“Get back in that hospital!” Eileen commanded.
“I will. But the cops come first, they’re hurt worse than me. The plant nurse squeezed sulfa in the hole and covered it with sterile gauze. I’ll be okay for awhile. I’ve got to talk to Hardy.” It was hard to keep his thoughts in order; his hip felt like fire, and the pain kept him confused.
He let Eileen help support his weight as they crossed the narrow way toward City Hall. Damn, they were surrounded again. Steve Cox, Jellison’s foreman, asked, “Hamner, what happened?” Someone else bellowed, “Let him alone, let him tell all of us at once.” And another: “Hamner, are you going to drink that?”
Tim discovered the near-empty bottle still in his hand. He surrendered it.
“Hey,” Steve Cox yelled. “Give that back to him. Come on, man, have a drink with us. We won!”
“Can’t. Have to talk to the Senator. And Hardy. We’ve got to have help.” He felt Eileen stiffen. The others looked as she had: They hated him for his bad news. “We can’t take another attack,” Tim said. “They did us too much damage.”
“No. It’s got to be over,” Eileen whispered. Tim heard.
“You thought it was all over,” Tim said.
“Everybody does.” Eileen’s face showed unbearable grief. It should have melted Tim Hamner, but it didn’t. “Nobody wants to fight again,” Eileen said.
“We won’t have to!” Joanna MacPherson’s high, clear voice cried, “We slaughtered the sons of bitches, Tim!” She edged up to him and put her shoulder under his other armpit. “There aren’t enough of them left to fight. They’ll split up and pretend they never heard of the Brotherhood. And that won’t work either. We’ll know them.” Joanna had tasted blood. Suddenly she said, “Is Mark all right?”
“Mark’s fine.” Tim was just beginning to realize what he was up against. A hopeless task. But it had to be done, they had to understand. He added, “Healthy and happy and cleaner than you are. They’ve got hot showers and washing machines at the power plant.”
It could help.
In a room off the meeting hall at City Hall, Rick Delanty argued for his honor against Ginger Dow, who seemed determined to take him home with her. She was also indecently amused by the whole thing. “You don’t have to marry me, you know.”
When he didn’t answer, she laughed. She was a sturdy matron in her mid-thirties whose long brown hair had been brushed to a soft glow, possibly for the first time since Hammerfall. “Although if you like everything, you could move in. And if you don’t, leave in the morning. Nobody will care. This isn’t Mississippi, you know. There’s probably not another black woman other than the cannibals for a thousand miles.”
“Well, I admit it makes me nervous,” Rick said. “The whole situation. But it isn’t just that. I’m in mourning.”
He would have been less nervous if he and Ginger hadn’t been trying to raise their voices against the singing in the big room next door. The tune seemed to be optional, but at least they were loud.
Ginger lost some of her smile. “We’re all in mourning for someone, Rick. We don’t let it get to us. The last I ever saw of Gil, my husband, he was off to Porterville for lunch with his lawyer. Then banal I think the dam must have got them both.”
“It’s not mourning time,” she told him. “It’s time to celebrate.” Her mouth puckered into a pout. “There are a lot of men. Lots more than women. And nobody’s ever told me I was ugly.”
“Ugly you’re not,” Rick said. Was it the astronaut’s scalp she wanted to collect, or the black man’s? Or was she husband hunting? Rick found he was flattered; but the memories of the house in El Lago were too vivid. He opened the connecting door.
The City Hall was also the town library, police station and jail. The large book-lined meeting room had been decorated with paintings and drapes. They absorbed some of the sound, but it was still a damned noisy party. Rick found Brad Wagoner at the end of the big room. Wagoner was staring at something in a glass display case.
“Where did that come from?” Rick asked. “Somebody up here collect Steuben glass?”
Wagoner shrugged. “Don’t know. Right classy whale, isn’t it?” Wagoner had a large bandage around his forehead. It looked impressive, like a scene from The Red Badge of Courage. He didn’t tell people about it though: that he’d slung a thermit grenade with too much vigor and fallen onto a rock and rolled downhill until he thought he was going to be gassed, but he wasn’t. He was pretty well gassed now, on bourbon and water. He told Rick, “At least we won’t ever have to do that again.” He’d been saying that a lot.
Happiness was contagious. Rick wanted to join in. If only he could quit worrying about that damned power plant, and about Johnny. And forget El Lago. He decided to go over to the hospital and do some honest work. He wouldn’t be spoiling anybody’s party at the hospital. As he made his way toward the door, Tim Hamner came in, a girl at each arm and a crowd around him all trying to talk at once.
Rick shoved toward Hamner. The noise level doubled. Hamner kept moving toward the back of the hall, toward the Mayor’s office, and Rick followed. A number of people shouted for silence, adding to the general noise level. Eileen Hamner saw Rick, slipped from under Tim’s arm and came toward him. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
Rick knew at once. It turned him cold with the chill of a man about to faint. “How did Johnny buy it?” he asked.
“Tim says saving their asses. That’s all I know.”
He felt his knees weaken, but he stayed stiffly upright. “I should have made him let me go,” he said to nobody. Now there are three astronauts left in the world. “Does Maureen know?”
“Not yet. Where is she?”
“Last I saw, in the Mayor’s office with her father.” The Senator wasn’t going to like this much either. “I’ll come with you.” He pushed through, making a way for both of them.
So Johnny was dead. Now everybody he loved was dead. The Hammer had got them all. He felt a crazy impulse to laugh: America’s record was still perfect. Not one astronaut lost on space duty. “Saving their asses from what?” he demanded, but Eileen was too far away and the noise was too great.
Someone passed Tim a bottle. Scotch. This time he drank and carried the bottle into the Mayor’s office. The leaders were there: the Senator, sitting behind the Mayor’s desk; Al Hardy, hovering over him; Maureen, Chief Hartman, the Mayor. They looked happy, triumphant. Tim resented that. He knew he was irrational, that they deserved their celebration, but his grief was too great. He limped on into the office, pleased to see their grins fade as they saw the way he walked, the expression on his face. He felt Eileen and Rick Delanty crowd in behind him, then the door was closed.
“You were attacked again?” Al Hardy asked.
“Yes.” Tim looked at Maureen. She knew. She knew from his face. No point in being gentle about it. “General Baker is dead. We stopped their attack, but just barely. And the rest of it I want to say to everybody.” He kept his attention on the Senator. He didn’t want to see Maureen’s face.
Hardy turned to the Senator. “All right with me,” he said. Jellison nodded, and Hardy went past Tim to the door. “Get it quiet out there,” he said.