Dies the Fire

Purist, he thought, hiding his smile and finishing the hot drink; it was lousy, but coffee was going to be a rare treat.

He went on: "You've got a point, but we'll use it while we've got it. You can give us all instruction."

She sniffed again. "Signe can shoot. Sort of. At targets."

Then she took the cup away for washing and packing; her orange cat slunk at her heels, looking thoroughly frightened.

Havel found himself obsessively ru

Of course, the Huttons probably have some more back at their vehicles. And we can do some hunting. But we've got to get out to farming or ranching country, somewhere where there is food; if it's there we can get it one way or another. Now they can't ship cattle out, there ought to be plenty, for a while. And farmers store a lot of their own grain these days in those sheet-metal things.

He'd only eat the horses if there was no other choice or the animals were dying anyway; they were too damned useful to lose. A lot of the medical kit had been expended on Mary Larsson, too. God alone knew what they'd do if anyone else got seriously ill or hurt.

Well, yes, actually we do know. The one who gets sick will recover or die. I hope everyone has had their appendix out, he thought grimly, hefting his spear and slipping on his pack. Let's get going.

Suddenly he was conscious that Signe hadn't left; she was standing by the base of the veranda stairs. The bruises on her face were purpling, and her lips were swollen, but she looked at him steadily. There was one new element to her gear; she had Jailhouse Bob's belt and blade. Unexpectedly, she drew it, looking down at the big fighting-knife with wondering distaste.

"It's a tool," Havel said quietly. "Just a tool. Anyone can use it. It's the person that matters, not the equipment."

"I know," she said. Then she looked up at him: "Teach me."

He made an enquiring sound. She went on fiercely: "Teach me how to fight. I don't ever want to be that. helpless… again. Teach me!"

Her knuckles were white on the checked hardwood of the knife hilt.

Problem is, I can teach you dirty fighting, and how to use a knife, he thought. If guns still worked, I could make you into a pretty good shot in a couple of months. But damned if I can tell you how to use a bow or a sword or a spear… which I suspect are going to matter more from now on.

Aloud he went on: "You bet. We've all got a lot to learn, I'm thinking."

Hutton had the horses ready and everyone was outside; decision crystallized, and Havel put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Everyone looked up, and he waved them over as he walked down to where the pathway to the cabin joined the Cente

"Before we go, we ought to settle some things," Havel said, as they gathered around. "Mainly, what we're going to do-and if there's a we to do it." Better than dwelling on our losses, at least.

He leaned on his spear and looked at the Larssons. "I figure my obligations to Steelhead Air and its clients have about run out," he said bluntly. "All things considered."

The younger Larssons looked stricken. Ken gave him a slight smile; he recognized negotiation when he heard it, and so did Will Hutton.

Havel went on: "So if we're going to stick together, we'll have to put it on a new basis. So far we've just been reacting to things as they happened; it's time to start making things happen ourselves. If you folks don't like my notions of how to do that, we can go our separate ways once we reach the highway."

Ken Larsson was evidently relieved to have something to think about but his murdered wife. His face lost some of its stu

"Something has happened and not just around here," he said. "At least over a big part of this continent, and maybe all over the world. Mike, remember just before the engines cut out, they were reporting that weird electrical storm over Nantucket? I don't think that's a coincidence-and it's also thousands of miles from here."

He shrugged. "I can't imagine what could have caused a Change like this, unless it's simply that God hates us… Maybe incredibly advanced, really sadistic aliens who wanted to take our toys away? Call it Alien Space Bats. But at a guess, it started there over Nantucket-probably propagated over the earth's surface at the speed of light. It's too… specific… to be an accident, I think. If it were an accidental change in the laws of nature, we'd most likely just have collapsed into a primordial soup of particles."

Will Hutton shook his head. "Hard to get my mind around it," he said.

"We have to," Havel said bluntly. "That's the difference between living and dying, now."

Hutton nodded: "I don't know any of that science stuff, but it occurs to me this might have happened before."

They all looked at him, and he shrugged. "If it happened back in olden times, who'd have noticed? Maybe this"-he waved around-"is the way things was for a long time. That'd account for folks taking so long to get guns and such."

Havel looked at him with respect; that wasn't a bad idea, although of course there was no way to check, short of time travel. He went on: "So the question is, what does each of us want to do? Do we stick together? And if we do, what's our goal?"

Hutton scratched his head thoughtfully. "Not much use in trying to get back to Texas, for me 'n' mine," he said. "Too many hungry, angry strangers between. Got my family with me, 'cept for my boy, Luke. He's in the Army, stationed in Italy with the 173rd. All I can do for him is pray."

He winced slightly, then shook his head and rolled a cigarette, using only his right hand and offering the makings around.

"No, thanks," Havel said. "Wouldn't want to get into the habit again-not much tobacco grows around here."

Once Hutton had lit up, Havel waved towards the cabin and the congealed pool of blood still left on the veranda. "Stuff like this is probably happening all over the world. Most people aren't going to make it through the next year even out here in the boondocks, and it's going to be worse in the cities, a lot worse. I'd like to be one of the minority still living come 1999. That's going to mean teamwork. Sitting around arguing at the wrong moment could get us all killed."

Signe Larsson spoke up: "Dad, the rest of you, we should stick with Mike."

"Yup," Eric concurred. "I'm sort of fond of living myself."

Astrid nodded, silent. Her father spoke: "Money's gone, the whole modern world's gone. We'd all be dead four times over without Mike. I'm for it."

Hutton took a drag on his cigarette and spoke in his slow deep voice. "Man alone, or a family alone, they're dead or worse now. I found that out. Mike here, I've got good reason to trust him, and I misdoubt he'll get drunk with power. So if he wants to ramrod this outfit, I'm for it."

Havel held up a hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said. A deep breath: "We have to have someplace to go, and some way of making a living and defending ourselves once we get there. That means getting land and seed and stock and tools however we can, and I sort of suspect it also means fighting to keep it. OK, that's not something a man can do alone; and we here know each other a bit."

He shifted his shoulders, a gesture he used at the begi

"But I'm not going to take responsibility without authority. If you want to stick with me, well, I hope I'm sensible enough never to think I know everything and don't need advice, but somebody has to be in charge until things are settled. I think I'm the best candidate. We're going to have to pool everything and work together like a military unit, and a camel is a horse designed by a committee."