The Long Loud Silence

“Do you carry identification, Corporal?” the officer asked suspiciously.

“Yes, sir.” He dug down under his clothing to bring up the two dogtags hanging on a chain.

The lieutenant peered at them and then up at the man. “Well, I don't mind saying thanks! You certainly helped us out of a hole.” He paused. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, sir.” Gary looked down the road at the sprawled bodies. “Except for the casualties, sir.”

There was a moment of silence as the officer sought for words. Gary stared at him, at the second face looking over his shoulder.

The second face suggested, “Ask him about Chicago, Lieutenant.”

“A-bombed,” Gary said without waiting for the other to repeat the question. “Hundreds of A-bombs. The place is just a pile of ashes now.”

“How did you escape?” was the quick retort.

“I wasn't there, sir. I was on recruiting duty downstate.” He thought to volunteer more. “The whole damned country is washed out, sir. A-bombs and disease everywhere. There can't be more than a couple of thousand people left.”

“That many? Are you certain?”

“Yes, sir. I've covered all the ground between Chicago and Florida in the last couple of years, sir. There was a lot more that first year, but I'd say there's only a few thousand this summer, Lieutenant.”

“Well, I'll be damned. They said—”

“Yes, sir?”

“Good work, Corporal, good work. We can't thank you enough. Now we'll have to repair that tire and move on.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I was sort of hoping you could take me with you.”

“Out of the question,” the lieutenant Snapped “You are contaminated. Was that why you opened fire on the enemy? I commend you, Corporal, but I can do no more.”

Gary stared at him, his bearded face a carefully framed picture of disappointment. “I can't… ? But sir, I…”

“No!”

Gary shuffled his feet, made as if to leave and then turned back once more. “Say, Lieutenant, got anything to eat?”

“None to spare, Corporal; I'm sorry. Our supplies must last out the trip. And now move down the road, please. We have to replace that tire.”

Eagerly he said, “I'll fix it for you, sir. If you can let me have something to eat.” He waited for a moment and then added, “Please, Lieutenant — food is damned scarce.”

The officer examined him, his thin body and ragged clothing. He turned once to exchange glances with the other man in the car and then faced Gary again. He struggled to keep his face emotionless.

“All right, Corporal. We haven't too much ourselves but I dare say you need it worse than we do. Now — the tire.”

“Yes, sir.” He started forward. “Give me the jack.”

“Stop right there! Don't approach the truck, man, you're contaminated. We haven't our suits on. We'll throw the jack out to you.”

“Suits?” Gary repeated stupidly.

“Radiation suits — have to wear them in this damned place. Now about that tire…”

“Yes, sir!” Gary walked around to the front of the truck and squinted at the wrecked rubber. That tire would never roll again. “Keep a sharp lookout, Lieutenant. Don't want somebody to take a shot at me.” He slid the jack under the front axle and began pumping. The wheel slowly rose in the air.

Gary was in high humor but he was careful not to let it show on his face. These, he told himself with bitter amusement, these were some of the surviving heroes from the eastern cellars. The very adroit way he had taken them in revealed their ignorance of the harsh world they were passing through, revealed how little they knew of the dangerous men who now inhabited that world. They still trusted another man. These, then, were from some sheltered place in the East, journeying westward to some point on the Mississippi. Or across the Mississippi. That sudden thought shocked him, stilled his fingers.

Their destination was on the other side of the river! Two trucks, each containing three men if he had judged correctly; two trucks and six men driving for the quarantine line, carrying with them their supplies and radiation Suits to protect them while passing through contaminated territory. With smoldering excitement he slid the wheel off the hub and replaced it with the spare. Unscrewing the valve cap, he reversed it and jammed it down inside the valve as he let the jack drop the car. There was a faint whisper of escaping air.

He stood up. “You want the jack back, Lieutenant?”

The man hesitated, struck by a new worry. He hadn't considered that complication before allowing Gary to work on the tire and now he was unsure whether allowing him to handle it had somehow contaminated the tool. His face mirrored his uncertainty and he cursed himself for his shortsightedness. Finally he ordered, “Put it in the back… easy now.”

“Yes, sir.” Gary went around to the rear and found the door opened for him. He peered into the darkened interior, found himself Staring into the bore of the machine gun. The gunner was seated on a packing case watching him, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The truck was loaded with similar wooden cases. Gary sniffed at the cigarette smoke.

“Toss it in,” the gunner said sharply.

“Okay, bud.” Gary dropped the jack on the nearest box and backed away, his eyes on the cigarette. The gunner reached out and closed the door.

“Well done, Corporal,” the lieutenant called. “I shall mention this in my reports. You have been of valuable assistance to your government today.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gary's face was expressionless. “The grub, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, yes.” He tossed out two boxes of C-rations. “I'm sorry I can't give you more, but we are short. Just where are we, do you know?” He looked around as if expecting guideposts.

“Thank you, sir. This is Ohio — pretty close to the Indiana line. And Lieutenant, I wouldn't stay in any of the towns overnight — they'd probably gang up on you. Keep to the open country.”

“Thank you, Corporal. We've already found that sound advice. And now, don't recover your weapon until we are out of range.” He gunned the motor and put the truck into reverse gear, pulling it back onto the road. An impatient beat on the horn urged the other truck forward. “Good-bye, and good luck.”

The two vehicles rolled away.

Gary watched them go. “So long, you scurvy sonofabitch.” The machine gunner in the rear truck tossed a package of cigarettes through the broken window. Gary bent over to pick up the rations and turned to get the gun. When he straightened again the swiftly moving trucks were some distance away. He walked along the pavement, retrieved the cigarettes and stuffed them in an inner pocket. When the vehicles vanished from sight he quickly abandoned the road and took to the field, to follow. If he had guessed right on that leaking tire, he should overtake the convoy when they stopped for the night.

* * *

The trucks were parked back-to-back in a small grove of trees. That would mean a machine gunner sat in each cab, covering three avenues of approach. Gary studied the scene. They had stopped for the night in a small roadside park built and maintained by the state highway department, a stopping place originally installed for tourists. A gravel road curved off the highway and through the clump of green trees; there were two or three picnic tables that somehow had been overlooked in the search for firewood, a drinking fountain Probably fed by a fresh- water spring, and a pair of rusty cans for trash. The graveled path made room for a half dozen cars beneath the shading branches before completing the arc back to the highway. The trucks were but shapeless masses in the night; he might have missed them altogether had he been traveling along the paved road.

Gary waited in the underbrush on the far edge of the grove, wondering how to take the convoy.

They were green troops — they had allowed him to come this close undetected, but he knew they weren't so green as to permit him to simply walk up to the trucks. He had been lying at the edge of the grove for two hours,