Dan moved into the house on River Road that day. Thereafter he slept in the sleigh bed, the only bed in the house that could comfortably accommodate his frame, in Randy’s apartment, while Randy occupied the couch in the living room.
That night, afterwards, was remembered as “the night of the steak orgy.” Yet it was not for the rich taste of meat well hung that Randy remembered the night. He and the Admiral and Bill McGovern cooked the steaks outside, and then brought them into the living room. Fat wood burned in the big fireplace and a kettle steamed on hot bricks. At a few minutes before ten Randy clicked on his transistor radio, and they all listened. Lib McGovern was sitting on the rug next to him, her shoulder touching his arm. The room was warm, and comfortable, and somehow safe.
They heard the hum of a carrier wave, and then the voice of an announcer from the clear channel station somewhere deep in the heart of the country. “This is your Civil Defense Headquarters. I have an important announcement. Listen carefully. It will not be repeated again tonight. It will be repeated, circumstances permitting, at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Randy felt Lib’s long fingers circle his forearm, and grasp tight. Around the group before the fire, all the faces were anxious, the white faces in the front row, the Negro faces, eyes white and large, behind.
“A preliminary aerial survey of the country has been completed. By order of the Acting Chief Executive, Mrs. Vanbruuker-Brown, certain areas have been declared Con taminated Zones. It is forbidden for people to enter these zones. It is forbidden to bring any material of any kind, particularly metal or metal containers, out of these zones.
“Persons leaving the Contaminated Zones must first be examined at check points now being established. The location of these check points will be announced over your local Conelrad stations.
“The Contaminated Zones are: “The New England States.”
Sam Hazzard, sitting in a prim cherry-wood rocker which, like Sam, had originated in New England, drew in his breath. The newscaster continued:
“All of New York State south of the line Ticonderoga Sacketts Harbor.
“The state of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland.
“The District of Columbia.
“Ohio east of the line Sandusky-Chillicothe. Also in Ohio, the city of Columbus and its suburbs.
“In Michigan, Detroit and Dearborn and an area of fifty mile radius from these cities. Also in Michigan, the cities of Flint and Grand Rapids.
“In Virginia, the entire Potomac River Basin. The cities of Richmond and Norfolk and their suburbs.
“In South Carolina, the port of Charleston and all territory within a thirty-mile radius of Charleston.
“In Georgia, the cities of Atlanta, Savannah, Augusta, and their suburbs.
“The state of Florida.”
Randy felt angry and insulted. He shifted his weight and started to get to his feet. “Not the whole state!” he said, at the same time realizing his protest was completely irrational.
“Sh-h!” Lib said, and pulled him back to the rug.
The voice went on, ticking off Mobile and Birmingham, New Orleans and Lake Charles.
It moved into Texas, obliterating Fort Worth and Dallas, and everything within a fifty-mile radius of these two cities, and Abilene, Houston, and Corpus Christi.
It moved northward again:
“In Arkansas, Little Rock and its suburbs, plus an area of forty miles to the west of Little Rock.”
Missouri, who through the whole evening had said nothing except in answer to questions, now said something. “How come they hit Little Rock?”
The Admiral said, “There’s a big SAC base in Little Rock, or was.”
The voice moved up to Oak Ridge, in Tennessee, and then spoke of Chicago, and everything around Chicago in northern Indiana, and crept up the western shore of Lake Michigan to Milwaukee, and Milwaukee’s suburbs. Inexorably, it uttered the names of Kansas City, Wichita, and Topeka.
The voice continued:
“In Nebraska, Lincoln. Also in Nebraska, Omaha and all the territory within a fifty-mile radius of Omaha.”
There goes all hope of Mark, Randy thought. More than one missile for Omaha. Probably three, as Mark had expected. From the moment of the double dawn on The Day, he had known it was probable. Now he must accept it as almost certain. He looked across the circle, at three faces in the firelight. Peyton’s face was half-hidden against her mother’s breast. Helen’s face bent down, and her arms were around Peyton’s shoulders. Ben Franklin stared into the fire, his chin straight. Randy could see the tear path down Helen’s face, and the unshed tears in Ben’s eyes.
The announcements went on, the voice calling out portions of states, and cities-Seattle, Hanford, San Francisco, all the southern California coast, Helena, Cheyenne-but Randy only half-heard them. All he could hear, distinctly, were the sharp sobs out of Peyton’s throat.
Randy’s heart went out to them but he said nothing. What was there to say? How do you say to a little girl that you are sorry she no longer has a father?
Close to his side Lib stirred and spoke, two words only, to Helen. “I’m sorry.” Randy had noticed, that evening, a tenseness between Helen and Lib. Nothing was said, and yet there was a watchfulness, a hostility, between them. So he was glad that Lib had spoken. He wanted them to like each other. He was puzzled that they didn’t.
Then it was over. The radio stilled. More than ever, Randy felt cut off and isolated. Florida was a prohibited zone, and Fort Repose a tiny, isolated sector within that zone. He could appreciate why the whole state had been designated a contaminated area. There were so many bases, so many targets which had been hit, with resulting contamination. They had been extraordinarily fortunate in Fort Repose. The wind had favored them. They had received only a residue of fallout from Tampa and Orlando, and none at all from Miami and Jacksonville. Even a reasonably clean weapon on Patrick would have rained radioactive particles on Fort Repose, but the enemy had not bothered to hit Patrick. Standing on the other side of the room, Preacher Henry had been listening, but he did not fully understand the designation of contaminated zones or comprehend the implications. He did feel and understand the shock and grief the broadcast brought to the Braggs, and he sensed it was time for him to leave. He nudged Malachai, touched Two-Tone’s rump with his toe, caught the attention of Hannah and Missouri, and said, with dignity, “We be going now. I thank you, Mister Randy, for a real fine steak dinner. I hopes we can sometime repay it.”
Randy rose to his feet and said, “Good night, Preacher. It was good to have you all.”
On the fourth day after The Day, Randy, Malachai, and Two-Tone extended the artesian water system to the houses of Admiral Hazzard and Florence Wechek. Stretching pipe across the grove to the Admiral’s house was simple, but to provide water for Florence Wechek and Alice Cooksey it was necessary to dig through the macadam of River Road with picks.
On the night of the sixth day the Riverside Inn burned. With no water in the hydrants, and the hotel’s sprinkler system inoperative, the fire department was all but helpless. Only a few reserve firemen showed up, and only one pumper was got into action, using river water. It was a puny effort, and far too late. The old, resinous wooden structure was burning brightly before the first stream touched the walls. Soon the heat drove the firemen away. A few minutes thereafter the last scream was heard from the third floor.
Dan had been summoned an hour later, and Randy had driven him into town. By then, there was nothing to do except care for the survivors. They were few. Some of these died of smoke poisoning or fear-it was hard to diagnose-within a few hours. The burned were taken to San Marco in Bubba Offenhaus’ hearse-ambulances. The uninjured were lodged in the Fort Repose school. There was no heat in the school, or food, or water. It was simply shelter, less comfortable than the hotel, and within a few days more squalid.