BREAKFAST AT TWILIGHT
BY PHILIP K. DICK
"DAD?” Earl asked, hurrying out of the bathroom, “you going to drive us to school today?”
Tim McLean poured himself a second cup of coffee. “You kids can walk for a change. The car’s in the garage.”
Judy pouted. “It’s raining.”
“No it isn’t,” Virginia corrected her sister. She drew the shade back. “It’s all foggy, but it isn’t raining.”
“Let me look.” Mary McLean dried her hands and came over from the sink. “What an odd day. Is that fog? It looks more like smoke. I can’t make out a thing. What did the weather man say?”
“I couldn’t get anything on the radio,” Earl said. “Nothing but static.”
Tim stirred angrily. “That darn thing on the blink again? Seems like I just had it fixed.” He got up and moved sleepily over to the radio. He fiddled idly with the dials. The three children hurried back And forth, getting ready for school. “Strange,” Tim said.
“I’m going.” Earl opened the front door.
“Wait for your sisters, Mary ordered absently.
“I’m ready,” Virginia said. “Do I look all right?”
“You look fine,” Mary said, kissing her.
“I’ll call the radio repair place from the office,” Tim said.
He broke off. Earl stood at the kitchen door, pale and silent, his eyes wide with terror.
“What is it?”
“I—I came back.”
“What is it?” Are you sick?”
“I can’t go to school.”
They stared at him. “What is wrong?” Tim grabbed his son’s arm. “Why can’t you go to school?”
“They—they won’t let me.” “Who?”
“The soldiers.”
It came tumbling out with a rush. “They’re all over. Soldiers and guns. And they’re coming here.”
“Coming? Coming here?” Tim echoed, dazed.
“They’re coming here and they’re going to—" Earl broke off, terrified. From the front porch came the sound of heavy boots. A crash. Splintering wood. Voices.
“Good Lord,” Mary gasped. “What is it, Tim?”
Tim entered the living room, his heart laboring painfully. Three men stood inside the door. Men in gray-green uniforms, weighted with guns and complex tangles of equipment. Tubes and hoses. Meters on thick cords. Boxes and leather straps and antennae. Elaborate masks locked over their heads. Behind the masks Tim saw tired, whisker-stub- bled faces, red-rimmed eyes that gazed at him in brutal displeasure.
One of the soldiers jerked up his gun, aiming at McLean’s middle. Tim peered at it dumbly. The gun. Long and thin. Like a needle. Attached to a coil of tubes.
“What in the name of—’ he began, but the soldier cut him savagely off.
“Who are you?” His voice was harsh, guttural. “What are you doing here?” He pushed his mask aside. His skin was dirty. Cuts and pocks lined his sallow flesh. His teeth were broken and missing.
“Answer!” a second soldier demanded. “What are you doing here?"
“Show your blue card,” the third said. “Let’s see your Sector number.” His eyes strayed to the children and Mary standing mutely at the dining room door. His mouth fell open.
“A woman!"
The three soldiers gazed in disbelief.
“What the hell is this?” the first demanded. “How long has this woman been here?”
Tim found his voice. “She’s my wife. What is this? What—”
“Your wife?" They were incredulous.
“My wife and children. For God’s sake—”
"Your wife? And you’d bring her here? You must be out of your head!”
“He’s got ash sickness,” one said. He lowered his gun and strode across the living room to Mary. "Come on, sister. You’re coming with us.”
Tim lunged.
A wall of force hit him. He sprawled, clouds of darkness rolling around him. His ears sang. His head throbbed. Everything receded. Dimly, he was aware of shapes moving. Voices. The room. He concentrated.
The soldiers were herding the children back. One of them grabbed Mary by the arm. He tore her dress away, ripping it from her shoulders. “Gee,” he snarled. “He’d bring her here, and she’s not even stung!”
“Take her along.”
“Okay, Captain.” The soldier dragged Mary toward the front door. “We’ll do what we can with her.”
“The kids.” The captain waved the other soldier over with the children. “Take them along. I don’t get it. No masks. No cards. How’d this house miss getting hit? Last night was the worst in months!”
Tim struggled painfully to his feet. His mouth was bleeding. His vision blurred. He hung on tight to the wall. "Look,” he muttered. ‘‘For God’s sake—”
The captain was staring into the kitchen. “Is that—is that food?” He advanced slowly through the dining room. “Look!”
The other soldiers came after him, Mary and the children forgotten. They stood around the table, amazed. "Look at it!”
“Coffee.” One grabbed up the pot and drank it greedily down. He choked, black coffee dripping down his tunic. “Hot. Jeeze. Hot coffee.” “Cream!” Another soldier tore open the refrigerator. “Look. Milk. Eggs. Butter. Meat.” His voice broke. “It’s full of food.”
The captain disappeared into the pantry. He came out, lugging a case of canned peas. “Get the rest. Get it all. We’ll load it in the snake.”
He dropped the case on the table with a crash. Watching Tim intently, he fumbled in his dirty tunic until he found a cigarette. He lit it slowly, not taking his eyes from Tim. “All right,” he said. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”
Tim’s mouth opened and closed. No words came. His mind was blank. Dead. He couldn’t think.
“This food. Where’d you get it? And these things.” The captain waved around the kitchen. “Dishes. Furniture. How come this house hasn’t been hit? How did you survive last night's attack?"
“I—” Tim gasped.
The captain came toward him ominously. “The woman. And the kids. All of you. What are you doing here?” His voice was hard. "You better be able to explain, mister. You better be able to explain what you’re doing here—or we’ll have to burn the whole damn lot of you.”
Tim sat down at the table. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to focus his mind. His body ached. He rubbed blood from his mouth, conscious of a broken molar and bits of loose tooth. He got out a handkerchief and spat the bits into it. His hands were shaking.
“Come on,” the captain said.
Mary and the children slipped into the room. Judy was crying. Virginia’s face was blank with shock. Earl stared wide-eyed at the soldiers, his face white.
“Tim,” Mary said, putting her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
Tim nodded. “I’m all right.” Mary pulled her dress around her. “Tim, they can't get away with it. Somebody’ll come. The mailman. The neighbors. They can’t just—” “Shut up,” the captain snapped. His eyes flickered oddly. “The mailman? What are you talking about?” He held out his hand. “Let’s see your yellow slip, sister.” “Yellow slip?” Mary faltered.
The captain rubbed his jaw. “No yellow slip. No masks. No cards.”
“They’re geeps,” a soldier said.
“Maybe. And maybe not.” “They’re geeps, Captain. We better burn ’em. We can’t take any chances.”
“There’s something funny going on here,” the captain said. He plucked at his neck, lifting up a small box on a cord. “I’m getting a polic here.”
“A polic?” A shiver moved through the soldiers. “Wait, Captain. We can handle this. Don’t get a polic. He’ll put us on 4 and then we’ll never—” The captain spoke into the box. “Give me Web B.”