Isaac Asimov - Nightfall (novel)

A nightmare world, yes.

A column of smoke was rising within the house now. The whole left-hand side of its front wall was on fire.

And people were leaping from the second-story windows.

Three, four, five of them, choking, gasping. Two women, three men. They dropped down on the lawn and lay there a moment, as though dazed. Their clothes were ragged and dirty, their hair was unkempt. Crazies. They had been something else, before Nightfall, but now they were simply part of that vast horde of wild-eyed, uncouth-looking drifters whose minds had been unhinged, perhaps forever, by the sudden astounding blast of stunning light that the Stars had hurled against their unprepared senses.

“Stand up!” Theremon called to them. “Hands in the air! Now! Come on, get ’em up!” He stepped out into full view, holding both of the needle-guns. Siferra came out beside him. The house was shrouded in heavy smoke now, and within that dark cloak great frightful gusts of flame were sweeping upward on all sides of the building, blazing like scarlet banners.

Were there people still trapped inside? Who could tell? Did it matter?

“Line up, there!” Theremon ordered. “That’s it! Face to the left!” They straggled to attention. One man was a little slow, and Theremon sent a needler beam blazing past his cheek to encourage his cooperation. “Start running, now. Down the street! Faster! Faster!”

One side of the house caved in with a terrible roaring sound, exposing rooms, closets, furniture, like a doll’s house that had been cut away. Everything was on fire. The squatters were almost at the corner now. Theremon continued to shout at them, urging them on, aiming an occasional needle-bolt at their heels.

Then he turned to Siferra. “All right. Let’s get out of here!”

They holstered their needlers and went running off in the opposite direction, toward the Great Southern Highway.

“What if they had come out firing?” Siferra asked afterward, when they could see the highway entrance itself just a short distance away and were moving through the open fields that led to it. “Would you really have killed them, Theremon?”

He looked at her in a steady, severe way. “If that was the only way we could have gotten ourselves out of that alleyway? I thought I gave you my answer to that before. Of course I would. What choice would I have had? What else could I have done?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Siferra said, her voice barely audible.

The image of the burning house still seared her mind. And the sight of those ragged, shabby people, running down the street.

But they had fired first, she told herself. They had started the trouble. There was no telling how far they would have carried it, if Theremon hadn’t hit on the idea of burning the house down.

The house—somebody’s house—

Nobody’s house, she corrected.

“There it is,” Theremon said. “The Great Southern Highway. It’s a nice smooth five-hour drive to Amgando. We could be there by dinnertime.”

“If we only had something to drive,” said Siferra.

“If,” he said.

Even after all he had seen in the course of having come this far, Theremon wasn’t prepared for the way the Great Southern Highway looked. A traffic engineer’s worst nightmare would not have been as bad.

Everywhere in their crossing of the southern suburbs, Theremon and Siferra had passed abandoned vehicles in the streets. No doubt many drivers, overcome by panic at the moment of the emergence of the Stars, had stopped their cars and fled from them on foot, hoping to find someplace to hide from the terrifying overpowering brilliance that blazed suddenly from the skies.

But the abandoned cars that littered the streets of these quiet residential sectors of the city through which he and Siferra had come so far had been scattered in a sparse random manner, here and there at relatively wide intervals. In these neighborhoods vehicular traffic must have been fairly light at the time of the eclipse, coming as it had after the end of the regular working day.

The Great Southern Highway, though—crowded with late intercity commuters—must have become an utter madhouse in the instant when calamity struck the world.

“Look at it,” Theremon whispered, awestruck. “Will you look at it, Siferra!”

She shook her head in wonder. “Incredible. Incredible.”

There were cars everywhere—clotted masses of them, piled up everywhere in a chaotic scramble, stacked two or three high in places. The wide roadway was almost completely blocked by them, an all but impassable wall of wrecked vehicles. They were facing in every direction. Some were upside down. Many were burned-out skeletons. Bright puddles of spilled fuel gleamed like little crystalline lakes. Streaks of pulverized glass gave the roadbed a sinister sheen.

Dead cars. And dead drivers.

It was the most grisly sight they had seen thus far. A vast army of the dead stretched before them. There were bodies slumped at the controls of their cars, bodies wedged between vehicles that had collided, bodies pinned beneath the wheels of cars. And a host of bodies simply strewn like pitiful discarded dolls along the sides of the road, their limbs frozen in the grotesque attitudes of death.

Siferra said, “Probably some drivers stopped right away, when the Stars came out. But others speeded up, trying to get off the highway and head for home, and went piling into the cars that had stopped. And still other people were so dazed they forgot how to drive altogether—look, they went right off the edge of the road over there, and this one here must have turned around and tried to drive back through the oncoming traffic—”

Theremon shuddered. “A horrendous colossal pileup. Cars crashing in from all sides at once. Spinning around, turning over, flung right across the road to the opposite lanes. People getting out, running for cover, getting hit by other cars just arriving. Everything gone crazy in fifty different ways.”

He laughed bitterly.

Siferra said in surprise, “What can you possibly find to laugh about, Theremon?”

“Only my own foolishness. Do you know, Siferra, a wild idea crossed my mind half an hour ago, as we were getting close to the highway, that we could just sit down in somebody’s abandoned car and find it fueled up and ready to go, and drive ourselves off to Amgando? Just like that, convenient as could be. I didn’t stop to think that the road would be totally blocked—that even if we were lucky enough to find a car we could use, we wouldn’t be able to drive so much as fifty feet in it—”

“It’ll be hard enough just to walk along the road, in the shape it’s in.”

“Yes. But we’ll have to.”

Grimly, they set out on their long journey south.

By the warm Onos-light of early afternoon they picked their way through the carnage of the highway, scrambling over the twisted and battered wreckage of the cars, trying hard to ignore the charred and mutilated bodies, the dried pools of blood, the reek of death, the total horror of it all.

Theremon felt himself growing desensitized to it almost at once. Perhaps that was an even greater horror. But after a short while he simply stopped noticing the gore, the staring eyes of the corpses, the vastness of the disaster that had taken place here. The task of clambering over mountainous heaps of shattered cars and squeezing himself past dangerous jutting masses of jagged metal was so exacting that it required all his concentration, and he quickly ceased to pay attention to the victims of the debacle. He already knew there was no point in searching for survivors. Anyone who had been trapped here this many days would surely have died of exposure by now.

Siferra too seemed to have quickly adapted to the nightmare scene that was the Great Southern Highway. Scarcely saying a word, she picked her way through the obstacles alongside him, now pausing to point to an opening in the tangle of debris, now dropping to her hands and knees to crawl under some overhang of crumpled metal.