[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

encourage casual visitors. Which figures.
Harry drove slowly past, unsure. There was a small woods at the
end from there they had a view of the area in front of the garage.
"John Fox! He's there!" Roger shouted. -
"Fox? Oh, yeah, I remember him. Never met him," Harry sal
"How do you know?"
"How many pickup trucks have a California personalized license
plate that reads ECOFREAK?"
"Oh. That one." Harry turned the motorcycle around. "So now
what?"
"We go in. Before, I just wanted a shower. Now I know I want
to meet your friends."
"Okay." Harry stopped at the gate. The gong wasn't as lot as
he'd thought it would be.
Jack McCauley's round face had picked up angles and a closely
clipped black beard. Men wore beards these days, all across the
country. His shoulders and arms had gained muscle mass; they
strained his old shirt. "I'm telling you up front, we've got the
room," he said, "but drive on in. George'll be glad to see you Harry.
But what in hell is a newsman doing here?" -
Roger smiled lightly. "We're planning a feature lifestyle. There's
a lot of interest in Colorado Springs on how the rest the country is
doing."
McCauley eyed Roger closely. "Yeah. Sure. Well, come on in
but there's no story here."
The house and grounds looked like a construction site, Hart
thought. They put the bike next to Fox's truck. Roger looked it and
nodded in satisfaction.
They found George Tate-Evans working on the greenhouse
Harry wasn't surprised to see that George was clean-shaven. H
would be. George drove in a nail, straightened, stared at Harry and
whistled. "It's really Hairy Red." He smiled warmly. "Dam all, Harry,
you're not as clean as you used to be, but somehow you look a lot
better. How's the back?"
"Wonderful. I haven't had to see a lawyer in months. Mee
Roger Brooks, with the Washington Post. We've both come out of
Kansas."
"Kansas. Harry, I expect everybody would like to hear some
stories about Kansas. You've come all the way from Washington?
"Naw, from Colorado Springs," Harry said.
"Colorado Springs," George said carefully. "Yes, Harry, I guess
you better come to dinner, as long as you understand the
situation. There's no room here, Harry. No spare beds."
"We have tents-"
"Look around you. The only place you could put a tent would
be in the driveway."
- "We'll think of something," Harry said. He grinned. "Look,
George, I'm used to telling tales for my supper. Tonight, though
think you could throw in a shower?"
It didn't surprise Roger Brooks that there was plenty of water,
because there was water everywhere, too damned much water.
This was different. He showered in warm water; not as much
as Roger wanted, because the pipes in the rooftop heat collector
didn't hold that much, but more than Roger had enjoyed for a long
time.
I better enjoy it. I'll pay for it. It had been a long trip. I chose
the right guide. We got here. But now Harry will tell his war stories
again...
The dining room was large, with a long table in the center. At one
end was a lecturn. The whole place reminded Roger of the refectory
in the Christian Brothers monastery they'd stopped in on the way
up from Colorado Springs. The Brothers had taken in travelers the
way monasteries did in medieval times. They'd also put all the local
indolents to work in gardens and vineyards.
The room grew crowded. John Fox seemed genuinely glad to
see Roger. Roger's memory held the names as they came: a useful
skill for a newsman. Fox's friend Marty Carnell. George and Vicki
Tate-Evans. Harry had called George "super survivor"; his wife was
quiet, and it became clear that visitors made her uncomfortable.
Isadore and Clara: Roger didn't get their last names. Clara wanted
to know what was happening in the capital. Others: the man at the
gate, Jack McCauley. His wife was Harriet, and she was listening a
lot while making up her mind about something.
Bill and Gwen Shakes occupied the head of the table. There
were a lot of Shakes kids-a lot of kids, for that matter, and Roger
let their names slip through his head unclaimed.
Shakes was concerned about Roger's story. "We don't need any
publicity. Don't need any, don't want any. I'd tell you how tough
things are if I thought you'd believe me."
"I won't be writing much about Bellingham," Roger said. Or any
other specific place. Anyway, if you're worried about getting lots of
new company, forget it. Harry and I could have stopped cold half a
dozen times, and that's on a motorcycle, press credentials and a
gas ration card! Nobody's coming to Bellingham." And nobody's
printing anything about Bellingham. But before we left the Springs
we went through all the files I could. Nothing, nothing at all, since
long before the snouts dropped the Dinosaur Killer. I can taste it, a
secret a year old, hidden from snouts and citizens alike- "A lot of
people have come to Bellingham," Harriet McCat said.
"Yes. It's getting crowded," Clara added. "The markets
crowded. Lines, long lines for almost anything except staples dairy
products"
"Hah. Most places there are lines for those, too," Harry "Maybe
you have it better than you think."
Dinner was spaghetti. There wasn't any meat in the sauce,
there was cheese, and fresh stewed tomatoes from the
greenhouse. Conversation became local while they ate.
"It's wet everywhere, isn't it?" Fox asked.
"Pretty much so," Roger told him. "We were never able to out
except for a couple of days in Utah. You must get more here than
I'd have thought."
Fox snorted. "Heck, Bellingham wasn't noted for its sunshine
before that snout asteroid hit. Not like Death Valley," and sudden
fury surged into his face before he could hide it. "What made you
think we get sunlight now?"
"Hot water," Roger said. "That was heated in those roof
collectors, wasn't it?"
"Sure, but it was warm, not hot," Fox said.
"It collects diffuse sunlight," Miranda Shakes said. "We hot
water when there's real sunshine. Three days so far this ye I'd kill
for a hot bath."
When dinner ended, almost everyone left.
"Chores," Fox said. "Nice to have seen you again, Roger.'
Bill Shakes and George Tate-Evans helped carry dinner dish
out, then came back. "We'll offer you brandy, but it's getting dark
out," Bill Shakes said. "Maybe you'd rather go make camp where
there's light?" -
"It's no problem for us," Roger said.
"We've made camp in the dark before," Harry added.
"Okay. The best place will be up the lane. It runs into the
woods. Go up about half a mile, cross the creek, and there's a
clearing. Be careful how much wood you burn, and don't cut any."
"Okay."
Isadore brought in two bottles of California brandy. "Two more
cases," he said to nobody in particular. He took thin glass snifters
from a cabinet and brought them around. George Tate-Evans went
to help, but poured his own glass half full first. The doses that
Isadore poured for guests were considerably smaller.
Bill Shakes waited until they were all seated with their glasses.
"Harry, you said you have a gasoline ration card."
"Yep." Harry grinned. "Hero's reward, you know. I captured a
snout."
George Tate-Evans started to say something, but Shakes'
quiet voice was insistent. "We've located some fertilizer. A dairy
farmer about thirty miles from here will sell us some, but we have
to go get it. We've got trucks but no gas. What are the chances of
buying some gasoline from you?"
"Zero," Harry said. "The card's personal." He took a plastic
encased card from an inner pocket. "See, my driving license on one
side, gas card on the other, picture on both. Nobody can use it.
Unless you want to grow a beard and dye it to look like me."
"Most amusing," Shakes said without a smile. His head might
have come level to Harry's shoulder.
"Maybe we can exchange favors," Roger said. "We go get your
fertilizer. You let us use a truck for a couple of days."
Harry frowned at him. "Why do we need a truck? Especially
need one that bad?"
"I'd like to look around, and my tail-bone is tired," Roger said. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]