Doomsday Morning M Page 17

  “Cover the ‘hopper getaway!” he was repeating. “Pull attention away from the ‘hopper! Have you all got that? Do it any way you can, but do it!”

  From outside the vast metallic voice counted ominously, “Five! You have a five-count now to come out with your hands up. You inside there! Six! Seven!”

  The man on the table glanced around the walls at the people standing ready by the gun slots. He lifted his hand ready to signal. “Here it comes,” he called. “Brace yourselves, everybody. All right—fire!” And he dropped his hand.

  All around the walls I heard the simultaneous crackle of the shots. The enormous noise from outside came so sudden and so loud I had the strange feeling I’d missed hearing how it began. One moment all was comparatively still. The next my head was reverberating like a gong and the whole room was solid with the crash of sound, and I had no memory of just when it started.

  Some reeling element of reason told me the rebels must have set off some kind of buried mines in the area outside, around the building. Maybe by the simple expedient of firing a prearranged trigger spots. But all of us inside, even those who knew what to expect, were stunned for a moment by the noise.

  Then the rumble of heavy doors sliding open sounded all around the walls of the building. Light gushed in blue with smoke and seething with dust, and out though the clouds of it the rebels went scattering. Everybody but me knew exactly what to do.

  I had one brief second of hesitation. Then I found I too knew what I was going to head for. The ‘hopper. Make for the ’hopper. Whatever they load into the ‘hopper is the big thing. That’s what you’re here for. Don’t miss it.

  Outside, blinding in the sunlight, I saw the Comus helicopters sitting heavily in the flowery meadow a little way off. All around the building a ring of blackened grass and raw earth lay smoldering heavily. Bodies lay among the embers, and what Comus men were still on their feet looked dazed and unsteady. But they were recovering fast. Not quite as fast as the rebels scattered, but almost fast enough.

  Now an outburst of yells and shots rang out noisily from the far corner of the building, and a series of minor explosions burst out toward the river. I wanted badly to turn and look, but I thought it was cover-up action from the diversion crews. I knew the ‘hopper was the really important spot.

  The scattering crowd ran like purposeful rabbits for the forest. They ran in all directions. But a few converged toward the tree where the ‘hopper sat, and I was foremost among them. I was second on the spot. But in moments I was the center of a busy, silent throng loading boxes into the seat beside the driver’s. Elaine Thomas was shoving packets this way and that to make room for a big, flat, square bundle about two feet across and wrapped tenderly in blankets like a baby susceptible to draughts. The way she handled it, and the way everybody here seemed to touch it with respect verging on awe, made me look at the thing with gathering excitement.

  I wondered what it was. I wondered if this could be wishful thinking, or was it what I thought it was. …

  The gray-haired man was giving orders in a quick, firm whisper. “All right, that’s it,” he said after a fast thirty seconds of work that seemed a lot longer. “In with you, Elaine. Don’t argue. Quick! Keep to the high grass and try to cross the ridge at the gap. The rest of you, scatter out and run alongside through the grass. Thresh around. Make it wave. All right, get going. Good luck!”

  We went. We spread out and ran blindly, I running with the rest, the reeds whipping my face, the marshy ground sucking at my shoes. Behind me scattered gunfire broke out as the Comus men began to get their wits back. All around me I heard feet thump, reeds lash, men breathing heavily as they ran, and to my right the beelike humming of the ‘hopper carrying Elaine and the unknown treasure away from me faster than I could ever hope to run.

  I wasn’t getting anywhere this way. I’d had one glimpse and no more of something that might be, could be, just possibly was the biggest thing in California. Or a part of the biggest thing. But in minutes the ‘hopper would take to the rising ground and go heaving up the slope and over into the woods. And after that I was finished. Somebody else would trace the ‘hopper by its signal box still clinging to the metal. Somebody else would get the credit. Unless——

  The gunfire from behind us picked up in volume. I heard the deep, heavy throb of a helicopter engine starting and realized that whatever I did I’d have to do fast. And anonymously. I was playing both sides against the middle and if either of them caught me at it I was done.

  Underfoot the ground seemed firmer. It didn’t cling to the feet any more and a slope was beginning to rise under the thick grass. I heard the ‘hopper’s buzz quicken as its wheels got better purchase and its laboring motor heaved it upward with a sudden burst of speed. Then the reeds thinned and through them I saw the little machine swaying and grinding up the slope, Elaine bent low over the wheel. She had outdistanced her escort already. In a moment or two she’d be over the ridge and out of my reach.

  I stood still among the reeds, pulled the gun out of my pocket, and took careful aim. I waited for another burst of gunfire from behind us. When it came—and none too soon, for now the ‘hopper was topping the ridge—I pulled the trigger steadily.

  The ‘hopper gave a violent lurch. Fire sprang out in brief, bright sparks from its underside where my bullet struck. I was glad theydn’t ignite anything. That was pure luck, for an instant after a gush of heavy black oil burst out of its transmission chamber and poured sluggishly over the rocks. I had been holding my breath without realizing it, expecting an explosion. For one vivid moment it seemed to me I was looking into Elaine’s bright black, expectant eyes that asked of me something I didn’t have to give her. Protection? The thought that I should spare her from danger if she stood between me and what I wanted? I never spared myself. I knew now I never spared Miranda. No, if Elaine expected that from me then she expected too much.

  But when I saw the black oil come panting out of the nervous little ‘hopper’s vitals in thick gushes I had a moment’s foolish grief for the machine that I could not let myself feel for living creatures.

  All this happened in a split second of action and response. The moment I pulled the trigger I had dropped flat on my face to the ground, and not a moment too soon. Three or four bullets whistled over my head among the reeds. I’ll never know if they were Comus bullets or rebel. The threshing and thumping around me in the reeds paused suddenly, and then when nothing happened resumed its cautious advance. Voices called softly. I called too, asking with the rest what had happened. Nobody seemed to know.

  Moments later, exchanging suspicious looks, we came out of the underbrush wiping mud and sweat off our faces. The helicopter was laboring to get off the ground back there in the meadow. Gunfire rattled sporadically around the building we had abandoned and now and then a stray bullet went wailing thinly over our heads. I looked up in time to see three or four men scramble to the disabled ‘hopper and heave it over the ridge and out of sight.

  I started up the slope after it. A bullet sang past my ear and smacked the rock six feet ahead of me, sending up splinters of stone in my face. Over to the left I heard a solid, thudding sound and didn’t know it for what it was until a man beside me coughed and pitched forward and began to slide gently down the slope in a little avalanche of pebbles. I felt adrenalin pour fresh energy into every nerve and muscle I had as I hurled myself upward and dropped over the top of the ridge, landing on my bruised side. I slid a dozen feet before I could stop myself.

  The gray-haired man was wrenching the ‘hopper door open and I saw Elaine scrambling out backward, dragging the blanket-wrapped bundle across the seat. Even now, in all this stress, it seemed to me she handled it with awe, as if it might be the Grail. And maybe it was. Maybe it was a part of the biggest thing in California. Bigger than the biggest redwood. Bigger than San Francisco Bay. Bigger than Los Angeles. Bigger than the world, at least to Nye and to me and to all the rebels in the whole country. If it was what it might be �
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  There was an outburst of gunfire from the slope I’d just left, echoed by firing from the canebrakes below. It was loud at first as the guns of the rebels sounded in full chorus, and then it got ragged, because the slope was in full sight from the reeds and there wasn’t any shelter out there. We had only minutes more of safety here.

  I saw the gray-haired man look around with fast, considering glances, sizing up the situation. I jumped to help Elaine. My hands itched to feel the outlines of whatit was she had wrapped in the blanket. Not that in my ignorance I could tell anything, but at least there’d be that much to report to Nye even if this whole project fell through from this point on. More eagerly than a bridegroom reaching for the bride, or a father reaching for his first-born, I took the bundle in my hands. For one tantalizing instant I felt its irregular and mysterious form beneath the blanket, intricate, blurred, indescribable.

  Then an outburst of shouts and the crack of firing exploded from the far side of the little clearing where the ‘hopper sat. I was too absorbed to think what it meant. The gray-haired man was quicker. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, snatching the blanket-wrapped Grail away from me. He heaved it back onto the ‘hopper seat. He seized Elaine’s arm and whirled her away. “Stand back!” he said. “Elaine, get away from the ‘hopper.”

  She knew what he meant if I didn’t.

  “Oh no!” she said with anguish. “Tony, we can make it somehow. This is almost the last unit. Tony, we can’t——”

  “We’ve got to!” he yelled at her. “We’re surrounded. I have to do it. Stand back.” He dragged the gun from his belt, shouting, “Scatter! Scatter!” to the nearer men. The firing grew stronger from both sides now, coming up the slope from the meadow and closing in on us from the trees beyond the clearing. The gray-haired man leveled his gun at the bundle on the ‘hopper seat.

  Elaine cried, “No, Tony, don’t!” and tried desperatedly to throw herself between him and the bundle. He didn’t speak, but he gave her a heavy backhanded blow across the face that sent her staggering. And then he pulled the trigger.

  The explosion seemed enormous. The Grail itself must have had its own potential destruction built into it for just such an emergency as this. Flying bits of glass or metal hissed by us in the shaken air. The clearing was blinding-bright for an instant, then invisible as our eyes reacted to the flash. When I could see again there was nothing but smoke, the twisted wreckage of the ‘hopper, and a blue-violet afterimage of the explosion that swam on the surface of my eyes and half obscured everything I looked at.

  I heard a familiar voice still yelling, “Scatter, scatter!” from just behind me, and I turned blindly and stumbled toward it. The haze in the clearing seemed filling up with struggling figures and the flash and noise of gunfire. I saw the gray-haired man running through the trees away from me. Comus had caught up with us at last.

  And everything was over. I had nothing to show for all my efforts, all my risks. I’d touched the precious mystery, but no more. Like Whats-His-Name and the Grail, I could feel it but never see it. It had to be a part of the Anti-Com. In my daze it seemed to me not only that it had to be, but that I’d been all but led here, guided by forces out of a dream and my own compulsive behavior. I had touched the precious thing, and then, like the Grail, it had vanished in a flash of light seven times brighter than day.

  I looked around wildlyElaine wasn’t anywhere in sight. I saw rebels whose faces I recognized either down in the dust or running. I saw a gray-headed figure disappearing among the trees. And sudden blinding rage flooded through me at the sight of him. The man who had snatched success out of my hands in the instant I touched it. The man who had smashed the Grail.

  In the midst of my anger I heard a still, small voice. Quite coolly it suggested, “If you can’t take back the Grail itself, why not take back the man who knows about it?” I spun with the dust slipping under my feet and lurched after the running man. …

  I remember a bullet sang by me and slit my shirt sleeve neatly as I turned. The next thing I remember is a man’s running back just ahead of me, and hurling myself at him, almost missing, catching him around the knees so we crashed down together across the rocky slope. I heard the breath go out of him in a grunt of surprise and pain. I had a rock in my hand as I scrambled to my knees, and I hit him with it across the back of the head, praying as I struck that I wasn’t hitting too hard. He grunted again and went slack.

  I grabbed for his limp hand and wrenched at the blue cyanide ring. It wouldn’t come off. He must have been Wearing it a long time, I thought, almost wonderingly. I looked at his gray head and marveled at the secrets he must have stored away in there that I’d give so much to know. So much, so much!

  The blue glass set wasn’t very hard. It couldn’t be if the wearer had to bite through it when the time came. I tapped his hand on a rock until the glass broke and the colorless liquid ran out onto the stone, bitter-almond-smelling, deadly. I held my breath until the breeze blew it away.

  Then I lay down beside him in the dust and waited. It seemed like a long time. The noise around us slowly died away. Finally somebody’s foot against my shoulder turned me over and I looked up into the disciplined face of a stranger.

  “Get up,” he said. “You’re under arrest.”

  I sat up stiffly. “I think I’ve got a rebel leader for you here,” I said. “Take us to headquarters.”

  He gave me a skeptical look.

  “That’s a new one. Don’t worry. Headquarters is where you’re going.”

  CHAPTER XX

  NOBODY KNOWS HOW big a bite of the tax dollar Comus draws, but it isn’t a small one. Comus doesn’t stint itself. The local captain’s office had thick carpeting with a rich, raised pattern and gold thread curling through it. The furniture was all glass. The captain himself looked green and yellow because of the stained-glass insets in the window behind him.

  I sat in a black glass chair with gold fringe under it and argued fiercely across the gilt glass desk with the captain. He was a dapper ma who looked uncomfortable out of uniform, and he didn’t like me.

  For a while I thought I’d have to go clear through to Ted Nye before they’d let me out of custody. I felt arrogant and self-confident. I think it may have been my confidence that tipped the balance. They listened to my story, looked over my ID cards, checked my photograph with my face, and finally with sour reluctance, agreed to talk to Guthrie. I told them no more than I had to.

  “The man I captured for you is one of their top brass,” I said over and over in various versions. “For God’s sake look after him even, if you don’t believe me.” Grudgingly they said they would.

  They had to get through clear back to Washington to find Guthrie’s call number, but after that it didn’t take too long. On the wall screen above the captain’s desk Guthrie, after a while, dawned glowering. The whole image kept jiggling, and behind Guthrie I could see the inside of the sound truck from the front end toward the back. The rear door wasn’t quite shut and through the slit I could see a sunny road unreeling as the caravan jolted toward Douglass Hats. They must have waited a long time for me.

  Guthrie blew up.

  I let him blow. He said he hoped they’d hang me. He said he hadn’t known where the hell I was or what the hell to do, and if I didn’t get to Douglass Flats in time for the evening performance he would——

  I said briskly, “Oh, shut up, Guthrie. Listen, I’ve got news for you. Things have been happening. I want to talk to Ted Nye as soon as I can do it privately, so I wish you’d make an appointment for me. It shouldn’t be hard—he expects me.” I put that in for the benefit of the captain. Guthrie started to interrupt and I shouted him down.

  “I’ll be with you as quick as a helicopter can get me there,” I said. “You haven’t got a thing to worry about. Just talk to the captain here and tell him who I am. I don’t want to lose any more time.”

  Guthrie glared at me, drummed on the table, and counted ten. The red flush that had suffuse
d him receded slowly as he got himself under control. With great reluctance he started talking to the captain.

  Half an hour later, bathed, shaved, and with all my abrasions medicated, I stepped into a helicopter and rose into the bright, hot noonday sky heading south. Half an hour after that I stepped out again onto the street of Douglass Flats.

  The three trucks of our caravan sat side by side in a little grove of light-leaved trees around a stone camp stove just like the one we’d left in the redwoods. The same grease-stained plank table sat beside it. Public camps must be pretty much alike all through California. Beyond the flickering leaves I could see the roofs of Douglass Flats under a clear sky.

  Pod and Eileen Henken were playing cards at one end of the table. Roy Copley, looking very young and boyish, was practicing a variety of inflections in his “red-hotcoffee” speech while Polly watched and listened critically, her red head on one side. I didn’t see Cressy, and Guthrie was out of sight too.

  Polly was the first to see me. I don’t know just what I’d expected from them—angry reproaches or the complete freeze-out seemed likeliest. What actually happened surprised me. Polly looked up and said almost casually, “Well, there you are. It’s about time. God, you look terrible. Listen, Rohan, how do you like this for a reading? Go on, Roy, give us that half turn again and stutter a little before you start talking.”

  And Roy stepped back, swung round in a half turn, faced me, and stuttered spontaneously into his speech as fresh and new as if he’d never spoken the words before. I gave my head a little shake and my mind took a half turn of its own, rotating back into the world of the Swann Players as if I’d never left it. For part of my mind it was a hard shift to make. But for another part the change was the easiest thing in the world. I felt as if I’d really never been away from the troupe. A part of me never had.