Second Variety and Other Stories (36 page)

"I'm going." Earl opened the front door.

"Wait for your sisters," Mary ordered absently.

"I'm ready," Virginia said. "Do I look all right?"

"You look fine," Mary said, kissing her.

"I'll call the radio repair place from the office," Tim said.

He broke off. Earl stood at the kitchen door, pale and silent, his eyes wide with terror.

"What is it?"

"I -- I came back."

"What is it? Are you sick?"

"I can't go to school."

They stared at him. "What is wrong?" Tim grabbed his son's arm. "Why can't you go to school?"

"They -- they won't let me."

"Who?"

"The soldiers." It came tumbling out with a rush. "They're all over. Soldiers and guns. And they're
coming here."

"Coming? Coming here?" Tim echoed, dazed.

"They're coming here and they're going to --" Earl broke off, terrified. From the front porch came
the sound of heavy boots. A crash. Splintering wood. Voices.

"Good Lord," Mary gasped. "What is it, Tim?"

Tim entered the living-room, his heart laboring painfully. Three men stood inside the door. Men in
gray-green uniforms, weighted with guns and complex tangles of equipment. Tubes and hoses. Meters on
thick cords. Boxes and leather straps and antennae. Elaborate masks locked over their heads. Behind the
masks Tim saw tired, whisker-stubbled faces, red-rimmed eyes that gazed at him in brutal displeasure.

One of the soldiers jerked up his gun, aiming at McLean's middle. Tim peered at it dumbly. The
gun. Long and thin. Like a needle. Attached to a coil of tubes.

"What in the name of --" he began, but the soldier cut him off savagely.

"Who are you?" His voice was harsh, guttural. "What are you doing here?" He pushed his mask
aside. His skin was dirty. Cuts and pocks lined his sallow flesh. His teeth were broken and missing.

"Answer!" a second soldier demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"Show your blue card," the third said. "Let's see your Sector number." His eyes strayed to the
children and Mary standing mutely at the dining-room door. His mouth fell open.

"A woman?"

The three soldiers gazed in disbelief.

"What the hell is this?" the first demanded. "How long has this woman been here?"

Tim found his voice. "She's my wife. What is this? What --"

"Your wife?" They were incredulous.

"My wife and children. For God's sake --"

"Your wife? And you'd bring her here? You must be out of your head!"

"He's got ash sickness," one said. He lowered his gun and strode across the living-room to Mary.
"Come on, sister. You're coming with us."

Tim lunged.

A wall of force hit him. He sprawled, clouds of darkness rolling around him. His ears sang. His
head throbbed. Everything receded. Dimly, he was aware of shapes moving. Voices. The room. He
concentrated.

The soldiers were herding the children back. One of them grabbed Mary by the arm. He tore her
dress away, ripping it from her shoulders. "Gee," he snarled. "He'd bring her here, and she's not even
strung!"

strung!"

"Okay, Captain." The soldier dragged Mary toward the front door. "We'll do what we can with
her."

"The kids." The captain waved the other soldier over with the children. "Take them along. I don't
get it. No masks. No cards. How'd this house miss getting hit? Last night was the worst in months!"

Tim struggled painfully to his feet. His mouth was bleeding. His vision blurred. He hung on tight to
the wall. "Look," he muttered. "For God's sake --"

The captain was staring into the kitchen. "Is that -- is that food?" He advanced slowly through
the dining-room. "Look!"

The other soldiers came after him, Mary and the children forgotten. They stood around the table,
amazed.

"Look at it!"

"Coffee." One grabbed up the pot and drank it greedily down. He choked, black coffee dripping
down his tunic. "Hot. Jeez. Hot coffee."

"Cream!" Another soldier tore open the refrigerator. "Look. Milk. Eggs. Butter. Meat." His voice
broke. "It's full of food."

The captain disappeared into the pantry. He came out, lugging a case of canned peas. "Get the
rest. Get it all. We'll load it in the snake."

He dropped the case on the table with a crash. Watching Tim intently, he fumbled in his dirty
tunic until he found a cigarette.

He lit it slowly, not taking his eyes from Tim. "All right," he said. "Let's hear what you have to
say."

Tim's mouth opened and closed. No words came. His mind was blank. Dead. He couldn't think.

"This food. Where'd you get it? And these things." The captain waved around the kitchen.
"Dishes. Furniture. How come this house hasn't been hit? How did you survive last night's attack?"

"I --" Tim gasped.

The captain came toward him ominously. "The woman. And the kids. All of you. What are you
doing here?" His voice was hard. "You better be able to explain, mister. You better be able to explain
what you're doing here -- or we'll have to burn the whole damn lot of you."

Tim sat down at the table. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to focus his mind. His body
ached. He rubbed blood from his mouth, conscious of a broken molar and bits of loose tooth. He got out
a handkerchief and spat the bits into it. His hands were shaking.

"Come on," the captain said.

Mary and the children slipped into the room. Judy was crying. Virginia's face was blank with
shock. Earl stared wide-eyed at the soldiers, his face white.

"Tim," Mary said, putting her hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"

Tim nodded. "I'm all right."

Mary pulled her dress around her. "Tim, they can't get away with it. Somebody'll come. The
mailman. The neighbors. They can't just --"

"Shut up," the captain snapped. His eyes flickered oddly. "The mailman? What are you talking
about?" He held out his hand. "Let's see your yellow slip, sister."

"Yellow slip?" Mary faltered.

The captain rubbed his jaw. "No yellow slip. No masks. No cards."

"They're geeps," a soldier said.

"Maybe. And maybe not."

"They're geeps, Captain. We better burn 'em. We can't take any chances."

"There's something funny going on here," the captain said. He plucked at his neck, lifting up a
small box on a cord. "I'm getting a polic here."

"A polic?" A shiver moved through the soldiers. "Wait, Captain. We can handle this. Don't get a
polic. He'll put us on 4 and then we'll never --"

The captain spoke into the box. "Give me Web B."

The captain spoke into the box. "Give me Web B."

"Shut up." A soldier prodded him. Tim lapsed into silence.

The box squawked. "Web B."

"Can you spare a polic? We've run into something strange. Group of five. Man, woman, three
kids. No masks, no cards, the woman not strung, dwelling completely intact. Furniture, fixtures, about
two hundred pounds of food."

The box hesitated. "All right. Polic on the way. Stay there. Don't let them escape."

"I won't." The captain dropped the box back in his shirt. "A polic will be here any minute.
Meanwhile, let's get the food loaded."

From outside came a deep thundering roar. It shook the house, rattling the dishes in the
cupboard.

"Jeez," a soldier said. That was close."

"I hope the screens hold until nightfall." The captain grabbed up the case of canned peas. "Get the
rest. We want it loaded before the polic comes."

The two soldiers filled their arms and followed him through the house, out the front door. Their
voices diminished as they strode down the path.

Tim got to his feet. "Stay here," he said thickly.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked nervously.

"Maybe I can get out." He ran to the back door and unlatched it, hands shaking. He pulled the
door wide and stepped out on the back porch. "I don't see any of them. If we can only..."

He stopped.

Around him gray clouds blew. Gray ash, billowing as far as he could see. Dim shapes were
visible. Broken shapes, silent and unmoving in the grayness.

Ruins.

Ruined buildings. Heaps of rubble. Debris everywhere. He walked slowly down the back steps.
The concrete walk ended abruptly. Beyond it, slag and heaps of rubble were strewn. Nothing else.
Nothing as far as the eye could see.

Nothing stirred. Nothing moved. In the gray silence there was no life. No motion. Only the
clouds of drifting ash. The slag and the endless heaps.

The city was gone. The buildings were destroyed. Nothing remained. No people. No life. Jagged
walls, empty and gaping. A few dark weeds growing among the debris. Tim bent down, touching a
weed. Rough, thick stalk. And the slag. It was a metal slag. Melted metal. He straightened up -

"Come back inside," a crisp voice said.

He turned numbly. A man stood on the porch, behind him, hands on his hips. A small man,
hollow-cheeked. Eyes small and bright, like two black coals. He wore a uniform different from the
soldiers'. His mask was pushed back, away from his face. His skin was yellow, faintly luminous, clinging
to his cheekbones. A sick face, ravaged by fever and fatigue.

"Who are you?" Tim said.

"Douglas. Political Commissioner Douglas."

"You're -- you're the police," Tim said.

"That's right. Now come inside. I expect to hear some answers from you. I have quite a few
questions."

"The first thing I want to know," Commissioner Douglas said, "is how this house escaped
destruction."

Tim and Mary and the children sat together on the couch, silent and unmoving, faces blank with
shock.

"Well?" Douglas demanded.

Tim found his voice. "Look," he said. "I don't know. I don't know anything. We woke up this
morning like every other morning. We dressed and ate breakfast --"

"It was foggy out," Virginia said. "We looked out and saw the fog."

"It was foggy out," Virginia said. "We looked out and saw the fog."

"The radio?" Douglas's thin face twisted. "There haven't been any audio signals in months. Except
for government purposes. This house. All of you. I don't understand. If you were geeps --"

"Geeps. What does that mean?" Mary murmured.

"Soviet general-purpose troops."

"Then the war has begun."

"North America was attacked two years ago," Douglas said. "In 1978."

Tim sagged. "1978. Then this is 1980." He reached suddenly into his pocket. He pulled out his
wallet and tossed it to Douglas. "Look in there."

Douglas opened the wallet suspiciously. "Why?"

"The library card. The parcel receipts. Look at the dates." Tim turned to Mary. "I'm beginning to
understand now. I had an idea when I saw the ruins."

"Are we winning?" Earl piped.

Douglas studied Tim's wallet intently. "Very interesting. These are all old. Seven and eight years."
His eyes flickered. "What are you trying to say? That you came from the past? That you're time
travelers?"

The captain came back inside. "The snake is all loaded, sir."

Douglas nodded curtly. "All right. You can take off with your patrol."

The captain glanced at Tim. "Will you be --"

"I'll handle them."

The captain saluted. "Fine, sir." He quickly disappeared through the door. Outside, he and his
men climbed aboard a long thin truck, like a pipe mounted on treads. With a faint hum the truck leaped
forward.

In a moment only gray clouds and the dim outline of ruined buildings remained.

Douglas paced back and forth, examining the living-room, the wallpaper, the light fixture and
chairs. He picked up some magazines and thumbed through them. "From the past. But not far in the
past."

"Seven years?"

"Could it be? I suppose. A lot of things have happened in the last few months. Time travel."
Douglas grinned ironically. "You picked a bad spot, McLean. You should have gone farther on."

"I didn't pick it. It just happened."

"You must have done something."

Tim shook his head. "No. Nothing. We got up. And we were -- here."

Douglas was deep in thought. "Here. Seven years in the future. Moved forward through time. We
know nothing about time travel. No work has been done with it. There seem to be evident military
possibilities."

"How did the war begin?" Mary asked faintly.

"Begin? It didn't begin. You remember. There was war seven years ago."

"The real war. This."

"There wasn't any point when it became -- this. We fought in Korea. We fought in China. In
Germany and Yugoslavia and Iran. It spread, farther and farther. Finally the bombs were falling here. It
came like the plague. The war grew. It didn't begin." Abruptly he put his notebook away. "A report on
you would be suspect. They might think that I had the ash sickness."

"What's that?" Virginia asked.

"Radioactive particles in the air. Carried to the brain. Causes insanity. Everybody has a touch of
it, even with the masks."

"I'd sure like to know who's winning," Earl repeated. "What was that outside? That truck. Was it
rocket propelled?"

"The snake? No. Turbines. Boring snout. Cuts through the debris."

"Seven years," Mary said. "So much has changed. It doesn't seem possible."

"So much?" Douglas shrugged. "I suppose so. I remember what I was doing seven years ago. I
was still in school. Learning. I had an apartment and a car. I went out dancing. I bought a TV set. But
these things were there. The twilight. This. Only I didn't know. None of us knew. But they were there."