“Come on,” Cermak whispered. He threw the door back and they bolted onto the lot.
This time fast motion was more difficult than before. The goods in Brian’s pack bounced around as he ran, the pack itself bounced on its frame, the frame started to shift as a fastening loosened, and the lot seemed to stretch out forever. When they were halfway across, something whined past Brian’s head, and an instant later there was a puff of dust ahead and a black groove appeared, showing the asphalt through the accumulated dirt.
Something plucked lightly at Brian’s pack, what sounded like a swarm of yellow jackets whined past overhead, and then the ditch was at his feet. Brian hit the opposite bank of it hard, slid, and landed calf-deep in the icy slop and ooze.
Cermak was in the same situation to Brian’s left. “Keep low,” he muttered, and began working his way along the bank. Brian followed.
Behind them, the firing was intense and continuous.
It had taken them a long time to get to the shopping plaza along the ditch and, because of their load, it took them longer to get back. At intervals, bullets whined overhead, and when they finally scrambled thankfully up the bank through the brush on the hill overlooking the shopping plaza, they were worn out. They took a look back, eying the bodies strewn over the lot in the rear of the supermarket.
There was still an almost continuous firing, but Brian, looking down, was unable to see who was fighting whom.
Cermak said, “We got out of there just in time. We were lucky, but it isn’t over yet.”
They paused to eat the first food they’d had in a day and a half, then wearily made their way around the swampy stretch and back down toward where they’d hidden die bikes.
They’d scarcely gotten the bikes out when there was a rattle of gunfire, increasing in intensity and then gradually dying away again.
“Better get going.” said Brian. “We can sleep when we put this place well behind us.”
They coasted down the hill. Brian was just beginning to breathe easily as the bike glided swiftly ahead, when there was the faint dull glint of something stretched across the road, then the bike twisted and slid fast to the right, spilling him to land heavily on the pavement.
A dark figure scrambled out of the ditch, there was the flash of an upraised knife, and a deafening roar as Cermak fired across Brian’s shoulder.
An instant later Brian had his own gun unslung and was firing at a dim figure that raced toward them from a nearby car. Then Brian and Cermak were working their bolts as rapidly as possible, and the shadowy figures were coming at them from all sides, outlined now in a white light that rose over the hill.
Brian’s bolt stuck wide-open, warning him that the magazine was empty, and he knew he had no time to reload. He waited, the gun muzzle drawn back, ready to slam into the chest of the first attacker to come in reach.
Then two of these attackers spun around and slammed to the earth, and the rest ran down the hill to stagger in midstride and fall.
A blinding glare moved down the road and, through the ringing in his ears, Brian could hear Cardan’s roar, “Stop the trucks! Those men are ours!”
At the sound of Cardan’s voice, Brian walked to the cab of the truck. Cermak, frowning, stepped to the side of the road.
Then the big trucks were stopped, and Cardan, a .45 automatic in his right hand, jumped out, grinned, gripped Brian by the left hand, turned, and shouted, “Shove those cars out of the way! Scouts out! And make sure of these bodies here!” He looked at Brian and smiled. “You not only caught up—you got ahead of us. Are you all right?”
“By the grace of God,” said Brian fervently. “Another minute would have been too late.”
“That’s all it takes.” Cardan turned away to answer the shouted question of a man who came running over, and then Brian saw someone else.
The athletic build and blond hair were familiar, and so was the intent, calculating expression.
And then Carl sauntered toward the two men.
Chapter 7
Brian looked at Carl’s clean-shaven, well-rested face. He appeared to be in good shape, looking as if he’d been sleeping at night and eating regularly in the daytime. Moreover, he appeared to know it. His head was tilted slightly, with something of the look of superiority with which the son of a wealthy man might look at the sweaty child of a ditch digger.
Beside Cardan, someone said, “Chief, there’s quite a roadblock up ahead. The cars are too close to get by, and they’re clear across the mall in the center. This gang here must have set it up so that no-one could rush them and get away.”
“Clear it out,” said Cardan. “Keep your eyes open, and use the chains. It may be like that setup we ran into the first time we stopped for fuel.”
“We’ll be careful.”
Cardan glanced at Brian. “It’s good to have you back.”
He smiled suddenly. “Here’s someone else who feels' the same way.”
Anne, her blond hair brushed and shining in the light of the gasoline lanterns, started to run to Brian, and caught herself at the last moment, a mixture of emotions struggling on her face.
“Oh, Brian,” she said At last, smiling happily, “I’m so glad you’re here!” She frowned. “But why did you—?” Carl’s voice cut in. “We’ve found your father, Anne.” Anne turned, to cry out, like a child, “Daddy!”
She ran to the elder Cermak, who, unnecessarily steadied by one of Cardan’s men, was coming toward them, his Springfield rifle gripped firmly in his right hand. Cermak smiled as he saw Anne, but his eyes narrowed intently when he looked at Carl.
Carl stood about six feet from Brian, a look of satisfaction on his face. A little louder than was necessary, Carl said, “Decide you couldn’t make it on your own, Brian?” Through a layer of gathering weariness from the hundreds of miles covered on the bicycle, lack of sleep and food, and the two narrow escapes of the day, Brian became aware of an ugly sensation, deep down inside himself. He remembered Carl’s footsteps behind him, the blow on the back of the head. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian could see several of the men watching him and Carl.
Cermak had returned his daughter’s kiss, and now spoke briefly to her. She shook her head. Cermak spoke more forcibly, and then thrust her aside. He jerked open the bolt of his rifle; an empty cartridge flashed in the light as it flew out, then in one blur of motion Cermak stuffed a fresh clip into the magazine and slammed home the bolt. He watched Brian and Carl without expression.
Carl was looking down at Brian. “Afraid to speak?” Brian was aware of a steady dull ache in his left arm, where he had landed when the bike overturned, a slow throb at the back of his neck, and a multitude of aches and stiffnesses, all felt through a haze of weariness. Something told Brian that his chance of beating Carl now was nonexistent. The only thing to do was to put off the fight till he had some rest. But how?”
Carl’s eyes glinted. “You don’t look very good, Brian. You’d have done better to come with us in the first place.”
No one else said anything. But it became obvious to Brian, despite his weariness, that Carl was speaking for the benefit of the others.
Carl said, “I don’t like a guy that runs out. You’re here now, and I suppose we’ll have to take care of you, but I think you need a lesson.”
From several of the men watching came an approving murmur.
Carl stepped forward. There was a flash, a deafening roar, and the pungent smell of burned nitrocellulose. Something lightly ruffled Carl’s hair.
There was a dead silence for an instant after the shot, and then Carl very slowly turned his head.
Cermak handed his gun to his daughter, and grinned at Carl.
“Fight me, why don’t you?”
Carl blinked.
“Daddy!” cried Anne.
“No, no,” said Cermak, holding her back with one hand. “He’s tough. He and Brian go off together and only Carl comes back. Carl tells his story, and Brian isn’t there, so of course only one side gets told
. Carl’s side. Then Carl rides along protected by everyone else, while Brian has to fight his way for hundreds of miles, on his own muscle. After he’s worn out, Big Carl shows up riding in a truck and he’s going to teach Brian a lesson for being so cowardly as to fight his way across hundreds of miles of territory, by himself, with an old man to lug on his back. This Carl is a big fellow. If someone else does something brave, that makes Carl a hero.”
There was a motionless stillness in which the hiss and roar of the gas lanterns sounded loud and clear, and all the men in sight were frowning at Carl and glancing in puzzlement from Carl to Brian to Anne’s father.
Brian kept his face .from showing the grin he felt at Cermak’s sarcasm. The only flaw in the argument was that Carl, from what Brian had seen, was no coward. He would lie and misrepresent whenever it suited his advantage, but
Brian had seen no sign of cowardice. The men who were with Carl must have had time to find this out by now.
“Oh,” said Carl, a look of relief crossing his face as he saw a way out. “I forgot he’s had time to fill you full of lies.”
He turned to face Brian, a look of genuine anger on his face. It was anger at the spot he found himself in. “You’d stoop to anything, wouldn’t you?” He glanced at Anne. “Take care of your father, Anne. He’s tired, and this rat has been pumping him full of lies. And keep that gun away from him. We can’t have anyone around who shoots at his friends.”
He glanced at Brian. “Don’t have much to say for yourself, do you?” He glanced to one side, saw that several men were holding the smiling Cermak, and immediately took one long step forward, reaching out a big hand and knocked loose the gun Brian had been absently holding since the trucks had shown up.
Brian still stood unmoving, the accumulated fatigue combining with the unfairness of the attack to create a feeling of unreality, as if he were watching someone else rather than experiencing it himself.
“This,” said Carl, “is for running out on me.” His open hand struck Brian jarringly across the side of the head. His other hand slapped Brian’s face in a stinging explosion from the other side. “And that’s for telling my girl’s father lies.”
Carl landed a lightning blow to the stomach that left Brian gasping, and then Carl had him by the cloth at the throat, holding him up as he said, “I don’t like to do it, Brian, but you’ve got to learn if you’re going with us. You don’t leave your friends to do all the work. And you don’t lie about it afterwards. You hear me?”
From somewhere to the side, Cermak’s voice reached them.
“You tell him, Carl hero. You’ve had the sleep.”
There was a murmur that might have meant anything, but Brian, out on his feet before Carl had ever touched him, felt Carl’s hand tighten and lift brutally.
For one blinding instant, Brian saw himself held like n rag doll while Carl taunted him, hoping for Brian to struggle a little, giving Carl further excuse to slap him around.
Brian was suddenly wide-awake. He let go a crushing blow to Carl’s jaw, and saw him stagger back. He caught up with him in three swift steps, yanked him upright, and struck him a blow that came up from the ground. An instant later, Brian’s open left hand lashed out twice, repaying the slaps in the face, then his right buried itself deep in Carl’s midsection, doubling Carl up as if he’d been hit with a telephone pole.
Carl was on the ground, his eyes glazed, and Brian was standing over him, his mind running back through the things Carl had said and done, aching for the justification to land one more blow, but vaguely aware that the accounts had been evened up and anything more would place the discredit on his side.
Then the anger was gone, and he was breathing hard, aware of a dizziness and a tiredness, of the pain in his left arm, and of aches, stiffnesses, sore muscles, and a throbbing head.
Men were crowded around and someone was shouting for water. Someone gripped Brian’s shoulder, and he turned to see Steve Cermak, grinning broadly.
“That punk has been filling Anne with lies.” He glanced at the prostrate Carl; a bucket of water was being emptied in his face. “I never saw anything so pretty in my life. Come on.”
They started toward the trucks, then Brian remembered the gun Carl had knocked from his hands, found it, carried the gun toward the truck that someone pointed out as a place where he and Cermak could sleep, and then he remembered the bicycles. With someone else carrying a gas lantern, they found the bikes, one smashed out of shape and the other perfectly usable, and put them in the truck. With these safely on board, they crawled into the roomy interior, and found places to settle down in the soft hay.
After a long, dreamless sleep, Brian stirred to the rumble of the truck. Daylight was seeping in around the door at the far end. But it was warm nestled in the soft hay, and
Brian drifted off to sleep again. He woke the next time with someone gently shaking his shoulder. Light was streaming in at the open back of the truck, and Brian woke, stretched, winced at his swollen knuckles, and scrambled to his feet.
Smitty, clean-shaven, grinned at Brian.
“I let you sleep through breakfast, but I figured you’d want lunch. There’s a stream back in the trees to the right of the road if you want to wash up. The cook-truck has hot water, soap, and some mirrors for shaving. You can take your time. We’re broken down again.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The usual. Apparently when the binding of the electrons to the metal atoms was increased it wasn’t only the conduction of the electricity that suffered. Brightness and heat conductivity are off, too. The metal of the pistons and cylinders in the engines doesn’t get cooled as well as it should; it overheats, and just what goes on in there is hard to say,, but we’ve had cracked blocks, pitting, falling off of bits of metal, pistons stuck tight in the cylinders. I don’t know what it is this time, but we were due for it. We get a breakdown every few hundred miles. At least it didn’t happen at night.”
Brian followed Smitty past a number of bed rolls he hadn’t noticed the night before, and dropped out of the truck.
“Hard to work on at night?” asked Brian.
“Unless you’ve already cleaned out the place, you don’t know who’s going to take a pot shot at you. Moreover, if a truck stops all of a sudden, there’s a chance of two trucks slamming into each other. In the daytime, we run further apart’.”
“At night, it’s dangerous to get separated?”
Smitty nodded. “The highway is bad enough, but when you go off it to get fuel, food, or anything else, all hell breaks loose. Either some bunch of thugs has already grabbed what you want, or else there’s a vigilance committee, citizens’ protective association, or something just as good, right there to see the thugs don’t grab the place. Either way, you’re an outsider, and they don’t want you.
Then there’re setups like what you ran into last night. If you hadn’t set them off first, they’d have hit us later when we stopped to get the roadblock out of the way. They wait for somebody to rob a place like that shopping center, then they, in turn, ambush the robbers.”
“Nice,” said Brian ironically.
“Isn’t it? The trouble is, everybody has to eat.”
They were walking along past the trucks, and Smitty said, “Here’s the cook-truck. ’Morning, Barbara, Anne.” Anne Cermak and Barbara Bowen smiled at Smitty, and then at Brian. Brian was suddenly conscious of his dirty clothes and unshaven face. But he was also hungry. There was a large kettle of stew cooking slowly on a bottled-gas stove inside the truck, and a pile of bowls of unbreakable plastic, and a tray of stainless-steel spoons.
Brian took a bowl of stew off to one side, ate hungrily, then went off to the stream to wash up. He came back shaved, and by now the small, cursing crowd at the front of one of the trucks had subsided, the hood was down again, the women and children on the grass at the center of the road were going back to the trucks, and the men were coming out of the woods and back from up and down the road where they’d been serving as gua
rds and lookouts.
Brian hunted up Cardan, who put him on one of the trucks as a guard. Anne’s father volunteered as the driver, but Anne herself was in another truck with Barbara Bowen.
The days passed pleasantly enough—by comparison with what it had been like when Brian and Cermak were traveling by bicycle—but Brian couldn’t help noticing that every day the going got tougher.
The cars were getting thicker along the roads, which meant many more obstacles to go around, or to get them out of the way. The trucks were already carrying a number of cans of extra fuel, which they stopped to refill at every opportunity. But they were low on food, and as Cardan was determined to get more before they ran out, the result was a carefully planned raid on a shopping center. This took an entire day, and was immediately followed by an ambush worse than any they’d run into before.
Brian had looked forward to being with Anne, but they were in separate trucks while traveling, and when theywere stopped there was a desperate need for guards and lookouts.
At every stop Cardan now had some of the men bolting tight more big oblongs of the galvanized iron roofing he’d loaded up with after the-last raid on a shopping center, and which now, in several layers of thickness, served to armor the trucks against the fire of most light hand-weapons. The extra protection was needed, since they were now being fired on by people who apparently shot for fun as well as plunder. They were getting into a section like a suburb of hell. Cars and trucks were burnt out, the roads were strewn with broken bottles, barbed wire, and spike-studded boards; the ditches were dug into trench systems, and an explosion had knocked out a wide section of overpass. From all sides there was continuous firing, with leaping flames devouring the buildings in the background, and a pall of smoke blotting out what lay beyond. Cardan pulled back out of it, sent the steam car on a brief reconnaissance to the south, learned that it was no better that way, tried a wider detour, and ran into another mess. Before they were through, they’d gone a hundred miles out of their way, suffered painful wounds, and repaired half a dozen tires. It took the better part of a week to get back on the highway.
The Day the Machines Stopped Page 7
