“What about Cappy Foracre?” Randy asked.

“Some woman came in and heard the commotion and ran out and got Cappy. He was sleeping in the firehouse. Cappy and Bert Anders-you know, that kid assistant-came screaming over here. Literally screaming, with their siren going, the darn fools. So the hopheads were set for them. There was a battle. More like a fire fight, an ambush, I guess. Cappy caught a shotgun load in the face. Anders got one in the belly. Cappy was dead when I got here, about fifteen minutes later.”

“And old Doc Bloomfield?” Randy asked.

Dan swayed and rested his palms on the desk. His head bent. When he spoke it was in a monotone. “I drove Anders and Jim Bloomfield to the hospital in San Marco. I couldn’t operate here, you see. No anesthesia. Couldn’t even sterilize my instruments. Everything septic. Young Anders was dead when I got there. Jim was still alive. I thought he was going to be all right. Beaten up, maybe a rib or two caved in, maybe concussion. Still, he was able to tell me, quite coherently, what had happened. Then he slipped away from me. I don’t know why. He had lived a long time and after this thing happened maybe he didn’t want to live any longer.

Maybe he didn’t want to belong to the human race any more. He resigned. He died.”

Randy said, “The bastards! Where did they come from? Where did they go?”

Dan Gunn shivered. The night had been chilly and it had warmed only slightly during the day and of course there was no heat in the building. He shook his head and slowly straightened, like a great storm-beset ship that has been wallowing in the trough of the sea but will not founder. “Where did they come from?” he said, slipping on his coat. “Maybe they broke out of a state hospital. But more likely they were hoods from St. Louis or Chicago driving to Miami or Tampa for the season. Probably they were addicts as well as pushers. The war caught them between sources of supply. So by last night they were wild for junk, and the quickest way to get it was to detour to some little town like this and raid the clinic. As to where they’re going, I don’t care so long as it’s far from here.”

Randy resolved never again to leave the house unless he was armed. “You should carry a gun, Dan. I am, from now on.”

Dan said, “No! No, I’m not going to carry a gun. I’ve spent too many years learning how to save lives to start shooting people now. I’m not worried about punishment for the addicts. They carry a built-in torture chamber. Eventually-I’d say within a few weeks-no matter how many people they kill they’ll find no drugs. After this big jag they’re bound to have withdrawal sickness. They will die, horribly I hope.”

Dan closed the two bags. “So ends the clinic in Fort Repose. Can you give me a lift to the hotel, Randy? I think my gas tank is y.”

“I’ll take you to your hotel only so you can pack,” Randy said. “On River Road, we’ve got food, and good water, and wood fireplaces. At the hotel you don’t have any of those things.” He picked up one of the bags. “Now don’t argue with me, Dan. Don’t start talking about your duty. Without food and water and heat you can’t do anything. You can’t even sterilize a scalpel. You won’t have strength enough to take care of anybody. You can’t even take care of yourself.”

When they entered the hotel Randy smelled it at once, but not until they reached the second floor did he positively identify the odor. Like songs, odors are catalysts of memory. Smelling the odors of the Riverside Inn, Randy recalled the sickly, pungent stench of the honey carts with their loads of human manure for the fields of Korea. Randy spoke of this to Dan, and Dan said, “I’ve tried to make them dig latrines in the garden. They won’t do it. They have deluded themselves into believing that lights, water, maids, telephone, dining-room service, and transportation will all come back in a day or two. Most of them have little hoards of canned foods, cookies, and candies. They eat it in their rooms, alone. Every morning they wake up saying that things will be back to normal by nightfall, and every night they fall into bed thinking that normalcy will be restored by morning. It’s been too big a jolt for these poor people. They can’t face reality.”

Dan had been talking as he packed. As they left the hotel, laden with bags and books, Randy said, “What’s going to happen to them?”

“I don’t know. There’s bound to be a great deal of sickness. I can’t prevent it because they won’t pay any attention to me. I can’t stop an epidemic if it comes. I don’t know what’s going to happen to them.”

Dan moved into the house on River Road that day. Thereafter he slept in the sleigh bed, the only bed in the house that could comfortably accommodate his frame, in Randy’s apartment, while Randy occupied the couch in the living room.

That night, afterwards, was remembered as “the night of the steak orgy.” Yet it was not for the rich taste of meat well hung that Randy remembered the night. He and the Admiral and Bill McGovern cooked the steaks outside, and then brought them into the living room. Fat wood burned in the big fireplace and a kettle steamed on hot bricks. At a few minutes before ten Randy clicked on his transistor radio, and they all listened. Lib McGovern was sitting on the rug next to him, her shoulder touching his arm. The room was warm, and comfortable, and somehow safe.

They heard the hum of a carrier wave, and then the voice of an announcer from the clear channel station somewhere deep in the heart of the country. “This is your Civil Defense Headquarters. I have an important announcement. Listen carefully. It will not be repeated again tonight. It will be repeated, circumstances permitting, at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Randy felt Lib’s long fingers circle his forearm, and grasp tight. Around the group before the fire, all the faces were anxious, the white faces in the front row, the Negro faces, eyes white and large, behind.

“A preliminary aerial survey of the country has been completed. By order of the Acting Chief Executive, Mrs. Vanbruuker-Brown, certain areas have been declared Con taminated Zones. It is forbidden for people to enter these zones. It is forbidden to bring any material of any kind, particularly metal or metal containers, out of these zones.

“Persons leaving the Contaminated Zones must first be examined at check points now being established. The location of these check points will be announced over your local Conelrad stations.

“The Contaminated Zones are: “The New England States.”

Sam Hazzard, sitting in a prim cherry-wood rocker which, like Sam, had originated in New England, drew in his breath. The newscaster continued:

“All of New York State south of the line Ticonderoga Sacketts Harbor.

“The state of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland.

“The District of Columbia.

“Ohio east of the line Sandusky-Chillicothe. Also in Ohio, the city of Columbus and its suburbs.

“In Michigan, Detroit and Dearborn and an area of fifty mile radius from these cities. Also in Michigan, the cities of Flint and Grand Rapids.

“In Virginia, the entire Potomac River Basin. The cities of Richmond and Norfolk and their suburbs.

“In South Carolina, the port of Charleston and all territory within a thirty-mile radius of Charleston.

“In Georgia, the cities of Atlanta, Savannah, Augusta, and their suburbs.

“The state of Florida.”

Randy felt angry and insulted. He shifted his weight and started to get to his feet. “Not the whole state!” he said, at the same time realizing his protest was completely irrational.

“Sh-h!” Lib said, and pulled him back to the rug.

The voice went on, ticking off Mobile and Birmingham, New Orleans and Lake Charles.

It moved into Texas, obliterating Fort Worth and Dallas, and everything within a fifty-mile radius of these two cities, and Abilene, Houston, and Corpus Christi.