Doomsday Eve 7

Doomsday Eve 7

Ignoring Nedra's protests, Zen held her in place while the equipment

was put into operation. Behind them, West watched. The faintest trace

of an approving smile showed on the craggy man's face.

 

The lieutenant looked up from his meters. "She's all right too, sir."

 

"Sure of that?"

 

"Of course I'm sure. This counter doesn't lie!" The medical officer was

indignant.

 

So was Nedra. The violet eyes shot sparks of anger at the colonel. Zen

was unimpressed. Deep inside, he was tremendously relieved. She had

come down alive! She was unharmed! This was enough to make him feel

good all over. He also knew what she was. No ordinary mortal could have

remained in the hot zone for the length of time she had been there and

emerged unharmed. He did not mind her anger. Instead he turned to West.

 

"You're next!"

 

He did not know what response to expect from the craggy man. It might

be anything. To his surprise, West smiled.

 

"Glad to, colonel. I was hoping I would get tested, so I would know

where I stood."

 

Without hesitation, West stepped in front of the scope. "While I am

certain I did not receive enough exposure to do any damage, still it

is best to follow your example and make certain." The deep voice was

suave, with tiny overtones of amusement in it somewhere.

 

Again the lieutenant studied his meters and again he looked up. Real

perplexity was on his face. "Three okays in a row. I didn't have a

single okay up until now." His gaze went up the slope in the direction

where the bomb had exploded.

 

"Does that mean I'm all right?" West asked.

 

"Yes. Definitely all right," the lieutenant answered. "And I don't

pretend to understand it."

 

"I was in a hole, too," West said. He seemed to be amused at some joke

known only to him.

 

The lieutenant brightened. "Then I understand it."

 

"I wish I did," Zen said, to himself. There was no longer any doubt in

his mind that Nedra was one of the new people. As to West, the man was

an enigma. Not knowing how long West had been exposed to the radiation,

Zen did not know what to make of his freedom from it. But there was

certainly something peculiar about him.

 

"Colonel, it was good to meet you." West was coming toward him with

outstretched hand. Zen had the impression that the man's hand could

turn into a veritable bear trap, if West chose. "Perhaps we shall meet

again, sir." The words were a statement, not a question. An enigmatical

smile played over the craggy man's face.

 

"Who knows whether we shall meet again?" Zen answered, shrugging.

"Generally, when people say goodbye these days, they mean goodbye

forever."

 

"I know." Sadness showed on the craggy, lined face. "It is too bad that

things have to be this way. Well, experience is a difficult school,

but _homo sapiens_ seems incapable of learning in any other."

 

"It is war," Zen said.

 

"I disagree with you there," West said. "War is only a symptom of the

disease, it is only an __EXPRESSION__ of humanity. War itself is not at

fault, but man. Nor can man really be regarded as being at fault, since

what he is now going through is only a stage of growth."

 

Momentarily the memory of the contact with the race mind flicked

through Zen's consciousness. "I know that," he said. Then he hesitated.

"Or I knew it once."

 

"Ah? When?"

 

"Up the slope there, I knew it. But I have forgotten now what I knew."

Zen spoke slowly. He was trying hard to remember--or to forget--he

wasn't sure which.

 

"Ah?" West repeated. "Goodday, sir. Nedra, I would like to speak with

you for a moment, before I leave. With your permission, of course,

Colonel Zen."

 

"Certainly," Zen said. He watched the nurse and the craggy man move up

the trail a few steps. They carried on a conversation in tones too low

for him to overhear, then parted. West went down to the bottom of the

ravine and crossed to the other side of the gulch, where he began to

climb the opposite slope, staying as far away from the radioactive zone

as possible. Nedra returned to Zen beside the truck.

 

"Does he live back there?" the intelligence agent asked.

 

"I really don't know," the nurse answered. "I think he does, but I'm

not certain."

 

"It's rough country to live in."

 

"From what I have seen of him, he seems capable of living almost

anywhere."

 

"Do you know him well?"

 

The violet eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "You are asking a great many

questions, sir."

 

"I'm going to ask more."

 

"My telephone number, no doubt. I'm sorry, but I don't have a

telephone." The violet eyes grew pensive. "But if I did have a

telephone number, there is no one I would rather give it to than you."

 

He felt a warm glow at her words. The dream that he had once shared

with millions of other men, of a wife and kids, came into his mind

again, a yearning that was as old as history. If he had his free

choice, he would go with this dream.

 

He knew he did not have a free choice. Indeed, he doubted if he had any

choice at all. Nor had any other man. History had moved past the day

when this dream could be realized. Fate was sweeping it into the dust

heap of good things that were gone forever.

 

 

 

 

V

 

 

"She is immune to radiation!" Zen thought after Nedra had left to

rejoin her unit. This in itself was of sufficient importance to attract

and hold the interest of the top military and scientific minds. Perhaps

soldiers could also be immunized. Perhaps, by some impossible freak

of chance, a way might be found for workers to return to abandoned

factories, to long-closed shops and forges. This might mean a new flow

of goods and materials to troops that were desperately short of them

and to a civilian population that, at a conservative estimate, was more

than half starved.

 

A human being who had achieved immunity to radiation was important

enough to command his complete attention. Also, the probability was

very great that she was one of the mysterious new people. Something

else about her interested him even more. He could not put his finger

on this something else but he suspected it had to do with the future,

with another world than the one he knew. Or with another universe.

Again the memory of his contact with the race mind flicked through his

consciousness.

 

Now he knew what he was going to do insofar as Nedra was concerned. He

had a hunch what her next move would be. He would wait for her to make

it.

 

Finding a carbine was not difficult. On this trail, the weapons were

to be had for picking them up. A dead man's ammunition pouches were

filled with cartridges. He took the pouches. Carrying the carbine, he

slid down the bank toward the mountain stream that talked to itself at

the bottom of the canyon. The water was clear and cool but dead trout

floating in it warned him not to drink.

 

Seeking a place from which he could watch the canyon, he moved upward.

A dim trail was visible through the pines here.

 

"An old narrow-gauge railroad," he thought. The rails had been removed

long since, the ties had rotted away, and the roadbed itself was hardly

a trail through the growth of trees. He had barely settled himself in a

spot from which to watch the ravine below, than a stone turned on the

old roadbed.

 

Nedra was coming along the trail.

 

He let her pass without challenge. Sliding out of hiding, he followed

her.

 

Twisting and turning, the trail climbed slowly upward. When it reached

the edge of the timber, Zen caught a glimpse of a slide of yellow rock

far ahead, an old mine dump, which told him why the road had been

constructed in the first place. A ghost town was probably ahead.

 

He caught a glimpse of Nedra moving steadily ahead along the old road

bed.

 

"If she doesn't know exactly where she is going, then I'm missing my

guess," he thought, as he followed her. Elation was rising in him. She

was leading him straight to the hiding place of the new people.

 

Here in these mountains a small group could remain in hiding forever.

Food might eventually become a problem, but there was plenty of game in

the ranges: deer, elk, and bear, and some of the high valleys had been

in cultivation before the war. A few hardy pioneers had always managed

to find a living in this wilderness. If they could do it, so could this

new group.

 

Of course, they would have to evade Cuso's roving patrols, raiding for

food, supplies and women. But that ought not to be too difficult. The

ghost town was in sight.

 

Surrounding an old mine, a crusher, and a concentrator, the ghost town

was also in ruins. Unlike so many small cities, the ruin here had not

come from attack but from nature. The snows of winter had piled their

burden on flimsy roofs, the seepage of spring had rotted the timbers,

with the result that many of the houses had simply collapsed. Weeds