EMERGENCE (22 page)

Well, identity safe as far as I'm concerned. Nor will "Adam" ever learn I possess truth from
me:
Some knowledge simply
too
dangerous . . .

On other hand, blackmail long a respected component of diplomatic toolkit.

And "never" is
long
time. . . .

Greetings, Posterity, from Beautiful East St. Louis. Having wonderful time; wish you were here. And other clichés. (Actually, trip quite dull [i.e., uneventful—may it so continue. . . . ].)

Adam, reckless propensities under control, proving marvelously smooth, precise driver when not showing off (or perhaps satisfying show-off urges by displaying different aspect of motoring skills): Operates van-cum-trailer rig as though born with shift knob in mouth instead of silver spoon. Glides along roads without drama; slips through holes between obstructions where I would have
sworn
wasn't room. Possesses uncanny eye for solidity of terrain; plus flicks neatly in, out of four-wheel-drive, low-low range, without stopping, losing momentum: Haven't used winch at all—despite added load, trailer.

Must admit, however, fact we spent bulk of time slicing across continent in nearly straight lines, tooling effortlessly along railroad tracks at 60 mph, bypassing highway clutter altogether, may have bearing on ease of travel. Adam's invention works just as advertised: Line up rig on grade crossing, lower guide wheels, set speed control, select cassette, plug into stereo, lean back, relax, enjoy watching scenery unroll.

Terry delighted to be back on road. Does so love riding in cars. But for first few miles on tracks, wasn't at all sure he approved of no-hands driving. Stood uneasily on stand, shifting weight, bobbing head suspiciously, flitting to settle feathers. Peered out windshield with first one eye, then other. Occasionally muttered "How
'bout
that" in worried tones. Seasoned traveler; knows improper driving when sees it. . . .

Hard to believe, after own experience at post-Armageddon cross-country travel: Adam and I arrived in East St. Louis—just under thousand miles—only
three days
after leaving Baltimore! Could have made it in one, but not hurrying; rising when feel like it, eating well (love that kitchen!), performing
kata,
sparring, scrounging, quitting early, giving Adam time to practice on Moog, etc. But even at this rate we'll be at Mount Palomar in another week. Isn't that great?

Good night, Posterity.

Good morning, Posterity. Reality back—with a vengeance: Don't know how could have forgotten how much fun rivers can be. Evidence suggests Ole Man Mississippi took advantage of flood-control engineers' absence to flex muscles this spring. Must have been some thaw: One bridge left—clogged solidly with cars, trucks. High-water mark suggests crest wasn't all that high, but
something
sure took rest out. Perhaps river recruited help—string of fully loaded barges careening along in melt-swollen current would fill prescription, and plenty available. But . . .

Adam cut speculation short by pointing out that figuring way to remove obstructions from bridge more relevant issue on which to focus curiosity—please pay attention.

(Been unbearably pleased with himself since rail-riding rig proved successful—and "unbearably" surely operative word. Despite this, haven't destroyed him yet; treating situation as opportunity to strengthen character, exercise in self-control.
So far.
)

Good night, Posterity.

Bridge cleanup not so tough! Though surely looked as if might be to begin with: First vehicles in way all had dead batteries. Then refused to start upon being jumpered. Adam suspected watered gasoline—condensation from temperature changes, length of time abandoned.

(His reaction to frustration entertaining: Unaccustomed to failure [classes experience with me as "work in progress"]; regards even possibility might not triumph as personal attack on vaunted resourcefulness. Looks vexed. Grows a little defensive. Sometimes even pouts. But
never
gives up.)

Presently climbed onto commuter-bus roof, surveyed problem with hands on hips. Shortly got down, looking smug. Claimed had answer. But wouldn't tell me plan; wanted to "surprise me."

Located East St. Louis Yellow Pages, flipped through to "Machine Shops." Underlined half dozen addresses, visited in order. Found what was looking for at third stop: vitamin-fed forklift truck—really
big.

Managed to get monster running; returned to bridge (not quick trip; shop some miles away). Adam directed me to follow in rig as he assailed blockage. Ran forks under first car, lifted, set to side, moved on to next.

Progress quicker once got up onto bridge approach: Adam simply hoisted, tilted forks, pitched over side. Didn't waste time, efforts: Cleared single-width path just wide enough for van, trailer. Soon into rhythm of forklift operation, drilled rapidly across bridge. Started crossing near noon; descended into St. Louis before dark.

Too late to continue then, so spending night on riverbank. Adam plans to locate railyard, pick up maps, get us "back on track" tomorrow (something about phrase seems to make him happy; wonder if be offended if I tore out his tongue. . . .).

Goodness
gracious
—what a
day!
Whole complexion of travel now changed. Should have anticipated this; certainly would feel same way if were in their shoes. But shock, just the same.

All right—enough rambling; on to proper, orderly narrative while events fresh in mind:

Adam disappointed to learn St. Louis, despite (or because of) role as national-rail-network hub, impossible to get out of by rail. Same problem often encountered on roads near big cities: too much dead traffic. Endless switchyards, switch after switch set wrong; stopped trains, locomotives, isolated cars and/or car strings everywhere. Simply no room to move.

So found city map; began working our way out on streets. Not difficult, considering past experience, but not quickest travel thus far enjoyed. Adam's driving skills even more apparent here, as squeezed around, between abandoned cars, trucks; popped into four-wheel-drive, low-low, to climb curbs; bypassing obstructions down alleys, along sidewalks. Necessary to use winch only once; then only to haul another car out of way, not unstick us.

Not bad, by and large; and afternoon found us well into semiresidential area, past worst of downtown congestion. Adam finding this type of driving sufficient challenge even at low speeds; plus remains ever conscious of trailer contents' scatterability, fragility. Accordingly, were proceeding at entirely reasonable pace when, trotting in preoccupied manner from between two buildings, came
rhinoceros
. . . !

Prepoceros? Of course! But precise moment rhinoceros, size of house, discovered ambling across street directly in one's path, bad time to debate probabilities.

Adam reacted well: Cut hard left, tried to dodge behind—and stupid clot
stopped!
Nowhere to go—slammed on brakes, skidded to stop nestled intimately against beast's shoulder. No impact, just nudge.

"How
'bout
that," said Terry in awed tones.

Rhino turned head, squinted disapprovingly down over shoulder with mean little pig eyes. Snorted. Horn about four feet long. Looked sharp.

Adam calmly, deliberately eased van into reverse; backed slowly away, concentrating intently on trailer, visible in mirror. Kept rig lined up. Kept going.

Rhino stared. Snorted again. Louder. Then frowned. Turned. Pawed ground. Lowered head.

Calm, deliberate sternway gained momentum, acquired salient characteristics of earnest retreat—then precipitous route as rhino took several quick, purposeful steps.

Fast reverse driving not easy with trailer; requires concentration. Covered perhaps 200 yards without jackknifing before rhino slowed, snorted, veered off between buildings, disappeared.

Adam stopped, sat immobile, breathing like Thoroughbred after crossing finish line. Encounter spanned perhaps 30 seconds, but was wringing wet. Eyes blinked rapidly. Knuckles white where hands gripped wheel. No sound emerged when first tried to speak. Had indeed been concentrating.

He took deep breath, held momentarily, released in tremulous sigh. Then tried again: "Wouldn't you think a city this size would have a leash law?" Grin unconvincing. "Where do you suppose that thing
came
from . . . ?"

And just like that, I knew answer. Obvious, really; should have anticipated. And amazing thing is this was first encounter.

Rhinoceros trotting down city street, two miles from St. Louis Zoo. Coincidence?
Haw!
Isolated, unaided breakout? Not likely.

Trade places with zookeepers—warm, conscientious people who, if didn't love animals, could make lots easier living, much better money, elsewhere. Utterly certain own deaths impending, how would react to animal friends' prospects, locked in cages? Do nothing? Ensure agonizing deaths through starvation, thirst?

Not in million years . . . !

Safe assumption, therefore, most—possibly all—zoo animals now at large throughout country, probably world. Suggested as much to Adam.

" 'Lions and tigers and bears—
oh, my
!' " he quoted, with shake of head. "I'll bet you're right. Shall we detour and find out?"

Not keen on idea, but logic inarguable: Deliberately remaining ignorant of opposition bad strategy.

Proceeded to zoo. Conducted preliminary examination while driving, circling buildings. Exterior cages empty, but inconclusive: All connect to interior. Could be bodies inside.

Only one way to find out.

Reluctantly dug out, loaded M-16s, magnum pistols. Slipped holster belts around middles. Exited together, Terry on my shoulder (if failed to return, wouldn't want
him
locked in, either).

Not elegant performance; probably looked like Abbott and Costello, engaged in burglary: back-to-back, tiptoeing with exaggeratedly sneaky steps, spinning one way, then another, trying to cover all directions at once (
I
was; Adam maddeningly at ease). Cautiously we scouted every building, rifles at ready, set for fully automatic fire, safeties off—so keyed up that, had even Daddy appeared suddenly, I probably would have cut him in half.

However, no untoward encounters; merely confirmed my very worst fears: All—repeat all—enclosures open, empty. Even cobras. . . .

"Good grief, what kind of person can manage sympathy for
cobras
. . . ?" I wondered aloud, trying to walk without placing feet on ground.

"Nice people," Adam observed, peering around interestedly. "Cobras have feelings, too."

"Well, yeah, maybe. . . ."

Returned to rig; departed immediately.

Discussed development en route: "The ecology of the planet will never be the same," I ventured. "Lots of those beasties will do just fine in their new homes."

"Do you think so?" Zoology not one of Adam's specialties. "I suppose animals from temperate climates will do all right, but what about 'lions and tigers and bears' from the tropics?"

Settled back in seat, took deep breath, delivered thumbnail zoological history/geography lesson:

Cobras (while notion makes my skin crawl) unlikely to be enduring problem anywhere temperate or cooler. Poisonous snakes in general not gregarious lot; solitary wanderers, seeking food, shelter alone. Rodent population explosion following
H. sapiens'
demise guarantees all species' small initial populations' wide dispersal in totally strange environment: Ample food available wherever might roam. Further, tropical foreigners incapable of lying dormant; never survive winter.

Odds practically nil for compatible meeting, mating, species' perpetuation before all dead of cold, old age, hunting accidents. Even given warmer climes to south, threat exists few years at most.

Warm-blooded predators, however, constitute distinctly separate problem: General rule suggests anything furry capable of producing winter coat. Know for fact, tigers found from rain forests to well above Himalayan snow line. One kitty actually named "Snow Leopard." Lions roamed portions of Europe mere centuries ago; disappeared from Turkish mountains since Ottoman collapse.

Besides, most zoos housed relatively large big-cat populations; and
are
gregarious, particularly lions: Band together in prides, breed like rabbits. Perpetuation assured.

But pussycats not only problem: Grizzlies, wolves, cougars all native North Americans; absent Man, make selves at home anywhere.

And what about Kodiak bears? Comforting notion: 1,800 pounds of appetite. And polar bears—11 feet long (not true bears at all; mink family—dispositions to match). Both regarded among deadliest carnivores on planet.

Vegetarians potential problem, too: Hannibal brought elephants across Alps; mammoths here before people. Doubt will enjoy winters, but most probably survive, multiply. Rhinos, too. Neither overtly aggressive; not truly dangerous per se (barring stupidity—not ideal subjects for teasing), but undesirable neighbors: To farmer visits equate with earthquake, flood, drought, locusts. Hope attentions dissuadable without bloodshed.

Sundry antelope types probably manage winters well as local ruminants—undoubtedly fare better in relations with new predator mix.

All of which certainly complicates outlook. Careful thought required for future. Must assemble projection of potential competition; learn strengths, weaknesses, formulate plans to cope.

During interim, M-16 probably adequate coper if cornered: Unlikely anything still standing after fully automatic setting empties 50-shot clip (expanding slugs) into ticklish spots. Other advantages: lightweight, accurate, reliable; spares, ammunition endlessly available; familiar now with teardown, maintenance drill.

Plus final advantage: Doesn't knock me down (petty detail, but personally satisfying). Basic physics, of course: Violence going
that
way usefully limited (given 70-pound shooter) by violence coming
this
way. Equation rules out .457 Weatherby Magnum Double, African guide's favorite equalizer.