The plan worked marvelously. Once situated, they set up a rotation watch—four hours on, four hours off. Charlie figured he could reach the car from the apartment in half an hour if things looked ready to break. He figured he’d have that much warning, by listening to helicopter messages, and watching TV and frequently checking the progress downtown where the cranes worked. Through the binoculars he watched the great jaws lift out cars, vans and buses and drop them over the sides of the freeway. Things would loosen up down there first, he figured, giving him time to bicycle six blocks to the pine tree a mile below his car. Scaling the tree he could reach the top of a 15-foot-high concrete retaining wall and drop to the freeway. From there it was an easy jog up the center strip and around the sloping cloverleaf curve to the overpass.
To be safe Charlie made dry runs over the course a few times each day—down the elevator, onto his bike, up the tree, over the wall, along the freeway, to his car. He’d switch on the engine and warm it for a few minutes, then stroll back, waving to waiting motorists who watched his passage with mixed admiration, envy and disbelief. By the third day the men were stubble-faced, sullen, dark-eyed from fitful sleeping. The women were disheveled, pasty-faced, most of them staring blankly through windshields at nothing. Charlie felt he ought to do something. Sometimes he squatted on the center strip to talk to the man who’d lent him the tow rope.
“How’s it going, Arv?”
“ ‘Bout the same, Charlie.”
“Pretty hot out here today, huh?”
“ ‘Bout like it’s been, Charlie. Gettin’ used to it, I guess. You probably feel it more than I do. That’s a long pull.”
“Not so bad anymore. The old legs are shaping up.”
“How’s your time?”
“Twenty-eight, ten, today.”
“Cuttin’ it down, hey boy.”
“Poco a poco,” Charlie said. “Poco a poco. It’s the elevator that really holds me back though. Slowest elevator I’ve ever seen.”
“You ever thought of waiting down on the sidewalk someplace? The wife could maybe signal out the window when the time comes.”
“Say . . .”
“It came to me yesterday,” Arvin said, “but I figured you’d thought of it.”
“Never entered my head. That’s a great idea, Arv.” Charlie paused. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he went on. “Why don’t you come up to the apartment to meet Fay? I’ve told her about you. You’d like her, I know. We could have a couple of drinks and just relax for awhile.”
“Well . . . that’s real nice of you, Charlie. But . . . I’m not sure. The trouble is, you never know when the thing’s gonna break loose.”
“I’ve got that two-seater, Arv. If anything happens, we can pedal back over here in no time. Cuttin’ it down every trip, ya know. C’mon. It’d be good for you to get away.”
“I’d like to, Charlie, I really would. But... to be honest, I haven’t had this car very long. I’m still making payments, and . . . well, I just feel like I ought to stick pretty close to it.”
“I know how you feel, Arv. In a way I don’t blame you. I get a little jumpy myself—especially at night when I can’t see much. But look, if you change your mind, I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“See ya later, Arv. And thanks for that idea.”
“My pleasure, Charlie. Hate to have you miss your car when the action starts.”
Taking Arvin’s advice, Charlie spent most of each day sitting on a bus-stop bench across the street from the apartment house.
At last, on the afternoon of the sixth day after traffic stopped, Fay’s white handkerchief appeared in the 12th-floor window. Charlie’s bike stood before him in the gutter. He mounted it over the back wheel, like a pony-express rider. In a moment he was off and pedaling hard for the pine tree.
From blocks away he could hear the now unfamiliar roar of a thousand engines. As he gained the top of the concrete wall and poised ready to drop, a cloud of exhaust smoke swirled up and blinded him. It stung his eyes. He began to cough. He dropped anyway, sure of the route he must follow, even if he couldn’t see. Gasping and wiping his eyes he clambered over hoods toward the center strip. The smoke didn’t abate. It puffed and spurted, choking Charlie. Every driver was gunning his engine, warming up for take-off. In a panic that he’d miss his car, that it would be carried away in the advancing stream, Charlie stumbled blindly upward, deafened by the sputtering thunder of long-cold cylinders, nauseated by fumes, confused by the semidarkness of gray, encompassing billows.
The cars disappeared. It seemed he staggered through the smoke for hours. He nearly forgot why he was there, until he heard a yell behind him: “Hey Charlie! Where ya goin’?”
“That you, Arv?”
“Yeah. You nearly passed your car.”
“This damn smoke.”
“Helluva thing, isn’t it?”
Arv was elated. Through the veil of fumes that curled up from under Arvin’s car, Charlie could see a wild expectancy lighting the haggard eyes. His yellowed teeth grinned behind the beard.
“What’s happening?” Charlie said, still gasping, hanging onto Arvin’s aerial while his lungs convulsed.
“Looks like we’re moving out. Better warm up.”
“When did you get the signal?”
“No real signal,” Arvin shouted, “but everybody down the line started up, so I started up. Things ought to get going anytime.”
“Have you moved at all?”
“Not yet, but you better get the old engine warmed up, Charlie. We’re on our way, boy! We’re on our way!”
Coughing and crying Charlie staggered to his car, climbed in and started it. He accelerated a few times, then leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel, as nausea overcame him. The noise around him would split his eardrums, he thought. He passed out.
When he came to he was staring through the wheel at his gas gauge: nearly empty. He looked around. It seemed less noisy. The smoke had cleared a little. He could see vague outlines of cars in the next lane. None had moved. He switched off his engine. Evidently others were doing the same. The rumble of engines diminished perceptibly from moment to moment. Within minutes after he came to, it was quiet again. There was little wind. The smoke thinned slowly. Only gradually did he discern shapes around him. Behind him he saw a driver sprawled across the hood, chest heaving. In front of him a man and woman were leaning glassy-eyed against their car. And in the next lane he heard the wheezing rattle of a man retching. He turned and saw Arvin leaning out his open car door into the gutter.
The police helicopter droned toward them, hovered, sucking up smoke, and announced, “Please turn off your engines. Please turn off your engines. The deadlock will not be cleared for at least another 36 hours. You will be alerted well in advance of starting time. Please turn off your engines.”
No one seemed to listen. The helicopter passed on. Charlie climbed out, still queasy but able to stand. Arvin was sitting on the edge of his seat now, bent forward with his head in his hands.
“Hey, Arv. You okay?” Charlie looked down at him for several moments before the answer came.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“False alarm, huh?”
Arv grunted.
“Looks like tomorrow might be the day, though,” Charlie said.
Arv nodded, then raised his head slowly. His eyes were dark, weary, defeated. All hope had left him. Deep creases of fatigue lined his cheeks and forehead. His beard was scraggly and unkempt. He looked terribly old. His voice was hoarse and feeble as he said, “But, Charlie . . . what if it’s not tomorrow? What’re we gonna do, for God’s sake? It’s been six days.”