S. Stirling - Dies The Fire

Sarah's face had lost its smiling composure; Luther's hand clenched, and he looked at the silent radio on the countertop by the stove.

"And nothing works, Luther. Nothing. We got into a fight-"

Luther's eyes went wide as they described it; then they went to his own shotgun, leaning against the wall by the back door, and then to Dennis's ax.

"Luther," Sarah said. "Eddie and Susan and the children!"

Juniper and Dennis winced; so did Eilir, who read lips well. Those were the Finneys' son and daughter and grandchildren. there were great-grandchildren too, come to think of it. They all lived in Salem .

Luther made a calming gesture in his wife's direction with one gnarled hand, a gentleness in contrast with a look more grim and intent than the musician had ever seen on his features before. Though others might have recognized it, in the bloody, frozen hills around Chosin Reservoir.

"Later, honey. Let's get things straight first." He looked back at his guests. "You figure this thing has happened all over?"

All three nodded. "I can't be sure," Juniper admitted. "But I climbed the tallest building in town and used my binoculars. It's dark out there, Luther. There isn't a single light, not a moving car, not a plane going overhead that I could see. All there are, are fires. Lots of fires. And you saw what happened with the gun-that's the way it was when we tried, too."

Luther nodded in his turn and sipped at his coffee. "So what do you three plan on doing about it?"

"Run like blazes and hide like hell," Dennis said. "I've got no family in Corvallis."

"We're going up to my great-uncle's old place in the foothills," Juniper said, leaning her head eastward for an instant. "It's nicely out of the way, and I expect some of my friends to head that way."

And Rudy, she thought.

The farmer frowned. "If things are all messed up this way, folks'll need to pull together," he said, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

Juniper felt herself flush-the curse of a redhead's complexion. "Luther, we've had some time to think about this. It's not just something like a barn on fire, or the river flooding."

Dennis nodded. "There's fifty, sixty thousand people in Corvallis alone," he said. "Every one of them gets their food from stores that get theirs from warehouses all over the country twice a week-I run a restaurant, so I should know. Mr. Finney, how many people do you think could live off the farms within a day's walk of Corvallis? Call it twenty miles, say forty on a bicycle."

Luther Finney thought for an instant, and his face went gray under the weathered tan. "Not too many. Most of the land right around Corvallis is in grass for seed, or flowers or nursery stock or specialties like mint. More'n half the farms don't even have livestock. Some orchards and truck, but not much. Take a while to plant: with hand tools, and getting the seed: "

Juniper put her elbows on the table and lowered her face into her hands, the heels over her eyes to block out the visions in her mind.

"And that's just Corvallis," she said. "The rest of the Willamette: there's a million plus in Portland alone, and there's Salem and Eugene and Albany: and no tractors or harvesters or-most farmers these days get their groceries from Albertsons or Smith's, just like everyone else.

No trucks, no trains, no telephones-the government's gone -the cops and National Guard are just guys with sticks. Pretty soon, with no fresh water or working sewage plants there'll be sickness, too, really bad."

"Holy Hannah," Luther breathed. Sarah put a hand over her mouth.

"And that's why we're getting out," Juniper said. "My first responsibility is to Eilir"- though there's Rudy, and by the Cauldron I hope my coveners are all right -"but we'd be glad to have you two along."

Luther blinked at her. "Well, thank you kindly," he said. "But surely we'd just be a burden to you? We're well fixed here if times are hard; there's the preserves, and the chickens, and the garden and the fruit trees. We're better off than we would have been back when I was doing real farming-I've had more time for puttering around putting in truck."

Dennis jerked his chin towards the shotgun leaning beside the door. "Thing is, Mr. Finney, that pretty soon a lot of people are going to get real hungry. And they're going to think that the place to get something to eat is out in the country. Then they'll come looking for dinner."

"Holy Hannah," Luther said again. Then he exchanged a look with his wife. "I see your point, you three. But we've got relatives around here, and our kids and grandkids will need a place to stay. They know where we are. No, I think we'll be staying here. And you're welcome to if you want, as well."

The floor of the Willamette Valley was mostly flat, but here towards the edge of the Cascade foothills the odd butte reared up out of the fields. Juniper Mackenzie lay on the crest of one such, training her binoculars west; the damp ground soaked into her shirt, but the temperature was heading up, finally getting springlike, and the earth had the yeasty smell of new growth. Crocus bloomed nearby, blue spears under a big Oregon oak whose leaves were a tender green.

She swallowed, her hands trembling as she watched I-5, the main interstate that ran north-south from Portland to Eugene. The litter of motionless cars and trucks hadn't changed. The first thin scatter of trudging people on foot had; most of the stranded passengers had probably dispersed quickly, and for a day or two-the day her party had crossed-it had been nearly empty.

Now it was thronged. Groups on foot-they probably included a lot from Salem and the first or the most determined from Portland; perhaps some walking north from Eugene in ironic counterpoint to the flood heading south away from the metropolis.

Everyone looking for the place things are normal, and not finding it.

A lot of the ones on bicycles were almost certainly from Portland ; it was an easy three-day trip by pedal, and there were a lot of bicyclists there.

From Albany, too, she thought.

That city wasn't far away to the north; she could have seen it on a normal day. Today a thick plume of black smoke marked the location, and the faint bitter smell was an undertone to the earth scents. On the highway, a group was fighting around an eighteen-wheeler truck that had coasted into the rear of an SUV on the evening when everything Changed, carried along by momentum. Merciful distance hid the details, but there were certainly clubs and pieces of car-jack and tire-iron in use. Probably knives and shovels as well.

Must be food inside. Oh, Goddess, there goes another bunch.

Twenty or thirty cyclists traveling in a clump abruptly braked to a halt and drove into both groups fighting around the truck in a solid wedge. At this distance everything was doll-tiny even with the powerful binoculars, and she kept the point of aim moving so that she wouldn't catch more than an odd glimpse. There were already too many things in her head that kept coming back when she tried to sleep.

The worst of it was that she couldn't even blame them for fighting over the food. If everyone shared fairly, that would simply mean that everyone died of starvation. There just wasn't enough to go around, and no authority to enforce rationing if there was. Too little anywhere except in the immediate vicinity of a warehouse or a grain elevator or a packing plant-and there, too much, and no way to move it any distance before it spoiled.

Do not think of what New York or LA is like, she told herself. Do not. Do not.

That was like telling yourself not to think about the color orange, or an elephant, but she had to try if she wasn't going to curl up into a little ball and wait to die. Cuchulain thrust his nose into her armpit and whined slightly as he scented her distress.