Lucifer's Hammer

They got out and ran toward half of a bridge. Below the bridge’s twisted end was fire. Fire crawled away from the greater blaze, stopped, convulsed, then fell still. The car burned, casting its bonfire light on the canyon and the stream at its bottom.

Tim felt Eileen’s hand seeking his. He took her hand and held it tightly.

“Poor bastards,” she muttered. She shivered in the dawn cold. The rain had eased, but the wind was cold. It blew the fire. They could feel warmth from the blazing car fighting the wind’s chill.

Eileen let go of Tim’s hand and moved out onto the ruined bridge. She looked back at the walls of the gorge on the side where Tim still stood. Then she pointed. “We can get across, I think,” she said. “Come look.” Her voice was calm and detached now.

Tim went out to her, walking gingerly, afraid the rest of the bridge would collapse. He looked where she was pointing. There was a gravel road, barely a car’s width wide, carved out of the side of the gorge and switchbacking down into the canyon. “Must be the old road,” Eileen said. “I thought there might be one.”

It didn’t look adequate at all. Not even to walk on, but Eileen went back and started the engine.

“Shouldn’t we wait for more light?” Tim asked.

“Probably, but I don’t want to,” she said.

“Okay. But let me drive. You get out and walk.”

There was just light enough to see her face. She leaned over and kissed him, lightly, on the cheek. “You’re sweet. But I’m a better driver than you. And you’ll walk, because somebody has to go ahead and be sure I can drive down the trail.”

“No. We’ll do it together.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense, and he wondered if he would have said that if he hadn’t known she would make him get out and walk.

“We both have a better chance if you scout,” she said. “Now get to it.”

The old road was a nightmare. Sometimes it tilted horribly toward the canyon below. At least, Tim thought, we’re out of sight of the burning car. He could still see some light from the dying blaze.

At the switchbacks she had to go around in short segments, backing up and turning, again and again, with the wheels only inches from the edge. Tim felt terror at every turn. She had only to make one mistake: The wrong gear, or too much pressure on the accelerator, and she would be down there, burning alive, and Tim would be alone. He was barely able to walk when they reached the bottom.

“How deep is it?” Eileen asked.

“I…” Tim came back to the car and got in. “I’ll find out in a minute.” He reached for her, desperately.

She pushed him away. “Sweetheart, look.” She pointed to her left.

There was just enough light to see. Beyond the ruins of the burned car rose a massive concrete wall, rising high above them. A dam. Tim shuddered. Then he got out and waded into the stream, fighting the current. It was only up to his knees, and he staggered across, then beckoned for her to follow.

The Landlord

Ownership is not only a right, if is a duty. Ownership obligates. Use your property as if it had been entrusted to you by the people.

At noon Tim and Eileen reached the top of the gorge. When they were a third of the way up, another car had come to the other side and begun working its way down. It was an ordinary car without four-wheel drive, and Tim did not understand how they had got that far up the canyon. The other car held two men, a woman and many children. It was still clinging to the side of the gorge when Tim and Eileen reached the top on the other side. They drove away, leaving the others perched on the side of the cliff, wondering if they should have spoken to them, but not knowing what they could have done to help.

Tim felt more helpless than ever. He was prepared for the end of civilization: to be nearly alone, to find human beings few and far between. He was not prepared to watch it die, and he wondered what he should do about that, but he could think of nothing.

The next bridge was mercifully intact, and the one after that. They were only a few miles from the observatory.

They rounded a bend, to find four cars in the road. There were a lot of people standing there. These were the first people Tim and Eileen had seen since they left the gorge.

The road ran through a tu

Six women and many children were gathered around the cars. Eileen looked hesitantly at the group, then drove up to them.

The children stared with big eyes. One of the women came over to the car. She seemed ancient, although she couldn’t have been more than forty. She looked at the Blazer, noting the starred bullet hole in the rear windshield. She didn’t say anything.

“Hello,” Tim said.

“Hi.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Got here just after dawn,” the woman said.

“Did you come from town?” Eileen asked.

“No. We were camped up here. Tried to get back to Glendale, but the road’s blocked. How’d you get up here? Could we go back the way you came?” Once she had found her voice, the woman talked rapidly.

“We came up Big Tujunga,” Tim said.

The woman looked surprised, and turned to the hill. “Hey, Freddie. They came up Big Tujunga.”

“It’s blocked,” the man called. He handed the shovel to another man and started down the hill toward them. Tim saw that he wore a pistol on his belt.

Their cars were not very new. A battered pickup truck, loaded with camping goods; a station wagon on sagging springs; an ancient Dodge Dart.

“We tried to get out Big Tujunga,” the man was saying as he came closer. He wore typical camping clothing, wool shirt and twill trousers. A Sierra cup dangled from one side of his belt. The pistol hung in its holster on the other. He didn’t seem to be aware of the gun. “I’m Fred Haskins. Reckon you came across the gorge by the old switchbacks?”

“Yes,” Eileen said.

“What’s it like back in L.A.?” Haskins asked.

“Bad,” Tim said.

“Yeah. Earthquake shook the place pretty good, huh?” Haskins looked at Tim carefully. He looked at the bullet hole too. “How’d you get that?”

“Someone tried to stop us-”

“Where?”

“Just as we started up into the mountains,” Tim said.

“Sheriff’s honor farm,” Haskins muttered. “All them prisoners loose, then?”

“What did you mean, ‘bad’?” the woman asked. “What did you mean?”

Suddenly Tim couldn’t stand it any longer. “It’s all gone. The San Fernando Valley, everything south of the Hollywood Hills, drowned in a tidal wave. What wasn’t drowned is burned. Tujunga looked pretty good, but the rest of the L.A. basin is finished.”

Fred Haskins stared uncomprehendingly. “Finished? All those people dead? All of them?”

“Just about,” Tim said.

“There are probably a lot of people still alive in the hills,” Eileen said. “But — if the road’s blocked, then they can’t come up here.”

“Jeez,” Haskins said. “That comet hit us, right? I knew it was going to hit. Martha, I told you we’d be better up here. How long… ? I guess they’ll send the Army to get us, but we may as well dig our way over,” Haskins said. “Road on the other side looks in good shape. Far as we can see, anyway. Martha, you got anything on the radio yet?”

“Nothing. Static. Sometimes I think I hear a few words, but they don’t make sense.”

“Yeah.”

“You folks had anything to eat?” Martha Haskins asked.

“No.”

“You look starved. Here, I’ll get you something, Mister—”

“Tim.”

“Tim. And you’re—”