«I do.» Robinson was firm about that. «We’ve learned by experience, learned a lot. We’ve scattered the army, broken it into small outposts at key points throughout the country. For quite a while, we stopped travel altogether except for absolute emergencies, and then with elaborate precautions. That smothered the epidemics. The microorganisms were bred to work in crowded areas, you know. They were almost immune to known medical techniques, but without hosts and carriers they died. I guess natural bacteria ate up most of them. We still take care in traveling, but we’re fairly safe now.»
«Did any of the others come back? There were a lot like me, sent out to see what really had happened to the world.»
«One did from South America. Their situation is similar to ours, though they lacked our tight organization and have gone further toward anarchy. Nobody else returned but you.»
It wasn’t surprising. In fact, it was a cause for astonishment that anyone had come back. Drummond had volunteered after the bomb erasing St. Louis had taken his family, not expecting to survive and not caring much whether he did. Maybe that was why he had.
«You can take your time in writing a detailed report,» said Robinson, «but in general, how are things over there?»
Drummond shrugged. «The war’s over. Burned out. Europe has gone back to savagery. They were caught between America and Asia, and the bombs came both ways. Not many survivors, and they’re starving animals. Russia, from what I saw, has managed something like you’ve done here, though they’re worse off than we. Naturally, I couldn’t find out much there. I didn’t get to India or China, but in Russia I heard rumors—No, the world’s gone too far into disintegration to carry on war.»
«Then we can come out in the open,» said Robinson softly. «We can really start rebuilding. I don’t think there’ll ever be another war, Drummond. I think the memory of this one will be carved too deeply on the race for us ever to forget.»
«Can you shrug it off that easily?»
«No, no, of course not. Our culture hasn’t lost its continuity, but it’s had a terrific setback. We’ll never wholly get over it. But—we’re on our way up again.»
The general rose, glancing at his watch. «Six o’clock. Come on, Drummond, let’s get home.»
«Home?»
«Yes, you’ll stay with me. Man, you look like the original zombie. You’ll need a month or more of sleeping between clean sheets, of home cooking and home atmosphere. My wife will be glad to have you; we see almost no new faces. And as long as we’ll work together, I’d like to keep you handy. The shortage of competent men is terrific.»
They went down the street, an aide following. Drummond was again conscious of the weariness aching in every bone and fiber of him. A home—after two years of ghost towns, of shattered chimneys above blood-dappled snow, of flimsy lean-tos housing starvation and death.
«Your plane will be mighty useful, too,» said Robinson. «Those atomic-powered craft are scarcer than hens’ teeth used to be.» He chuckled hollowly, as at a rather grim joke. «Got you through close to two years of flying without needing fuel. Any other trouble?»
«Some, but there were enough spare parts.» No need to tell of those frantic hours and days of slaving, of desperate improvisation with hunger and plague stalking him who stayed overlong. He’d had his troubles getting food, too, despite the plentiful supplies he’d started out with. He’d fought for scraps in the winters, beaten off howling maniacs who would have killed him for a bird he’d shot or a dead horse he’d scavenged. He hated that plundering, and would not have cared personally if they’d managed to destroy him. But he had a mission, and the mission was all he’d had left as a focal point for his life, so he’d clung to it with fanatic intensity.
And now the job was over, and he realized he couldn’t rest. He didn’t dare. Rest would give him time to remember. Maybe he could find surcease in the gigantic work of reconstruction. Maybe.
«Here we are,» said Robinson.
Drummond blinked in new amazement. There was a car, camouflaged under brush, with a military chauffeur—a car! And in pretty fair shape, too.
«We’ve got a few oil wells going again, and a small patched-up refinery,» explained the general. «It furnishes enough gas and oil for what traffic we have.»
They got in the rear seat. The aide sat in front, a rifle ready. The car started down a mountain road.
«Where to?» asked Drummond a little dazedly.
Robinson smiled. «Personally,» he said, «I’m almost the only lucky man on Earth. We had a summer cottage on Lake Taylor, a few miles from here. My wife was there when the war came, and stayed, and nobody came along till I brought the head offices here with me. Now I’ve got a home all to myself.»
«Yeah. Yeah, you’re lucky,» said Drummond. He looked out the window, not seeing the sun-spattered woods. Presently he asked, his voice a little harsh: «How is the country really doing now?»
«For a while it was rough. Damn rough. When the cities went, our transportation, communication, and distribution systems broke down. In fact, our whole economy disintegrated, though not all at once. Then there was the dust and the plagues. People fled, and there was open fighting when overcrowded safe places refused to take in any more refugees. Police went with the cities, and the army couldn’t do much patrolling. We were busy fighting the enemy troops that’d flown over the Pole to invade. We still haven’t gotten them all. Bands are roaming the country, hungry and desperate outlaws, and there are plenty of Americans who turned to banditry when everything else failed. That’s why we have this guard, though so far none have come this way.
«The insect and blight weapons just about wiped out our crops, and that winter everybody starved. We checked the pests with modern methods, though it was touch and go for a while, and next year got some food. Of course, with no distribution as yet, we failed to save a lot of people. And farming is still a tough proposition. We won’t really have the bugs licked for a long time. If we had a research center as well equipped as those which produced the things—But we’re gaining. We’re gaining.»
«Distribution—» Drummond rubbed his chin. «How about railroads? Horse-drawn vehicles?»
«We have some railroads going, but the enemy was as careful to dust most of ours as we were to dust theirs. As for horses, they were nearly all eaten that first winter. I know personally of only a dozen. They’re on my place; I’m trying to breed enough to be of use, but»—Robinson smiled wryly—«by the time we’ve raised that many, the factories should have been going quite a spell.»
«And so now—?»
«We’re over the worst. Except for outlaws, we have the population fairly well controlled. The civilized people are fairly well fed, with some kind of housing. We have machine shops, small factories, and the like going, enough to keep our transportation and other mechanism ‘level.’ Presently we’ll be able to expand these, begin actually increasing what we have. In another five years or so, I guess, we’ll be integrated enough to drop martial law and hold a general election. A big job ahead, but a good one.»
The car halted to let a cow lumber over the road, a calf trotting at her heels. She was gaunt and shaggy, and skittered nervously from the vehicle into the brush.
«Wild,» explained Robinson. «Most of the real wildlife was killed off for food in the last two years, but a lot of farm animals escaped when their owners died or fled, and have run free ever since. They—» He noticed Drummond’s fixed gaze. The pilot was looking at the calf. Its legs were half the normal length.
«Mutant,» said the general. «You find a lot of such animals. Radiation from bomb or dusted areas. There are even a lot of human abnormal births.» He scowled, worry clouding his eyes. «In fact, that’s just about our worst problem. It—»