Mary opened the supply cupboards and rooted in them. “Everything’s here. What did they take?”
“The case of canned peas. Everything we had in the refrigerator. And they smashed the front door.”
“I’ll bet we’re beating them!” Earl shouted. He ran to the window and peered out. The sight of the rolling ash disappointed him. “I can’t see anything! Just the fog!” He turned questioningly to Tim. “Is it always like this, here?”
“Yes,” Tim answered.
Earl’s face fell. “Just fog? Nothing else? Doesn’t the sun shine ever?”
“I’ll fix some coffee,” Mary said.
“Good.” Tim went into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. His mouth was cut, caked with dried blood. His head ached. He felt sick at his stomach.
“It doesn't seem possible," Mary said, as they sat down at the kitchen table.
Tim sipped his coffee. “No. It doesn’t.” Where he sat he could see out the window. The clouds of ash. The dim, jagged outline of ruined buildings.
“Is the man coming back?” Judy piped. “He was all thin and funny-looking. He isn’t coming back, is he?”
Tim looked at his watch. It read ten o’clock. He reset it, moving the hands to four- fifteen. “Douglas said it would begin at night-fall. That won’t be long.”
“Then we’re really staying in the house,” Mary said. “That’s right.”
“Even though there’s only a little chance?”
“Even though there’s only a little chance we’ll get back. Are you glad?”
“I’m glad,” Mary said, her eyes bright. “It’s worth it, Tim. You know it is. Anything’s worth it, any chance. To get back. And something else. We’ll all be here together ... We can’t be—, broken up. Separated.”
Tim poured himself more coffee. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable. We have maybe three hours to wait. We might as well try to enjoy them.”
At six-thirty the first rom fell. They felt the shock, a deep rolling wave of force that lapped over the house.
"Judy came running from the dining room, face white with fear. “Daddy! What is it?"
“Nothing. Don’t worry.”
"Come on back,” Virginia called impatiently. "It’s your turn." They were playing Monopoly.
Earl leaped to his feet. “I want to see.” He ran excitedly to the window. “I can see where it hit!”
Tim lifted the shade and looked out. Far off, in the distance, a white glare burned fitfully. A towering column of luminous smoke rose from it.
A second shudder vibrated through the house. A dish crashed from the shelf, into the sink.
It was almost dark outside. Except for the two spots of white Tim could make out nothing. The clouds of ash were lost in the gloom. The ash and the ragged remains of buildings.
“That was closer," Mary said.
A third rom fell. In the living room the windows burst, showering glass across the rug.
“We better get back,” Tim said.
“Where?”
“Down in the basement. Come on.” Tim unlocked the basement door and they trooped nervously downstairs.
“Food,” Mary said. “We better bring the food that’s left.”
“Good idea. You kids go on down. We’ll come along in a minute.”
“I can carry something,” Earl said.
“Go on down.” The fourth rom hit, farther off than the last. “And stay away from the window.”
“I’ll move something over the window,” Earl said. “The big piece of plywood we used for my train."
“Good idea.” Tim and Mary returned to the kitchen. “Food. Dishes. What else?”
“Books.” Mary looked nervously around. “I don’t know. Nothing else. Come on.”
A shattering roar drowned out her words. The kitchen window gave, showering glass over them. The dishes over the sink tumbled down in a torrent of breaking china. Tim grabbed Mary and pulled her down.
From the broken window rolling clouds of ominous gray drifted into the room. The evening air stank, a sour, rotten smell. Tim shuddered.
“Forget the food. Let’s get back down.”
“But—”
“Forget it.” He grabbed her and pulled her down the basement stairs. They tumbled in a heap, Tim slamming the door after them.
“Where’s the food?” Virginia demanded.
Tim wiped his forehead shakily. “Forget it. We won’t need it.”
“Help me,” Earl gasped. Tim helped him move the sheet of plywood over the window above the laundry tubs. The basement was cold and silent. The cement floor under them was faintly moist.
Two roms struck at once. Tim was hurled to the floor. The concrete hit him and he grunted. For a moment blackness swirled around him. Then he was on his knees, groping his way up.
“Everybody all right?” he muttered.
“I’m all right,” Mary said. Judy began to whimper. Earl was feeling his way across the room.
“I’m all right,” Virginia said. “I guess.”
The lights flickered and dimmed. Abruptly they went out. The basement was pitch black.
“WeB," Tim said. “There they go.”
“I have my flashlight.” Earl winked the flashlight on. "How’s that?"
"Fine,” Tim said.
More roms hit. The ground leaped under them, bucking and heaving. A wave of force shuddering the whole house.
“We better lie down,” Mary said.
"Yes. Lie down.” Tim stretched himself out awkwardly. A few bits of plaster rained down around them.
"When will it stop?” Earl asked uneasily.
"Soon,” Tim said.
“Then we’ll be back?”
“Yes. We’ll be back.’’
The next blast hit them almost at once. Tim felt the concrete rise under him. It grew, swelling higher and higher. He was going up. He shut his eyes, holding on tight. Higher and higher he went, carried up by the ballooning concrete. Around him beams and timbers cracked. Plaster poured down. He could hear glass breaking. And a long way off, the licking crackles of fire.
“Tim,” Mary’s voice came faintly.
“Yes.”
“We’re not going to—to make it.”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re not. I can tell.”
“Maybe not.” He grunted in pain as a board struck his back, settling over him. Boards and plaster, covering him, burying him. He could smell the sour smell, the night air and ash. It drifted and rolled into the cellar, through the broken window.
“Daddy,” Judy’s voice came faintly.
“What?”
“Aren’t we going back?”
He opened his mouth to answer. A shattering roar cut his words off. He jerked, tossed by the blast. Everything was moving around him. A vast wind tugged at him, a hot wind, licking at him, gnawing at him. He held on tight. The wind pulled, dragging him with it He cried out as it seared his hands and face.
“Mary—”
Then silence. Only blackness and silence.
Cars.
Cars were stopping nearby. Then voices. And the noise of footsteps. Tim stirred, pushing the boards from him. He struggled to his feet.
"Mary.” He looked around.
“We’re back.”
The basement was in ruins. The walls were broken and sagging. Great gaping holes showed a green line of grass beyond. A concrete walk. The small rose garden. The white side of the stucco house next door.
Lines of telephone poles. Roofs. Houses. The city. As it had always been. Every morning.
“We’re back!" Wild joy leaped through him. Back. Safe. It was over. Tim pushed quickly through the debris ' of his ruined house. “Mary, are you all right?”
"Here.” Mary sat up, plaster dust raining from her. She was white all over, her hair, her skin, her clothing. Her face was cut and scratched. Her dress was torn. “Are we really back?"
“Mr. McLean! You all right?”