He stopped short. "Mr. Farnham! Are they going to hit us?"
"I'm afraid so. Get inside."
The young Negro turned and yelled, "Doctor Livingston I presume!"-dashed back up the stairs.
Mr. Farnham said, "Oh, God!" and pressed his fists against his temples. He added in his usual voice, "Get inside, girls. Karen, bolt the door but listen for me. I'll wait as long as I can." He glanced at his watch. "Five minutes."
The girls went in. Barbara whispered, "What happened to Joseph? Flipped?"
"Well, sort of. Dr.-Livingston-I-Presume is our cat. Loves Joseph, tolerates us." Karen started bolting the inner door, heavy steel, and secured with ten inch-thick bolts.
She stopped. "I'm damned if I'll bolt this all the way while Daddy is outside!"
"Don't bolt it at all."
Karen shook her head. "I'll use a couple, so he can hear me draw them. That cat may be a mile away."
Barbara looked around. It was an L-shaped room; they had entered the end of one arm. Two bunks were on the right-hand wall; Grace Farnham was in the lower and still asleep. The left wall was solid with packed shelves; the passage was hardly wider than the door. The ceiling was low and arched and of corrugated steel. She could see the ends of two more bunks at the bend. Duke was not in sight but he quickly appeared from around the bend, started setting up a card table in the space there. She watched in amazement as he got out the cards he had picked up-how long ago? It seemed an hour. Probably less than five minutes.
Duke saw her, grinned, and placed folding chairs around the table.
There came a clanging at the door. Karen unbolted it; Joseph tumbled in, followed by Mr. Farnham. A lordly red Persian cat jumped out of Joseph's arms, started an inspection. Karen and her father bolted the door. He glanced at his wife, then said, "Joseph! Help me crank."
"Yes, sir!"
Duke came over. "Got her buttoned up, Skipper?"
"All but the sliding door. It has to be cranked."
"Then come take your licking." Duke waved at the table. His father stared. "Duke, are you seriously proposing to finish a card game while we're being attacked?"
"I'm four hundred dollars serious. And another hundred says we aren't being attacked. In a half hour they'll call it off and tomorrow's papers will say the northern lights fouled up the radar. Play the hand? Or default?"
"Mmm- My partner will play it; I'm busy."
"You stand behind the way she plays it?"
"Of course."
Barbara found herself sitting down at the table with a feeling that she had wandered into a dream. She picked up her partner's hand, studied it. "Lead, Karen."
Karen said, "Oh, hell!" and led the trey of clubs. Duke picked up the dummy, laid it out in suits. "What do you want on it?" he asked.
"Doesn't matter. I'll play both hands face up."
"Better not."
"It's solid." She exposed the cards.
Duke studied them. "I see," he admitted. "Leave the hands; Dad will want to see this." He did some figuring. "Call it twenty-four hundred points. Dad!"
"Yes, Son?"
"I'm writing a check for four hundred and ninety-two dollars-and let that be a lesson to me."
"You don't need to-"
All lights went out, the floor slammed against their feet. Barbara felt frightening pressure on her chest, tried to stand up and was knocked over. All around was a noise of giant subway trains, and the floor heaved like a ship in a cross sea.
"Dad!"
"Yes, Duke! Are you hurt?"
"I don't know. But make that five hundred and ninety-two dollars!"
The subterranean rumbling went on. Through this roar Barbara heard Mr. Farnham chuckle. "Forget it!" he called out. "The dollar just depreciated."
Mrs. Farnham started to scream. "Hubert! Hubert, where are you? Hubert! Make it stop!"
"Coming, dear!" A pencil of light cut the blackness, moved toward the bunks near the door. Barbara raised her head, made out that it was her host, on hands and knees with a flashlight in his teeth. He reached the bunk, succeeded in quieting Grace; her screams ceased. "Karen?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, Just bruised. My chair went over."
"All right. Get the emergency lighting on in this bay. Don't stand up. Crawl. I'll light you from here. Then get the hypo kit and-ow! Joseph!"
"Yes, sir."
"You in one piece?"
"I'm okay, Boss."
"Persuade your furry-faced Falstaff to join you. He jumped on me."
"He's just friendly, Mr. Farnham."
"Yes, yes. But I don't want him doing that while I'm giving a hypo. Call him."
"Sure thing. Here, Doc! Doe, Doe, Doe! Fish, Doe!"
Some minutes later the rumbling had died out, the floor was steady, Mrs. Farnham had been knocked out by injected drug, two tiny lights were glowing in the first bay, and Mr. Farnham was inspecting.
Damage was slight. Despite guardrails, cans had popped off shelves; a fifth of rum was broken. But liquor was almost the only thing stored in glass, and liquor had been left in cases, the rest of it had come through. The worst casualty was the shelter's battery-driven radio, torn loose from the wall and smashed.
Mr. Farnham was on his knees, retrieving bits of it. His son looked down. "Don't bother, Dad. Sweep it up and throw it away."
"Some parts can be salvaged."
"What do you know about radios?"
"Nothing," his father admitted. "But I have books."
"A book won't fix that. You should have stocked a spare."
"I have a spare."
"Then for God's sake get it! I want to know what's happened."
His father got up slowly and looked at Duke. "I would like to know, too. I can't hear anything over this radio I'm wearing. Not surprising, it's short range. But the spare is packed in foam and probably wasn't hurt."
"Then get it hooked up."
"Later."
"Later, hell. Where is it?"
Mr. Farnham breathed hard. "I've had all the yap I'm going to take."
"Huh? Sorry. Just tell me where the spare is."
"I shan't. We might lose it, too. I'm going to wait until I'm sure the attack is over."
His son shrugged. "Okay, if you want to be difficult. But all of us want to hear the news. It's a shabby trick if you ask me."
"Nobody asked you. I told you I've had all the yap I'm going to take. If you're itching to know what's happening outside, you can leave. I'll unbolt this door, crank back the armor door, and you can open the upper door yourself."
"Eh? Don't be silly."
"But close it after you. I don't want it open-both for blast and radioactivity."
"That's another thing. Don't you have any way to measure radioactivity? We ought to take steps to-"
"SHUT UP!"
"What? Dad, don't pull the heavy-handed father on me."
"Duke, I ask you to keep quiet and listen. Will you?"
"Well... all right. But I don't appreciate being bawled out in the presence of others."
"Then keep your voice down." They were in the first bay near the door. Mrs. Farnham was snoring by them; the others had retreated around the bend, unwilling to witness. "Are you ready to listen?"
"Very well, sir," Duke said stiffly.
"Good. Son, I was not joking. Either leave... or do exactly as I tell you. That includes keeping your mouth shut when I tell you to. Which will it be? Absolute obedience, prompt and cheerful? Or will you leave?"
"Aren't you being rather high-handed?"
"I intend to be. This shelter is a lifeboat and I am boat officer. For the safety of all I shall maintain discipline. Even if it means tossing somebody overboard."
"That's a farfetched simile. Dad, it's a shame you were in the Navy. It gives you romantic ideas."
"I think it's a shame, Duke, that you never had service. You're not realistic. Well, which is it? Will you take orders? Or leave?"
"You know I'm not going to leave. And you're not serious in talking about it. It's death out there."