When Kenniston started to follow Hubble out of the jeep at City Hall, the other stopped him.
“I won’t need you right now, Ken. And I know you’re worried about Carol. Go on and see she’s all right.”
Kenniston drove north through streets already almost deserted. The cold was deepening, and the green leaves of trees and shrubs hung strangely limp and lifeless. He stopped at his lodgings. His landlady’s torrent of questions he answered with a reference to a forthcoming announcement that sent her hurrying to her radio. He went up to his rooms and dug out a bottle of Scotch and drank off half a tumbler straight. Then he went to Carol’s house.
From its chimney, as from all the chimneys along the street, smoke was curling up. He found Carol and her aunt beside a fireplace blaze.
“It won’t be enough,” Kenniston told them. “We’ll need the furnace going. And the storm windows up.”
“In June?” wailed Mrs. Adams, shocked again by the crazy vagaries of weather.
Carol came and stood before him. “You know a lot you’re not telling us, Ken. Maybe you think you’re being kind, to spare us, but—I want to know.”
“As soon as I get the house fixed up,” said Kenniston heavily, “I’ll tell you what I can. Turn the radio on, Mrs. Adams, and keep it going.”
It seemed strange to him that the end of the world meant fussing with furnace-shakers and ashes in a cold basement, hauling out storm windows and swearing at catches that wouldn’t catch. He worked outside in almost total darkness, his hands stiff with the frigid chill.
As though she could no longer endure the waiting, Carol came out as Kenniston finished with the windows. He heard her low, startled cry and turned, alert for any danger. But she was standing still, looking at the eastern sky. An enormous dull-copper shield was rising there. The Moon—but a Moon many times magnified, swollen to monstrous size, its glaring craters and plains and mountain chains frighteningly clear to the unaided eye. Kenniston had a moment of vertigo, a feeling that that unnatural bulk was about to topple forward and crush them, and then Carol had him by the arms in such a painful grip that he forgot about the Moon.
“What is it, what’s happening?” she cried, and for the first time her voice had a shrill edge of hysteria.
Mrs. Adams called from the doorway to come quickly. “It’s the Mayor. He’s going to make an important announcement.”
Kenniston followed them inside. Yes, an important announcement, he thought. The most important ever.
World’s end should be announced by a voice of thunder speaking from the sky. By the trumpets of the archangels. Not by the scared, hesitating voice of Mayor Bertram Garris.
Even now, politician-like, Mayor Garris tried to shift responsibility a little. He told what he had to tell, but he prefixed it by, “Doctor Hubble and his associates are of the opinion that—” and, “It would appear from scientific evidence that—” But he told it. And the silence that followed in the living room of Mrs. Adams’ comfortable house was, Kenniston knew, only a part of the stunned silence that whelmed all Middletown.
Later, he knew, would come the outburst. But now they could not speak, they could only look at him with terrified faces pleading for a reassurance that he could not give.
Chapter 5
IN THE RED DAWN
Kenniston was aroused next morning by the sharp summons of the telephone. He awoke with chill, stiff limbs on the sofa where he had dozed fitfully during the night. He had fired the coal furnace half a dozen times, but the house was cold and white frost was thick on the storm windows. He stood up, heavy with sleep, oppressed with a sense of evil things but still mercifully vague, and stumbled mechanically toward the phone. It was not until he heard Hubble’s voice on the wire that his mind cleared and he remembered yesterday.
Hubble’s message was brief. “Will you get over here, Ken? The Keystone coal yard. I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble.” Kenniston said,
“Right away.” He hung up and stood where he was for a moment, painfully adjusting himself to the realization of how different today was from all the other days of his life. His hands and feet were numb, and his breath steamed faintly in the room. Presently he stirred himself, going hastily to the cellar, where he dug into the dwindling dregs of last winter’s coal.
Carol was there when he went back up. She wore her fur coat over her night things, and her eyes were heavy and shadowed, as though she had not slept much. “The phone woke me,” she said. “Is it…?”
She did not finish. It was ridiculous to inquire whether the call had brought bad news. They were all existing in a horror dream in which everything was bad.
He only told her that Hubble wanted him for a while. Then, a little hesitantly, he put his arms around her. “You’re all right now?” he asked.
“Yes. Ken. I’m all right.” But her voice was remote and tired, and had no life in it.
Kenniston did not refer to the night before, to the time after the Mayor’s apocalyptic announcement. Of all the bad moments he had had that day, that one had been the worst. Mrs. Adams did the expected things, which he could cope with by means of brandy and ammonia capsules, but Carol did not. She sat quite still, looking at him in a way that he had never seen before. The Mayor had told the full truth about the Industrial Research Laboratory. It had been necessary, to explain why Hubbies’ statements were authoritative. Kenniston wished that he had told Carol about it himself. It seemed an unimportant thing in the face of the world’s end, and yet he felt that to her it was not unimportant at all.
He could not talk it out with her then, with Mrs. Adams’ hysterics dominating everything, and she had not come out to him later, and now, facing her again this morning, Kenniston felt unsure of himself and of her for the first time since he had met her.
“Stay inside and keep the furnace going,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He kissed her, and she stood there in the circle of his arms, neither yielding nor resisting. He said, almost desperately, “Don’t give up, Carol. We’ll find an answer to it all, somehow.”
She nodded and said, “Yes. Be careful,” and turned away. Kenniston went out alone, into the bitter morning.
It was still half dark, for the sullen Sun had not quite risen, sprawling in the east like some bloated monster heavy with blood. He refilled the jeep’s radiator, which he had drained the night before. It was very still, he noticed. The mill whistles, the delivery trucks, the peremptory voices of locomotives quarrelling at the Junction—all were gone. Even the children were silent now, afraid of the red, cold dawn. The roses all were dead, and the frost had blackened the summer shrubs and trees. The streets seemed empty as Kenniston drove the jeep down Main Street.
Middletown had taken on, overnight, the aspect of a tomb. Smoke arose from every chimney, in the houses where the people crouched indoors, peering sometimes with pale faces framed in frost-rimed glass as the jeep went clattering by in the silence. From every church he passed came sounds of hymns and praying. The bars, too, were noisy, having apparently defied law to remain open all night.
Kenniston realized that this town was dying as it stood. Fuel would run out fast, and without it life could not survive these bitter nights. A feeling of utter hopelessness swept over him. It seemed ironic that Middletown should have come safely through the most staggering cataclysm in history, only to perish miserably of cold.
Dimly, in the back of his mind, a thought began to form. It tempered his hopelessness a little, but before he could get it clear, he had made the turn into Vine Street, and the Keystone coal yard lay before him. And at that place in this still and deathly city, there was life and noise enough.
Policemen and National Guardsmen formed a cordon around the yard and its great black heaps of coal. They faced a crowd—an ugly crowd, still only muttering, but bound for trouble. Kenniston saw people he knew in that crowd, people who sat on their front porches in the warm summer nights and talked with neighbors and laughed. Mill hands, merchants, housewives—solid, decent folk, but turned wolfish now with the cold and the fear of dying.
Hubble met him inside the yard. A worried police sergeant was with him, and Borchard, who owned the yard.
