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diff --git a/78911-0.txt b/78911-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..83780f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/78911-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,542 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78911 *** + + + + + Survivor + + by Irving E. Cox, Jr. + + + + + _The gray men had come from an unknown place to overrun the earth. + They killed without passion, in much the same manner as the + earthlings would exterminate ants to reclaim a hill for planting._ + + _And amid the slaughter a small boy looked to his father for + guidance. But the man knew that in the face of motorized legions + there was only one legacy a parent could leave--so he gave his son a + gun...._ + + +[Illustration: Illustrator: John Giunta] + + + + +He stood still listening. In the distance he heard the unmistakable +shrill whine of high-speed motors. He looked wildly for a way of +escape, and saw none. The highway at that point wound under the bare +overhang of brown cliffs, sheer and naked in the pale sunlight. + +He might have climbed the sharp face of rock if he had not been so +exhausted. But his body was tortured with fatigue and pain. His clothes +were in tatters. His feet and arms were latticed with a livid network +of wounds. The long cut in his cheek had stopped bleeding, but the +caking scab pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. + +The roaring motors swept closer, so near that the earth shook. Choked +with panic, he began to run. He sprawled over a jagged rock, and the +gravel sandpapered the skin from his kneecaps. + +The sudden pain cleared his head. He realized that it was a mere animal +instinct to try to outrun the caravan; but he had a slim chance for +safety if he hid in the tangled shrubs that choked the swamp on the +other side of the road. + +He darted across the ribbon of cement and plunged into the thicket. +Hard twigs and thorns tore at his skin. His feet splashed into the +fetid, black slime, and muddy water oozed reluctantly over his legs. + +His head was in a nest of tall grass. To his right the swamp curved +along the road for a quarter of a mile. Above it two huge, black birds +swept the sky in a solemn circle. Much closer, a dozen small marshbirds +danced and chattered on the edge of a decaying log. + +The roar of motors was deafening as the caravan rounded the bend. Only +a thin whisper of rationality kept him from running. As he had once +before, he clenched his fists until the tattered nails broke the skin; +and over and over he whispered a kind of litany of sanity: + +“I am Vernon Randall Hume. V. R. Hume, corporation lawyer. V. R. Hume; +age, thirty-five; happily married; the father of three children. I am +Vernon Randall Hume. I have not lost my mind. Yesterday I had lunch +at the Athletic Club. Only yesterday!” The word was a symbol, rather +than an accurate measure of time. It stood for another life, another +reality. Hume was not sure whether it had been two days or a year ago. +Yesterday was simply then; this was now--this clanking column of gray +death moving over a dead landscape. + +He could not look at the clattering vehicles; and it was impossible to +turn his eyes away. They were not thirty feet from him, the roaring +black machines and the glittering guns that saluted the empty sky. In +every vehicle were crowded rows of gray-faced men in gray uniforms. +They sat erect and motionless, obedient automatons. + +Suddenly Hume heard a splashing in the swamp behind him. He turned his +head and saw a white-robed figure fighting free of the slime--a woman +who had been hiding in the thick brush. Apparently her reason had been +shattered by terror, and she could not control her lashing instinct to +run. + +A driver signaled. The caravan stopped. The gray men stood up. +Languidly their guns were lowered, shimmering like silver lances in the +sunlight. Screaming, the woman floundered in the mud, her long hair +pulled free in the wind. + +The guns jumped and the blue smoke hung for a moment over the caravan. +The woman clawed at the air in agony before slumping back into the +slime. The gray men turned in unison, shouldered their arms, and sat +down. The motors roared and the caravan moved on. + +Slowly the noise died and the air was quiet again. + +Hume stood up. His wet clothing clung to his skin, and in the sharp air +each tiny laceration felt like a fresh wound. His feet were numb chunks +of flesh, slithering in the mud as he walked. + +He stopped beside the woman. She lay face up in the black mud, her +frayed dress billowed by the shallow water, her hands clutching at the +gaping wound torn in her breast. + +Without knowing quite why he did, Hume knelt and kissed her lips. They +were still warm. Then he understood. She was like Beth, another symbol +of yesterday. Even this much of a parting had been denied him in that +first blazing destruction. + +His soul screaming with the pain of remembering, he turned and fled, +plunging awkwardly through the swamp. When he reached dry ground on the +other side, he collapsed, retching emptily. The nausea swept up around +him. He lost consciousness. + + * * * * * + +_The boy and his father came to the cliff overlooking the road. +Cautiously they inspected the empty landscape. The father pointed +toward the ragged chain of mountains, hazy blue on the horizon. “The +river is on the other side of the ridge,” he said. “We can hide in the +swamp until it’s dark again.” They slid down the bank and ran across +the highway._ + + * * * * * + +It was dusk when Hume regained consciousness. The rim of the distant +mountains was pink against a purple sky and the floor of the valley +was dark, streaked here and there with mist. How much farther was it? +Ten miles? He had no way of knowing. Yesterday, in his own car, he +could have reached the pass in less than an hour; it was a magnificent +highway. He had never understood distances except in terms of time. + +He knew it was dangerous to follow the road, and yet he was still +afraid to strike out across the desert. He hadn’t the slightest +conception of the distance a man might walk in twenty-four hours, and +he knew he had to forage for both food and water. There might be small +animals of a sort on the desert. A clever man might trap one and kill +it, but Hume’s cleverness was limited to the manipulation of words in +legal controversy. + +He was sustained by no hope except the sight of the chain of hills, and +his consuming determination to reach them alive. Once Hume had defended +a client by utilizing the logic of self-defense. “Take away all that a +man possesses,” he had said; “throw out all the comforts and gadgets +of civilization, and face an individual with the one issue of personal +survival--a choice between life and death--and he cannot choose the +latter. His choice is neither heroic nor romantic; it is simply +instinctive.” + +Now, for the first time in his life, Hume understood what he had been +talking about. + +The motorized caravans could not have penetrated the mountains yet; +and Hume’s own people were on the other side, beyond the river. It was +the only solid reality he had to cling to; it had the inevitability of +tomorrow’s sunrise. + +After nightfall, Hume moved closer to the highway and plodded ahead +more rapidly, less afraid in the dark. Pangs of hunger gnawed at his +stomach, but it was a subordinate sensation, hard-ridden by the more +intensive will to survive. He even took a certain wry comfort in his +feeling of lightheadedness, for it diminished the constant pain crying +against his nerves. + +A pale half-moon rose. Close to the road Hume saw a frame farmhouse. +There was a chance he could find food there, and possibly fresh water +and clothing. Even though he knew the house would be deserted, he +approached it cautiously. For almost a quarter of an hour he huddled +in the shelter of a lilac bush at the corner of the yard before he +mustered up enough courage to go inside. + +He walked across the manicured path, his battered shoes crunching +softly on the white gravel. The house had not been untenanted long +enough for the neglect to be obvious. The grass was still clipped +short, and the sharply defined borders around the row of tree roses +might have been made only an hour ago. But there were little signs of +desertion: occasional blades of fast-growing weeds, a bush or two bowed +with dead blooms that should have been pruned away, and a semicircular +crescent torn in the earth by heavy metal treads. + +Close to the porch the twisted body of a woman lay on the ground, +cradled in a bed of white-faced pansies. The body was seared black, +almost unrecognizable as anything once human. Beyond her, frozen fast +to a pillar of the porch, was the charred corpse of a man. + +The paint on the front of the house was blistered, still smelling +faintly of fire. The gray men had used their flame guns here, Hume +realized, caressing the face of the house with a terrifying white heat, +like the kiss of a naked sun. + +Hume went up the steps and entered the house. In the front room were +trunks and boxes, partly filled, which the man and woman had obviously +been packing when the caravan of gray men came. Hume pawed through +the stacks of things, but found no clothing that he could use. The +farmer had tried to escape with possessions which had yesterday’s +values--silverware, good china, books, silks, and fancy linens. + +The practical clothing that Hume needed would still be somewhere +upstairs; but before he explored for it, Hume went to the kitchen +seeking food. + +He found canned goods stacked in a cabinet. With trembling fingers +he ground two cans open under the wall opener. He gulped a pint of +condensed soup and a can of peaches; and he became promptly sick. When +his weakness had subsided, he tried again, eating more slowly. There +was no water running through the faucet. He had hardly expected it +to be, and he would have been afraid to drink any if it had. But he +managed to slake his thirst by draining the juice from another can of +fruit. + +Something faintly reminiscent of well-being filled his body. He leaned +back in a kitchen chair and propped his tired feet on the white-topped +table, scraping away the black mud with the point of a knife. + +He heard the hum of an approaching motor and was seized again with +terror. He pulled himself up to the narrow kitchen window and peered +out. + +A treaded vehicle clanked to a stop and three searchlights pinpointed +the house in the darkness. Hume crouched back against the cold wall, +his breath icing his throat. Squads of gray men lined up on either side +of the lights, and a leader bellowed a volley of orders at the face +of the building. They waited. The command was repeated. After another +pause, the gray men began to fire their weapons into the house. + +Hume slid inside the narrow cubicle beneath the sink, where the +porcelain gave him some protection from the falling glass and the +crumbling plaster. The darkness glowed with the scarlet plumes of +deadly explosives; but, in two minutes, it was over. The searchlights +went off; the truck crunched on into silence. + +The house was a riddled shambles, tottering with unexpected senility. +Yet it had not caught fire. Hume picked his way carefully through the +debris and up the swaying stairway to the second floor. + +A section of the wall at the head of the stairway gaped open and Hume +looked out into the valley. The mountains were clearly detailed in +the cold moonlight. He traced the curve of the highway as it wound +over the desert toward the pass, and he saw the sprawling oval of the +single valley town, which yesterday had cast the pleasant reflection of +lighted streets against the night sky. Now the rows of homes and stores +were a dead, bleak cancer rising on the desert. On the outskirts of +the village was a blaze of intermingled searchlights marking the place +where the gray men had set up an outpost camp. + +The town was at the point of a triangle. The entrance to the mountain +pass, Hume saw, was directly across the desert. If he went that way, +using the peaks as a guide, he would reach safety much sooner, and he +would avoid the danger of passing close to the camp of the gray men. +His fear of crossing the desert on foot suddenly vanished before the +security it offered. + +The two bedrooms at the front of the farmhouse were shot away, but at +the rear of the hall Hume found a storage closet. He pried the door +open. Inside were long racks of clothing. Ecstatically Hume fingered +the solid comfort of a woolen coat. + +But his pleasure was fleeting. He heard footsteps on the gravel +outside. Looking down through the torn wall, he saw a tall figure +moving boldly toward the house. The gray men had come back! He was +trapped! + +Hume shrank back into the closet, stealthily shutting the door. He +threw a pile of clothing into a dark corner and slithered beneath it. +The warmth gradually veneered his terror. He heard no more footsteps. +For the moment, he was safe. Slowly he gave way to the drowsiness he +could no longer control. + + * * * * * + +_The boy and his father found a dry island of land in the swamp. +Curling into the thicket, they slept four hours and awoke after dark. +They moved ahead quietly. When they saw the battered farmhouse, the +father left the child in a nearby ditch, where a film of ice was +beginning to form on the stagnant water, and went to see if he could +find any food in the house. He came back with an armload of canned +goods; they ate well before they went on._ + + * * * * * + +Hume awoke violently, the wraith of the nightmare still clinging to his +brain. It was the old dream of the beginning, of the catastrophe that +had rung the knell of yesterday. And of Beth: of shrieking desolation +and of a city turned in an instant into flaming dust. + +Yet the sleep had done him good. The worst of his fatigue was gone; +his head was clear again. Judiciously he picked over the clothing in +the closet, dressing himself as warmly as he could. He found a pair of +discarded riding boots, cracked and in need of soling, but nonetheless +better than the shoes he had on. + +He descended the stairway and went back to the kitchen, intending to +fill the pockets of the coat with canned goods. Oddly, the cupboard was +empty. He was sure he had left several cans unopened, and without food +he was afraid to try the desert crossing. Then he found the carving +knife in a kitchen drawer. He rationalized comfort and security from +it. There would be animals of some sort on the desert. If necessary, he +could kill one to ease his hunger, though the clinging crust of culture +made even the idea faintly nauseating. + +It was dawn when he set out. He plodded on for hours, without stopping +and without taking his eyes from the mountains. The sun rose high, but +Hume felt neither the heat nor his own weariness, for he walked in +freedom, unafraid. There were no gray men here; there would be none. +This desert was an unwanted waste, claimed only by the sun and wind, +inhabited only by the small, frightened animals that fled as Hume +approached. + +The ground was a rolling carpet of colored stones, worn smooth by the +patient erosion of time. Here and there were scattered clumps of hardy +brush and an occasional brilliantly flowered plant clinging close to +the earth. Frequent hills of stone three or four feet high cast narrow +shadows on the desert. From the semi-darkness terrified animal eyes +peered out at Hume, like glowing, yellow gems. + +Hume’s stride gradually lengthened with his returning self-confidence. +He squared his shoulders. Since yesterday he had not spoken, fearing +that even the sound of his voice would betray him. Now he talked aloud +to the emptiness, for the pure joy of hearing his own voice. He shouted +into the wind; he roared defiance at the invaders. + +As he walked along, he picked up stones and hurled them at the hiding +animals. His blood pounded with a strange excitement when they ran from +him; and leaped with joy when he hit a toad and killed it. + +Year ago, in college, Hume had been a baseball star. He needed only a +little practice to restore the accuracy of his pitching technique. By +midday he was able to hit any animal he saw on the desert. + +It became a game with him to slaughter them, a pleasure that restored +his sense of superiority, of dominion over all things of the earth. +He was its master, not the hordes of gray men. He felt the familiar +security of yesterday, the comfortable luxury of planetary ownership. + +He killed rabbits by the score, neither for sustenance nor for safety, +but to feed the flame of his possessiveness, so long stifled by his +fear of the gray men. When he had perfected the technique of throwing +the stones, he multiplied the pleasure by transforming it into an +art. First he would frighten the animal, make it run; then, when it +had nearly escaped his range, he would hurl the rock, watching with a +savage delight while the victim leaped into the air, screaming in agony +as it died. + +Only once did the pattern change. He cornered a rabbit and, unable to +flee, the terrified animal attacked him, slapping him viciously with +its feet before he cut its throat with his kitchen knife. As the warm +blood washed over his hand, he thought he might make a meal of the +rabbit, but his hunger was not sufficiently acute for him to eat the +uncooked flesh. He regretted that he had not brought any matches with +him. But it was a minor annoyance. The mountains were very close; in +another ten or twelve hours he would be on the other side, among his +own people. He threw the carcass aside and went on. + +In the afternoon he abandoned the coat he had taken from the farm and, +shortly after, two of the sweaters. He knew he would want them again +after dark, but the heat of the afternoon sun was unbearable and he +was sure he could make better time if he were not impeded by the heavy +clothing. + +At sunset he reached the foothills. Red in the setting sun, the +mountains towered above him, a snow-capped wall. His nerves tingled +with triumph. He had nearly reached his goal. The pass was a half mile +farther south. He could see the highway curving gracefully toward it. + +He would have to move more cautiously again, now that he was once more +close to the road. But it would be for the last time. The gray men had +not passed the mountains; he was confident of that; and he would be +safe on the other side. It even seemed unlikely, when he considered the +matter, that the gray men would be at the pass with any kind of force. +They would still be consolidating the enormous territory they had taken +close to the city. Probably they would have an outpost here, but he +would be able to bypass that easily enough. + +Hume came to the top of a hill higher than the rest and looked down +upon the highway. In that instant his mounting confidence collapsed. +For he saw a long, black, motorized column approaching from the valley, +and at the foot of the pass a city-size camp of the gray men. + +Terrified again, he crept down the face of the hill to a small gully, +where he hid himself in a thicket of shrubs. Like the desert animals, +he felt safe in the cold shadows. For an instant the analogy was clear +to him. To the gray men he was of no greater value than the rabbits +Hume had slain for the pure delight of expressing his own proprietary +superiority. But the comparison was a disastrous hypothesis. It led his +mind to the madness of despair. His conscious rationality reared back, +rejecting the data, wiping his mind clear of the inevitable conclusion. + +Slowly the motorized column clanged past Hume’s hiding place; and +slowly Hume reasoned away his fear. The pass was not the only way +through the mountains. A man on foot could force a passage almost +anywhere. Hume was vaguely familiar with the terrain, since he had +occasionally vacationed at the mountain resorts. He convinced himself +that, even if the gray men had occupied the pass itself, they would not +have strayed from the highway because they were helpless without their +motorized caravans of weapons. + +At nightfall the batteries of searchlights encircling the invader’s +camp were turned on; as darkness deepened, the camp blazed like a +fallen star. Hume saw a small vehicle move out from the camp, stopping +at intervals along the road. When it passed beneath his gully, he +understood why, for one of the gray men got out and began to pace the +cement. The enemy was putting out a network of sentries along the base +of the mountains. Obviously, then, other refugees had slipped into the +safety of the hills at night, and the gray men intended to stop them. + +Momentarily Hume was breathless with panic. He was cornered and he had +no way of escape. Before this his safety had been bought by hiding from +the gray men and running when he could. Now he must either wait quietly +for them to find him, or fight his way free. Once again the analogy +of the rabbit played dangerously on the fringe of his mind. Even the +rabbit Hume had cornered could not meekly resign itself to death; it +was driven instinctively to fight its way out. + +Hume had no alternative. As the moon rose, he crept out of his gully +noiselessly. When he stood up, his feet felt like dead clods; his +teeth chattered and his body shook in the icy wind sweeping out of the +mountains. His hands searched the level of the earth until he found a +suitable stone of the right weight. When the sentry was directly below +him, he hurled the rock with all his strength. The gray man dropped and +lay still, a huddled shadow on the white road. + +Exultant, Hume slid down the hill and stood over his enemy--a thin, +frail, underfed creature, as powerless as Hume himself when he was +taken by surprise and stripped of the power of his weapons. Shivering, +Hume ripped off the long, swirling, high-collared, gray coat which the +sentry was wearing. It was woven of a material much like wool; Hume +felt warmer as soon as he drew it on. + +The gray man began to twist and groan. Sneering, Hume watched the agony +for a moment. Then he picked up the stone again and hammered it into +the colorless, gray face. The bones crunched and he felt the warm blood +spurting over his hands. An ecstatic madness, a purity of joy he had +never experienced before, seized him, and he beat the quivering pulp +until he was breathless. + +When he paused, he heard footsteps on the road behind him. Another +sentry, perhaps--coming to relieve his friend! Hume turned and fled +toward the mountains, running frantically up the steep inclines, +stumbling through the ragged gulches. He was pursued by a fear that +rode him until his pulse banged in his temples, his breath came in +gasps, and a taste of blood tainted the back of his throat. He paused +and looked back. + +A tall figure was bending over the gray man Hume had killed. + +Hume turned to run again, but his head swam with exhaustion. His knees +began to buckle. He saw the narrow ravine ahead, but he hadn’t the +strength to resist his own momentum. He slid helplessly down the rocky +bank and lay still, bent unnaturally over a heap of boulders. + + * * * * * + +_Cautiously rounding a bend, the boy and his father saw two gray men +fighting in the middle of the highway. They sprang into the roadside +ditch, the man shielding his son’s body with his own. Gradually, +the father understood that they had not been seen. He crept out and +examined the body on the road. The assailant had fled, taking his +victim’s coat, but leaving the gun. The father picked it up and called +his son. They turned of the highway and began the steep climb toward +the peaks._ + + * * * * * + +The wound in Hume’s cheek was bleeding again, and one foot was +grotesquely bent beneath him. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, +dizzy with pain. + +He saw the crest of the hills above him and he began to climb, moving +uncertainly, pulling himself forward with his clawing hands. Hour by +hour he inched upward, pausing at intervals for rest, shivering with +cold, wracked by pain, leaving a thin trail of freezing blood on the +rocks below him. + +His rational consciousness narrowed to a single awareness. He must pass +the ridge; he would be safe, then. The pain, the tearing hunger, the +agonizing memories were the torments of another body, somehow remotely +related to his own. He set his eyes on the crest and moved toward it. + +At dawn he was above the snow line. The ridge was only a few feet +farther on. He looked up at the crevices of snow, long crystal folds +streaked with golden light. The wind screamed and a mist of snow bit +into his face, but he did not notice it. He was safe! He had reached +the top! + +An energy and warmth from outside himself gradually flowed into Hume’s +body, a joy that lifted him up in spite of his pain. He stood erect and +felt nothing. Proudly, the joy of achievement singing in his soul, he +began to walk toward the crest.... + + * * * * * + +...Obediently, the boy waited in the cave where his father had left him +while he went to find the shortest way down to the river on the other +side. The father had given his son the gray man’s gun, showing him how +to use it. “But don’t fire unless it’s absolutely necessary. Even if +the gray men reach the top of the pass, they probably won’t find your +hiding place. Use the gun only if you see one of them coming toward +you.” + +The boy looked out. He saw the tall, gray figure climbing up the hill +of the snow at the mouth of the cave. Calmly he aimed the gun, as his +father had instructed him, and fired. The man fell, rolled a short +distance through the brittle snow, and lay still. + +For a long time the boy crouched in the cave, but as the hours passed, +hunger eventually drove him out. He slid down the snow past the body +of the man he had killed, ignoring it. Among the pines he found traces +of his father’s footprints and followed them down out of the snow to +the bank of the river. He sat by the muddy water, staring across at the +opposite bank. His people were over there; his father had said so; but +where? Why had no one come out to meet him, bringing a little boat that +would ferry him across the river? + +Hopefully, the boy followed the bank, wondering if there might be a +bridge farther on. Just beyond a thicket of brambles he found his +father, sprawled in the damp earth, his body crushed in the tracks made +by a treaded vehicle. + +The boy then heard a sound on the other side of the river and, looking +up, he saw a black, motorized column moving triumphantly on the +opposite bank. + +The boy turned to run, and discovered that he had been quietly +surrounded by a corps of gray men, who were pointing their short, +vicious weapons at him. When they saw that the boy was powerless, +they threw a net over him and bound him securely with it. Later they +carried him back to their camp and put him in a square, black box, +heavily barred on one side, so that they could study his habits at +their leisure. In a sense, some of them were even kind toward the boy, +treating him the way he had his own pet terrier when he still lived +back in the city. + + + + +Transcriber’s note: + + + This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader, + April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2). + + Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but + minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed. +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78911 *** |