Commerce and industry were closing down all across the country as people grew reluctant to leave their homes.
The commissioner of baseball announced the suspension of the season until further notice. Fans paid little attention except in Seattle, where the Mariners had the best record of their history and were already talking about the playoffs. The manager hinted darkly that the whole brain-eaters panic might have been a plot by the California Angels, who were in a horrendous batting slump.
Theaters, concert halls, schools, even churches — anyplace where crowds of people gathered — were closed. Stores were locking their doors, bringing on a rash of hoarding and a sudden shortage of consumer goods. Emergency plans for rationing were under way in Washington.
The reactions from other countries were as varied as might be expected.
Great Britain offered help in the form of medical personnel and supplies.
The USSR suggested that the affliction was an expected result of the decadent Western life-style.
France hinted that the decay of American brains had begun long ago.
Mexico lined the border with troops to keep out would-be immigrants.
Cuba threatened a missile reprisal if the brain eaters were spread to Havana.
Canada offered assistance as long as U.S. citizens did not try to move up there.
Central America and the Middle East were too absorbed in their own wars and revolutions to pay much attention to what happened in the United States.
And the horror stories continued. The reports of bloody rampages by victims of the parasites had lost their power to shock, owing to the sheer number of such incidents.
A schoolteacher in Orlando …
A farmer outside Des Moines …
A pensioner in Albuquerque …
A nine-year-old girl in Portland …
As Corey shuffled through the repetitive stories of mayhem and death, he suddenly laughed.
Doc cocked an eyebrow. “Something funny?”
“Not really.” Corey handed him the sheet with the story he had been reading.
DOOMSDAY WATCHERS FLEE HILLTOP
Some thirty members of the New Faith and Final Judgment Church fled in panic from the hilltop outside Biloxi where they had been awaiting “judgment day” when one of their number attacked the Reverend Clayton Cadwallader with a ceremonial crucifix. Witnesses describe a behavior pattern in the assailant similar to victims across the country of the “brain eater” parasites.
Doc Ingersoll let the sheet fall onto the pile. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s not really funny.” Then he laughed. “But what the hell; you can’t cry all the time. Do you suppose the reverend is still sitting up there on the hill?”
“I don’t know, but if his follower got in a good one with that crucifix, he’d better be on good personal terms with the Lord.”
“Amen,” said Doc piously.
“Here you are!” a voice accused from behind Corey in the doorway to the wire room.
He turned to see Lou Zachry looking like a 1950s college boy dressed for a date, in a checked sport jacket and knitted tie. Zachry’s all-American face was flushed.
“Here I am,” Corey admitted.
“What have you done with Kitzmiller?”
“I haven’t done anything with him except check him into the Holiday Inn. Dena’s with him. What’s the problem?”
Zachry paused for a deep breath. “No problem. I just expected you to touch base with me when you got back from Biotron.”
“So I came here first. What’s the big flap?”
“You’ve heard of the president’s task force on the brain eaters.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m heading up the local chapter.”
“You? Why would they pick somebody from the — what was your agency again?”
“IDI–Inter-Departmental Intelligence.”
“Right, so what are you doing on a brain-eater task force?”
“In an emergency like this there’s always lots of departmental crossover. And I was on the scene and had already gotten my nose into this business with you. Anyway, I’m it. Like a lot of government decisions, the logic of it doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, so what do you want with me?”
“I have a job for you. I understand you don’t have a functioning newspaper here anymore.”
“So they tell me. We’re all part of a pool now.”
“Not you. You’re the task-force press liaison.”
“Sounds impressive. What do I have to do?”
“Keep the rest of the media off Dr. Kitzmiller’s back. I want him to head up remedial research.”
“Well, that makes sense, anyway.” Corey checked his watch. “We’d better get over there. He detests hotels.”
“Let’s go,” Zachry said.
“Want to come, Doc?” Corey asked.
“No, thanks, I’m not feeling too red hot.”
Corey looked at him sharply.
Doc grinned. “No, nothing like that. Just lack of sleep catching up with me. I’ll grab a few hours’ shut-eye and be frisky as a colt again.”
Corey nodded. He turned reluctantly and left the building with Lou Zachry.
As they entered the Holiday Inn, Corey was immediately hailed by a reporter and a female cameraman he recognized from the Sentinel. Lou Zachry faded into the background as they approached.
“Well, Corey, you got this one staked out early, didn’t you,” the reporter said. “Where you keeping him?”
“Keeping who?”
“Come off it, hotshot. There’s no more exclusive on this story. We got a tip that you checked Dr. Kitzmiller from Biotron in here this afternoon. We all know what happened at Biotron today, and it’s not hard to figure that it has to do with the brain eaters. Okay, I’m the designated pool reporter, and Lisa here is my cameraman, so let’s have the room number.”
“Well, why didn’t you just ask for it?” Corey said. “He’s in eleven-twenty-one.”
“Thanks.” The Sentinel pair started toward the elevator; then the reporter turned back. “Too bad about you not being the star anymore, buddy, but that’s show business, right?”
Corey showed his teeth and went back to join Zachry.
“There wasn’t much you could do, I suppose,” Zachry said, “but I wish you hadn’t given them the room number. I’d like to have some time with Kitzmiller before they turn him into a media event.”
“Who said I gave them the right number?” Corey asked. “Kitzmiller’s in two-oh-five.”
Zachry grinned. “I can see I picked the right man for press relations. I suggest we get him the hell out of here.”
The government man’s suggestion was just fine with Dr. Kitzmiller. “The sooner I get back to my laboratories, the sooner I can begin the search for an antidote,” he said.
“I’m certainly agreeable to that,” Zachry said. “By tomorrow the National Guard should have the plant secured so you can go back in there. How much of a staff will you need?”
“For the moment Dr. Falkner here and I will be able to handle the research. Then I will need medical personnel-chemists, biologists, laboratory technicians, and clerical help.”
“You’ll get them. Are there facilities at the Biotron plant so the four of us can stay there? I’d like to make that our nerve center.”
“Brain Eater Control,” Corey said.
The others looked at him. No one smiled.
“You could stay there, I suppose,” Kitzmiller said without enthusiasm. “The accommodations will not be terribly comfortable.”