The Droolers turned up, and next thing, the police stretched the old curfew minute to ten minutes, to do walking searches and make sure no Droolers were lurking behind newsstands or parked cars. After a Drooler hid in some bushes and jumped a mess of fourth-graders in the daylight, the curfew minute expanded to a full hour. If you ask me, that's way too long.
Neddy Nelson: You ever wake up with a bloody forehead and your steering wheel collapsed from the impact? You ever wake up to the morning-curfew sirens with blood gluing your eyes shut? Your car toasted? The seat belt almost cutting you in half? You ever get your eyes open just in time to see some trigger-happy curfew squad making the sweep down the street where you're trapped? A posse of spooked vigilantes searching to flush out any bleary-eyed, dazed Nighttimer like you to shoot?
Galton Nye: They became the biological equivalent of suicide bombers, those maniac so-called hydrophobes staggering around at the morning-curfew change.
Jayne Merris: A Drooler could manage the nights. No sunlight. But when the morning sirens blasted, they didn't know anymore to come inside, and if the curfew squads caught somebody hiding or running away, they'd assume the worst and just shoot the person dead.
If you ask me, by then nothing short of a bullet was going to cure a Drooler.
Phoebe Truffeau, Ph.D.: In 1940, four hundred men, prisoners from the Chicago metropolitan area, were covertly infected with malaria in order for public-health officials to test new types of treatments for the disease.
Neddy Nelson: You know how much the daylight sucks? You ever climb from the front into the backseat of a totaled car as a gang of gun-toting hired killers marches your way? You ever hide under the shit in your own backseat, the elastic seat-cover and dirty laundry and fast-food trash, counting your heartbeats to keep from bolting, freaked out, and running down the street in a hail of gunfire?
What's the longest you ever counted your heartbeat? You ever counted heartbeats up to ten thousand? Twenty thousand? How about 41,234?
Galton Nye: My heart goes out, but we had our children to consider. Our own families. Citizens have a personal responsibility to conduct their lives in a way where they minimize their own exposure to dangerous disease. The decent, productive members of any society have a responsibility to protect the next generation.
Our children truly are the future.
Phoebe Truffeau, Ph.D.: Beginning in 1963, officials at the Willowbrook State School, a residence for developmentally disabled children in Staten Island, New York, intentionally infected healthy children with hepatitis in order to test the effects of gamma globulin on the disease. For three years, school officials repeatedly injected the children with viral agents, until public outcry stopped the program in 1966.
Neddy Nelson: Do you know how hot it gets in a parked car with all the windows rolled up on a sunny day? Buried under trash? Hearing a city of people walk past? Knowing how you'd look, a born Nighttimer, never been in the sun more than a total of six hours in your life, how you'd look, your face smeared with blood and sweat, your eyes swoll up and bruised, crawling out of a wrecked car? How fast do you think they'd shoot you dead?
Galton Nye: My heart goes out. I'm not saying anybody deserves to go insane and be gunned down by the curfew police, but please consider how Nighttimers live. The rest of us, who live our lives according to the word of God and common sense, we should not have to foot the bill for their sins.
A person only has to look at how Nighttimers behave. They expect life to be just one big party. Their lives revolve around sex. Crashing their cars, and meaningless one-day stands with strangers. Our minister devoted one entire sermon to describing their lifestyle. It gets hard to feel sympathy for people so reckless with their own health. These so-called victims are people who don't respect themselves. Or respect God.
If they want to thin their own ranks, I say let them.
Phoebe Truffeau, Ph.D.: In the mid-1960s, the American anthropologist James Neel inoculated members of the Yanomami tribe in Venezuela with a virulent strain of measles. Neel and his team of researchers refused to treat the sick; instead, they documented how the disease spread, killings thousands, in order to test a controversial theory of eugenics.
Neddy Nelson: You have any idea how bright the sun looks if you've been raised at night? Have you spent a hundred-something-thousand heartbeats wondering if you're not already dying of rabies? Maybe you haven't boosted in weeks, because you're afraid you won't be able to?
You ever see friends you recognize get machine-gunned by police on real-time traffic cams?
You ever found yourself trapped in a world where you're everybody's worst nightmare?
Jayne Merris: If you ask me, the first sign was finding public bathrooms locked at night. Pretty soon, a lot of public drinking fountains stopped running except in the daytime. Daytimers staked out the bathrooms and restaurants and drinking fountains they wanted, and Nighttimers had to settle for the rest. The segregation only got worse as the rabies epidemic spread.
The twelve hours we spent on the backside of the planet, if you ask me, the night turned into just another kind of ghetto.
Neddy Nelson: Do you have any idea how sweet the sunset looks after you've been sweating and bleeding, pissing yourself, in the backseat of a wrecked car all day? Can you imagine how sweet those sirens sound at evening curfew?
Galton Nye: We used to hear stories in Bible-study group, how these so-called Droolers would try to spit in your mouth. The way Nighttimers carry on, they only protest so loud so their spit flies in your eyes or into your food. I'm talking about intentional high-risk conduct.
My heart goes out, but I say, sooner or later, the quarantine had to start.
30–In Mourning
Lynn Coffey (Journalist): On the first day after Rant Casey died—an apparent suicide witnessed by thousands of people, millions if you count the television rebroadcast of his car exploding—on the very next day, a curfew officer named Daniel Hammish, age forty-seven, a nineteen-year veteran of curfew patrol, was making his evening sweep when he assaulted a passerby. Hammish bit this stranger, with his teeth, in an unprovoked attack, on the exposed skin of her neck. Responding emergency medical technicians found Hammish delirious and seemingly hallucinating, before he lost consciousness and subsequently died.
Todd Rutz (Coin Dealer): The police come into my store, show me a mug shot of the kid who's been selling me his coins, that's the first I know the kid's name is Buster Casey. They tell me he's died in some car wreck, was on the news. Ask, what did I know about the kid, this Casey kid? They ask stuff like, did he ever exhibit violent tendencies? Did the kid ever kiss me? Or bite?
Crazy questions.
Lynn Coffey: In my opinion, there was something a little stagy about Casey's death. First, he was careful to drive the largest, brightest car that night, literally heaping that car with lights, drenching it with gasoline, and driving zigzag through the playing field to attract as many taggers as possible. Plus, the television newscopters and the way he called the radio station and kept talking until he'd burned. Even the way Casey ran that red traffic light, smack dab in front of some cops, seems calculated to give him a full lights-and-sirens escort to his next life.