Only there would not be very many men left. There would only be the lucky ones with the talismans of survivals, the metal disks that gave access to the Burrows. Out of a population of two billions, less than a million would survive.
The announcer sounded bone-weary. He should, Henderson thought. He's been on the air for ten hours or more without relief. We all do what we can. But it isn't much,
"-no more applicants are being taken for the Burrows-"
I should hope not, Henderson thought. There had been so little time. Three months. That they had been able to build the ten Burrows was tribute enough. But then money hadn't mattered, had it? He had to keep reminding himself that the old values didn't apply. Not money, or materials, or even labor-that stand-by of commerce. Only time. And there hadn't been any of that.
"-population of Las Vegas has been evacuated into several mines in the area-"
Nice try, but it wouldn't work, Henderson thought languidly. If the heat didn't kill, the overcrowding would. And if that failed, then the floods would succeed. And of course there would be earthquakes. We can't accept catastrophe on this scale, he told himself. We aren't equipped mentally for it any better than toe are physically. The only thing a man could understand were his own problems. And this last night of summer made them seem petty, small, as though they were being viewed through the wrong end of a telescope.
I'm sorry for the girls, he thought. Lorrie and Pam. They should have had a chance to grow up. He felt a tightness in his throat as he thought of his daughters. Eight and ten are sad ages to die.
But he hadn't thought of them before, why should the end of the world make it any different? He had left them and Laura, too. For what? For Kay and money and a kind of life that would go out in a bright flash with the coming of dawn. They all danced their minuscule ballet on the rim of the world while he sat, drained of purpose or feeling, watching them through that reversed telescope.
He wondered where Kay was now. All over the city there were Star Parties going on. The sky the limit tonight! Anything you want. Tomorrow-bang! Nothing denied, nothing forbidden. This is the last night of the world, kiddo!
Kay had dressed-if that was the word-and gone out at seven. "I'm not going to sit here and just wait!" He remembered the hysteria in her voice, the drugged stupor in her eyes. And then Trina and those others coming in, some drunk, others merely giddy with terror. Trina wrapped in her mink coat, and dancing around the room singing in a shrill, cracked voice. And the other girl-Henderson never could remember her name, but he'd remember her now for all the time there was left-naked except for her jewels. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds-all glittering sparkling in the last rays of the swollen sun. And the tears streamed down her cheeks as she begged him to make love to her-
It was'a nightmare. But it was real. The red sun that slipped into the Pacific was real. The fires and looting in the city were not dreams. This was the way the world was ending. Star Parties and murder in the streets, and women dressed in gems, and tears-a million gallons of tears.
Outside there was the squeal of tires and a crash, then the, tinkling of broken glass and silence. A shot came from down the street. There was a cry that was part laughter and part scream,
I'm without purpose, Henderson thought. Isit and watch and wait for nothing. And the radio's voice grew fainter still.
"-those in the Burrows will survive… in mines and eaves… geologists promise a forty percent survival… behind the iron curtain-"
Behind the iron curtain, surely nothing. Or perhaps it would be instantaneous, not sweeping across the world with dawn. Of course, it would be instantaneous. The sun would swell-oh, so slightly-and eight minutes later, rivers, lakes, streams, the oceans-everything wet-would boil up into the sky'…
From the street came a rasping repetitive cry. Not a woman. A man. He was burning. A street gang had soaked him with gasoline and touched him with a match. They followed him shrieking: preview, preview! Henderson watched him through the window as he ran with that uuuh uuuh uuuh noise seemingly ripped from his throat. He vanished around the corner of the next house, closely pursued by his tormentors, I hope the girls and Laura are safe, Henderson thought. And then he almost laughed aloud. Safe. What was safety now? Maybe, he thought, Ishould have gone with Kay. Was there anything left he wanted to do that he had never done? Kill? Rape? Any sensation left untasted? The night before, at the Gilmans', there had been a ludicrous Black Mass full of horror and asininity: pretty Louise Gilman taking the guests one after another amid the broken china and sterling silver on the dining table while her husband lay half-dead of self-administered morphine.
Our set, Henderson thought. Brokers, bankers, people who matter. God, it was bad enough to die. But to die without dignity was worse yet. And to die without purpose was abysmal.
Someone was banging at the door, scratching at it, shrieking. He sat still.
"Tom-Tom-it's Kay! Let me in, for God's sake!"
Maybe it was Kay. Maybe it was and he should let her stay outside. Ishould keep what shreds of dignity I have, he thought, and die alone, at least. How would it have been to face this thing with Laura? Any different? Or was there anything to choose? Imarried Laura, he thought. And I married Kay, too. It was easy. If a man could get a divorce every two years, say, and he lived to be sixty-five, say-then how many women could he marry? And if you assumed there were a billion women in the world, what percentage would it be?
"Let me in, Tom, damn you! I know you're there!"
Eight and ten isn't very old, he thought. Not very old, really. They might have been wonderful women… to lie amid the crockery and cohabit like animals while the sun got ready to blow up?
"Tom…!"
He shook his head sharply and snapped off the radio. The fires in the city were brighter and bigger. Not sunfires, those. Someone had set them. He got up and went to the door. He opened it. Kay stumbled in, sobbing. "Shut the door, oh, God, shut it!"
He stood looking at her torn clothes-what there was of them-and her hands. They were sticky red with blood. He felt no horror, no curiosity. He experienced nothing but a dead feeling of loss. I never loved her, he thought suddenly.
That's why.
She reeked of liquor and her lipstick was smeared all over her face. "I gave him what he wanted." she said shrilly. "The filthy swine coming to mix with the dead ones and then run, back to the Burrow-" Suddenly she laughed. "Look, Tom- look!" She held out one bloody hand. Two disks gleamed dully in her palm.
"We're safe, safe-" She said it again and again, bending over the disks and crooning to them.
Henderson stood in the dim hallway, slowly letting his mind understand what he was seeing. Kay had killed a man for those tickets into the Burrow.
"Give them to me," he said.
She snatched them away. "No."
"I want them, Kay."
"No, nononono-" She thrust, them into the torn bosom of her dress. "I came back. I came back for you. That's true, isn't it?"