There were four boats for twenty men. Two were cabin cruisers, small fiberglass boats used in inland lakes, powered by outboards. There was a twenty-foot open dory, also with an outboard; and there was the Cindy Lu. She was a bomb. Twenty feet long, and only wide enough for two people to sit in the tiny cockpit. The rest of the boat was an enormous inboard engine covered with bright chrome.
Cindy Lu had lost most of her bright tangerine metallicflake paint. The chrome didn’t glow when Johnny Baker played a flashlight across her. She was a nautical drag-racer, but she wouldn’t go very fast with an oil-drum barge hooked behind her and loaded with supplies.
“This was quite a find,” said Horrie Jackson. “We can use her to—”
“She’s gorgeous! Who cares what she’s for?”
The fishing-camp leader chortled. “Isn’t she just? But the Senator wanted something that could tow a load. And since I’m comin’ along I’d as soon have something fast. Just in case we have to run away from anything.”
“Were not going there to run away,” Baker told him.
Jackson’s grin was wide. He was missing a tooth. “General, I’m going because they hired me. Some of my boys are going because the Senator’s man said he’d take their women up into that valley and keep ’em there for the winter. I don’t know what the last astronaut is doing here.”
“Don’t you care?” Baker demanded. “Isn’t it worth saving? It could be the last nuclear power plant on Earth!”
Jackson shook his head. “General, after what I’ve seen T can’t think more than a day ahead. and right now all I know is you’re going to feed me awhile. I remember…” His brow furrowed. “Seems so long ago. The papers were screaming about how the gov’mint was putting an atomic plant right next to us and if a melt-down happened… I don’t remember. But I can’t get excited about saving an atomic plant.”
“Or anything else,” Jason Gillcuddy said. “Disaster syndrome.”
“Let’s board,” Horrie Jackson said coldly.
Tim Hammer made his choice: One of the boats had an awning, protection from the drizzle. He sat next to Hugo Beck. The man must have had enough of being avoided. Mark and Gillcuddy boarded the same boat. Horrie Jackson took the pilot’s chair. then looked around to find that Johnny Baker was in command of Cindy Lu.
“I don’t suppose she’ll be too fast for an astronaut,” he called “but you won’t get so wet under the awning.”
Baker laughed. “What’s a little rain to a man in love?” He activated Cindy Lu with a marrow-freezing, mind-numbing roar.
The small fleet moved cautiously out from shore, out into the inland sea. The water was dangerous with treetops, floating debris, telephone poles. Horrie Jackson led the way in the cabin boat, going very slowly. The top of a silo marked where a submerged barn must be; he steered wide. He seemed to know exactly where to turn to find the channel among the islands and obstructions.
The night was not quite pitch black. A dull glow beyond the drizzle marked where the moon was hidden by the constant cloud cover.
Mark fished out corn dodgers and passed them around. They had bags of cornmeal with them, and enough of the round cornmeal cakes to feed them while they crossed the water. Enough, until Hugo Beck put one in Horrie Jackson’s hand.
“Hey!” Horrie cried. He bit it, then stuffed it whole in his mouth and tried to talk around it. “Dried fish just by my foot. Pass it around. It’s all yours. I want as much of these things as you can spare, and all for me.”
Mark was stunned. “Just what is so extra special about corn dodgers?”
Horrie got his mouth clear. “They aren’t fish, that’s what! Look, for all of me the whole world is starving except us. We aren’t starving. For a couple of months we were, then all of a sudden there was fish everywhere, but only two kinds. Catfish and goldfish. The only problem is cooking them. We—”
“Hold up!” That was Mark. “You didn’t really say goldfish, did you?”
“They look like goldfish, but big. That’s what you’re eating now. Gary Fisher says goldfish can grow to any size. The catfish were always there, in the streams. You want me to shut up? Pass me that bag of corn dodgers.”
They passed Horrie the bag. Tim ate with enthusiasm. He hadn’t tasted fish in a long time, and it was good, even dried. He wondered why there were suddenly so many fish, then considered how their food supply had exploded. All those dead things floating in the water. It only bothered him for a moment.
“But why goldfish?” Mark Czescu wondered.
Gillcuddy laughed at him. “Easy to picture. Here’s a rising freshwater sea, and here’s a living room with a goldfish bowl in it. The water rises, breaks through the picture window, and suddenly the most docile of household pets is whirled out of his cage into the great wide world. ‘Free at last!’ he cries.” Gillcuddy bit into a filet of goldfish and added, “Freedom has its price, of course.”
Horrie ate corn dodgers in single-minded silence.
Mark rummaged through his pockets and came up with a tiny scrap of cigar. He popped it into his mouth and chewed. “I would kill for a Lucky Strike,” he said.
“You may well have the opportunity,” Jason Gillcuddy said.
Mark grinned in the dark. “I can hope. That’s why I volunteered.”
“Really?” said Tim.
“Not really. Anything beats breaking rocks.”
Jason Gillcuddy laughed at a private thought. “Let’s see,” he said. “You’d kill for a Lucky Strike. I suppose you’d maim for a Tareyton?”
“Right!” Mark roared approval.
“And shout insults for a Carlton,” Hugo Beck said. They all laughed, but it died quickly; they were still nervous around Hugo Beck.
“Now you know why I’m here,” Mark said. “But why you, Tim?”
Tim shook his head. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. No, forget I said that. It feels like I owe somebody something…” The people he’d driven past. The cops working to unearth a hospital while a tidal wave marched toward them. “…and Eileen’s pregnant.”
When he didn’t go on, Horrie Jackson called without looking back. “So?”
“So I’ll have children. Don’t you see?”
“I’m here,” Hugo Beck said without being asked, “because nobody at the Stronghold would look at me.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Tim said. “If anyone wants to surrender, you tell ’em what it means.”
Beck chewed that. “They don’t have to know about me, do they?”
A look passed among them. “Not till they have to,” Tim said quickly, and he turned to Jason. “You’re the one I don’t understand. You’re Harry’s friend. They couldn’t possibly make you volunteer.”
Jason chuckled. “No, I’m a genuine volunteer, all right. Had to. You ever read my books?” He went on before any of them could answer. “Full of the marvels of civilization, what great things science does for us. Now how could I not volunteer for this crazy mission?” Gillcuddy looked out at the dark night and darker water. “But there’s places I’d rather be.”
“Sure,” Tim said. “The Savoy Hotel in London. With Eileen. That’s what I want.”
“And Hugo wants the Shire back,” Mark said.
“No.” Hugo Beck’s voice was firm. “No, I want civilization.” When nobody stopped him he went on, eagerly. “I want a hot car and some practice talking a cop out of giving me a ticket. I want Gone With The Wind on a noncommercial channel, no interruptions. I want dinner at Mon Grenier restaurant with a woman who can’t spell ‘ecology’ but she’s read the Kama Sutra.”
“And spotted the mistakes,” Mark said.
“You knew Mon Grenier?” Gillcuddy demanded.
“Sure. I lived in Tarzana. You’ve been there?”