Footfall

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.”

Di

“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 di

“Chores,” Fox said. “Nice to have seen you again, Roger.’

Bill Shakes and George Tate-Evans helped carry di

“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 gri

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 i

“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.

“I’ll buy that one. Okay, Bill. We’ll haul your cow shit.”

“Thank you.”

Harry lifted his glass. “You’ve done pretty well.”

“Not too bad.” It was hard to read Shakes’ smile. “Do you know anything about Los Angeles?”

“They’re coping,” Harry said.

“You didn’t go through there?” George asked. He brought over a bottle of California brandy and poured a generous second drink.

“No,” Harry said. “But they’re coping.”—

“Eh?”

“Just about everywhere,” Harry said. “Things are tough. Tougher than here, mostly. But people are managing, one way or another. Greenhouses. Vegetable gardens. Chicken coops on rooftops.”

“Surprising,” Bill Shakes said.

“Yes, considering there’s not much the government can do Roger said. “Colorado Springs can’t even find out what people are doing, much less help them.”

“That’s why things are working,” George said. He knocking back his brandy and poured more. “Get the goddamn government out of the way and people can cope. You watch, if things get little better, good enough for the government to get active, ever thing will get worse again. Look at us! We’ve got government Boy, do we have government! Government people out the arse.

George was wrong, of course. Roger had seen it: what made it all work was just enough government. Government wasn’t powerful enough to meddle any more, but it could tell those who would listen how to help themselves: how to build greenhouse keep the plumbing working, deal with untrustworthy water supplies, eat all of a steer carcass: the things once printed in its survival manuals. George Tate-Evans must have expected his survivalists to be the government by now. Instead of decently dying away, the government had taken over his territory!

If Roger could say that just right, he’d get himself and Han kicked back into the Street. Instead he said, “Clara said there are lots of new people here. Why?”

Bill Shakes booked edgily at George, but George didn’t notice “Big government project in the harbor,” George said. “New people coming in. Navy people. Computer programmers. Ship fitting plumbers-we have to do all our own plumbing now. Every plumber for a hundred miles seems to work down there at Ui harbor.”

“They don’t moonlight?” Harry asked.

“They don’t even come out for a visit.”

“Hoo-hah.” Harry was on his second brandy. “And you guy came up here to get away from the crowds!” Harry chortled and poured himself another drink without asking.

“There is an amusing aspect to it.” Bill Shakes still wore his enigmatic smile. “I remember a story. There was a guy who knew the Second World War was coming. The news said it all. So he looked around for a quiet spot to sit it out, and he moved his whole life there. He picked an island out in the middle of the Pacific, way the hell away from everything. Called Iwo Jima.”