Farnham's Freehold

  She said quietly, “Are we trapped?”

  “No, no. Under these bottles is a hatch to a tunnel. Thirty inch culvert pipe with concrete around it. Leads to the gully back of the garden. We can break out—crowbars and a hydraulic jack—even if the end is crushed in and covered with crater glass. I’m not worried about that; I’m worried about how long we can stay inside…and whether it will be safe when we leave.”

  “How bad is the radioactivity?”

  He hesitated. “Barbara, would it mean anything to you? Know anything about radiation?”

  “Enough. I’m majoring—I was majoring—in botany; I’ve used isotopes in genetics experiments. I can stand bad news, Hugh, but not knowing—well, that’s why I was crying.”

  “Mmm—The situation is worse than I told Duke.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Integrating counter back of the bottles. Go look.”

  She went to it, stayed several minutes. When she came back, she sat down without speaking. “Well?” he asked.

  “Could I have another drink?”

  “Certainly.” He mixed it.

  She sipped it, then said quietly, “If the slope doesn’t change, we’ll hit the red line by morning.” She frowned. “But that marks a conservative limit. If I remember the figures, we probably won’t start vomiting for at least another day.”

  “Yes. And the curve should level off soon. That’s why heat worries me more than radiation.” He looked at the thermometer, cracked the valve still wider. “I’ve been running the water-vapor getter on battery; I don’t think we should crank the blower in this heat. I’m not going to worry about Cee-Oh-Two until we start to pant.”

  “Seems reasonable.”

  “Let’s forget the hazards. Anything you’d like to talk about? Yourself?”

  “Little to tell, Hugh. Female, white, twenty-five years old. Back in school, or was, after a bad marriage. A brother in the Air Force—so possibly he’s all right. My parents were in Acapulco, so perhaps they are, too. No pets, thank God—and I was so pleased that Joe saved his cat. No regrets, Hugh, and not afraid…not really. Just…sad.” She sniffed. “It was a pretty nice world, even if I did crumb up my marriage.”

  “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying! Those drops are sweat.”

  “Yes. Surely.”

  “They are. It’s terribly hot.” Suddenly she reached both hands behind her ribs. “Do you mind? If I take this off? Like Karen? It’s smothering me.”

  “Go ahead. Child, if you can get comfortable—or less uncomfortable—do so. I’ve seen Karen all her life, Grace even longer. Skin doesn’t shock me.” He stood up, went behind the oxygen bottles, and looked at the record of radiation. Having done so, he checked the thermometer and increased the flow of oxygen.

  As he sat down he remarked, “I might as well have stored air instead of oxygen, then we could smoke. But I did not expect to use it for cooling.” He ignored the fact that she had accepted his invitation to be comfortable. He added, “I was worried about heating the place. I tried to design a stove to use contaminated air safely. Possible. But difficult.”

  “I think you did amazingly well. This is the only shelter I’ve ever heard of with stored air. You’re a scientist. Aren’t you?”

  “Me? Heavens, no. High school only. What little I know I picked up here and there. Some in the Navy, metal work and correspondence courses. Then I worked for a public utility and learned something about construction and pipelines. Then I became a contractor.” He smiled. “No, Barbara, I’m a ‘general specialist.’ ‘The Elephant Child’s ’satiable curiosity.’ Like Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume.”

  “How did a cat get a name like that?”

  “Karen. Because he’s a great explorer. That cat can get into anything. Do you like cats?”

  “I don’t know much about them. But Dr. Livingstone is a beauty.”

  “So he is but I like all cats. You don’t own a cat, he is a free citizen. Take dogs; dogs are friendly and fun and loyal. But slaves. Not their fault, they’ve been bred for it. But slavery makes me queasy, even in animals.”

  He frowned. “Barbara, I’m not as sad over what has happened as you are. It might be good for us. I don’t mean us six; I mean our country.”

  She looked startled. “How?”

  “Well—It’s hard to take the long view when you are crouching in a shelter and wondering how long you can hold out. But—Barbara, I’ve worried for years about our country. It seems to me that we have been breeding slaves—and I believe in freedom. This war may have turned the tide. This may be the first war in history which kills the stupid rather than the bright and able—where it makes any distinction.”

  “How do you figure that, Hugh?”

  “Well, wars have always been hardest on the best young men. This time the boys in service are as safe or safer than civilians. And of civilians those who used their heads and made preparations stand a far better chance. Not every case, but on the average, and that will improve the breed. When it’s over, things will be tough, and that will improve the breed still more. For years the surest way of surviving has been to be utterly worthless and breed a lot of worthless kids. All that will change.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s standard genetics. But it seems cruel.”

  “It is cruel. But no government yet has been able to repeal natural laws, though they keep trying.”

  She shivered in spite of the heat. “I suppose you’re right. No, I know you’re right. But I could face it more cheerfully if I thought there was going to be any country left. Killing the poorest third is good genetics…but there is nothing good about killing them all.”

  “Mmm, yes. I hate to think about it. But I did think about it. Barbara, I didn’t stockpile oxygen just against radiation and fire storm. I had in mind worse things.”

  “Worse? How?”

  “All the talk about the horrors of World War Three has been about atomic weapons—fallout, hundred-megaton bombs, neutron bombs. The disarmament talks and the pacifist parades have all been about the Bomb, the Bomb, the Bomb—as if A-weapons were the only thing that could kill. This may not be just an A-weapons war; more likely it is an ABC war—atomic, biological, and chemical.” He hooked a thumb at the tanks. “That’s why I stocked that bottled breathing. Against nerve gas. Aerosols. Viruses. God knows what. The communists won’t smash this country if they can kill us without destroying our wealth. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that bombs had been used only on military targets like the antimissile base here, but that New York and Detroit and such received nerve gas. Or a twenty-four plague with eighty percent mortality. The horrid possibilities are endless. The air outside could be loaded with death that a counter won’t detect and a filter can’t stop.” He smiled grimly. “Sorry. You had better go back to bed.”

  “I’m miserable anyway and don’t want to be alone. May I stay?”

  “Certainly. I’m happier with you present no matter how gloomy I sound.”

  “What you’ve been saying isn’t nearly as gloomy as the thoughts I have alone. I wish we knew what was going on outside!” She added, “I wish we had a periscope.”

  “We do have.”

  “Huh? Where?”

  “Did have. Sorry. That pipe over there. I tried to raise it but it won’t budge. However—Barbie, I tromped on Duke for demanding that I break out our spare radio before the attack was over. But maybe it’s over. What do you think?”

  “Me? How would I know?”

  “You know as much as I do. That first missile was intended to take out the MAMMA base; they wouldn’t bother with us otherwise. If they are spotting from orbiting spaceships, then that second one was another try at the same target. The timing fits, time of flight from Kamchatka is about half an hour and the second hit about forty-five minutes after the first. That one was probably a bull’e-eye—and they know it, because more than an hour has passed and no third missile. That means they are through with us. Logical?”

  “Sounds log
ical to me.”

  “It’s crumby logic, my dear. Not enough data. Perhaps both missiles failed to knock out MAMMA, and MAMMA is now knocking out anything they throw. Perhaps the Russkis have run out of missiles. Perhaps the third round will be delivered by bomber. We don’t know. But I’m itching to find out. Twist my arm.”

  “I would certainly like to hear some news.”

  “We’ll try. If it’s good news, we’ll wake the others.” Hugh Farnham dug into a corner, came out with a box, unpacked a radio. “Doesn’t have a scratch. Let’s try it without an antenna.

  “Nothing but static,” he announced shortly. “Not surprised. Although its mate could pull in local stations without an aerial. Now we’ll hook to the fixed antenna. Wait here.”

  He returned shortly. “No soap. Stands to reason that there isn’t anything left of the fixed antenna. So we’ll try the emergency one.”

  Hugh took a wrench and removed a cap from an inch pipe that stuck down through the ceiling. He tested the opening with a radiation counter. “A little more count.” He got two steel rods, each five feet long; with one he probed the pipe. “Doesn’t go up as far as it should. The top of this pipe was buried just belowground. Trouble.” He screwed the second rod into the first.

  “Now comes the touchy part. Stand back, there may be debris—hot both ways—spilling down.”

  “It’ll get on you.”

  “On my hands, maybe. I’ll scrub afterwards. You can go over me with a Geiger counter.” He tapped with a sledge on the bottom of the joined rods. Up they went about eighteen inches. “Something solid. I’ll have to bang it.”

  Many blows later the rod was seated into the pipe. “It felt,” he said, as he stopped to scrub his hands, “as if we passed into open air the last foot or so. But it should have stuck out five feet above ground. Rubble, I suppose. What’s left of our home. Want to use the counter on me?”

  “Hugh, you say that as casually as ‘What’s left of yesterday’s milk.’”

  He shrugged. “Barbie girl, I was broke when I joined the Navy, I’ve been flat busted since; I will not waste tears over a roof and some plumbing. Getting any count?”

  “You’re clean.”

  “Check the floor under the pipe.”

  There were hot spots on the floor; Hugh wiped them with damp Kleenex, disposed of it in a metal waste can. She checked his hands afterwards, and the spots on the floor.

  “Well, that used up a gallon of water; this radio had better work.” He clipped the antenna lead to the rod, switched it on.

  Ten minutes later they admitted that they were getting nothing. Noise—static all over the dial—but no signal. He sighed. “I’m not surprised. I don’t know what ionization does to radio waves, but that must be a sorcerer’s brew of hot isotopes over our heads. I had hoped we could get Salt Lake City.”

  “Not Denver?”

  “No. Denver had an ICBM base. I’ll leave the gain up; maybe we’ll hear something.”

  “Don’t you want to save the battery?”

  “Not really. Let’s sit down and recite limericks.” He looked at the integrating counter, whistled softly, then checked the thermometer. “I’ll give our sleeping beauties a little more relief from the heat. How well are you standing it, Barbie?”

  “Truthfully, I had forgotten it. The sweat pours off and that’s that.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Well, don’t use more oxygen on my account. How many bottles are left?”

  “Not many.”

  “How many?”

  “Less than half. Don’t fret. I’ll bet you five hundred thousand dollars—fifty cents in the new currency—that you can’t recite a limerick I don’t know.”

  “Clean, or dirty?”

  “Are there clean ones?”

  “Okay. ‘A playful young fellow named Scott—’”

  The limerick session was a flop. Hugh accused her of having a clean mind. She answered, “Not really, Hugh. But my mind isn’t working.”

  “I’m not at my sharpest. Another drink?”

  “Yes. With water, please, I sweat so; I’m dry. Hugh?”

  “Yes, Barbie?”

  “We’re going to die. Aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. Before morning?”

  “Oh, no! I feel sure we can live till noon. If we want to.”

  “I see. Hugh, would you mind if I moved over by you? Would you put your arm around me? Or is it too hot?”

  “Any time I’m too hot to put my arm around a girl I’ll know I’m dead and in hell.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Room enough?”

  “Plenty.”

  “You’re a little girl.”

  “I weigh a hundred and thirty-two pounds and I’m five feet eight and that’s not little.”

  “You’re a little girl. Put the cup aside. Tilt your face up.”

  “Mmmm—Again. Please, again.”

  “A greedy little girl.”

  “Yes. Very greedy. Thank you, Hugh.”

  “Such pretty ones.”

  “They’re my best feature. My face isn’t much. But Karen’s are prettier.”

  “A matter of opinion. Your opinion.”

  “Well—I won’t argue. Scrunch over a little, dear. Dear Hugh—”

  “All right?”

  “Room enough. Wonderfully all right. And kiss me, too. Please?”

  “Barbara, Barbara!”

  “Hugh darling! I love you. Oh!”

  “I love you, Barbara.”

  “Yes. Yes! Oh, please! Now!”

  “Right now!”

  “You all right, Barbie?”

  “I’ve never been more all right. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  “It is true. Hugh darling, I’m utterly happy now and not at all afraid. I feel wonderful. Not even too warm.”

  “I’m dripping sweat on you.”

  “I don’t mind. There are two drops on your chin and one on the end of your nose. And I’m so sweaty my hair is soaked. Doesn’t matter. Hugh dearest, this is what I wanted. You. I don’t mind dying—now.”

  “I do!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no! Barbie hon, I didn’t mind dying, before. Now suddenly life is worth living.”

  “Oh. I think it’s the same feeling.”

  “Probably. But we aren’t going to die, if I can swing it. Want to move now?”

  “If you want to. If you’ll put your arm around me after we do.”

  “Try to stop me. But first I’m going to make us a long, tall drink. I’m thirsty again. And breathless.”

  “Me, too. Your heart is pounding.”

  “It has every excuse. Barbie girl, do you realize that I am more than twice your age? Old enough to be your father.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Why, you little squirt! Talk that way and I’ll drink this all myself.”

  “Yes, Hugh. Hugh my beloved. But we are the same age…because we are going to die at the same time.”

  “Don’t talk about dying. I’m going to find some way to outwit it.”

  “If anybody can, you will. Hugh, I’m not feeling morbid. I’ve looked it in the face and I’m no longer afraid—not afraid to die, not afraid to live. But—Hugh, I’d like one favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “When you give the pills to the others—the overdose—I don’t want them.”

  “Uh…it might be needful.”

  “I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t; I will when you tell me to. But not when the others do. Not until you do.”

  “Mmm, Barbie, I don’t plan on taking them.”

  “Then please don’t make me take them.”

  “Well—I’ll think about it. Now shut up. Kiss me.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Such long legs you have, Barbie. Strong, too.”

  “And such big feet.”

  “Quit fishing for compliments. I like your feet.
You would look unfinished without them.”

  “Be inconvenient, too. Hugh, do you know what I would like to do?”

  “Again?”

  “No, no. Well, yes. But right now.”

  “Sleep? Go ahead, dear. I won’t fall asleep.”

  “No, not sleep. I’m not ever going to sleep again. Never. I can’t spare one minute we’ve got left. I was thinking that I would like to play contract again—as your partner.”

  “Well—We might be able to rouse Joe. Not the others; three grains of Seconal is pretty convincing. We could play three-handed.”

  “No, no. I don’t want any company but you. But I so enjoyed playing, as your partner.”

  “You’re a good partner, honey. The best. When you say ‘by the book,’ you mean it.”

  “Not ‘the best.’ I’m not in your class. But I wish that we had—oh, years and years!—so that I could get to be. And I wish the attack had held off ten minutes, so that you could have played that grand slam.”

  “Didn’t need to. When you answered my bid I knew it was a lay-down.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Three grand slams in one night.”

  “Three?”

  “Didn’t you consider that H-bomb a grand slam?”

  “Oh. And then there was the second bomb, later.”

  “I was not counting the second bomb, it was too far away. If you don’t know what I counted, I refuse to draw a diagram.”

  “Oh! In that case, there could easily be a fourth grand slam. I can’t make another forcing bid; my bra is gone and—”

  “Was that a forcing bid?”

  “Of course it was. But you can make the next forcing bid. I’ll spot it.”

  “Slow down! Three grand slams is maximum. A small slam, maybe—if I take another Dexedrine. But four grand slams? Impossible. You know how old I am.”

  “We’ll see. I think we’ll get a fourth.”

  At that moment the biggest slam of all hit them.

  3

  The light went out, Grace Farnham screamed, Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume wailed, Barbara was knocked silly and came to heaped over a steel bottle and disoriented by blackness and no floors or walls.

  She groped around, found a leg, found Hugh attached to it. He was limp. She felt for his heartbeat, could not find it.