"Which one?"
"Starkman--the burgess." But she didn't know the name. Groff stood
up and staggered to a chair. What was an army nurse doing here, he
wondered. Wings and a bar; maybe they'd flown in help from outside.
Somebody helped him to a garage, empty of cars, with duckboards laid
over the mud on the floor; there was a sort of emergency feeding
station organized there and he got hot coffee laced with thick canned
milk, syrupy with sugar. He went out in the sunshine and drank it
gratefully.
Sunshine!
He slowly accepted the fact that it wasn't raining any more. The sky
was spotty with clouds, but there was a lot of blue.
"Mr. Groff." He tried to get to his feet; it was Artie Chesbro's wife.
She stopped him.
"Where's everybody?" he asked.
"Sleeping, mostly. Except my husband, who is out looking for orphans to
rob. Have you seen Henry?"