Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 97

A high pressure area was alleged to be moving south, crowding the warm, wet ma.s.s that smothered Southern

California. They wanted to get into it. Breen had the wiper repaired and bought two new tires to replace his ruined spare, added some camping items to his cargo, and bought for Meade a .32 automatic, a lady's social-purposes gun; he gave it to her somewhat sheepishly.

"What's this for?"

"Well, you're carrying quite a bit of cash."

"Oh. I thought maybe I was to use it to fight you off."

"Now, Meade"

"Never mind. Thanks, Potty."

They had finished supper and were packing the car with their afternoon's purchases when the quake struck. Five inches of rain in twenty-four hours, more than three billion tons of ma.s.s suddenly loaded on a fault already over- strained, all cut loose in one subsonic, stomach-twisting rumble.

Meade sat down on the wet ground very suddenly; Breen stayed upright by dancing like a logroller. When the ground quieted down somewhat, thirty seconds later, he helped her up. "You all right?"

"My slacks are soaked." She added pettishly, "But, Potty, it never quakes in wet weather. Never."

"It did this time."

"But-"

"Keep quiet, can't you?" He opened the car door and switched on the radio, waited impatiently for it to warm up.

Shortly he was searching the entire dial. "Not a confounded

Los Angeles station on the airl"

"Maybe the shock busted one of your tubes?"

"Pipe down." He pa.s.sed a squeal and dialed back to it:

"your Suns.h.i.+ne Station in Riverside, California. Keep tuned to this station for the latest developments. It is as of now impossible to tell the size of the disaster. The Colorado

River aqueduct is broken; nothing is known of the extent of the damage nor how long it will take to repair it. So far as we know the Owens River Valley aqueduct may be in- tact, but all persons in the Los Angeles area are advised to conserve water. My personal advice is to stick your wash- tubs out into this rain; it can't last forever. If we had time, we'd play Cool Water, just to give you the idea. I now read from the standard disaster instructions, quote: 'Boil all water. Remain quietly in your homes and do not panic. Stay off the highways. Cooperate with the police and render'

Joel Joel Catch that phonel 'render aid where necessary.

Do not use the telephone except for' Flas.h.i.+ an uncon- firmed report from Long Beach states that the Wilmington and San Pedro waterfront is under five feet of water. I re- peat, this is unconfirmed. Here's a message from the commanding general, March Field: 'official, all military per- sonnel will report' "

Breen switched it off. "Get in the car."

"Where are we going?"

"North."

"We've paid for the cabin. Should we"

"Get in!"

He stopped in the town, managed to buy six five-gallon- tins and a jeep tank. He filled them with gasoline and packed them with blankets in the back seat, topping off the mess with a dozen cans of oil. Then they were rolling.

"What are we doing, Potiphar?"

"I want to get west on the valley highway."

"Any particular place west?"

"I think si i. .Veil see. You work the radio, but keep an eye on the road, too. That gas back thpre makes me nervous."

Through the town of Mojave and northwest on 466 into the Tehachapi Mountains Reception was poor in the pa.s.s but what Meade could pick up confirmed the first impres- sionworse than the quake of '06, worse than San Fran- cisco, Managua, and Long Beach taken together.

When they got down out of the mountains it was clearing locally; a few stars appeared. Breen swung left off the high- way and ducked south of Bakersfield by the county road, reached the Route 99 superhighway just south of Green- field. It was, as he had feared, already jammed with refugees; he was forced to go along with the flow for a couple of miles before he could cut west at Greenfield to- ward Taft. They stopped on the western outskirts of the town and ate at an all-night truckers' joint.

They were about to climb back into the car when there was suddenly "sunrise" due south. The rosy light swelled almost instantaneously, filled the sky, and died; where it had been a red-and-purple pillar of cloud was mounting, mountingspreading to a mushroom top.

Breen stared at it, glanced at his watch, then said harshly,

"Get in the car."

"Pottythat was . . . that was"

"That wasthat used to beLos Angeles. Get in the car!"

He simply drove for several minutes. Meade seemed to be in a state of shock, unable to speak. When the sound reached them he again glanced at his watch. "Six minutes and "nineteen seconds. That's about right."

"Pottywe should have brought Mrs. Megeath."

"How was I to know?" he said angrily. "Anyhow, you can't transplant an old tree. If she got it, she never knew it."

"Oh, I hope sol"

"Forget it; straighten out and fly right. We're going to have all we can do to take care of ourselves. Take the flash- light and check the map. I want to turn north at Taft and over toward the coast."

"Yes, Potiphar."

"And try the radio."

She quieted down and did as she was told. The radio gave nothing, not even the Riverside station; the whole broadcast range was covered by a curious static, like rain on a window. He slowed down as they approached Taft, let her spot the turn north onto the state road, and turned into it. Almost at once a figure jumped out into the road in front of them, waved his arms violently. Breen tromped on the brake.

The man came up on the left side of the car, rapped on the window; Breen ran the gla.s.s down. Then he stared stupidly at the gun in the man's left hand. "Out of the car," the stranger said sharply. "I've got to have it." He reached inside with his right hand, groped for the door lever.

Meade reached across Breen, stuck her little lady's gun in the man's face, pulled the trigger. Breen could feel the flash on his own face, never noticed the report. The man looked puzzled, with a neat, not-yet-b.l.o.o.d.y hole in his up- per lipthen slowly sagged away from the car.

"Drive onl" Meade said in a high voice.

Breen caught his breath. "Good girl"