Vigilance slowly relaxed and a sense of halfsecurity overcame them.
The cabin contained in addition to a small stove, one narrow bed which had been awarded to Sally without discussion, while they bunked on the ground beside it or sometimes out on the sandy beach. Sally, in complete if silent submission to the partnership agreement, was compliant with the wishes of both but as time went on she found herself favoring Oliver rather violently, and had some difficulty in concealing it.
Sally was lost in the enchantment of the sea, and enjoyed wading barelegged into the rolling surf with them while they fished. Fishing was a daily occurrence.
“That lieutenant…” Oliver remarked once to the far horizon. He baited his hook and cast the line into deep water.
“What about him?”
“Keep thinking of his precious bridge.”
“He can have it,” Gary retorted, wading in deeper. The white sandy slope of the beach continued underwater, forcing them to wade out fifty or seventy-five feet to reach a depth fit for fishing. The sea was clear and unruffled and so transparent Gary could see his feet dug in on the bottom. “He's welcome to it. This is for me.”
“Unhappy position, though,” Oliver insisted. “Wouldn't want to be in his shoes — suppose he had a family on the wrong side of the creek? What would you do in his place?”
“I'm damned if I know. Join ’em, I guess.” He tugged on his line thoughtfully. “I don't like the idea of shooting up our side.”
Sally waded over to stand behind him, watching.
“Other hand,” Oliver argued, “you wouldn't want to spread the plague to the western states either. Now would you? Unholy predicament the man finds himself in — feel for him, sort of. If you and I had started across that bridge he wouldn't have hesitated to shoot because his orders said to shoot. But lacking orders what would he have done? If his wife started across, what would he do? Or his kids? Can a man obey orders and shoot his wife and children? Matter would be squarely up to his conscience. Most difficult to answer.”
“Nuts, officers don't have them.”
“Officers do, but you can't see it. I don't think I'd like to watch the lieutenant make a decision like that.”
“I'll stick with this, thanks.” He turned and put his arm about Sally's waist. “Just like a six-month leave.”
“Likewise.” Oliver stared absently at his sagging line and then again at the distant horizon, his thoughts presently returning to the bedeviled officer. “I consider his present position untenable; couldn't hold it myself but have to admire his guts for staying. Wonder if he can hold out as long as a year?”
Gary was startled. “You think this might last a whole year?”
“Not surprising.” Oliver tightened his line quickly, watching it intently for a moment before relaxing. “Quite possible as a matter of fact. Keep us quarantined as long as there remains a shred of doubt — and that can be a long time.” He shifted his feet on the sandy bottom and turned to allow the sun to warm his chest and stomach. “I'm not too impatient. Now if I were in their place — headquarters that is — I'd send patrols across all the bridges periodically to take samples and make tests. Send them far inland.”
“What for?” Gary asked. “What tests?”
“Water, soil, grain, cattle if any are still to be found. Sample the swamps and the mountain ridges. Take specimens of paint peeling from buildings, almost any substance capable of concealing a foreign body.”
“Sometimes you sound like a schoolteacher.”
“Sometimes I do, yes. The patrols would gather up residue and test it for contamination; when the tested matter no longer revealed a danger, the crisis would be over except for mopping up the stragglers.”
“Except for—” Gary jerked away from the girl. “Like us?” he asked flatly.
“Like us,” Oliver nodded. “Latent carriers, Typhoid Marys, apparently immune but spreading the death by merely breathing.”
“That's a hell of a note! Either they shoot us for crossing the bridge, or they shoot us for staying alive over here. What's the damned country coming to?” He jerked his line savagely through the water.
Sally left him to wade nearer the other man.
“May not be that bad at all,” Oliver pointed out mildly, apparently unworried about his future. “Not by the time they get around to us. All depends on the prevailing mood of high brass
“Yeah, fine! I can see me blocking reconstruction. Haven't they got anything to cure us?”
“Who can say? Science makes wonderful strides in some respects and yet stands still in others. We thought the atomic bomb would make the land uninhabitable for thousands of years, yet you can move right back in a short while after an airburst. When I was teaching school there were no known cleansing agents for the likes of you and me — and Sally.”
“What about that stuff I read in the library?”
“Oh, vaccines exist, yes, but they are intended as a preventive measure, not an antidote to be administered a year or more after the poison takes effect.” He was gazing at the point where the sea met the horizon. “Seem to recall there were vaccines for one or two types of toxin of botulism, but antitoxins are useless at this late date. And as for the pneumonic plague! Perhaps, just perhaps, sulfadiazine and streptomycin could help if you were treated immediately.”
Sally spoke up. “Is it bad, Jay?”
“About as bad as it can get, Sally.
“But what about those tests?” Gary demanded. “How can the patrols come over on our side and then get back without catching hell?” He had forgotten his line and was watching Oliver.
“Would use airtight suits. Something like those atomic radiation suits the bomb cleanup squads are supposed to wear. Set up a decontamination chamber on one end of the bridge and work from there; send out the patrols dressed in the suits to gather samples for laboratory tests, bring them back through the chamber and burn the suits if necessary. Easily done — standard laboratory measures. A series of such patrols would definitely establish when the danger was ended. If it ended.”
They returned to their fishing. Sally moved up close to Oliver and held onto his arm, watching the beginning of a small swell roll in and splash against her legs.
Neither of the fishermen had luck. After a while Gary worked away from the two and moved down the beach, slowly trolling and recasting his line but without success. Standing almost hip-deep in water he heard an automobile careening along the highway and was instantly alert, straining his ears to follow its passage. It was the first passing car they had noticed in almost a month. The car did not slow and presently the sound of it was lost to him as it sped rapidly westward. He turned and walked back to the couple, dragging the line carelessly behind.
“You know,” he suggested as he approached, “there might be a way to get across the Mississippi.”
“Think so?”
“Sure. I saw something when we were hanging around those bridges — some of them at least. Did you notice the little signs down near the waterline? They were put there for the boats to read. The signs said not to drop anchor there, it was a cable crossing. Those cables follow along the bottom of the river and come up somewhere on the other side. I could get me a breathing mask and crawl along a cable.”
Oliver didn't answer, still watching the sea.
“I could get across that way,” Gary persisted.
“Assuming that you evaded the sentries waiting on the other side, how long would you stay alive over there? How long could you remain free and undetected?”
“I can get lost damned quick!”
“You
“Nuts. I'm immune.”
“Immunity isn't what you seem to think it is. And the people across the creek aren't immune. Your immunity wouldn't protect them, wouldn't save them from dying just because you walked by. Your immunity means that you and you alone are not subject to the diseases — at the present time. Just as Sally and I are temporarily protected. That's why the three of us are still alive. But Gary — your immunity may last you a lifetime, it usually does in
