Lucifer's Hammer

3

THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

Rich Man. Poor Man

The value of a thing is what that thing will bring.

Tim led Eileen over the slippery crest. They stopped to gape down at Tujunga.

Tujunga still lived! There was electricity: yellow lights shining from houses that still stood; bright bluish-white fluorescent light from stores with unbroken glass in their windows.

Cars moved down Foothill Boulevard. They drove with their lights on in the afternoon gloom, through the windy, rainswept streets, across foot-thick mud that ran in rivulets across the road. Not many, but they were cars, and they moved. There were police cars in the supermarket parking lot across from Tim and Eileen.

There were also armed men, in uniform. When Tim and Eileen got closer they saw that the uniforms were of all styles and ages, and many didn’t fit any longer. It was as if everyone who had a uniform had gone home and put it on. The weapons were random: pistols, shotguns, .22 rifles, Mauser hunting pieces, a few military rifles carried by men in National Guard fatigues.

“Food!” Tim shouted. He took Eileen’s hand and they ran toward the shopping center with a new spring in their walk. “I told you,” Tim cried. “Civilization!”

Two men in outdated Army uniforms blocked the supermarket door. They didn’t stand aside as Tim and Eileen tried to go in. One of the men had sergeant’s stripes. He said, “Yeah?”

“We need to buy something to eat,” said Tim.

“Sorry,” the sergeant said. “All confiscated.”

“But we’re hungry.” Eileen sounded plaintive, even to herself. “We haven’t eaten all day.”

The other uniformed man spoke. He didn’t talk like a soldier. He sounded like an insurance salesman. “There’ll be ration cards issued at the old City Hall. You’ll have to go there to register. I understand they’ll be setting up a soup line too.”

“But who’s inside the store?” Eileen pointed an accusing finger at aisles bathed in electric light, where people were piling goods into shopping carts. Some wore uniforms, some didn’t.

“Our officers. The supply crew,” the sergeant said. He had been a clerk in a hardware store until that morning. “They’ll tell you all about it at City Hall.” He looked at their muddy clothes, and something dawned on him. “You come from over the hills?”

Tim said, “Yes.”

“Jesus,” the sergeant said.

“Many more make it out?” the other man asked.

“I don’t know.” Tim took Eileen’s hand again, holding it as if she might vanish into smoke the way his dream of normal civilization had vanished. “We’re about dead on our feet,” he said. “Where can… what should we do?”

“Beats me,” the sergeant said. “You want my advice, you figure on getting out of here. We’re not turning out strangers. Not yet. But it stands to reason there’s only so much to go around. At least until we can get back over the hills and see what’s out in the valley. They tell me…” His voice trailed off.

“Did you see it happen?” the private asked.

“No. The water came pretty high, I guess,” Tim said. “But we couldn’t see. We just heard it.”

“I’ll hear it the rest of my life,” Eileen said. “It… There must be a lot of people alive, though. In Burbank, maybe. And the Hollywood Hills.”

“Yeah,” the private growled.

“Too many for us to take care of.” The sergeant peered out into the rain as if trying to see through the Verdugo Hills beyond the parking lot. “Way too many. You better register at City Hall while they’re still taking in strangers. Maybe we won’t be, if too many come. Over that way.” He pointed.

“Thanks.” Tim turned away. They started across the parking lot.

“Hey.” The sergeant came toward them. He held the rifle carelessly. Tim kept watching it. The sergeant reached into his pocket. “I guess I can spare this. You look like you can use it.” He held out a cellophane-wrapped packet, very small, and turned away before Tim could thank him. As if he didn’t want to be thanked.

“What did we get?” Eileen asked.

“Cheese and crackers. About one bite each.” He opened the package and used the little plastic stick to dig out cheese from the plastic container. He spread half of it onto crackers. “Here’s your share.”

They munched on the way. “Never thought this stuff would taste so good,” Eileen said. “And it’s only been a few hours. Tim, I don’t think we ought to stay here. We should get to your observatory if we can.” She remembered what she had seen Patrolman Eric Larsen do. And she’d known him. She didn’t know these men in their too-small uniforms. “But I don’t think I can walk that far.”

“Why walk?” Tim pointed to a lighted building. “We’ll buy a car.”

The lot held used pickup trucks. Inside the showroom there were three GMC Blazers, four-wheel-drive station wagons. They went in, and saw no one. Tim went over to one of the cars. “Perfect,” he said. “Just what we want.”

“Tim—”

He turned at the alarm in her voice. There was a man in the doorway to the shop area. He held a large shotgun. At first Tim Hamner saw only the gun, barrels pointed toward his head, each as large as a cave. Then he noticed the fat man behind it. Large, not really fat — yes he was. Fat. Also beefy, with red face. Expensive clothes. Western string tie with a silver device on it. And a big shotgun.

“You want one of those, do you?” the man said.

“I want to buy one,” Tim said. “We’re not robbers. I can pay.” Tim’s voice was filled with angry indignation.

The man stared for a moment. Then he lowered the shotgun. His head tilted back. Peal after peal of laughter came from his mouth. “Pay with what?” he demanded. He could hardly speak for laughing. “With what?”

Tim swallowed the automatic answer. He looked at Eileen, and fear came to him. Money wasn’t any good — and he didn’t have any money to begin with. He had checks, and plastic credit cards, and what were they? “I don’t know,” Tim said finally. “Yes I do. Maybe. I have a place up in the hills. Stocked with food and supplies. Big enough for a lot of people. I’ll take you and your family, and let you stay there…”

The man stopped laughing. “Nice offer. Don’t need it, but nice. I’m Harry Stimms. I own this place.”

“My name is—”

“Timothy Hamner,” Stimms said. “I watch TV.”

“And you’re not interested in my offer?”

“No,” Stimms said. “Actually, I don’t suppose these cars belong to me anymore. Expect the National Guard joh

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll sell you one. The price is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Eileen’s jaw dropped. Tim’s eyes narrowed a second. Talk about being rolled . … “Done. How do I pay?”

“You sign a note for it,” Stimms said. “Doubt it’ll be any good, ever. But just in case…” He picked up the shotgun and kept it cradled in his arms. “Come on into the office. I’ve got the note forms. Never made one out for quite that much before…”

“I can write small.”

They drove through inches-deep water on side streets. The wind howled. On either side the old houses, built long before the Long Beach quake and still standing, were islands of light in the drizzle. Tim’s watch said 4 P.M., but outside it was dark, with only a dingy gray except in the headlights. There were no sidewalks, and mud as well as water flowed across the blacktop road. Eileen drove carefully, eyes ahead on the road. The radio gave nothing but static.