Maybe this inability to distinguish between killing with the bare hands and pushing a button was the source of his mental trouble.
JUNE 20
There is some alarming news from Level 2. A few days ago they broadcast that everyone was suffering from some sort of disease. The symptoms were nausea and vomiting, and severe diarrhoea. The fact the everybody had caught it at the same time seemed suspicious, but the symptoms must have disappeared because the matter was not mentioned again, the broadcasts reverting to their customary abuse of the government.
Today, though, they say the symptoms have come back and are even more distressing. People are emaciated and feverish. And similar reports are coming over the radio from the neutral countries. There too, the sickness appears to be general. In the middle of one broadcast the speaker himself broke off in mid-sentence, and we could hear him vomiting quite clearly. It was awful. Somebody else had to take over.
Radio reports from Level 2 started to come in again while I was writing that. I will try to jot down what the man says.
People are dying. “Like flies” (his very words!). He is shouting: “It’s your bloody radioactivity! You’ve poisoned us too!”
They are going over to a big hall, or something, in one of the shelters. Now I can distinctly hear groaning and vomiting. Nobody is saying anything—too weak, perhaps.
Broadcaster again. “Hundreds of people… lying on floor… no help at all… nobody capable of helping… some are vomiting… diarrhoea… horrible stench.”
He has stopped to cough and blow his nose.
He goes on: “Some seem to be dead already… many unconscious… perhaps dead too, nobody to check… makes no difference… everyone will die sooner or later… matter of hours… some perhaps a day or two… no difference…”
I missed something there, his voice suddenly grew very weak. He has turned away from the microphone to be sick or something. I can hear groans again, louder.
He says: “I can’t go on.”
That’s all.
No, he is trying to say something else. He has to speak very slowly.
“Our shelter is becoming a grave, a collective grave of human misery.” Louder now: “Politicians! Soldiers! From the bottom of our grave we curse you! May you follow in our…” His voice fails him.
“Steps,” I suppose he wanted to say. But there is nothing coming over except groans and the sound of people vomiting.
Now the station has been switched off.
JUNE 21
The news is the same as yesterday’s: neutrals and Level 2 are dying fast.
The probable reason for these deaths is polluted air. The filters used on Level 2 and in the neutral countries are apparently not a good enough protection against radioactivity—at least, against the strong dose they have just received. Nobody knows for certain, and nobody is going up to make sure. But there seems no doubt that millions of people have escaped death by blast or burning only to die of poisoned air.
This means that the world population is quickly being reduced to those living in the deeper levels, the ones fitted with self-sufficient air-supply systems. The enemy must have shelters with this equipment too, but I suppose none of the allies and neutrals could afford it. If nothing happens to halt the present death-rate, the population will drop in a matter of days—perhaps hours—to a mere one and a third millions. Maybe a few thousands more or less for the enemy’s deep shelters may differ in capacity from ours.
Nothing has been heard from the neutrals since about 14.00 hours, when the last of their messages was received. It gave facts and figures, in some detail, about the mass deaths. It did not end in the pathetic way yesterday’s Level 2 broadcast did. But the dry report, trying to give the up-to-date figures of death—as if life would go on there tomorrow—was, in a way, even more pathetic. There were no accusations, no curses in their broadcast: just the latest news about the victims of radioactivity in that country.
It went off the air quite suddenly. There have been no more neutral broadcasts since. There will be no more.
Of all the people who used to live on this earth, only we and our enemy remain. To be more precise: only that handful on each side which is deep underground.
JUNE 22
There is a strange feeling in the air—other people besides myself have noticed it, and perhaps it is not restricted to Level 7—a feeling that we are living in a new world.
The old world, on the surface of the globe and on the underground levels connected with or dependent on the surface—that world is dead. Life has been restricted to those who went deep enough and who are self-sufficient, even in the matter of their air-supply.
The surface of the earth is out of bounds, definitely and absolutely so. And will be for some time to come. How long, is a matter for debate. More and more people can be heard discussing the question. The neutrals asked it, and got no answer. Not that it would have made any difference to their fate, for death was already in their bodies.
But we, who have all the equipment to keep ourselves alive down here, we want to know the answer.
Strontium 90’s half-life, the time taken for its radioactivity to decay to half its original strength, is twenty-five years. The half-life of Uranium 239 is twenty-three minutes. But Uranium 238’s half-life is 4,510,000,000 years! Which of the isotopes is poisoning the surface?
The answer to that question will decide the life of the remaining levels. We on Level 7 are best off, with supplies for 500 years. Go up to Level 5, and the underground lifespan drops to 200 years. While in only twenty-five years the inhabitants of Level 3 will be forced to leave their burrows and risk life on the surface!
It is certain that surface pollution was intended to last for years. Otherwise the Button 4 bombs would not have been used at all. But years, decades or centuries?
People on Level 3 have raised the question in very practical terms. Though a life expectancy of twenty-five years is pretty good, if you remember that most of humanity has just died, they still face a problem. They are asking: “Should we raise children?” Children born now on Level 3 will starve in the prime of their life, unless they can get out.
So for them it is a significant problem. And so it is, in a less pressing way, for all the rest of us cave-dwellers. Even we, on Level 7, would like to know the answer. Can we look forward to the prospect of going out before we die? And if not, will our descendants be able to go out in five centuries’ time? The fate of remote descendants cannot be said to affect us personally; but we are curious to know whether humanity has a chance to survive and, perhaps, one day spread again over the face of the globe.
JUNE 23
In the lounge today, in the dining-hall, in corridors and rooms where people met and passed the time of day, the same question was on everyone’s lips or unspoken, in their eyes: how long will the surface be radioactive?
On other levels they go so far as to ask the question over the air, time and again. Perhaps because they are not so well adjusted to living underground.
Anyway, no one on Level 7 can give them the answer they keep asking for. Somebody on Level 5 must be able to, and Level 5 has been specifically requested to supply the information. But they give evasive replies, not a clear answer.
They advise Level 3 against begetting children, certainly; which must mean that in twenty-five years the deluge will not be over. They also say that living underground is safe and that we should not think about the surface; which implies something about how long the radioactivity will last.
They say it all depends on what kind of material the enemy used for his rigged bombs. What they do not tell us is what stuff we used. All this sounds very mysterious. Why the hell can’t they tell the truth, or at least that part of the truth which they know?
If we could contact them, those leaders of ours, we would get the truth pretty soon. There are ways of squeezing it out of men without using atomic bombs. But we are here, and they are there, and the only contact is by radio. So there is nothing we
can do.
It is obvious that they do not want to give us this information. It is equally clear that for immediate practical purposes the information is of no significance: we are down here for life.
My guess is that the truth is worse than many people think. Otherwise our leaders would tell us all they knew. But they do not, perhaps because they are ashamed. Or maybe they are repentant.
To hell with them, anyway! We cannot get a thing out of them.
JUNE 24
Level 3 reports that a married couple there have decided to go out tomorrow and take a look at the world. They do not want to stay inside for the rest of their lives. In fact they do not want to remain underground a day longer.
I remember I felt that way sometimes before I had my psychological treatment.
They intend to take a radio transmitter with them and report on what they see. Everybody down here looks forward with keen interest to that, and I suppose people must be just as curious on Level 3, or they would not allow this suicidal enterprise.
Because it is suicide. That pair will never come back. They must perish on this trip, and they know it perfectly well. But they will have a few days out in the sun.
Everyone on Level 7 is talking about this business. Some people think they are mad. Others say they are brave. If I am not mistaken, everyone envies them a little. Perhaps because of the publicity. Or because of the sunshine.
It is P’s firm opinion that they are neurotic—though even she seems to look forward with some eagerness to this strange escapade.
JUNE 25
They are out.
Their first report was that they have found several cars in good condition inside the underground mouth to their shelter. They chose the best and filled the back seat with cans of petrol which owners of some of the other cars had brought with them—no doubt in the vain hope that they would be able to drive back to their (non-existent) homes even if all the filling stations went up in smoke. This gives them enough fuel for a week’s drive at least. Food and water they took with them from the shelter.
The man is driving while his wife works the transmitter. Judging by what she says, the shelter was not very close to a burst. Even so, everything around has been scorched by fire. The road is in relatively good condition.
She says she will broadcast again in half an hour.
They are driving in the direction of a small town. As they go on, the way is becoming more difficult. Débris is scattered over the road. But the car they picked has good tyres, the woman says, so they are going on.
Reckoning by the mileage covered, she says, they should have reached the town by now. But there is nothing to indicate that they have. There used to be a church there which dominated the view. They should have seen the tower long ago. But there is nothing, absolutely nothing. Even the quantity of débris is quite small. Everything must have burned.
There are signs of fire to confirm this, she says. The destruction is so complete that it is hard to believe that anything ever stood where they are now.
Nor do they see anything on the horizon. They are driving through fairly fiat country, with no hills to obscure the view, but there is nothing to be seen. Other roads keep crossing theirs, but that is all. Here and there the road is severely damaged, but if they drive carefully they can get over the bad patches. They have to go slowly.
Now the woman says they are faced with a serious obstacle: part of the road ahead has cracked up to become quite impassable. She will break off her broadcast while she helps her husband to find a detour.
Quarter of an hour later: she says they managed to go round and get back on their road. They are keen to reach ground zero, the actual point where a bomb burst, but if the roads are that poor it will be impossible to do it by car. They could have done it if they had had a helicopter. The woman says they will be forced to take the best roads available and just see where they lead to.
She will broadcast more news this afternoon at 14.00 hours.
The afternoon broadcast has just finished. It started late, at about 14.15 hours. The reason, the woman explained, was that they had both been ill.
She had been the first to feel unwell, and when her nausea turned to vomiting they had to stop. This happened only a few minutes after her previous broadcast, when they had not been out of the shelter more than an hour and a half.
After she had rested they drove on, but they had not gone far before her husband had an attack of the same sort. Nausea. Stop the car. Vomiting. Diarrhoea. The old story.
The woman said they know it means radiation sickness, but they do not mind. They intend to go on and cover as much distance as they can before nightfall, as soon as her husband has rested. They will not use the transmitter again until they have some interesting news, she says.
JUNE 26
This escapade has caused incredible excitement—on all levels, apparently. Everybody is following the radio reports from outside. People are going without sleep so as not to miss broadcasts. And even when the two outside are not reporting—resting or asleep—discussion still goes on down here.
There has never, since the day we came down, been such excitement on Level 7. Not even during the war—or so people say. (I was not able to judge what effect the war had: I was busy conducting it.)
People are intrigued to know even the smallest personal details about the pair. Who are they? How old are they? What were their occupations? Where are they from? Do they have relatives down below? And so on.
He is an artist, a landscape painter. His wife has no particular job.
“This helps to explain why they decided to go up,” some people say. “There’s not much landscape underground.”
“There’s not much left outside either,” others retort. Still, the man must have felt dreadful in a crowded, enclosed shelter.
There is another fact which may have something to do with their escapade. They had expected to meet their eighteen-year-old daughter in the shelter. She had been assigned to the same one as they. When the warning siren sounded she was away from home visiting a friend. They phoned her and she assured them she would come straight to the shelter. But they never found her there. There must have been an accident. Nobody will ever know what happened. Obviously mishaps like that are bound to occur in such large operations: millions of people rushing, panic-stricken, to their respective shelters—or to any shelter.
So now the parents are outside, not looking for their daughter, but preferring to shorten their lives and die where they were born, in the sunshine.
I have just listened to their latest report. She is driving now, while he does the talking.
They feel more or less all right again. This often happens with radiation sickness. After the initial shock, nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea, a few symptom-free days may follow. But the symptoms will come back.
They are driving on all the time. But there is not much to report. Every now and then they see the remains of a steel frame sticking out of the ground, sometimes twisted into a strange shape. One such piece seemed to catch the painter’s imagination. He found it beautiful and said it would be quite in place in a museum of modern art. He thought an appropriate title would be ‘The Martyred Steel’.
They are good reporters, both of them. They do not dramatise. Certainly they are not melodramatic. They do not shed tears, they just report facts. With a little artistic colouring added.
Only there is so little to report. Complete destruction is complete destruction. To try to describe how complete such complete destruction is, is to be reduced to playing with words—or with what was and is no more.
But these two are not playing. They are looking for something that may have been spared. And all they can find is a tortured steel frame.
JUNE 27
They are still driving on and reporting, though they complain of fatigue.
This morning they came across a Level 1 shelter, a rather shallow and relatively small one. It must have been a good way from a ground zero, but there were cr
acks in the concrete roof. They tried to get into the shelter, but the entrance was blocked by big chunks of concrete and steel, so they had to give up. There was nobody still alive there, of course. Still, it would have been interesting to know whether the people inside had died of blast, burns or radiation.
As the couple go on their reports are becoming less frequent. Because they feel tired, and because there is nothing to report.
People down here are rather disappointed. This trip to the surface seems to be a very boring affair, even more boring than life underground!
The people who thought the whole idea rather silly at the outset have started calling them cranks again. “Fools, to be more precise,” said P when we met this afternoon. “Fancy paying for such a boring trip with twenty-five years of life! Behaviour like that isn’t just neurotic, it’s plain folly.”
Interest in the escapade wanes steadily. It is still the main topic of conversation, but it is no longer discussed with quite the same fervour as before.
If their trip goes on for a few more days, people will probably give up listening to their scanty reports altogether. They will die for us even before they are really dead.
JUNE 28
The brave and foolish pair have decided to stop where they are and go no farther. They themselves seem to be bored. The scene in one place is identical with the scene any where else. There is no point in moving around. Even if they could circle the world, it would probably be the same story. They must have realised that.
And they are exhausted—tired by the driving and weakened by the sickness within them.
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