The Long Loud Silence

all smelled offensive from long weeks or months without a bath. They appeared unarmed. The leader held the shotgun on Gary and made a motion with his thumb.

“Take a look at it, Sully.”

Sully trotted over to the gear and pawed it, not knowing what it was and therefore not knowing how to examine it with intelligence.

“It's clean, Harry,” was all he could think to say.

“Spread it out!” Harry barked. “Let's have a look.”

The scavenger spread it out, eagerly and clumsily, displaying the few pieces on the ground. Harry advanced and stood over it, looking down.

“Look's like a gas mask to me.”

“It's diving gear,” Gary said again.

“What'cha going to use it for?”

“I dunno — I just found it.” They did not believe him.

“Where?” Harry demanded. He kicked at it viciously with a ragged shoe. “What kind of a store would have things like this? And stop lying!”

“I'm not lying. And don't kick it — you'll break the glass in the eyes.”

“I'll do any damn thing I want with it, see kid?” He flourished the shotgun and delivered another kick. “I'm boss around here. What kind of a store?”

“A place back there in town,” Gary said with ill humor and jerked a vague thumb across his shoulder. “A riverman's store — they sell boat supplies and things. They had that in the window and I took it.”

“Oh, you did? You was expecting poison gas, I suppose? If it's diving gear, what's it for?”

“I don't know,” Gary explained cautiously. “They use it to go down to boats that are sunk, I guess.”

“It still looks like a gas mask to me.” Harry peered at him, bristling with suspicion and disbelief. “Was you gonna investigate some sunken boats?”

“Of course not. I just brought it along.”

“You're a liar,” Harry repeated.

Gary didn't answer and the man with the gun lapsed into a disgruntled silence, unable to offer anything further. He kept the weapon trained in the general direction of the soldier's stomach and dropped to one knee, to examine the equipment. Harry tapped the glass eye-pieces with a dirty finger and turned the gear over to finger the straps. Finally he picked up the heavy metal box fastened by a hose to the mouthpiece and shook it. It seemed solid.

One of the others crept nearer. “Harry…”

“What?”

“I know, Harry, I know what he was gonna do.”

“Well, what?”

“He was gonna put it on and swim across!”

The leader shot a startled glance at Gary and then at his companion. He hefted the metal box in his hand. “Not a chance,” he declared after a moment. “They'd see him.”

“Underwater, Harry, underwater!” Sully danced around in his eagerness to please and tapped the box quickly. “That's air in the box — you know, that condensed air stuff, what do they call it? The kid was gonna swim underwater, Harry.”

Harry lost his balance and sat down on the ground. The corporal stood quietly, watching him, seeing the idea take hold in the man's dulled imagination. Surprise mixed with a growing greed appeared on his face as he realized what the mask could mean.

“I'll be damned,” he said slowly. “Now why didn't I think of that!”

“That's mine,” Gary spoke up quickly to drive the point home. “You can't take—”

“I'll take any damn thing I want, see kid? Ask these guys who's boss around here.” He got to his feet and advanced on Gary to ram the shotgun in his middle. “Lied to me, didn't you? Figured on swimming across and didn't want me to know it, didn't you? I gotta notion to pull the trigger.”

Gary said hastily, “I'll swap you for it, Harry. That's a good shotgun you've got there. We can make a deal.”

“We ain't making no deal, kid. I keep the gun and the mask.” He stepped back a pace. “Sully, come here.”

The little man was at his side. “Yeah, Harry?”

“Put that thing on.”

“Me?” Sully was aghast. “Harry, I can't swim!”

“Who said you was gonna swim?” Harry shouted at him. “Put it on — we gotta test it, don't we?”

Sully fumbled unhappily with the gear. “I don't know how, Harry, I don't know how. I don't like this thing.”

“The kid'll show you.” He moved the shotgun. “Go on, put it on him. And you'd better make it right.”

With open reluctance, Gary took the mask from the skinny man's fingers and slipped it over his head, adjusting the straps on his back and fastening the metal box at his waist. He pulled the fittings tight until the gear was snugly in place. Sully stood there, arms akimbo, looking goggle-eyed through the eye-pieces.

“Make him breathe.”

“I fixed it. He is breathing.”

Harry watched for a moment. “All right — now down to the river.”

The four of them moved across the field and approached the river, Gary and Sully in the lead with the shotgun held to their backs. The third member of the trio trailed along without a word. The ground became soft and soggy near the stream and they floundered through it, Gary holding onto the skinny one's arm to keep him from falling. He hoped there were no prowlers about to overhear the noise they were making, for his weapons were hidden in the field behind him and the present safety of the four of them depended on the marksmanship of the man with the shotgun. He wanted to get back and get his own weapons before danger could find them. At the water's edge the party halted.

The river wasn't so wide at this point. Gary flung a glance toward the Minnesota shore but saw no patrolling sentries. They could hide themselves easily in the near-darkness.

“Lay down in the water,” Harry ordered.

Sully stared at him through the round glass eyes.

“Lay down!” He thumped the man's back and Sully fell on his stomach in the water, the muddy surface almost covering him. Harry planted a heavy foot in the middle of his back and pushed him under, holding him there for long minutes.

Gary waited impatiently to one side, alternately watching the man struggling in the water and the riverbank behind them. They were in an exposed and precarious position, easy prey to anyone who might sneak up on them, and the leader lacked the wits to post a guard. The third and remaining member of the gang stood uselessly a few yards away, watching Sully flailing his arms and legs in the stream.

Harry reached down and took hold of one of Sully's arms, yanking him up. Quickly he pulled the mask aside and examined the interior, as well as the man's red face.

“Are you all right?” he inquired of Sully.

Sully cringed, thoroughly wet and thoroughly miserable. “I can't swim, I tell you, I can't swim. You was trying to drown me!”

Harry balled a fist on his face. “Shut your damned mouth! I wasn't trying to drown you, you dumbbell — you didn't get your face wet, did you?”

Sully put dripping hands to his face in surprise. “I… no.”

“All right. And you was breathing all the time, wasn't you?”

“Yeah, I guess so, Harry.”

“All right then, this thing works. You can swim underwater with it.”

“Not me, Harry, I can't swim. You ain't gonna make me swim under the river Harry, you ain't!” He jumped away.

“Shut up — nobody said you was.” Harry turned to peer at the corporal with shrewd speculation. “Thought you was pretty foxy, didn't you? Thought you was better'n the rest of us. Thought you'd sneak across underwater