Plague

'Oh, you mean radiation?'

'That's right. Radiation! Radiation from color TVs!'

Adelaide said brusquely, 'I wish you'd kindly explain what radiation has got to do with anything.'

'I don't know precisely,' said Dr. Petrie. 'But do you remember what they said on the radio about certain people being less prone to plague than others? Children was one category, and so were ConEd powerworkers, and doctors.'

'You've lost me.'

'No, it's very simple. That was what I was trying to work out before. I was trying to think why Anton Selmer and I should both escape the plague, even though we were heavily exposed to it. There were one or two other doctors at the hospital, too, who seemed to be immune. Now you mention children, sitting in front of colour TVs.

'How many hours of television does the average American kid watch per day?'

'Don't ask me. Six or seven?'

Dr. Petrie nodded. 'Right — that's a lot of television, and a lot of radiation. And that's what Dr. Selmer and I had in common, and what we've all got in common with certain types of power workers, and others. We were supervising X-Rays, and we must have picked up a mild dose of radio-activity.'

Adelaide thought about it. 'It's a theory, isn't it?' she said. 'I mean, it's better than no theory at all.'

Dr. Petrie started up the car, and they pulled away from the curbside.

'It could be nonsense, but it's the only thing that seems to fit. I mean, if the plague has been mutated into a super-plague, maybe it was mutated by radioactivity. In which case, radioactivity seems to be the only thing that can ward it off.'

They drove through the rain towards the Holland Tunnel entrance.

'Are you going into Manhattan?' Adelaide asked.

Dr. Petrie nodded. 'I guess we have to. They can't have had the plague for very long, and if I've got some kind of theory about curing it, I think I really have to tell someone.'

'But Leonard — '

'What's the matter? Don't you want to go?'

'Leonard, it's not a question of wanting to go. Look at it — it's dark and it's getting darker. That city's bad enough when it has lights. It's going to be a jungle in there. You can't take Prickles into that.'

Dr. Petrie slowed the car and took a long left-hand curve. The rain fell through the light of their headlamps in a careless pattern.

'Adelaide,' he said quietly, 'I don't see that we have any choice. All we have to do is find someplace secure to stay for the night, and then tomorrow we can get in touch with the hospitals. As long as I can tell someone about this radiation theory, we're okay. Then we can leave.'

'Leonard,' said Adelaide, 'I'm frightened. Can't you understand that?'

He glanced at her. 'Don't you think I'm frightened, too?'

'Then why go? We could skirt around New York altogether, and drive up to the Catskills. We could be safe there. You said before that we were going to find ourselves a place to stay until the plague was all over.'

Dr. Petrie nodded. 'I know.'

'Then please, Leonard.'

They had almost reached the tunnel entrance. For a moment he was tempted to turn around, and escape from the plague for good. They could drive upstate, and into Canada, and leave America to the ravages of fast- breeding bacilli and whatever fate was in store for her. But then he shook his head.

'Adelaide,' he said, 'I've only got a theory, but maybe nobody else has put two and two together in quite the same way. Maybe this could help to cure the plague, or slow it down, and if it does that, how can I leave Manhattan with a clear conscience? There are seven million people in this city, Adelaide, and if I only saved a seventh of them, that would be a million people. Can you imagine saving the lives of one million people?'

Adelaide lowered her head. 'Do you think, Leonard, that even one of those million people would stick their neck out to save you?'

'I don't know. That's irrelevant.'

'It's not irrelevant! You're risking your life to save people you don't even know, and who would probably leave you to die in the gutter if it meant putting themselves out. Leonard, you're not a miracle worker, you're not a saint! I know you want to be famous — but not this way! What's the use of being famous when you're dead?'

Dr. Petrie was straining his eyes, trying to see the tunnel entrance. He stopped the car and shifted it into Park.

'It's nothing to do with fame, Adelaide. If anything, it's to do with shame. I ran out on Anton Selmer, and left him to cope with the plague alone. If you really want to know the truth, I'm ashamed of myself. I feel I've betrayed something.'

She looked at him carefully. 'Is that why you tried to shoot that security guard in the car park? Because you were ashamed of yourself?'

'Probably, I don't know.'

'Oh, Leonard.'

They sat in silence for a while, and then Dr. Petrie said, 'If you want to stay behind, darling, you'd better stay. But I've got to go into the city, and that's all there is to it. I love you, you know.'

'Do you?'

He nodded.

'I don't know whether to believe you or not,' she said. She paused, and her eyes were glistening in the darkness. 'But I'll come. It that's what you want, I'll come.'

Prickles interrupted. 'Have we got to that place yet?'

'What place, honey?'

'Unork.'

Adelaide laughed. 'It's New York, not Unork. Yes, honey, we're almost there. Daddy's just going to take a look-see, and make sure this tunnel's okay. Aren't you, Daddy?'

Dr. Petrie grinned. 'Sure. I won't be long. Just hang on in there.'

He took his rifle and climbed cautiously out of the car. It was so wet and gloomy as he walked up to the entrance to Holland Tunnel that he couldn't see what had happened at first. A large armored police van was parked diagonally across the road, and two black and white police cars were parked on the curb. A torch was shining dimly somewhere behind the cars, but Dr. Petrie couldn't see anyone around. Rain spattered into his face and seeped into his shoes.

'Hallo!' he called. 'Is there anyone there?'

There was a long rainswept silence. Across the river, in the murky graveyard of Manhattan, he thought he heard the brief echoing wail of a siren, but he couldn't be sure.

He walked up to the van, and peered into its rain-beaded window. Inside, huddled on the seats, were five or six policemen, and they were all dead. Dr. Petrie circled around the cars, holding his rifle at the ready and found a seventh cop, hunched-up and pale, with his face in a puddle. In his hand was an electric torch which was still shining. Dr. Petrie stood there in the rain staring at him for a while, and then he turned around and went back to Adelaide and Prickles.

'The plague is here too. They're all dead.'

'Oh, God,' Adelaide sighed.

Prickles said, 'Is this Unork, Daddy? Can we go there?'

He looked back at her and smiled. 'We're on our way, honey.'

Dr. Petrie started up the car, and drove around the police van, down the rain-streaked entranceway to the tunnel. All the lights were out, and it was pitch-black, hot, and stifling.

The journey through the tunnel was like a miserable and terrifying ride on a ghost train. The sound of their car made an uncanny roar, and their headlights cast weird shapes and shadows. Dr. Petrie had to drive slowly, because of derelict cars lying wrecked and abandoned, and bodies sprawled on the ground. He had a horror of driving over a corpse by mistake.

It took almost half-an-hour of slow driving to get through the tunnel. He was worried that the car wouldn't make it. It was now caked with dust and grime and dented from countless collisions and rough detours. During the