on the phone." His voice was -rising hysterically. "I demand to be let through, officer!"</p> - -<p>"Calm down," the trooper said gently. "Of course you can get through. -We're not here to stop people like you. I hope everything's all right."</p> - -<p>The young man fought his way back to composure. "Thank you, officer," -he said precisely, and drove on.</p> - -<p>Then there was a phenomenon, a car coming <i>from</i> the flooded area. It -was coming fast until the driver, presumably, could see that the hassle -up ahead was a roadblock and then it stopped and began to wheel around.</p> - -<p>"Hold 'em, Schultzie!" the trooper yelled at his partner with the -shotgun. He leaped into the idling patrol car, spun its wheels for an -instant in the soft shoulder and then zoomed free down the highway. The -other car had barely finished its turn; he had it crowded off the road -in seconds. He got out with his gun drawn and a casual bead on the head -of the unshaven, slack-jawed man in the driver's seat. "Get out with -your hands up," he said, his body shielded behind the front of his car.</p> - -<p>The driver got out, dull-eyed.</p> - -<p>"Turn around."</p> - -<p>He did, and the trooper frisked him. There were things in his pockets, -none of them gun-size. The trooper, from behind, pulled out watches, a -costly new spinning reel and some rhinestone rings and necklaces.</p> - -<p>The back of the car was filled with new suits and dresses, some -crumpled and mud-stained. The trooper lifted the trunk lid and found -shiny new appliances—a pressure-cooker, a steam iron, a handsome floor -fan, a sandwich grill, a rotisserie.</p> - -<p>"Is this car yours?" the trooper asked interestedly.</p> - -<p>"No," the man mumbled.</p> - -<p>"You'll be sorry for this day's work, boy," the trooper promised. "Keep -your back turned."</p> - -<p>He rolled up the windows, took the car keys from the ignition and -locked it up. With the man beside him he drove back to the roadblock -and prodded him out with his gun.</p> - -<p>"Looter," he said to his partner. "Stolen car locked up down there, -full of plunder. Watch him." To the man he said: "Stand over there and -don't try to run or you'll get killed. Now, who's next?"</p> - -<p>"Press," said a jaunty young man in a convertible, showing a card -quickly.</p> - -<p>"Do that again," the officer requested. Reluctantly the young man did. -The officer read aloud: "The Zeidler News Service requests that police -and fire officials extend all press courtesies to its representative -George E. Neumann." He grinned. "Back to Pittsburgh, Mr. George E. -Neumann."</p> - -<p>The young man shrugged and wheeled his car around.</p> - -<p>The next two cars were, or appeared to be, driven by legitimate -relatives of people in the flood area; at least they were filled with -sensible supplies. The trooper passed them. The next was a year-old -Dodge sedan with an oldish driver and a youngish passenger. "Haggarty," -the driver said. "New York <i>Daily Globe</i>. This is Vince Ruffino, my -photographer. The press card." It was a little green folder with -picture—an embossed city seal through it—thumbprint, description, and -the signature of the police commissioner. "Fire badge," said Haggarty, -flipping open a leather folder. "Okay?"</p> - -<p>"Okay," the trooper said, and waved them on.</p> - -<p>The line of waiting cars was beginning to break up. The number of -people turned back and the sour replies they had called as they passed -those still in line explained it.</p> - -<p>Another vehicle coming away from the flood area, fast. It had a -cardboard sign with a red cross on it stuck in the windshield. A -station wagon, full.</p> - -<p>The trooper at the checkpoint paused to watch. The driver of the -station wagon stopped by the trooper with the shotgun, spoke to him for -a minute, nodded and slid into gear again. The trooper at the check -point stared at the faces inside the station wagon, some drawn, some -nervously exuberant, as it went past.</p> - -<p>The trooper with the shotgun was walking down the road toward him. -"Transients," he said. "They're getting them out."</p> - -<p>The other trooper said hesitantly, "Did—did you ask—"</p> - -<p>"Yeah. They haven't found anybody answering your wife's description, -not that the driver knew about anyway. She'll be all right."</p> - -<p>"Sure. Thanks." The trooper with the shotgun turned and walked back. -His partner sighed and moved on to the car at the head of the line. It -was stretched out of sight again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"You want me to stop for any of this?"</p> - -<p>The photographer said, "Nope. I'll wait until we get in the town. But -jeez, it's pretty beat up, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>Jay Haggarty nodded and concentrated on his driving. One of the beat-up -elements of the landscape was the road they were on. Water had scoured -gravel out from under the surfacing in places, and there were potholes; -water had rushed across the road in a flood in other places, and left -mud and debris.</p> - -<p>A man in a leather windbreaker yelled at them to slow down, and -Haggarty obediently put his foot on the brake. He followed the -man's instructions and they crawled across what had recently been a -four-million-dollar toll-bridge. It seemed to be vibrating as they -crossed it, Haggarty had to remind himself that they wouldn't have been -allowed on it if it weren't safe. The river was within two feet of the -surface of the roadway, and there was an uneven thudding as flotsam -rammed into the accumulated tangle on the upstream side.</p> - -<p>They passed between the empty toll booths and headed for Hebertown.</p> - -<p>Haggarty said, "I was here just before the war, Vince. Nice, quiet -little town. It doesn't look as if it's been built up much since then."</p> - -<p>Ruffino said, "Who the hell would want to build a house around here? -You wake up some morning and you're under water. Give me Passaic."</p> - -<p>There was a second roadblock just before the sign that said: -<span class="smcap">Entering Hebertown</span>. Haggarty showed his card and leaned out -of the window to ask where the emergency relief headquarters was. The -directions turned out to be pretty complicated: It's straight down -Center Street, only you can't get through there—trees across the -road. So turn left on Maple, but you won't be able to take the bridge -at White Street because it's blocked off; go three blocks further and -cross on the highway bridge. Then you'll have to watch out for soft -pavement on Locust....</p> - -<p>Ruffino said, unbelievingly, "Jeez, Jay, it's worse here than it was -down by the river. Do you mean that little creek had enough water in it -to do all this?" He stared at the little gray stream that flowed under -the highway bridge, and at the twisted, half-collapsed warehouses and -storefronts that were easily five feet above water level.</p> - -<p>"It's the little streams that do the damage," Haggarty told him. "Once -the water gets into the rivers it's all right. It can flow away. But -you see how close these buildings are set to the creek here? As soon -as the water came up a couple of feet it clobbered them."</p> - -<p>He stopped, because the photographer was opening the door of the parked -car and no longer listening. It was as good a place to get started as -any. Haggarty pulled over to the curb, locked the ignition and got out.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER TWELVE</p> - - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket caught up with Polly and Groff. "So long I slept," she -said, panting. "They wouldn't wake me up. How's Mr. Starkman?"</p> - -<p>"They think he'll be all right for a while, anyway," said Mickey Groff. -"There's a whole field hospital coming in, somebody said. If he holds -out until then he's got a good chance."</p> - -<p>"Thank God," said Mrs. Goudeket, beaming. "And Mr. Chesbro?"</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro said cheerfully, "I haven't seen him all day."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket looked at her appraisingly. All she said was, "I guess -he's pretty busy."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff coughed. "Uh, the diner up the hill is in business, Mrs. -Goudeket. We were just about to go up and get something to eat. Would -you like to come along?"</p> - -<p>"Why not? Then I got to find a car to get back to the hotel. Imagine," -she laughed. "One hundred and sixty guests, and the only one there to -keep an eye on them is Dave Wax. Believe me, Goudeket's Green Acres -is one place they'll never come back to again!" She was very gay -about it, Groff thought.... If you didn't look too closely. He had a -sudden picture in his mind of what the last twenty-four hours meant -to Goudeket's Green Acres and to Mrs. Goudeket herself. One hundred -and sixty guests. At, say, five dollars per day per head. Over eight -hundred dollars a day; and out of that you could pay for the putting -green and the swimming pool, pay the salaries of the cooks, trumpet -player and chambermaids and busboys, pay the installments on the -mortgage and the electric bill. And squeeze out a profit; enough to -keep you for a year on what you made in a summer. But, although your -one hundred and sixty guests could cancel themselves out overnight, -reservations or no reservations, you couldn't cancel the trumpet player -or the mortgage or the putting green....</p> - -<p>They had to wait in line, but they finally got a booth in the diner. -The menu was soup, sandwiches, and stew—apparently slapped together in -a hurry out of what would otherwise have spoiled in the refrigerator. -There still was no power; evidently the diner was operating its stoves -on bottled gas.</p> - -<p>But it tasted good to all three of them. Outside the diner again, with -coffee in cartons for Groff and Polly Chesbro for them to drink at -their leisure, Mrs. Goudeket said, "Listen, what are you going to do -now? You still have business here, Mickey?"</p> - -<p>Groff shrugged. "That's what I came up for. But I doubt I can do -anything about it today."</p> - -<p>"So stay overnight at Goudeket's Green Acres," she said hospitably.</p> - -<p>"You think we can get back there?"</p> - -<p>"Must be somebody with a car. I can pay."</p> - -<p>Groff looked around. There were a lot of cars, and not many of them -were going. As he watched, a big sedan chugging down the road with a -load of dirty-faced children coughed and stopped. A man in a Legion -cap, red-eyed and bearded, got out and wearily opened the door for the -kids. They apathetically began to trudge down the hill to the temporary -hospital.</p> - -<p>"Out of gas," Groff said. "They're all running out of gas."</p> - -<p>And then one car that was not out of gas, a low-slung sports job, came -rocketing along the road, took a turn too fast and skidded on the -mud-slick street. Its fishtail swerved left into a fire hydrant with -a crash that made the dishes behind the diner counter rattle. On the -rebound the car's remaining energy sent it nosing to the right through -the plate window of a clothing store. By then it was burning fiercely -from the tail. Two figures, dark in the glare of burning gas, spilled -frantically from the bucket seats and flailed their way through the -smoke and jagged glass.</p> - -<p>"Come on!" Groff yelled, a general invitation to perhaps half a dozen -weary, red-eyed men standing about with coffee cartons of their own. -They ran for the smoky blaze; it beat fiercely against Groff's forehead -and cheeks. He found himself almost racing crazily into the flames -before he stopped. Groff peered into the holocaust and saw nothing.</p> - -<p>A man tugged his arm, drawing him back a couple of yards. The man said, -preoccupied: "That was Ed von Lutz's little car. A Porsche. Ed's got a -garage, he had that thing for advertising."</p> - -<p>Groff said, watching two people die, "Why's he racing it around town?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that wasn't Ed," the man told him. "Ed got killed in his -garage hours ago. Water undermined the sills and footing, he was in -there trying to straighten up and then the floor gave way and his -air-compressor storage tank rolled over him. That wasn't Ed. That must -of been some crazy kid that's been hanging around thinking about the -little sports car ever since he got it in, and he thought this was his -chance for a free ride. I guess that was his girl with him."</p> - -<p>The quick, fierce gasoline flame was burning itself out; now the blaze -had passed to the clothes on display, the fixtures, the shelves. The -building was a long brick row, not battered by the worst of the current -but horribly soiled. The clothing store was the central one of seven -shops; there were apartments upstairs.</p> - -<p>"Let's get the burning stuff out before it spreads," Groff said grimly. -He walked into the smoke and, holding his breath, came out with a -smoldering armful of suits off a rack. He dumped them in the gutter, -where they charred and stank.</p> - -<p>"Axes," a man sighed. "Hardware store around the corner."</p> - -<p>"I'll get 'em," shouted Mrs. Goudeket, trotting off. "Save the man's -stock. Don't let the fire spread."</p> - -<p>The next half hour was a nightmare of chopping and prying at burning -wood, dashing out for smokefree air when you had got a little ahead of -the flames. Groff burned his left forearm when he brushed once against -the still-blistering frame of the car. Midway through the job somebody -covered the two charred figures from the car with a pair of topcoats -each and they carried them out and laid them on the curb. Later they -were gone; somebody, Groff never knew who, had taken them to the -temporary morgue in the M.E. church basement.</p> - -<p>He woke once from his daze of chopping and prying to find Polly Chesbro -pulling on him. "They're stealing everything, Mickey," she said -insistently. "Can't you stop them?"</p> - -<p>Groff looked around. The store was gutted, the fire only an evil -smoulder here and there. He coughed and walked out, sidling around the -twisted, blackened little car with the bashed-in tail. He breathed -fresh air outside; to his surprise it was late afternoon.</p> - -<p>The pile of clothes from the store was dwindling before his eyes. -People were picking it over and grabbing; Mrs. Goudeket was screaming -at them: "Leave the man's stock alone! I'll—I'll—" She took an axe -and made a feeble pass at a man in mechanic's coveralls. He shoved -her hard and sent her sprawling. Polly Chesbro began to curse the man -fluently; he ignored her as if she were a buzzing fly. Groff went and -picked up the gasping old woman. "You hurt?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She rubbed her behind and shook her head, glaring murderously. -"Loafers," she said. "Bums without brains to run a business themselves. -Look at them!"</p> - -<p>Groff looked at them. From the wrong side of the tracks—river in this -town. Sick, neurotic faces, shrill neurotic voices as they squabbled -over tidbits like carrion crows. Feeble slum types, most of them, -but a few of the gorillas that every slum produces in defiance of -malnutrition. Men, women and gorillas, there were about a dozen of -them. This was his cue to deliver a ringing oration on the rights of -property and shame them away from the only chance most of them would -ever have at an eighty-five dollar suit or topcoat.</p> - -<p>He took up Mrs. Goudeket's axe and walked purposefully toward the -carrion crows. "Break it up!" he yelled hoarsely. "If you can't do -anything useful you can go home and not make any more trouble."</p> - -<p>The gorilla who had shoved Mrs. Goudeket looked at him appraisingly, -picked up the bundle of clothes he had neatly laid aside and walked off -with them in his arms. There was a nice charcoal-gray single-breasted -suit on top.</p> - -<p>"Put those down!" Groff snarled. The man just kept walking. There was -a crackle of laughter from the others around the pile. Where were the -decent people, Groff wondered angrily. They were on the fringes and -they were waiting. Their world was balanced on a razor's edge, and they -dared not breathe. Let it tip one way and looting would tilt again to -law and order; let it tip the other and looting would tilt over into -murder.</p> - -<p>Groff balanced the doubled-bitted axe in his right hand and hurled it -at the departing gorilla. It flew like an arrow; its flat top thudded -into the small of the man's back. He fell, howling, on the soft bundle -of clothes he embraced. Groff walked up to him and rolled him over with -his foot. The man cursed him and Groff drew back his foot for a kick at -his bullet head. The man stopped instantly, glaring. "Go home," Groff -told him.</p> - -<p>The decent people on the fringes had come to life. They cried to the -carrion crows: "Go home. Leave the man's stock where it is. Get back -where you belong."</p> - -<p>And it worked, because it was still daylight.</p> - -<p>On the way back to the school, the GHQ of the town, Groff and Polly -Chesbro and Mrs. Goudeket saw again the ruin and the despair, and -something new: hatred. A couple railed at a man standing on his porch -that he had plenty of room, that they had to have a place to sleep, -they <i>knew</i> he had plenty of room—but the man grinned hatred at them -and calmly shook his head.</p> - -<p>"That," said Polly Chesbro in a low voice, "could be the paying off -of an ancient score. The couple in the mud could be Mr. and Mrs. Town -Banker, suddenly poor because they haven't a bed, and the man on the -porch could be the village bum, owes everybody in town, brink of -financial disaster, but suddenly rich because he has a bed. This is the -day of jubilee, Groff, the day of leveling."</p> - -<p>They passed a house canted off its foundations; they saw a man calmly -building a rubbish fire against one corner of it and almost went on, -so natural did it seem. His eyes were bright when he looked up, and he -seemed only a little offended when they kicked his fire apart.</p> - -<p>"It's the insurance," he explained. "Twelve thousand dollars, fire with -extended coverage. You know what it'll cost me to get this straightened -up? Rent a crane, a big gang of men with hydraulic jacks, a week's -work easing the house back on the footings, and then everything will -be sprung, the whole house'll have to be replastered. Five thousand -dollars, easy, and I haven't got it. So I figured, we're covered for -fire, make a clean start, the kids are grown now and we don't need a -place this size—" Of the adjoining houses he had not thought at all.</p> - -<p>They walked him down to the school; he chattered volubly all the way, -quite unhinged. Polly efficiently vanished in search of a doctor with -a needleful of morphine, and eventually she led one of the army medics -toward them.</p> - -<p>The arsonist snapped to and said crisply, "Sir, these civilians tried -to prevent me from carrying out my mission. If you ask me, they're -Krauts."</p> - -<p>The medic led him away, protesting.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Artie Chesbro said worriedly, "Sharon, are you sure Akslund's coming -here? None of these dopes seem to know anything."</p> - -<p>Sharon Froman said, "Positive. This is the only road in from the north. -He'll have to stop at the check point even if he is a congressman." -She paused, added, "The captain who told me was the detachment -communications officer. He got it right off the radio himself." She -gave Chesbro a smile of good fellowship. It never hurt to remind a man -how helpful you were being.</p> - -<p>Chesbro sighed, "I'm getting tired of waiting here, all the same. These -tinhorn heroes are getting under my skin. The next idiot that wants to -know if I'll help out with the salvage squads or let them take this car -for emergency duty gets a tire-iron across the face."</p> - -<p>Sharon said sympathetically, "You'd think they'd know enough to leave -you alone, wouldn't you?" There was a siren scream from down the road, -and they both sat up straight to look. But it was only an ambulance; it -slowed briefly at the roadblock, the troopers waved it by and it sped -away.</p> - -<p>Sharon took out a cigarette and pressed the dashboard lighter; then -she remembered it didn't work and lit the cigarette with a match. It -wasn't much of a car they were in; but it was the best car Chesbro had -been able to rent for what money he had in his pocket. And naturally he -wouldn't have been able to do it by himself, she thought comfortably. -She was the one who had learned that Representative Akslund was coming -into the disaster area on an inspection tour; she was the one who had -located the car; and she was the one who had put the idea in Chesbro's -head of meeting the congressman and riding with him. Nicely done, -Sharon, she told herself; and the best part of all was that she had -succeeded in making him think it was his own idea.</p> - -<p>"I wonder how Polly's making out," Chesbro said.</p> - -<p>Sharon permitted herself a frown, her face turned away. She said -gaily, "Probably loving every minute of it, Arthur. It must be pretty -exciting for her. Anyway," she added blandly, "Mickey Groff's probably -taking good care of her."</p> - -<p>"Mickey Groff?" He looked at her with surprise. "Polly?"</p> - -<p>Sharon said, "Well, he <i>did</i> seem rather interested—"</p> - -<p>Chesbro shook his head. "Oh, no. You don't know Polly. Believe me, men -aren't her—" He hesitated, and said, "Believe me, she has too much -sense to get involved with a two-bit operator like him. She's loyal, -Sharon. Absolutely loyal to me." He was silent for a moment and then, -without looking at the girl, he said, "Polly's a funny kid. She isn't, -uh, <i>normal</i>, if you know what I mean, like you'd think a wife would -be—but she's loyal. Absolutely."</p> - -<p>Sharon Froman took a deep, quiet breath. Ah-ha, Mr. Chesbro, she -thought to herself with satisfaction, the wife isn't quite normal, -eh? Somehow or other she doesn't respond when you get that urge, and -the years go by, and then you notice that you aren't getting the urge -as often—as far as she's concerned at any rate. So after a while you -don't even worry when she's off with another man.</p> - -<p>Sharon nodded wisely to herself. Just the way it had been with Hesch -and his first wife. She'd made a man out of Hesch, even if he had -finally let her down, and she could make a man out of this unpromising -lout too—</p> - -<p>The unpromising lout sat up sharply. "Hey," he yelled, "something's -coming! It's got a state-police escort. Maybe it's Akslund!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The congressman was on the best of terms with the Air Force—possibly -because he held appointments on three appropriations committees. -The Air Force had been delighted to fly him up from Washington that -morning, and had been eager to fly him right into the disaster area in -a helicopter; but Representative Akslund himself had put his foot down -about that. Transport planes were one thing; helicopters were something -else. So the last fifteen miles of his trip were in a car furnished -through the courtesy of the state police.</p> - -<p>"Unbelievable," he murmured—but enunciating every syllable crisply and -clearly. "It looks as if a war had been fought over every inch of this -lovely countryside. I estimate the damage I have already seen is in the -millions." Out of the corner of his eye he observed that the AP man -who had tagged along wasn't writing anything down. Disappointing; but -Akslund was too old a hand to try to hint about it. The AP man would be -with him for a good many hours yet. There was plenty of time for direct -quotes.</p> - -<p>The police car ahead sounded its siren. The congressman craned his neck.</p> - -<p>"Road block," the driver explained. "They'll pass us right through, -sir."</p> - -<p>But they didn't. The driver of the car ahead stuck out his arm and -semaphored a stop; the congressman's chauffeur braked sharp and smooth, -and stopped a yard away from the other car's bumper.</p> - -<p>A state trooper on point duty walked over and said, "Sorry to hold you -up, sir. You can pass, of course, but there's a man here who says he—"</p> - -<p>Artie Chesbro appeared, panting. He stuck his hand in the open window. -"Good to see you again, Halmer," he said. "I'm Artie Chesbro. State -delegation. Perhaps you remember our little chat at the Waldorf last -year—the fund dinner."</p> - -<p>Representative Akslund opened the matchless filing case in his head -and riffled through the cards. He remembered. "Glad to see you again, -Chesbro. Are you in this mess?"</p> - -<p>"Up to my eyebrows. From the very start. There were eight of us trapped -in a building all night long; one was killed by gasoline fumes, -another's in the hospital with pneumonia this minute. But that's not -the point. I've been thinking heavily about relief and reconstruction, -Halmer, and I've developed some ideas I'd like to share with you. Mind -if I come along?"</p> - -<p>Representative Akslund noticed that the AP man was scribbling at last. -Eight trapped all night, one dead, one dying. This Chesbro knew what -he was talking about. His interests were medium-big and diversified, -said the <i>Chesbro</i> card in Akslund's head; he'd be able to give him the -sound businessman's viewpoint. Akslund knew he had to move fast; the -first public figure to hit the headlines and newscasts with a formal -plan would skim the publicity cream. How to be a statesman-humanitarian -in one easy lesson. Chesbro would save him time.</p> - -<p>"Get in," he told Artie.</p> - -<p>"Room for my assistant, Miss Froman?" Artie asked.</p> - -<p>"Of course, Chesbro. I need facts and I need them fast."</p> - -<p>Artie waved the come-on to Sharon in the car on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>She reached into the back of the car for her manuscript briefcase and -gaily ran for the limousine. She didn't even bother to lock up the car, -which Artie had rented with a solemn promise that he'd return it to the -garage in exactly two hours. It would get back to the man somehow, she -thought contentedly. Big things were happening now; no time for trivia.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The AP man leaned forward and asked: "C-H-E-S-B-R-O?"</p> - -<p>"Right. Arthur Chesbro, of Summit. I own a piece of the Hebertown -newspaper, I have some real estate, I'm interested in broadcasting. -Thirty-nine years old."</p> - -<p>"Veteran?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, I was a consultant to the War Manpower Commission; I wasn't -actually in the service."</p> - -<p>"Who's the man who died?"</p> - -<p>"Sam Zehedi, Z-E-H-E-D-I, I think it goes. A grocer, about thirty. -We were holed up in a filling station on State Highway 7, just two -carloads of people who couldn't get through the flood. The sick man -is, I'm sorry to say, my very dear friend Henry Starkman, the Burgess -of Hebertown. In the morning when we realized he had pneumonia we -carried him about twelve miles into town. He's in that improvised -hospital they have there. When I saw him last his condition was poor. -He is about sixty-five. He was in my car when we got stopped; we were -looking at conditions and making plans. On a small scale, what Mr. -Akslund is here for." Cue to Sharon!</p> - -<p>Sharon said to the congressman, "The networks are probably trying to -get mobile broadcasting units in right now. They should be set up and -sending by midnight. By morning they'll have all they need to lead the -disaster strong in the breakfast newscasts."</p> - -<p>It was a reminder that they had better get down to brass tacks on a -concrete proposal for relief and reconstruction. Dramatically issued -from the site of the flood, it would be unbeatable.</p> - -<p>They were rolling slowly into Hebertown proper.</p> - -<p>Artie said to the driver, "Drive around for a while."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Akslund. "Show me everything."</p> - -<p>Sharon added: "Drop me off at the school. I'll get the police chief to -find a room for us somehow. We'll have work to do."</p> - -<p>"Lots of it," Akslund said thoughtfully, looking through the window at -the wreckage.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>No cars!</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. She had tried two -garages, and no cars for rent. Chief Brayer, they said. He had -<i>commandeered</i> them, if you please, had them driven to a "motor pool." -The couple of cars going through the streets that she had flagged down -were "on missions." See Chief Brayer.</p> - -<p>Well, she would see this new dictator, this Hitler of Hebertown. She -reached the schoolhouse, and there, sure enough, was the motor pool -in the teachers' parking lot across the street—a strange collection -of vehicles ranging from a two-ton farm truck to somebody's little -Rambler. There was a man with a clipboard at a table, on guard.</p> - -<p>She sniffed and walked into the marble lobby of the school, which -was crowded and noisy with the talk of fifty busy people. There were -two uniformed men at card tables; one was in a fireman's queer, boxy -uniform cap and the other must be this Brayer.</p> - -<p>He was talking to a boy scout—at a time like this!—but she waited -until he was finished. Then she burst out, "I've got to have a car. I'm -Mrs. S. Goudeket of Goudeket's Green Acres. I've got to get back to my -place. Now."</p> - -<p>The mustached old man looked up. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "We need all -the cars for public service. Maybe later after some help comes in. Why -don't you—"</p> - -<p>"Did you hear who I am?" she yelled.</p> - -<p>"I don't give a damn who you are," he yelled back, standing up. "The -town is drowning. People are sick. People are looting and burning. -We're trying to hold it together for a few hours until help comes. -Don't come here grabbing for a car. Go and find something useful to do. -They need help in the hospital, people to make beds and carry slops. -You can do that, or if you don't want to do that you can at least get -out of everybody's way!"</p> - -<p>He sat down and turned to a man wearing a handkerchief around his arm -and immediately was in thoughtful, intense conversation with him.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket recoiled a step, then walked slowly from the lobby.</p> - -<p>Maybe—maybe he was right. There was Polly, waiting for her.</p> - -<p>She said to the girl, "No cars. We should go work in the hospital they -set up for a while, Polly. They need help."</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro nodded. Together they walked to the improvised excuse for -a hospital.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket was thinking: Mr. Goudeket wouldn't have stormed up to -that busy old man. He would have seen that making beds in the hospital -right now is more important than whether Green Acres is in the black -this year. Mr. Goudeket may have been right about more things than I -ever knew before....</p> - -<p>She wondered idly how the orange groves in Palestine for which they had -donated year after year were growing.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Ten minutes later Sharon was at the desk, telling Chief Brayer: "You've -got to. He's the head of three committees. He can turn the faucet and a -million, five million dollars runs into Hebertown. Or he can leave the -faucet shut. Think of your town, Chief!"</p> - -<p>Brayer sighed and wished Henry were there. At last he beckoned to one -of the deputies and said, "Take two men. Go to the new Fielding place, -that little ranch-house thing on Sullivan. Turn everybody out. We need -it for Congressman Akslund and his, uh, staff. Leave a man there to see -that nobody sneaks back in. Better leave a man there as long as the -Congressman's there, for a guard and in case there are any messages."</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Chief," Sharon said warmly. "You're doing the right thing. -I'll just wait here; they'll pick me up. And can you let us have a -guide to show us the way to the house?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," said Brayer. "God, it must be smooth to be a congressman!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They had dropped off the AP man, and Artie could talk freely. "Another -thing I didn't want to say in front of him, Halmer, is the Southern -angle. Those Democrats from Dixie are going to be swarming around -the valley offering sites and tax write-offs and hell knows what to -persuade damaged industries to relocate. This means you build up the -Democratic South and drain strength out of our state. Unemployment and -discontent. We're G.O.P. here, but not by such a margin that a sharp -local depression couldn't put the state over the line. The cities, -frankly, we lost last time but we have the counties as of now. If the -valley isn't saved, Halmer, it might cost us a senator—and you know -what that would mean. Knocking off Bolling and his sixteen years of -seniority and the committee appointments that go with it would be a -very serious thing for us nationally. I'm not exaggerating when I say -that a large, prompt injection of cash is vital to everything you and I -stand for."</p> - -<p>Akslund hooded his wise old eyes and nodded.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER THIRTEEN</p> - - -<p>Polly Chesbro went through the ranks of litters to the one on which -the burgess lay. A nurse in the pinstriped cotton fatigue uniform had -shoved a thermometer under his tongue and was looking at her watch.</p> - -<p>"How is he, Lieutenant?" Polly asked.</p> - -<p>The nurse whipped out the thermometer, read it, jotted down a figure on -her clipboard and said, "Holding his own. Excuse me." She shook down -the thermometer, popped it into a glass that held many thermometers, -picked out another one and slipped it under the tongue of the person -in the next litter, a girl of ten with a dry, burning face and dry, -burning eyes.</p> - -<p>In the marble lobby of the schoolhouse Mickey Groff was studying an -extraordinary organization that had sprung up within a very few hours. -Card tables had been set up and conference tables dragged from offices -and classrooms. For an ad-hoc government with the wires out you wanted -everything under one roof, in one room, instead of scattered through a -town hall. When a man came to you with trouble you could fix, this way -there was no phone to pick up; this way you called across the room and -things happened fast.</p> - -<p>There were two main centers around the fire chief and the police chief. -They retained roughly their old jurisdictions, respectively over the -destructiveness of nature and the cussedness of man. While Groff -watched, a woman came coolly to the fire chief in her turn to say that -her undermined house was beginning to sag and she had twenty refugees. -They had gone out into the street, could he find places for them? And, -as an afterthought, could they do anything about the house? The fire -chief called to three boy scouts, part of his combined field force and -housing records. One knew a big thirteen-room place on the outskirts -which, when he last checked, had only twelve people in it. Thirteen -rooms. Space for twenty more. And the house?</p> - -<p>"George," the fire chief called to a brassarded man, "get some people, -a dozen if you can, and see if you can do anything about Mrs. Comden's -place. She says it's beginning to lean badly. Be a pity to see it go -now."</p> - -<p>George, an electric-company rigger, said, "What kind of a house, Mrs. -Comden? How big? Which way's it going?"</p> - -<p>"Frame. Two-story, eight rooms. It's going into the street, maybe gone -by now, I don't know."</p> - -<p>"What's in the back yard? Do you have a back yard?"</p> - -<p>She passed her hand vaguely across her forehead, brushing back her -hair. "Back yard? Just a back yard. A vegetable garden..."</p> - -<p>"Good," said George with satisfaction. "I know where there's some wire -rope and oil drums. We'll dig in the drums for deadmen and anchor the -house to them with the rope. I'll need a truck, Chief."</p> - -<p>"You get a car," the chief said. "Sorry." He scribbled a note which -would go to the guardian of the improvised motor pool outside. George -walked off with it slowly, collecting waiting men. He picked them -big and burly. The woman trailed apathetically after. The chief was -already engaged with a man who wanted a gang to clear away snapped -and fallen electrical cables which would set his house afire—and, as -an afterthought, the neighborhood it was in—the instant current came -through again. He got two men with axes and a felling saw to cut away -the fallen tree that had brought down the cables.</p> - -<p>It was getting dim in the marble lobby, in spite of the tall windows. -On a couple of the card tables candles stuck in their own wax were -being lit; across the room somebody was pumping up a Coleman lamp. It -lit, in a dazzling green-white flare, and the gloom was gone for a -while.</p> - -<p>On the police chief's side the reports were more bitter. "Goons from -across the river, Red. So far they're just hanging around and talking -it up, but they've got bottles. It's just a matter of time before they -get brave enough to smash my window and grab the furs. There's a dozen -of them and I've got to have at least six men. So help me, if I don't -get six men I'm going to kill the first drunken s.o.b. that makes a -move at our place. I've got my brother there with the shotgun now—"</p> - -<p>"Skip the rest, Pete. You and your brother are two able-bodied men and -you've got a shotgun. You don't need any help."</p> - -<p>"I don't <i>want</i> to blast 'em!" the furrier wailed. "Why do we hire you -guys, anyway?"</p> - -<p>"We're spread too thin, Pete. We'll send the patrol car past and put -a scare into your friends, but don't expect us to tie up six men for -every shop on Broad Street. We're spread too thin and we have to keep -moving. Matter of fact, I ought to let your brother handle the store -himself and deputize you right here and now."</p> - -<p>"No you don't, Red!" The man backed away and was gone.</p> - -<p>A wide-eyed scout darted up and gave old Red the three-fingered salute. -"Big fight, Chief, down on the river, foot of Sullivan. I don't know -what it's about, maybe one of the boats—"</p> - -<p>The chief yelled at two waiting men in Legion caps: "Take a car. -They're trying to take over one of the ferries at Sullivan Street. -Break it up and keep patrolling the river. We've got to keep the boats -in our hands." The men stolidly moved off to the car pool.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff knew by then where he'd be useful. He went up to the -chief's table and said, "I'd like to be deputized."</p> - -<p>The old man stared at him. "And go looting with a badge? Who're you, -mister? I haven't seen you in town before."</p> - -<p>"Mickey Groff. From New York. I came in to see your burgess about -taking over the old Swanscomb Mill for a factory of mine."</p> - -<p>"Groff. Henry talked about your offer. All right—Groff." The old man -suddenly grinned. "Think I'll even trust you with a gun. Know how to -use one?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. The army."</p> - -<p>The chief snorted. "Army! I hoped you might be a hunter. Well, maybe -you'll do. Put up your hand."</p> - -<p>Groff did.</p> - -<p>In a rapid mumble the old man asked him whether he swore to uphold and -defend the laws and constitution of the State of Pennsylvania, so help -him God. Groff said he would, and the old man said he hereby appointed -him a special deputy policeman of the Borough of Hebertown. "And," he -added, "I sure hope this is legal because I've been doing it all day. -Sign your name on this list. Clarence, give this man a thirty-eight. -Have you got a handkerchief, mister? No? Clarence, give the man a clean -handkerchief to tie around his arm."</p> - -<p>He clanked down an enormous revolver and five cartridges on the table.</p> - -<p>"Five?" Groff asked.</p> - -<p>"Army!" the chief snorted. "The chamber under the hammer is kept empty -in civilian life, Groff. Let me see you load it."</p> - -<p>Fishing in his memory, Groff broke the revolver, set the safety, loaded -it and closed it, being very careful where he pointed the thing.</p> - -<p>The chief said, "I guess I won't have to take it back after all. Now -you stick around and wait. Talk to Murphy over there. He's been a -deputy before this."</p> - -<p>Murphy was small and quiet. He volunteered that he was a plumber and -that there'd be a lot of work for him after all this was over. He -showed Groff how to carry his pistol in the waistband of his pants -and said cautioningly, "Of course we ain't going to use them, you -understand."</p> - -<p>Groff, who had his doubts about it, said he understood and watched -while a battery-operated receiver-transmitter on another of the card -tables came to life under the ministrations of a sixteen-year-old boy. -The fire chief and the police chief both charged over; so after a while -did a doctor from the outside when the word reached him. The three -tried simultaneously to dictate messages to the bulldozed teen-ager.</p> - -<p>The fire chief wanted chemical trucks sent in, as many as could be -rounded up. The police chief wanted National Guardsmen, at least a -battalion. The doctor wanted to know where the hell the goddam army -field hospital was. It was an interesting fight and Mickey Groff was -sorry when a trouble call came in and he and Murphy missed the end of -it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The man in the Legion cap said, "You best give me that gun, fella. I -can handle it."</p> - -<p>"So can I," said Mickey Groff. He wasn't nasty about it; but the man in -the Legion cap shrugged and let it go. "This the place?" Groff asked as -the car stopped.</p> - -<p>"This is the place." The Legionnaire scowled worriedly. "They took all -the boats across the river. You see anything over there?"</p> - -<p>Groff got out of the car and looked. It was full dark now, and the -river was wide. There were lights of some kind on the opposite bank, -but he couldn't have told you what they were. Flashlights and electric -lanterns, most likely.</p> - -<p>But they looked a little bit close.</p> - -<p>Groff ordered, "Turn the car to the right. Put the brights on." The -Legionnaire cramped the wheels around and inched forward. He kicked the -button of the highway-beam headlights.</p> - -<p>"They're coming, all right," said Groff. Shapes were lying on the -water, punctuated with hand lights.</p> - -<p>"Sons of bitches," said the Legionnaire bitterly. "Now there'll be hell -to pay. Four of us against every goddam goon on the river—and Harry -and me ain't even got guns."</p> - -<p>"Take it easy, Walt," Murphy said. But in the reflection from the -headlights Groff could see his face was worried.</p> - -<p>Murphy, who had appointed himself in charge of the detail, sent the -Legionnaire named Walt after the Legionnaire named Harry; and he -disposed them as best he could. Groff got the place of honor—he had -a gun. He was put on the end of a little loading jetty; Murphy took a -position on a floating landing platform; Walt and Harry were left to -stand by the car, to keep the lights on the boats.</p> - -<p>And the boats came on, four of them, put-putting through the water in -convoy formation. Funny, thought Groff abstractedly; if I were them -I'd come ashore upstream a little way. This is the natural place for -deputies to be waiting for them. If they used their heads they'd know -that, and they'd come ashore somewhere else—</p> - -<p>He thanked his lucky stars that the goons evidently were not using -their heads.</p> - -<p>Harry, behind the wheel of the car, was making a fantastic amount -of racket grinding gears, racing the motor, shifting back and forth -to pick out one boat after another with the headlights. Damn fool, -thought Groff aggrievedly. He could hardly hear the deputy named Murphy -shouting at the approaching boats. There was some kind of answer from -them, but he couldn't make that out at all.</p> - -<p>But they were getting close.</p> - -<p>Groff carefully dropped to one knee, rested his hand with the revolver -in it on the railing of the jetty, and took aim at the lead boat. How -long had it been since he'd fired the pistol-dismounted qualifying -range? Nearly fifteen years, he guessed; it was in the first few -months of basic training, and always after that it had been a carbine -or an M-1.</p> - -<p>Somebody was coming up behind him.</p> - -<p>Good God, he thought, they've made another landing! He started to turn.</p> - -<p>It was the man Walt, grabbing for the gun. "Leggo, you!" he panted, -clutching at the revolver. "If you're too yellow to shoot let me have -it!"</p> - -<p>Walt was no kid; he was in his late fifties at the least. But he was -big and solid, and Groff was off balance. For a moment he staggered at -the end of the jetty, Walt leaning on him....</p> - -<p>They both went in.</p> - -<p>The water was cold and the current was fast. What became of the -revolver Groff didn't know. He broke surface, spluttering and choking.</p> - -<p>Walt was splashing right beside him. "Help me!" he bawled. "For God's -sake, help me! I can't swim!"</p> - -<p>Groff had one bitter moment of temptation—let him drown! cried his -subconscious. But then the decision was out of his hands. Walt flailed -toward him and caught him. Groff went under, choking; he struggled -upward, carrying the panicky man with him, got a breath, went under -again—</p> - -<p>The next time he came to the surface someone was there to grab him.</p> - -<p>The goons! Instinctively he tried to fight free, but somebody in the -boat had a good grip on his arm. They hauled him in, and another boat -had Walt.</p> - -<p>"You all right?" one of the men in the boat demanded anxiously. Groff -said dizzily, "Sure. But—"</p> - -<p>"Take it easy," said the man in the boat. "We'll take you up to the -emergency center. We figured you people'd need some help, so after we -got things under control on our side we came on over." He said proudly, -"They thought I was nuts, keeping after everybody to join the Civil -Defense squads. I guess they'll change their minds now!"</p> - -<p>Chief Brayer was looking a little ashamed of himself, but he recovered -quickly. All the men from the other side of the river had guns; all of -them were personally vouched for by the Civil Defense man; they made -valuable reinforcements for the exhausted deputies Brayer had been -swearing in.</p> - -<p>They found dry clothes for Groff, and Brayer put him in charge of the -dispatcher's desk to give him a chance to warm up. It had turned windy -with nightfall.</p> - -<p>There was a commotion outside, and a couple of state troopers came in. -Groff looked past them; there was a dignified-looking old man, somebody -of importance, by the way the troopers stood by him.</p> - -<p>And with him were Artie Chesbro and Sharon Froman.</p> - -<p>Groff stood up to get a better look. Chesbro glanced around the room, -caught Groff's eye, looked away, gave him a fishy smile, spoke to the -dignified-looking old man, and shepherded him out of the room, along -with Chief Brayer and a couple of other top men.</p> - -<p>Something didn't smell good. Groff called another deputy over and asked -him to take care of the desk. He walked over to one of the troopers and -said: "Who's that you came in with?"</p> - -<p>The trooper said, "Congressman Akslund, that's the old guy. The other -fellow's some kind of local big shot, I guess. You ought to know him -better than me."</p> - -<p>Local big shot.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff looked thoughtfully at the door Chesbro and the -congressman and the village elders had gone out through.</p> - -<p>Back at the filling station. The night Zehedi had died. What was Sharon -Froman selling Chesbro? "A big regional organization to fight back -against the inroads of the South. You and me, Mr. Chesbro."</p> - -<p>You and me—and Congressman Akslund, it looked like.</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff shook his head, half-enraged, half-admiring. You had to -hand it to Chesbro; he always kept his eye on the ball.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER FOURTEEN</p> - - -<p>By midnight the United States Army was working one of its accustomed -miracles.</p> - -<p>It involved a number of things, starting with a phone call at noon from -the White House to Fort Lowder, New Jersey. A major general commanding -a division in training there said to the phone call, "Yes sir," and -after he hung up, to his one-star assistant commander, "Excellent -training for the 432nd, Jim. Get it done." The brigadier made some -calls and then he and the C.G. finished their lunch serenely. The calls -whipped Fort Lowder to a froth of activity that looked senseless at -first; an engineer officer took off like a bat out of hell in one of -the division's light planes and soared over the flood valley 175 miles -away, swooped low over promising field after field, and returned. -Leaves were canceled for the division's quartermaster battalion of -two-and-a-half-ton, six-by-six trucks. Ordnance mechanics of the -division's heavy maintenance company swarmed like maggots around a -dozen red-lined vehicles under orders to get them rolling at any cost. -Warehouses were skillfully looted of parts by ordnance sergeants while -ordnance lieutenants engaged guards in casual conversations that ended -when they got the high sign that all was well. And the cause of all -the activity, the 432nd field-hospital battalion, which had almost -forgotten that it <i>was</i> a field-hospital battalion, got the pitch by -early afternoon. Long broken up into their training-camp formation, -scattered through dispensaries and the base hospital, they were -abruptly reminded of their battle mission by an announcement over the -base PA system by the division surgeon, their commander.</p> - -<p>Wonderingly, the six hundred officers and men formed on the parade -ground, many still in hospital whites. They were young M.D. first -lieutenants grinding out their drafted service wearily. They were -male R.N.'s with their big perennial bitch that they were lucky to -get a rocker while a woman of equal training automatically got a gold -bar. They were corporals who knew one end of a hypodermic needle from -another, pharmacists who ached to inventory their own stock of trusses, -penicillin, candy bars, yo-yo's and bulk vanilla ice cream in their own -corner stores again, privates and recruits who could swing a sledge or -mop a corridor. They were a handful of majors and lieutenant colonels -who were honest-to-God career military surgeons passionately interested -in the problems and possibilities of their work. On the parade ground -the division surgeon reminded them of something. It was that they were -trained to move into a given bare field and turn it, in two hours, into -a functioning, five-hundred-bed hospital.</p> - -<p>They dispersed to almost-forgotten warehouses where they broke out -field medical chests of instruments and medicine. They found again -the long coiled snakes of green treated canvas, tons of it, the 500 -litters, and the thousand tent pegs, big and small, and the jointed -tent poles and the miles of rope, each piece in its place, and the -sledges to drive the pegs, and the Coleman lanterns to hang on the -poles. The trucks of the quartermaster battalion backed up and the tiny -handful of field-grade officers buzzed everywhere, yelling and cajoling -and consulting loading lists, and trucks were unloaded and reloaded a -dozen times in some cases to get the right load in its right place in -the line of convoy.</p> - -<p>The engineers had finished an overlay strip map of the route by then, -and mimeographs began to spin out copies for the quartermaster drivers. -An MP platoon moved out in a truck and one man was dropped at each -tricky intersection to wave the convoy through. Each MP had a couple of -K-rations with him, because he'd be busy long into the night; as the -convoy went past the rearmost men they'd be picked up in the truck and -leap-frogged ahead of the foremost men to the next tricky intersections.</p> - -<p>The water trucks went as a matter of course, but it took a flash of -genius for somebody to realize that the area would be short of gas, and -this got the infantry into it. A puzzled rifle company found itself -yanked off the firing range and assigned to the mysterious chore of -filling five-gallon jerry cans with gas from the pumps of the division -motor pool and stacking them solid in three six-by-sixes.</p> - -<p>It took a flash of West Point tradition for the division band to be -massed at the camp gate when the 432nd rolled off shortly before -sunset. The division commander was there; the band oompahed and -he impassively took the salute from the startled doctors in the -command cars. A few of the enlisted men of the battalion rolling past -remembered vaguely about crossing the arms and sitting at attention. -There wasn't a man there who was not, though they'd hoot at the word, -inspired by the ancient tradition of the field music and the ancient -greeting they were exchanging with the tough old pro who was sending -them on their way.</p> - -<p>They rolled for six hours, until their tailbones were bruised and -their bladders ready to burst, along highway and detour and miserable -blacktop. It was dark soon, but the sound of some of the bridges they -rumbled over scared them silly. K-rations and canteen water staved off -the boredom, and so did banter when they crept through the towns.</p> - -<p>They arrived eventually at the field the engineer officer had spotted -from his division plane and stiffly went about turning the field into a -five-hundred-bed hospital. It took cursing and coaxing, and five men, -utterly out of condition, doubled up clutching at brand-new hernias -while they manhandled the tons of canvas and pegs and poles. Another -was doping off in the dark and a truck backed over him, killing him. -The casualty rate for the operation was one per cent, which was not bad.</p> - -<p>While the tents rose in the headlights' glare the officers in their -jeeps and command cars were spreading out to the stricken communities. -One of them found Hebertown, two miles away.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The young lieutenant, for a few hours not wearily grinding through -his period of drafted service, said to Chief Brayer, "We're prepared -to take over your entire medical load. Who's in charge on the medical -side?"</p> - -<p>The police chief said to one of his men wearily, "Get Dr. Soames. Good -news for him."</p> - -<p>But Soames had seen the jeep and medics in it. He burst in and roared: -"Tench-<i>hut</i>!" Automatically the lieutenant popped to. "Suck in -that gut!" Soames snarled, and then broke into relieved, hysterical -laughter. "My God, you looked funny as hell," he wheezed at the -officer. "Haven't had so much fun since we bribed the cooks to serve -the division surgeon fricassee of haemoangioma!"</p> - -<p>The lieutenant looked a little green and asked stiffly, "How many cases -have you, doctor?"</p> - -<p>"Ninety-five, shavetail. Take 'em away. We're all beat to our socks -here. The town medics, the emergency people they flew in—we're beat." -Dr. Soames sagged into a chair and seemed to lose interest.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant went outside to his jeep and told the signal corps man -with the SCR 6300: "Ambulance-fitted trucks for ninety-five cases. I'll -check 'em over and get them classified."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket and Polly Chesbro had, semi-automatically, fallen into -the routine of the improvised hospital. For hours they had been doling -out rationed water, mopping brows, jumping to the "Here-you" of the -handful of nurses and doctors, cleaning up vomit and blood, dumping -and washing ducks and bedpans. Mrs. Goudeket first saw the brisk new -lieutenant talking crisply to an exhausted nurse.</p> - -<p>"That one," she said. "He isn't tired."</p> - -<p>Polly said wanly, "That's nice." She wasn't listening, particularly. -She'd come to the hospital in the first place to keep an eye on the -burgess, but he was off in an upper room, what they humorously called -the "quiet" ward because there was, in fact, fractionally less noise -and confusion there than on the lower level. She hadn't seen him for -hours.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket insisted, "Look, darling. There's another one. Maybe -another ambulance came in?"</p> - -<p>"That's nice," said Polly, escaping. They were moving two of the -patients again, and it was her sector of the floor. The patients were -carried off in litters—new green ones, Polly noticed wearily; maybe -there was another ambulance in. Strip the cots, bundle the bedding, -scrounge through the stacks of afghans and torn sheets and quilted -comforters for something to make a new bed with, turn down the covers -and help the new patient in.</p> - -<p>But there wasn't any new patient, not for either of the beds.</p> - -<p>Two pink-faced kids in clean green fatigues brushed by her and set a -litter down next to the bed with the eleven-year-old boy in it. Polly -started to warn them about his probable fractured ribs; he had been -under most of a frame dwelling for eight hours before he was found. But -they seemed to know what they were doing; they rolled him gently to one -side, slipped the litter under, rolled him gently back.</p> - -<p>She watched them carrying him away. Funny. A lot of the patients were -going away, carried by these frighteningly expert, incredibly fresh new -people.</p> - -<p>It had to be true. Help had arrived—help in quantities, enough to meet -the need.</p> - -<p>Polly stood up straight. "That's nice," she said dizzily, and pitched -headfirst across the bed she was stripping down.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dick McCue, young and healthy and very tired after toting the burgess -in, had slept twelve hours, awakening in darkness in the school -gymnasium. A child was crying on one of the other litters and a weary -mother was trying to soothe it. McCue was enormously hungry; his last -"meal" had been a cup of syrupy coffee before he staggered into the -improvised dormitory and passed out; his last before that had been -breakfast on cheese crackers in the gas station. His stomach was -actively growling.</p> - -<p>He headed for a dim door, stumbling over litters and bundles of -personal possessions; he was cursed a couple of times.</p> - -<p>The dark corridor outside was lighted at its end, and he emerged into -the school lobby full of men with homemade armbands. From somewhere -came a tantalizing smell of coffee.</p> - -<p>He asked one of the brassarded men. "Just coffee here," the man said. -"Nearest food's the diner up the hill. Can't miss it; it's lit."</p> - -<p>And the diner did stand out like a bonfire by virtue of one pressure -lamp. He found a cop there to keep order and a chipper waitress who -looked at him, grinned and set out a bowl of breakfast food, crunched -open a can of condensed milk with the corner of a cleaver and poured -the whole can into the bowl. "Sugar," she said, and shoved the -dispenser at him.</p> - -<p>"Thanks." He poured sugar on and began to spoon down the cloying -mixture as fast as he could.</p> - -<p>"Another?" the waitress asked when he was done.</p> - -<p>He patted his stomach experimentally. "I guess not," he said. "You have -any coffee?"</p> - -<p>"Coming up." She slapped a mugful at him and he sipped it down.</p> - -<p>"Better," he said. "How much?"</p> - -<p>"For free," she said. She assumed a Greek accent. "Mr. Padopolous says, -America's so good to him this is his chance to say thank you."</p> - -<p>"Well, thank Mr. Padopolous for me when he gets back."</p> - -<p>He walked out into the dark and bummed a cigarette from the cop. After -a deep drag he told him, "I'm a transient. In town by accident."</p> - -<p>"You're lucky," the cop said sourly. "I live here."</p> - -<p>"Yeah. Well—I mean, is there anything I can do?"</p> - -<p>The cop shrugged. "Not much. Help's getting here, lots of it. The army -rolled in a hospital and the governor sent a battalion of National -Guards. One of them's supposed to show up here and relieve me so I -can get some sleep." He yawned tremendously and sat down on the diner -steps. "My advice to you, get some sleep and in the morning they'll -have something fixed up for you. Maybe those army trucks'll get you -where you want to go."</p> - -<p>Dick said, "Thanks," and walked off. Well, he'd missed it. Slept right -through it.</p> - -<p>The cop called after him, "Hey, kid. Not toward River Street. The Guard -sent a sound truck around. Unsafe buildings, wide-open warehouses and -stores. They're patrolling with guns. Got it?"</p> - -<p>"Got it," said the too-late hero. "Thanks." He turned right and walked -on. He'd be able to find the school again; it was the only place in -town, maybe the only place for miles, with <i>two</i> lights in front, one -shining through the door and the other hung to a spike in a phone pole -outside where the motor-pool man guarded a weird collection of vehicles.</p> - -<p>He rambled down one dark street cursing inwardly. He was sure the big, -dynamic Mickey Groff hadn't slept through it, had seized the chance for -leadership and heroism.</p> - -<p>Quite suddenly his chance arrived and he almost walked right past it. -Two writhing figures in a doorway, a woman and a man in a silent, -deadly struggle. He had one arm around her head and his paw over her -mouth; her dress was torn down the front.</p> - -<p>It flashed through his head. He was about to Defend the Virtue of -a Maiden against the assault of a Lust-Maddened, Drink-Crazed Human -Beast. Chivalry stuff.</p> - -<p>He grabbed the man's shoulder and heaved, but his heart wasn't in it.</p> - -<p>A fist flailed from nowhere and smashed him high on the right -cheek, hard enough to make an icy area of numbness for a moment and -then—hell's own pain. From that moment his heart was in it. While the -woman, shoved aside, lay on the ground panting, he waded into the man. -After the first few blows it was no longer a fight but first-degree -assault. He battered the man to the ground and stood over him grimly, -his chest heaving. "You want any more?" he croaked.</p> - -<p>The man mumbled something. It could have been "no."</p> - -<p>He looked around for the woman; she was reeling down the street, one -arm propping her against the wall. A couple came scurrying past, stared -at her and gave her a wide berth. He hastened after her. "Can I help -you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She said sluggishly, "Went to see if my sister was—no. Jus' go away. -Thanks, and everything. But leave me alone. Please."</p> - -<p>He backed off and watched her slowly make her way down the street. She -turned a corner and he crossed the street to see. She painfully climbed -the steps of a frame house with a porch, went inside and the great -adventure was over.</p> - -<p>Except for the damnable aching of his cheekbone.</p> - -<p>In Hollywood, he thought sourly, it would have been just the beginning. -The boy and the girl meet cute and you take it from there. In real life -you save them from rape and they don't want to have anything to do with -you. She was probably embarrassed, horribly so, and wanted no part of -anybody who had seen her with her dress torn, about to be violated.</p> - -<p>As he walked he constructed a face-saving fantasy about another maiden -who might be less preoccupied and more grateful, but it was uphill -work. His cheek was very bad, and it occurred to him that it might be -more than a bruise; people did get fractures there. Also he seemed to -have broken a knuckle.</p> - -<p>The hero business didn't pay very well.</p> - -<p>He turned around and headed back for the school. Maybe he could find a -doctor there to take a look at his face; he was by then almost sure he -could feel bones grating when he worked his jaw.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was a panel truck, like any other panel truck you might see except -for the name on the side and the thirty-meter whip antenna sticking up -from the roof. It parked out in front of the schoolhouse and Mickey -Groff stepped outside to see what was going on. <i>Federal Broadcasting -System Mobile Unit Four</i>, he read. One of the men in the front seat -wore headphones, was talking into a hand microphone.</p> - -<p>It was nearly two o'clock in the morning. Hell of a fat audience -they'll have to listen to them now, thought Groff. It didn't occur to -him that all over the country listeners were staying up past their -bedtimes for just such eyewitness, on-the-spot accounts as this.</p> - -<p>Chief Brayer came out and said, "You still here? Get some sleep."</p> - -<p>It was good advice for the chief too, Groff thought. He was too old -a man for this sort of carrying-on. The national guardsmen had taken -over the problems of patrolling the flooded-out, burned-out areas, and -most of the temporary deputies had turned in their guns and armbands. -But Groff wasn't sleepy. He was tired, dead-sick tired, but he wasn't -sleepy.</p> - -<p>He said, "Chief, what was Artie Chesbro doing with the congressman?"</p> - -<p>Brayer rubbed his chin. "I forgot you and him were competitors," he -said, almost apologetically.</p> - -<p>"Keep on forgetting it," said Groff. "That isn't why I'm asking."</p> - -<p>Brayer looked at him thoughtfully and shrugged. "You think Chesbro's -horning in on something? Maybe you're right. He's thick as thieves with -old Akslund, all right, and I'd swear they never saw each other before -today. The congressman's all hotted up about a regional disaster-relief -agency. He's been sending out statements and messages—right through -our own radio; I read some of them. One of them went right to the White -House, boy. He's asking for a billion dollars grant."</p> - -<p>"And I suppose Artie Chesbro wants to have something to say about -spending it?"</p> - -<p>The chief said slowly, "Wouldn't you?"</p> - -<p>"No!" said Groff, suddenly hot. "What's the matter with you, Brayer? -You know this Chesbro—Starkman knows him. He's a cheap angle-shooting -county politician. Not even your own county, for God's sake! I came -up here to start a factory—maybe not a very big factory, compared to -Ford or R.C.A., but the biggest damned factory I ever tried to start; -and Chesbro was in on the ground floor ahead of me, trying to steal my -factory site for some two-bit deal of his own. You think he cares about -Hebertown? You think he's going to worry about whether the right people -get the right money, or whether the area makes a recovery from this? He -cares about Artie Chesbro, and that's all!"</p> - -<p>"Now, hold on a minute, boy—"</p> - -<p>"Hold on, hell! If Henry Starkman wasn't half-dead, he wouldn't let -Chesbro get away with this! What right have you got to—"</p> - -<p>"Hold on, boy!" The old man was suddenly erect, forceful. "You don't -have to tell me what Henry likes and doesn't like. Forty-one years -we've been friends, and between us we pretty near run this town. And -you know what's been happening? Every year a couple more buildings off -the tax rolls, every year another couple thousand dollars short in -collections. Chesbro? Sure, boy. He's out for number one. But I saw -that message that went to the White House. It said a billion dollars. -God, man—do you know what any part of a billion dollars would mean to -Hebertown?"</p> - -<p>He glared at Groff without speaking for a moment. Then he leaned back -and rubbed his eyes wearily. "A billion dollars," he said, and it was -like a prayer.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The little ranch house had been perfectly untouched by the flood; it -was well uphill on Sullivan Street. Representative Akslund worked -comfortably through the day in the pine-paneled den. His work consisted -mostly of conversation with Artie Chesbro while Sharon sat by and took -notes by candlelight. Agreement was reached, a statement was signed, -the old man yawned politely and shuffled off to the master bedroom. -"You release this to the network," he said from the door. "The wire -services can take it off the air. Good night."</p> - -<p>And Sharon and Chesbro raced to the school.</p> - -<p>"Damn it," said Chesbro peevishly. The mobile broadcasting truck was -gone. They scurried around with flashlights; Sharon found a state -trooper who thought he remembered seeing it heading down toward the -roped-off area at the foot of River Street. The houses there were -either down or abandoned, and the only permitted persons were national -guardsmen, theoretically patrolling against looters.</p> - -<p>"Hello," said Mickey Groff. Sharon Froman jumped and turned around.</p> - -<p>She said, projecting throatily, "Mickey! Thank heaven. It's good to see -you, Mickey. We were worried."</p> - -<p>Artie Chesbro caught her eye and slid away. Sharon said gaily, "Hasn't -this been a day? We haven't slept ten minutes altogether since we saw -you last. Luckily I'm a writer." She lifted her briefcase with a smile.</p> - -<p>"What's that got to do with it?"</p> - -<p>"We writers have our little secrets," she said. She put her hand on his -shoulder, strolling him away.</p> - -<p>"Where'd Chesbro go?"</p> - -<p>"He'll be back," Sharon assured him. "Buy me a cup of coffee and tell -me what's been going on."</p> - -<p>"Buying" a cup of coffee consisted of rinsing out a cup and ladling -black coffee out of the tarry stew that had been bubbling over a -gasoline flame for six hours. Groff let himself be steered and took a -sip of the coffee. It was awful, but it was coffee. He said, "I've been -helping out around here as best I could. So has Chesbro's wife, and so -has Mrs. Goudeket. And you?"</p> - -<p>Sharon said with a quiet pride, "We've been doing our share, believe -me. We've spent the whole day with Congressman Akslund. He just went to -bed a few minutes ago."</p> - -<p>"Alone?" Mickey Groff asked.</p> - -<p>Sharon looked at him with cold resentment. "That's an unpleasant -remark, Groff," she said thinly. "If that's the way you intend to talk, -I'll leave you alone." She turned her back on him and walked haughtily -away.</p> - -<p>Anyway, Artie Chesbro was already out of sight; there was no chance -that Groff could find him before he reached the mobile unit.</p> - -<p>Poor Mickey Groff, thought Sharon with deep and sincere sympathy, he -would take it hard when he heard Chesbro had Congressman Akslund's -backing to head the Emergency Relief Committee. But he had had his -chance. He had seen her first, but he had chosen to throw in his lot -with Mrs. Goudeket and that fantastic Chesbro woman; and she had gone -over to the better man.</p> - -<p>Poor Mickey Groff, Sharon thought comfortably. Maybe some other -time....</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER FIFTEEN</p> - - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket tottered into the marble lobby of the schoolhouse. A -flaring pressure lamp threw grotesque shadows against the polished -walls and the room was almost empty. Some men dozed over their card -tables and desks. Outside the last of the ambulance-fitted six-by-sixes -was rolling noisily away with the last of the casualties.</p> - -<p>Chief Brayer's head snapped up from a nodding doze as she cleared her -throat.</p> - -<p>"Chief?" Mrs. Goudeket said timidly. "Just a few hours since I asked, -but I think things have changed a lot, hah?"</p> - -<p>He focused on her with difficulty and said at last, "Oh. The lady from -the hotel."</p> - -<p>"Goudeket's Green Acres," she said automatically, with pride. "I was -thinking that now maybe things are more under control, hah? So maybe -you could spare me a car, some gas. I have to get back, look over my -property—" If it still is my property, the thought came, unwelcome.</p> - -<p>"A car?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket was exasperated. "You heard. A car! Look, if it makes you -feel better, I could take some people with me. You need shelter? I have -room. Believe me, by now I bet I have more room than you can imagine. -We have food, too." Food for the booked-solid week, which would now be -a week of hundred-per-cent cancellations and empty tables.</p> - -<p>Chief Brayer looked wearily interested. "Yes," he said absently, "you -would have food. All right. I yelled at you before, didn't I? I'm -sorry—"</p> - -<p>She shrugged. "No apologies, please. Your language—But you meant well. -You were busy."</p> - -<p>"We needed the cars," he said doggedly. "We had to keep them for an -emergency, you see. That's all that counted. In case there was a fire -or a burglary, the cars had to be here."</p> - -<p>"Don't explain. Please, do I get a car? I'll be careful. I could write -out a check, leave a deposit—" She had almost said five hundred -dollars. "A hundred dollars?"</p> - -<p>"Don't have to." Like a man in a slow-motion movie he hauled a memo pad -across the desk, hoisted a pen from his uniform coat pocket. He wrote -painfully. "Give this to Mr. Cioni—you know where the cars are? Across -the street? All right. How far do you have to go?"</p> - -<p>She threw up her hands. "Who knows? Always before it was seventeen -miles. Now we have to go around and around—who knows?" There was an -edge to her voice.</p> - -<p>"Tell him I said to give you a half a tank of gas."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," said Mrs. Goudeket.</p> - -<p>Across the street, three trucks and four pleasure cars, one of them -with the tires flat. The motor pool. A civilian in charge, and in the -back a national guardsman with a gun.</p> - -<p>The man in charge of the motor pool studied the note with a flashlight -whose beam was fading to orange. He looked at her doubtfully. "You -going to drive it?"</p> - -<p>"Don't worry, mister," she snapped. "Do you want to see my license?"</p> - -<p>"Me? Nah." He pottered over to a '47 Dodge sedan and copied the plate -number on the chief's note. "Give me your address, lady?"</p> - -<p>She did. He copied it down with the license number. "Sign," he said, -and she did. Mr. Cioni copied the data onto another sheet, signed it -and carefully put the original chit in his pocket. He gave her his -copy. "This is your trip ticket," he said. "In case you get stopped by -a state trooper, this proves you didn't steal the car. We hope."</p> - -<p>Now garrulous, he added: "She's yours. I don't know if this is legal, -but it makes sense, doesn't it? At least we got records. After things -are straightened out I guess somebody'll get in touch with you to -return the car."</p> - -<p>She misread his fatigue and his nerves as suspicion. She said -haughtily, "Young fella, at Goudeket's Green Acres we have a fleet of -late-model cars and station wagons. And to be very frank with you, if -a guest should drive up in a forty-seven car in this condition, the -room clerk would discover that his reservation had not been received, -believe me." Almost she believed it, in the heat of the moment. Almost -Goudeket's Green Acres was the Concord or the Grossinger's they had -meant it for.</p> - -<p>The aspersion passed clean through the weary ears of Mr. Cioni.</p> - -<p>"I guess that's right," he said. "Good luck."</p> - -<p>"Please, you should give me a half a tank of gas. Mr. Brayer said so." -She looked pointedly at the stack of jerry cans that had been dumped by -one of the quartermaster trucks.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cioni wearily climbed into the car, snapped on the dash light and -turned the key. The gas needle stayed on zero. Mrs. Goudeket inhaled -triumphantly.</p> - -<p>He banged the dial with the heel of his hand and watched it creep -joltingly up to the halfway mark. He said to nobody, "I know these -babies." He said to Mrs. Goudeket, "You got your half a tank. Good -luck."</p> - -<p>She said, "Watch nobody else takes my car, will you? I'll get my -friends."</p> - -<p>Her feet were killing her. Across the street, back into the -schoolhouse, up the stairs.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>She hiked wearily into the deserted "quiet ward," where Polly Chesbro -was sprawled on one stained cot and Dick McCue, looking like the -returned stray cat he was, on another.</p> - -<p>She shook him gently. "Your face better, Dick?"</p> - -<p>He sneered experimentally. "I guess so." He yawned, and that did hurt; -but not too much. "I thought maybe it was a broken bone, but it just -hurts on the skin now. I'll live." He was feeling pretty cheerful. The -disappointing parts of his Rout of the Drunken Beast were dropping out -of his recollection. He said, "Did you get the car, Mrs. G.?"</p> - -<p>"Of course," she said, surprised. "Why not? Things have quieted down. -They have time for a reasonable request from an important local -business proprietor." He looked at her sharply, but there was no -expression on her face. For the first time it occurred to Dick McCue -that here was a woman, not so very smart, not so very young, capable of -being wrong, capable of having foolish hopes. She thought she was still -an important local business proprietor. A ramshackle summer hotel. They -folded by the hundreds, year after year; it didn't take a flood to put -them out of business. The flood was only the mercy bullet through the -blindfold, after the man was down.</p> - -<p>Polly was awake. She said, "Mrs. Goudeket, it's nice of you to offer to -take us in, but—"</p> - -<p>"But?" repeated Mrs. Goudeket. "What but?"</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro said, "I don't want to leave Mr. Starkman."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket snapped angrily, "He's your father, maybe? A whole -hospital they bring in on trucks to take care of him, and you can't -trust the doctors to fix him up? So stay, Mrs. Chesbro! Hang around the -old man some more, make a fool out of yourself. But I have to get to -work!"</p> - -<p>She glared furiously at the other woman, trembling with anger. Polly -Chesbro was wiser than she; Polly felt the anger, and knew it was -directed not at herself but at something inside the old lady. Polly -said perceptively, "Don't worry, Mrs. Goudeket. Everything always works -out."</p> - -<p>The old lady was crying. Dick McCue stared in wonder as Polly Chesbro -put her arms around the woman and protected her from the harsh -surrounding world.</p> - -<p>After a moment Mrs. Goudeket pushed herself away, sniffing. "You have -a Kleenex?" she inquired, embarrassed. "I don't know what got into me, -Polly. Please, you have to excuse—"</p> - -<p>"There's nothing to excuse," said Polly Chesbro. "We're all worn out."</p> - -<p>"No, not worn out. Tired, yes. Sick, maybe." Mrs. Goudeket wiped her -streaming nose and said dismally, "Ever since Sam died it's slave, -slave, slave. You know what Sam said? Every year. 'Next year we go to -the Holy Land, why not?' And always I found a reason. So we kept on -with the hotel, and it killed him." She patted Polly's arm absently. -"Worn out is from a summer with the guests complaining about the food -and changing their rooms. From something like this flood you only get -tired."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket pulled herself together after a while. Polly left her, -and then came back. "Mr. Starkman's wife is with him," she reported. -"I suppose I might as well go with you, Mrs. Goudeket—if the offer's -still open."</p> - -<p>"Open? Of course it's still open. And Mr. Starkman?"</p> - -<p>"Much better. They think he'll be all right now." Polly Chesbro's -expression was grave and joyous. They'd pulled the old man through; -and Bess Starkman had been more than grateful for Polly's help to her -husband. Polly said, "Let's get the others."</p> - -<p>"Others?" Mrs. Goudeket demanded suspiciously.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Groff and Arthur—and Miss Froman."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket looked mutinous. "Mr. Groff is perfectly welcome to come -if he is so inclined," she said. "Likewise Mr. Chesbro. But as for Miss -Froman, believe me, Polly, I know her better than you. She'll get along -wherever she is, trust her, but it isn't going to be at Goudeket's -Green Acres."</p> - -<p>Dick McCue explained, "Goudeket's Green Acres has <i>had</i> Miss Froman."</p> - -<p>Polly was stubborn and silent, but she went down the stairs with them -uncomplainingly.</p> - -<p>They found the three in the ground-floor cloakroom where coffee had -been dispensed through the day. Mickey Groff was the gray-looking one. -Sharon and Artie Chesbro seemed to have tapped some source of strength -and wakefulness not given to ordinary humans.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket announced flatly, "I've got a car, to go to my place, -Goudeket's Green Acres. I think it is a good idea if you all come with -me. Here is finished; they have the army now, and plenty of doctors, -National Guard, everything. Why should we be a burden? I have plenty of -room for—"</p> - -<p>She hesitated; the words didn't want to come out. She glowered at them: -Big, solid Groff; big, sly Chesbro; soiled, amused-by-it-all Sharon -Froman. <i>Yenta</i>, she thought scathingly. Dirty, low female—but still -she needs help. As I may need help some day. As from the Mountain we -were told to give help.</p> - -<p>She said with difficulty, "That means everybody, naturally."</p> - -<p>Sharon caroled, "Why, Mrs. Goudeket, you've forgiven your naughty -little girl!"</p> - -<p>So full of energy and joy! Mrs. Goudeket muttered angrily to herself, -but all she said out loud was, "Well, yes or no?"</p> - -<p>Artie Chesbro said cheerfully, "That's very nice of you, Mrs. Goudeket. -I think I'd better stay in Hebertown, though—some important things to -take care of. There's a radio truck around somewhere and I want to—"</p> - -<p>Sharon interrupted loudly, with a warning look, "Mr. Chesbro means -Congressman Akslund has left him some work to do. Anyway, Mrs. -Goudeket—"</p> - -<p>Oh, she was arch! And no sleep, marveled Mrs. Goudeket—"much as I'd -<i>love</i> to join your little party and share the finest of accommodations -for which your hotel is noted, there are big things to be done. So -thanks, but no thanks."</p> - -<p>"Fine," said Mrs. Goudeket. "Stay here with your big things. Now before -somebody steals my car, we better go." She folded the trip ticket from -the motor pool and put it down on the table next to Dick McCue. Mickey -Groff said, "Wait a minute, Mrs. Goudeket. What are these 'big things?'"</p> - -<p>Chesbro laughed. "Groff, does Macy's tell Gimbel's? I tell you what. -You want the Swanscomb place, right?" He shrugged generously. "It's -yours. I won't buck you."</p> - -<p>"If you won't buck me it's because you don't want it any more," Groff -said. "You're after bigger game. What would that be, Chesbro? A finger -in a billion-dollar pie? A chance to spread federal funds around the -way you want to? Maybe the break you've been waiting for?"</p> - -<p>Chesbro said fretfully, "Now Mickey, <i>please</i>. Why can't you be -reasonable? You're an outlander here, you've got nothing to do with the -community. You want to move in with your nickel factory? Go ahead. I -won't stand in your way. I'll even help you. But you can't do anything -with the federal grants, because you don't have the connections, -because you don't have the information about who needs what, because -you aren't local and wouldn't be allowed to come within smelling -distance of it in the first place. Why not live and let live?"</p> - -<p>He was open and honest, Groff saw—as open and honest as the likes of -Artie Chesbro ever knew how to be. You work your side of the street, -he was saying, and I'll work mine. Under the ethical stands of Artie -Chesbro he had made an honorable proposal. It would never have occurred -to him to entertain propositions like—</p> - -<p>Federal funds are money in trust—</p> - -<p>A time of catastrophe is not a time to feather one's nest—</p> - -<p>Or even—</p> - -<p>A businessman who opposes what you want to do is not necessarily a -jealous rival.</p> - -<p>There simply was no handle, Groff thought, by which you could get -hold of the man. He was completely out of touch. Off in a kind of a -dream. It was almost as if he was drunk; but that, of course, was -impossible—liquor would have put him out on his feet in seconds.</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro said suddenly, "What did you want the radio truck for?"</p> - -<p>Artie looked alarmed. "Now, honey, don't you get mixed up in—"</p> - -<p>She said, "Artie, I know how your mind works. Did you think if you -got on the radio and told them that you and the congressman were -handling relief here, that would keep him from backing out? Did you -think everybody in the country would be listening—at this time of the -morning!—and that would make it official?"</p> - -<p>"They're recording," Artie Chesbro said sullenly. "They're going to -rebroadcast in the morning. I already talked to one of the men from the -network."</p> - -<p>Dick McCue said, "Mr. Chesbro, it's nothing to me one way or another. -But there's a curfew, you know. You can't go running around out there -tonight."</p> - -<p>Artie Chesbro's expression was petulant. "Leave me alone, will you? I -know what I'm doing!"</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro folded her hands and looked at him. "Artie, don't you -ever learn?" Her expression was gentle, her voice was calm—even warm, -Groff thought, with a sudden shock that was almost jealousy. "Remember -the television station?"</p> - -<p>Artie whined, "Honey, I told you a thousand times—"</p> - -<p>"You were all set to make a million dollars out of television," she -said. "Remember? Only you wouldn't wait for the F.C.C. to grant the -license. 'We'll start building,' you said, 'and then they won't -have the guts to turn us down.' Only they did. You never got that -construction permit. What was it my father put up? Fifteen thousand -dollars? And you lost it all, remember?"</p> - -<p>"Honey! These people don't want to hear—"</p> - -<p>"Then there was the drive-in theater. You only got five thousand out -of my father for that. But that went down the drain, too, like all your -other million-dollar ideas. What was it that time? You figured you -could buck the motion-picture projectionists' union? And then—"</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, Polly. You're -embarrassing everybody."</p> - -<p>Polly laughed gently. "I'm sorry. But really, I hate to see my husband -go off like this again."</p> - -<p>Groff said to Chesbro, "Like I say, I don't want to butt in; but -remember what McCue said about the curfew, Chesbro. I happen to have -been around when the national guardsmen got their orders; I wouldn't go -out there if I were you."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket said heavily, "That's right, Mr. Chesbro. I was down by -the motor-pool place, and they've got guns and—"</p> - -<p>"Now you just listen to me!" It was Sharon Froman, her eyes flashing, -her face a Valkyrie face. "Arthur Chesbro knows what he's doing, and it -isn't up to any of us to try to stop him! You make me sick, all of you. -I spent the whole day with Arthur and Congressman Akslund and, believe -me, the congressman knows Arthur understands how to do things. And if -Arthur's all right with the congressman, I don't see why he shouldn't -be all right with a wet-behind-the-ears kid—" Dick McCue's jaw dropped -open—"or a fat old biddy—" Mrs. Goudeket began to sputter—"or a -mental case—" Polly Chesbro only nodded judiciously, but Mickey Groff -sat up straight and cut in.</p> - -<p>"Just a minute, Miss Froman!" he started; but he couldn't make himself -heard. They were all talking at once—</p> - -<p>To Sharon Froman. Nobody paying any attention to Artie Chesbro at all.</p> - -<p>By the time anyone got around to paying attention to Artie, he wasn't -there.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He closed the door quietly behind him and walked out the main door, -nodding pleasantly to the guardsman, across the street to the car pool. -It was all going so well, he thought dreamily, so very well. He even -managed a little wry chuckle of amusement about the silly spectacle his -wife had made of herself. That silly old business of the television -station! That ridiculous story about the drive-in theater! But he could -afford good-humoredly to overlook her raking up those long dead scores, -because everything was going very well indeed.</p> - -<p>Curfew? Not a problem, he thought with satisfaction, not as long as he -had been wise and clever enough to pick up Mrs. Goudeket's trip ticket. -The car was his now—he'd just have to say Mrs. Goudeket had sent him. -He wouldn't be on foot for any length of time, and no one would bother -him in the car, with a regulation trip ticket. The whole world was well -within his grasp, he realized with satisfaction and joy.</p> - -<p>And it was due at least in part to Sharon Froman. He nodded to -himself in the darkness, picking his way carefully down the slippery -street. She had written the official announcement of the plan for a -Tri-State Emergency Allocations Supervisory Board that he and the -congressman—with Sharon Froman—had cooked up.</p> - -<p>Artie Chesbro chuckled out loud. Why, it was even Sharon who had -been so resourceful about the matter of the benzedrine. He had been -pretty near passed out with fatigue early in the day, even before the -congressman had arrived; and she had produced, out of what she gaily -called her "kit of writing tools," the little bottle of ten-grain -tablets that had waked him up, sharpened his brain, made it possible -for him to work on through the endlessly exhausting day.</p> - -<p>A fine girl. A great acquisition. They would go far together, thought -Artie Chesbro, stumbling dreamily down the misty street, filled with -the sense of power, alive with the joy of achievement—coked to the -eyebrows.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER SIXTEEN</p> - - -<p>Mr. Cioni saw the man approach jauntily. Who, he wondered, can be full -of bounce at this hour—one of the new people from the field hospital? -But as the man came into the cone of light from the shaded Coleman -lantern he saw that the fellow wasn't army, that he wore in fact the -uniform of an old-timer who had been through the day and a half on the -spot. The uniform was a stained and shapeless suit, mud-caked shoes, -red eyes and a growth of beard.</p> - -<p>"I'm Mr. Chesbro," the man said to Mr. Cioni. "I've come to pick up the -car allotted to Mrs. Goudeket."</p> - -<p>"The hotel lady? She said she'd be back herself."</p> - -<p>Chesbro smiled and handed over the trip ticket. "She's exhausted. I'll -pick her up and drive."</p> - -<p>"I see. It's that Dodge. Be careful."</p> - -<p>Artie almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of advice from this nobody -to <i>him</i>, confidant of Akslund, Johnny on the most wonderful spot -imaginable.</p> - -<p>He drove off. River Street? Yes; the broadcasters were at River Street. -He turned left and heard faintly a shout from the little nobody of the -motor pool.</p> - -<p>A fragment of the Rubaiyat—now <i>there</i> was a poem, not like those -jumbled things Polly wrote!—drifted by. <i>Would we not shatter it -to bits, and then remold it closer to the heart's desire?</i> Which -was exactly what was going to happen. He had never really had a big -chance before, but by waiting and building and sending out his lines -of communication he had survived until the big chance came along. The -county was shattered to bits, and he would remold it. It wouldn't look -like much to an outsider—Akslund. To Akslund and his staff he would -seem a disinterested and patriotic businessman working his guts out -with no hope of personal gain to reconstruct the smitten area.</p> - -<p>He had better start thinking about his lists.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The five walked into the motor pool. Mrs. Goudeket stared blankly -at the empty space where the Dodge had been. She said to Mr. Cioni -hopefully, "You moved it? Into the street?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Cioni looked sick. "Guy had your trip ticket," he said. -"Mr.—Cheese?"</p> - -<p>"Chesbro," Dick McCue said. "Rat bastard Chesbro, to be exact."</p> - -<p>"Just resourceful," grinned Sharon Froman. "He'll be back. Let's -wait. He just wants to get the statement out to the country. Time's -important, you know. He's got to hit the morning papers and newscasts." -And I, she thought comfortably, pointed that out to him. The boy's -geared to a country-weekly tempo, but he's got talent all the same.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket said something long, eloquent and heartfelt in Yiddish. -Groff, the New Yorker, got the gist. It was a prayer that Artie Chesbro -die of cholera upside-down with his head stuck in the ground like a -radish and worms eating out his ears.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>His lists. There would be two of them, one of people to get the nod and -the other of people to get the nix.</p> - -<p>"A sound businessman and a hard worker, that boy. Built his place -up from nothing. Guts and brains, the kind of man we want to help -first—fast. I know his stock and his turnover, and I'd say fifty -thousand would set him on his feet again. Of course he's the kind -who'll consider it a debt of honor, won't rest until it's clear...."</p> - -<p>And the other. "Um. Yes. Know the man well. We've got to help him, of -course, but I wouldn't put him at the top of the list. The <i>vital</i> -services have got to be restored first, of course. I know people need -(shoes, gasoline, bread, hardware) but it's my feeling that a more -efficient man should be assisted first. We don't want any free riders -and we don't want to subsidize chaotic competition in the first month."</p> - -<p>No indeed. We want to organize the area. A nod to Flaherty, the fuel -man whose note I hold. A nix to Greenlease, the hardware man who -unpatriotically carries his current obligations and improvement loans -in Philadelphia. A nod to Erpco Feed, who buy their sacks from my very -good friend and associate Don Rider, who is under my thumb because of -his lease. A nix to Fowling, the appliance wholesaler who won't use my -trucks when he's in my territory. A man who doesn't encourage local -business is asking for trouble, and this is his chance to get it. An -emphatic nod to Rorty and his skinny new wholesaling business; in a -year he'll pass Fowling and I'll be in the driver's seat.</p> - -<p>Turn nobody down, he cautioned himself. Merely postpone, and postpone, -and postpone. And eventually there will be no more money left and the -nixed will find themselves in a poor competitive position and a little -later they'll find they're broke and out of business. And the people in -business will be my men.</p> - -<p>I will have approximately one hundred operations tied to me, covering -every phase of manufacturing, real estate, wholesaling, retailing, -distribution and finance in the area. I'll trade with myself, supply -myself, transport myself and finance myself and anybody who tries to -move in will never know what hit him. It will be positively pathetic if -anybody tries to compete with Artie Chesbro.</p> - -<p>The car crept slowly along the littered road toward River Street. His -thinking had never been so clear and lightning-fast—and his heart had -never thudded so alarmingly. The benzedrine, he supposed. Well, you use -things for what they're worth and take the incidental consequences like -a man.</p> - -<p>A big man. First the valley area, perhaps a year to consolidate -it. Then move down- and upriver, slowly at first. But he knew the -pace always accelerated. The bigger you get the faster you grow. -Rockefeller, Morgan, Zeckendorf, Odlum—they all had started somewhere. -This was his somewhere. Artie Chesbro considered quietly that he'd be -running the state by 1959. If there was a war, knock a year off the -timetable. Wars were good business for a good businessman.</p> - -<p>And, he thought quietly, with the clarity of benzedrine, they pruned -the human tree.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>An eighteen-year-old sprig of the human tree, Luther G. Bayswater, was -walking slowly down River Street with a feeling of intense unreality -enveloping him.</p> - -<p>It seemed frightfully queer that he should have a helmet on his head, -heavy boots with two-buckle flaps on his feet and around his waist -a full cartridge belt with a first-aid kit, a bayonet and a canteen -hitched to it. Queerest of all was the rifle slung on his right -shoulder, whose sling he held in the fork between thumb and fore-finger -like a hick eternally about to snap his gallus.</p> - -<p>Luther was a private in the National Guard because his mother had a -confused notion that this would keep him from overseas service, ever. -Somebody had told her so. She missed her little boy, she said, when he -was away on summer training and she didn't like the idea of him going -through the dark streets—so late, and in strange neighborhoods!—for -his armory sessions, but she comfortably reported that it was all -worthwhile for her to have her peace of mind about Luther not having to -go overseas.</p> - -<p>His mother was at that moment in bed with a high fever induced by the -phone call from the company clerk that had mobilized Luther.</p> - -<p>His mission—unreal!—as given him by the hardware merchant who was his -platoon leader was to cover two blocks of River Street like a cop on a -beat.</p> - -<p>"It isn't interior guard duty," the lieutenant explained. "None of -that halt-advance-officer-of-the-day-post-number-four stuff. Just make -like a cop and don't let any monkey-business happen. Fire a warning -shot if you have to. And, ah—" The lieutenant was embarrassed. "If -you have to, uh, shoot <i>at</i> anybody, aim for the legs. Any questions?" -There were questions, a world of questions, but Luther wasn't sure what -they were. And besides the hardware-lieutenant was in a hurry to get -back to Company, where the captain was waiting for an explanation of -why the platoon sergeant had been found to have his pockets stuffed -with half-pint liquor bottles.</p> - -<p>Private Bayswater saw lights and heard a motor running and, in his -state of acute disbelief in what was around him, stood stock-still for -most of a minute, staring at the vehicle. It was parked at the foot of -Wharf Avenue, a panel truck. By and by he made out that it was a radio -broadcasting truck, and remembered that the lieutenant had told him it -was in the area. Perfectly all right.</p> - -<p>He stayed near it; it was less lonesome there. Until by and by Private -Bayswater became conscious of a nagging yearning for a smoke.</p> - -<p>Luther didn't smoke much, because his mother had proved to him, with -graphs and charts and doctors' reports, that terrible things went on in -the lungs of men who smoked cigarettes. But he wanted a cigarette bad. -And anyway, there wasn't anyone around. Everybody in town knew that the -National Guard was patrolling, with orders to shoot if they had to. -Nobody would be stupid enough to try anything. Nobody had—and he'd -been on duty for nearly an hour.</p> - -<p>He leaned against a sagging warehouse-front experimentally, and it -didn't sag any more than before. He bounced on the steps, and though -they shook it didn't seem likely he would fall through. He stepped -inside, closed the door as nearly as it would go, and greedily tore the -paper on the pack getting a cigarette out.</p> - -<p>Cupping the cigarette, he looked out of an unglassed window and was -pleased to find that he could observe the streets as well from in here -as from outside. Fantastic! It was the first good chance he had had to -look over the damage done to Hebertown. He wondered briefly about what -kind of people were crazy enough to build their houses in a place like -this, where the water could come up and do what had been done to these, -but Luther Bayswater was not much given to worry about other people's -troubles—</p> - -<p>And besides, he heard a noise.</p> - -<p>It sounded like a door slamming. Car door? But he could see the -panel truck. Nobody was moving there. The two men were still inside, -busy about whatever they had to be busy about, or else just waiting -for daybreak and their first direct broadcast. A door in one of the -buildings?</p> - -<p>Maybe. Luther Bayswater wished he had been listening more attentively. -A door slamming in a building—that might be just the wind, of course. -But if it wasn't the wind, it was one of the hazy mythological figures -called looters that he was supposed to be on the lookout for.</p> - -<p>He swore a tepid oath, ground out his cigarette and opened the door. It -made a frightful racket; he hadn't noticed anything of the kind when he -came into the building.</p> - -<p>The noise scared him. He unslung the rifle and gripped it in the -approved port-arms position, crosswise over his chest, one hand -comfortingly near the trigger guard; and he stepped out into the -inimical street.</p> - -<p>Somebody was moving, not near the radio truck but in the other -direction; someone who seemed to be trying to stay out of sight, moving -in and out of the shelter of the buildings.</p> - -<p>Luther Bayswater pulled the bolt of the rifle back. It made a tiny, -unmenacing sound—he'd hoped it would crash through the streets like -a thunderbolt and send the terrified criminal fleeing. He raised it -to his shoulder and called waveringly: "Halt! Who's there?" Perfectly -safe; there was no chance the gun would go off and make him appear an -idiot, not as long as he didn't close the bolt.</p> - -<p>The figure stumbled and ducked out of sight. Baffled, Luther lowered -the rifle, which was wearingly heavy. Almost absent-mindedly he shoved -the bolt home—still perfectly safe, still nothing that would make him -look ridiculous, for he knew enough to keep his finger off the trigger. -He cleared his throat and called again: "Come out of there! I see you!"</p> - -<p>Fantastic cowboys-and-Indians scene! Luther couldn't help feeling -embarrassed at how badly he was doing his part of it. Suppose the man -did come out? Suppose he came running at him, with a knife or a pistol, -and Luther was standing there flatfooted and gapmouthed, trailing the -gun? He brought the butt up to his shoulder, snapped up the range -leaf, curled his finger lightly through the trigger guard—perfectly, -perfectly safe; these Springfields took a good heavy tug to go off—and -as meticulously as on any qualifying range laid the bead of the front -sight between the V-edges of the rear, just at knee level, just where -the man had been. He waited.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Good-humoredly, Artie Chesbro shrugged and parked the car. He got out -and started to walk down the rubbly street; there was no sense trying -to drive down here, where the river had swept beams and bottles and -cinder-blocks helter-skelter across the pavement; he had decided that -the third time he had spotted something in his way and wildly swerved -the wheel, and hit something else instead. He thought detachedly that -perhaps his reflexes were a touch overstimulated by the benzedrine. -Amusing. But it didn't in the least matter, not when he could see -everything in the clear luminous light the benzedrine gave.</p> - -<p>He tripped over something, stepped down on something else that rolled, -and stumbled almost into one of the buildings. Careful, he warned -himself, suppressing a chuckle. Why, it was almost like getting a load -on! But without any of the disadvantages, because he certainly wasn't -slowed down or incapacitated in the least; he could feel it.</p> - -<p>Somebody yelled at him. Artie Chesbro paused thoughtfully to -listen—what had the man said?—and became conscious of the deeper, -louder thudding of his heart. Possibly that fourth tablet had been one -too many, he admitted; better get this over with and rest for a while. -A touch concerned—after all, he didn't want to be too exhausted for -the big day tomorrow—he stepped forward to see what the man wanted.</p> - -<p>He ran right into something he hadn't seen. It shoved him back on the -ground, brutally strong, remorselessly hard. Damn it, he thought, -gasping—It didn't hurt, though, not for a moment. And then it did -hurt, very much. And then neither it nor anything else ever hurt -again....</p> - -<p>The private was sobbing: "I <i>did</i> aim for the knees, Lieutenant! He -wouldn't stop! I <i>told</i> him! I thought he was a looter, like you said, -and I <i>did</i> aim for the knees...."</p> - -<p>The company commander leaned in front of the lights of the weapons -carrier and crooked a finger at the lieutenant. He was holding the -private's M-17, pointing to the sights. The leaf was set for a hundred -yards; the shot had been not more than twenty-five.</p> - -<p>A bullet leaving a rifle goes up before it goes down; the line of sight -is straight, the line of trajectory curves in a parabola; an aim that -would be dead-on at a hundred yards will strike high at twenty-five. -Not very high. About as high as the difference between a man's knees -and the middle of his chest.</p> - -<p>The company commander looked significantly at the lieutenant, and -snapped the sighting leaf closed. "You did your duty," he told the -private. "All right. Let's clean up here," he told the others gathered -round.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER SEVENTEEN</p> - - -<p>"The skunk's never coming back," Dick McCue said bitterly. His face was -hurting again. He wanted to lie down again in his comfortable room at -Goudeket's Green Acres, horror and fatigue far behind.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket didn't even hear. She had taken her place on the one good -chair, near the door, and she was waiting for the moment when Artie -Chesbro, the thief of cars, should walk back inside. That, thought -Mickey Groff, would be a moment to watch. Chesbro had been asking for -it for a long time. It would be a pleasure to see the old lady taking -him apart.</p> - -<p>He thought wrong.</p> - -<p>The old lady sighed and said, "How long now? A day and a half I been -away from Goudeket's Green Acres, and all the time I been worried sick. -You know something? Now I'm not worried."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff said, "That's right, Mrs. Goudeket. There's nothing to -worry about. Everything's all right there, you'll see."</p> - -<p>She looked at him surprised. "All right? Nah." She shook her head. "All -wrong, you mean. Believe me, Mickey, I know what can happen to a place -like Goudeket's Green Acres when it should only rain three days in a -row, much less something like this. Goudeket's Green Acres is finished. -What's the sense trying to kid myself? I should know better."</p> - -<p>Groff looked at her uncomfortably. But she didn't seem panicky, didn't -seem on the verge of despair. She was calm enough for six. He said, -"What are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>She leaned forward and patted him. "I'm going to sell, Mickey," she -announced. "You think I'm doing the right thing? No, don't tell me—I'm -going to do it anyhow. My husband, Mr. Goudeket, he was always after me -to sell and go to Palestine. 'Sell, Mrs. Goudeket,' he'd say—always -I kept the hotel in my name, you see—'sell and let's live a little.' -And every time I'd say next year, next year. Now—it's next year. I'm -sixty-three years old, Mickey. It's time I took it easy for a while." -She brooded silently. "Why should I lie?" she asked. "Sixty-six."</p> - -<p>Mickey Groff said reassuringly, "I think it's the right thing to do. -You'll like it in Israel. Nice climate, plenty of things going on, a -whole new country rising out of the desert—"</p> - -<p>She looked at him incredulously. "Mickey, a nice climate? Nice with the -Egyptians raining down out the sky like clouds in their jet airplanes? -Please, I'm not a child; if I go there I give up nice things in order -to be with my people. But it's what Mr. Goudeket wanted, and I stole -it from him, so now I'll go. I can sell Goudeket's Green Acres like -<i>that</i>." She snapped her fingers proudly. "Only—why didn't I do it -while Mr. Goudeket was still alive?"</p> - -<p>A light truck banged past the schoolhouse down toward the river, -and almost immediately another followed. Dick McCue said curiously, -"Something going on? I <i>thought</i> I heard shooting."</p> - -<p>"There's plenty going on, Dicky," Sharon Froman informed him kindly. -"Things are very busy around here tonight. But you wouldn't understand."</p> - -<p>No one paid any attention to her. After a moment she laughed and lit a -cigarette. Clods, she thought with gentle contempt. Naturally they were -jealous of her and of Artie Chesbro. There were two kinds of people. -One kind was the doers—herself, that is; and along with her such other -persons as she temporarily dragged along to heights of accomplishment -and success. The other kind was everybody else. Not even her worst -enemy, she mused, trickling smoke out of her nostrils—not even Hesch, -or Paul, or Bert, or any of the others she had temporarily blessed -with her help and presence before withdrawing—not any of them could -deny that she had moved fast and successfully this day.</p> - -<p>Polly Chesbro got up and crossed over to Mickey Groff. "May I have one -of <i>your</i> cigarettes?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Sure." Groff lit it for her.</p> - -<p>She said, "What are you going to do now, Mickey? After things clear up -a little, I mean."</p> - -<p>He hesitated. The question had not occurred to him for some time. "Go -ahead as planned, I guess. Chief Brayer said the Swanscomb place wasn't -damaged, and your husband seems to have given up the idea of making a -warehouse out of it."</p> - -<p>She laughed, not maliciously. "I wonder if he remembers that he signed -a lease on it," she said.</p> - -<p>"Lease?"</p> - -<p>She nodded. "There were a couple of men from Ohio in to see him last -week. He drew up a lease on the spot, and they paid him a binder."</p> - -<p>Groff said, "Hell. Well, that was pretty stupid of him, but if it's a -matter of getting—him—in trouble I suppose I could find some other—"</p> - -<p>"Get Artie in trouble? Small chance, Mickey. He lands on his feet. -And if he doesn't, he always has the family money to bail him out—my -family, that is. What you really mean is you'd back out in order to do -me a favor, isn't it? Don't answer. It wouldn't be a favor, Mickey. I -decided a long time ago that I couldn't mother Artie. I had to let him -get in his own scrapes and get out by himself, if he could get out. It -hasn't made a man of him yet, but there's always the chance it may."</p> - -<p>She tipped the ash of her cigarette neatly into a thick china saucer. -"Stay around, Mickey," she said. "All of us need people like you around -here. For much more than business."</p> - -<p>A quality in her voice touched him, deeper perhaps than she had -intended, deeper than he could remember being touched before. -Responsibility. That was the word. Someone had to help. And it was -something very different from ego that made him think too: Someone has -to lead.</p> - -<p>Dick McCue heaved himself to his feet. His whole head was hurting now, -and he was feeling savage. "I'm going to hit up the chief for another -trip ticket, Mrs. Goudeket," he announced. "Half an hour's long enough -to wait for the b—for Mr. Chesbro."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" said Mrs. Goudeket. She went with him. Groff could hear the -discussion clear from the cloakroom; but they won their point. They -came back with another scribbled slip of paper, and the whole party -headed for the motor pool—even Sharon, though no one had asked her.</p> - -<p>There was somebody down by the motor pool.</p> - -<p>As they drew close another little truck came up, making a convoy of -three of them, and the driver of one of them hopped out, heading -for the motor pool's Coleman lamp. The driver was a captain, and -upset about something; he said to Mr. Cioni, "I understand there's a -temporary morgue somewhere around here."</p> - -<p>"Basement of the Methodist Church," Cioni said, absently walking over -to the open jeep. "That's at—"</p> - -<p>He had leaned over to peer at what was huddled in the back of the jeep. -He crossed himself and stared at Mrs. Goudeket. "Here's the guy that -got your car, lady!" he called.</p> - -<p>"Artie!" gasped Polly Chesbro. She sped to the jeep and unbelievingly -lifted the head on its stiffening neck, staring into the blank face.</p> - -<p>The captain, his nerves twanging through his voice, snapped, "Please -don't give us any trouble, lady. This is no business of yours."</p> - -<p>Groff said, "He's her husband."</p> - -<p>The officer lamely said, "I'm sorry. Very sorry." And then, -defensively, "A warning shot was fired. He didn't stop. This area -is under full martial law and the sound truck announced it to -everybody—" He saw that she wasn't listening, was staring in -disbelief. He got out of the jeep and lit a cigarette and waited.</p> - -<p>Groff beckoned him to one side. "What happened?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Shot for looting," the captain said brusquely. "He was in a roped-off -prohibited area. He didn't halt. The kid was absolutely right."</p> - -<p>"Kid?" asked Groff. The captain had told him more than he had intended -to, and realized it now. "Somebody panicked?"</p> - -<p>"Who are you, mister?" the captain asked.</p> - -<p>"Not a reporter. I've got a factory in Brooklyn. I knew the man."</p> - -<p>"Close friend?"</p> - -<p>"Hated his guts."</p> - -<p>The captain was shocked and reacted with the truth. "As a matter of -fact," he said in a low voice, "maybe it shouldn't have happened. But -we're legally in the clear. Was he important?"</p> - -<p>"Very. But I don't think you'll find anybody who'll press an -investigation."</p> - -<p>The captain took a deep, relieved drag on his cigarette and flipped it -away. "What about his wife?" he asked. "Is she going to keep this stuff -up?"</p> - -<p>"I'll do what I can," Groff said. He went over to the jeep and the -staring woman.</p> - -<p>"Polly," he said.</p> - -<p>She turned and told him in a dry, controlled voice: "I'm all right. -It's just so strange to think that it's—over. Him and his bragging, -him and his plans, him and his tramps. It's over. I suppose you miss -a tumor when they cut it out of you. That's the way I miss him." She -sagged against Groff in a half-faint. He led her to a chair where she -sat like a stick. The captain, in a businesslike way, asked Cioni, -"Just where's this church?"</p> - -<p>Cioni told him and the jeep rolled away.</p> - -<p>"No, no, no," Sharon Froman was saying faintly.</p> - -<p>Then she smiled and said to Groff: "Girl backed the wrong horse, didn't -she? Mickey, how'd you like to meet Congressman Akslund first thing in -the morning? Artie's gone, one with the martyrs, but Akslund's still -going to need expert advice on the reconstruction. I've got an in -there."</p> - -<p>"Keep it," said Groff, and put his arm around Polly.</p> - -<p>She turned to Dick McCue. Her smile was becoming ghastly. She said, -"Got a kind word for an old friend, Dick? We've had some fun together. -Shall bygones be bygones?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Dick McCue. "If you keep bothering me I'll take out your -upper plate and step on it."</p> - -<p>Her hand flew to her mouth. There was a bark of laughter from Mrs. -Goudeket. "You thought nobody knew? You thought you could see through -everybody, Miss Sharon Froman, but nobody could see through you? We -all know you have an upper plate. We all know you'll never finish your -book or hold a man. We all see through you because we all see through -each other, but we know also that we're seen through. That makes us -sometimes kind to each other—we have to be. But you, you have to think -you're perfect and that if anybody sees anything less than perfect in -you it's because they're fools."</p> - -<p>The '47 Dodge rolled slowly into the motor pool. A scared young voice -asked: "Is this the place I'm supposed to leave the car?"</p> - -<p>"I guess so," Mr. Cioni said.</p> - -<p>The young soldier climbed out wearily. "Boy," he said, and wiped his -brow. "I'm supposed to wait here until they come by on patrol and pick -me up."</p> - -<p>Groff moved out of earshot of the women. "Hear about the shooting?" he -asked quietly.</p> - -<p>The soldier shuddered. "Heck, I'm the guy that did it. Had no choice. A -cop shoots if somebody runs and doesn't stop, doesn't he? Well, I was -supposed to be a cop." And he added defensively and illogically, "How -could I check the sighting leaf in the dark?"</p> - -<p>That told the story. Of course he could have checked the sighting -leaf in the dark by the clicks if he had known enough about it. Artie -Chesbro, struck down in full career by a quarter-trained child who had -not meant to kill. Something—God? Chance? Compensation?—had laid a -finger briefly on the balances and dressed them. The world was saved -from Artie Chesbro—until the next one came along.</p> - -<p>"Get in the car," Mrs. Goudeket grunted, sliding behind the wheel.</p> - -<p>"Come on, Polly," Groff said. She leaned against him on the short walk; -a certain excitement—compounded of a feeling for her and of a sense -of challenging opportunity—began to tingle through him. She sensed it -and smiled; it would be nice, she thought. In the back of the car she -dropped her head on his shoulder and was asleep.</p> - -<p>Dick McCue got in beside Mrs. Goudeket and slammed the door.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. G.?" asked Sharon Froman. "You can't <i>mean</i> this?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket snorted, put the car in gear and ground off down the road -to Goudeket's Green Acres.</p> - -<p>"Bitch," said Sharon softly. She walked over to the motor pool man. -"You're Mr. Cioni, aren't you? Somebody said you were a plumbing -engineer."</p> - -<p>"Just a plumber," said Mr. Cioni modestly, but flattered.</p> - -<p>"There's going to be a lot of work for you before long."</p> - -<p>"Oughtta do pretty well out of it. The shop's hardly touched. My wife, -thank God, hardly knew it was happening. She's an invalid."</p> - -<p>"How terrible! But shouldn't somebody be taking care of her? I'm a sort -of practical nurse, you know—"</p> - -<p>"Well, say, that would be—"</p> - -<p>Sharon Froman was very tired. Even while she moved through the pickup -ritual for perhaps the twentieth time a crazy, spinning maggot grew -in her head that she really ought to throw herself on the ground and -scream; it was the only sensible thing to do. With a great deal of -effort she resisted and forced out the foolish idea, knowing it would -come back.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Goudeket twisted the wheel of the car hard, to avoid a fallen -telephone pole. "Such a thing, such a thing," she muttered as she -avoided the muddy shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Only a telephone pole, Mrs. G.," said Dick McCue.</p> - -<p>"No, I meant that no-good, that Sharon, that there should be a girl -like that." She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"And always will be," said Groff, with Polly's head pleasantly pressing -his shoulder, her nearness making him feel confident and quiet. "But -that's not what's important. The Sharons and the—the—"—he didn't -utter Chesbro's name because Polly might not be asleep—"the others, -they're the ones the pessimists and cynics are always thinking about, -pointing at, making a thing of. But I'm going to remember something -else out of all this. Starkman. That doctor almost ready to drop on -his feet. The kids who did the diving. All the dozens and dozens who -were <i>there</i> when they were needed. Fast. With both hands and with -everything they had."</p> - -<p>"It's a fact," said Dick McCue. "It's as if when things are okay, -everyone just sort of buys and sells and takes care of his own and -locks the front door. But when there's a real jam they, I don't know, -they get bigger. Most of them, anyway."</p> - -<p>"Yep," said Groff quietly. "That's why, in spite of the unholy mess, -this town isn't licked. That's why, even though I could forget -Hebertown and locate somewhere else, I don't think I'm going to. Maybe -I ought to have my head examined, but I'm sort of—proud of this place."</p> - -<p>"You going to be welcome," said Mrs. Goudeket, smiling at the clearing -road ahead. "You going to be very welcome."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="ph2"><i>A Savage Flood Changed Their World</i></p> - -<p>It was a pleasant little town in the Northeast. It had never been -hurricane country. When they heard that Diane was coming, they couldn't -really believe it would harm them. And the hurricane itself didn't -touch them.</p> - -<p>But the rains caused by the hurricane ravaged their little town as -viciously as the worst artillery attack could have done.</p> - -<p>This is a powerful and tremendously graphic novel of people trapped in -that town: and how they learned what a flood really means.</p> - -<p>And how they found out what they themselves were like.</p> - - -<p class="ph2">THIS IS AN ORIGINAL NOVEL—NOT A REPRINT. 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