By late November some drifts of snow on the flats were 3 feet deep. The
temperature dropped regularly to ten or more below zero at night and
seldom went above freezing in the daytime. The level of the log pile in
the woodyard dropped steadily in spite of the concentrated efforts of
nearly every available able-bodied man in the community to add to it.
Crews cut all night long by the light of gasoline lanterns. The fuel
ration had to be lowered to meet their rate of cutting.
The deep snow hampered Mayor Hilliard's plan to sled the logs downhill
without use of teams. Criticisms and grumblings at his decision to
sacrifice the horses grew swiftly.
There had been no more signs of anthrax, and some were saying the whole
program of vaccination and slaughter had been a stupid mistake. In spite
of the assurance of the veterinarians that it was the only thing that
could have been done, the grumbling went on like a rolling wave as the
severity of the winter increased.
The Council was finally forced to issue a conservation order requiring
families to double up, two to a house, on the theory that it would be
more efficient to heat one house than parts of two. Selection of family
pairings was optional. Close friends and relatives moved together
wherever possible. Where no selection was made the committee assigned
families to live together.
As soon as the order was issued, Ken's mother suggested they invite the
Larsens to move in with them. The Swedish family was happy to accept.
Thanksgiving, when it came, was observed in spirit, but scarcely in
fact. There were some suggestions that Mayor Hilliard should order
special rations for that day and for Christmas, at least, but he stuck
to his ironhard determination that every speck of food would be
stretched to the limit. No special allowance would be made for
Thanksgiving or any other occasion until the danger was over.
Ken and his father and their friends had done their share of criticizing
the Mayor in the past, but they now had only increasing admiration for
his determination to take a stand for the principles he knew to be
right, no matter how stern. Previously, most of the townspeople had
considered him very good at giving highly patriotic Fourth of July
speeches, and not much good at anything else. Now, Ken realized, the
bombastic little man seemed to have come alive, fully and miraculously
alive.
* * * * *
The day after Thanksgiving Ken and Professor Maddox were greeted by Mrs.
Maddox upon coming home. "Maria wants you to come to the radio shack
right away," she said. "There's something important coming in from
Berkeley."
They hurried to the shack, and Maria looked up in relief as they
entered. "I'm so glad you're here!" she cried. "Dr. French is on the
radio personally. I've been recording him, but he wants to talk to you.
He's breaking in every 10 minutes to give me a chance to let him know if
you're here. It's almost time, now."
Ken and his father caught a fragment of a sentence spoken by the
Berkeley scientist, and then the operator came on. "Berkeley requesting
acknowledgment, Mayfield."
Ken picked up the microphone and answered. "This is Mayfield, Ken Maddox
talking. My father is here and will speak with Dr. French."
Professor Maddox sat down at the desk. "This is Professor Maddox," he
said. "I came in time to hear your last sentence, Dr. French. They tell
me you have something important to discuss. Please go ahead."
Ken switched over to receive, and in a moment the calm, persuasive voice
of Dr. French was heard in the speaker. "I'm glad you came in, Dr.
Maddox," he said. "On the tape you have my report of some experiments we
have run the last few days. They are not finished, and if circumstances
were normal I would certainly not report a piece of work in this stage.
"I feel optimistic, however, that we are on the verge of a substantial
breakthrough in regard to the precipitant we are looking for. I would
like you to repeat the work I have reported and go on from there, using
your own ideas. I wanted you to have it, along with the people in
Pasadena, in case anything should happen here. In my opinion it could be
only a matter of days until we have a solution."
"I certainly hope you are right," said Professor Maddox. "Why do you
speak of the possibility of something happening. Is there trouble?"
"Yes. Rioting has broken out repeatedly in the entire Bay Area during
the past 3 days. Food supplies are almost non-existent. At the
university here, those of us remaining have our families housed in
classrooms. We have some small stock of food, but it's not enough for an
indefinite stay. The rioting may sweep over us. The lack of food may
drive us out before we can finish. You are in a better position there
for survival purposes. I hope nothing happens to interrupt your work.
"Our local government is crumbling fast. They have attempted to supply
the community with seafood, but there are not enough sailing vessels.
Perhaps two-thirds of the population have migrated. Some have returned.
Thousands have died. I feel our time is limited. Give my report your
careful attention and let me know your opinion tomorrow."
They broke contact, uneasiness filling the hearts of Dr. French's
listeners in Mayfield. Up to now, the Berkeley scientist had seemed
impassive and utterly objective. Now, to hear him speak of his own
personal disaster, induced in them some of his own premonition of
collapse.
When Maria had typed the report Professor Maddox stayed up until the
early-morning hours, studying it, developing equations, and making
calculations of his own. Ken stayed with him, trying to follow the
abstruse work, and follow his father's too-brief explanations.
When he finished, Professor Maddox was enthusiastic. "I believe he's on
the right track," he said. "Unfortunately, he hasn't told all he knows
in this report. He must have been too excited about the work.
Ordinarily, he leaves nothing out, but he's omitted three or four
important steps near the end. I'll have to ask him to fill them in
before we can do very much with his processes."
The report was read and discussed at the college laboratory the next
day, and the scientists began preliminary work to duplicate Dr. French's
results. Ken and his father hurried home early in order to meet the
afternoon schedule with Berkeley and get Dr. French to the microphone to
answer the questions he had neglected to consider.
As they arrived at the radio shack and opened the door they found Maria
inside, with her head upon the desk. Deep sobs shook her body. The
receiver was on, but only the crackle of static came from it. The
filaments of the transmitter tubes were lit, but the antenna switch was
open. The tape recorder was still running.
Professor Maddox grasped Maria by the shoulders and drew her back in the
chair. "What is the matter?" he exclaimed. "Why are you crying, Maria?"
"It's all over," she said. "There's nothing more down there. Just
nothing..."
"What do you mean?" Ken cried.
"It's on the tape. You can hear it for yourself."
Ken quickly reversed the tape and turned it to play. In a moment the
familiar voice of their Berkeley friend was heard. "I'm glad you're
early," it said. "There isn't much time today. The thing Dr. French
feared has happened.
"Half the Bay Area is in flames. On the campus here, the administration
building is gone. They tried to blow up the science building. It's
burning pretty fast in the other wing. I'm on the third floor. Did I
ever tell you I moved my stuff over here to be close to the lab?
"There must be a mob of a hundred thousand out there in the streets. Or
rather, several hundred mobs that add up to that many. None of them know
where they're going. It's like a monster with a thousand separate heads
cut loose to thrash about before it dies. I see groups of fifty or a
hundred running through the streets burning and smashing things.
Sometimes they meet another group coming from the opposite direction.
Then they fight until the majority of one group is dead, and the others
have run away.
"The scientists were having a meeting here until an hour ago. They
gathered what papers and notes they could and agreed that each would try
to make his own way, with his family, out of the city. They agreed to
try to meet in Salinas 6 weeks from now, if possible. I don't think any
of them will ever meet again."
A sudden tenseness surged into the operator's voice. "I can see him down
there!" he cried in despair. "Dr. French--he's running across the campus
with a load of books and a case of his papers and they're trying to get
him. He's on the brow of a little hill and the mob is down below.
They're laughing at him and shooting. They almost look like college
students. He's down--they got him."
A choking sob caught the operator's voice. "That's all there is," he
said. "I hope you can do something with the information Dr. French gave
you yesterday. Berkeley is finished. I'm going to try to get out of here
myself now. I don't think I stand much of a chance. The mobs are
swarming all over the campus. I can hear the fire on the other side of
the building. Maybe I won't even make it outside. Tell the Professor and
Ken so long. I sure wish I could have made it to Mayfield to see what
goes with that Swedish accent. 73 YL."
* * * * *
After dinner, Professor Maddox announced his intention of going back to
the laboratory. Mrs. Maddox protested vigorously.
"I couldn't sleep even if I went to bed," he said, "thinking about
what's happened today in Berkeley."
"What if a thing like that happened here?" Mrs. Larsen asked with
concern. "_Could_ it?"
"We're in a much better position than the metropolitan areas," said
Professor Maddox. "I think we'll manage if we can keep our people from
getting panicky. It's easier, too, because there aren't so many of us."
Professor Larsen went back to the laboratory with the Maddoxes.
Throughout the night they reviewed the work of Dr. French. To Ken it
seemed that they were using material out of the past, since all of those
responsible for it were probably dead.
"We'll have to fill in these missing steps," said Professor Maddox. "We
know what he started with and we know the end results at which he was
aiming. I think we can fill the gaps."
"I agree," said Professor Larsen. "I think we should not neglect to
pass this to our people in Stockholm. You will see that is done?" he
asked Ken.
"Our next schedule in that area is day after tomorrow. Or I could get it
to them on the emergency watch tomorrow afternoon."
"Use emergency measures. I think it is of utmost importance that they
have this quickly."
* * * * *
As the days passed, strangers were appearing more and more frequently in
Mayfield. Ken saw them on the streets as he went to the warehouse for
his family's food ration. He did not know everyone who lived in the
valley, of course, but he was sure some of the people he was meeting now
were total strangers, and there seemed so many of them.
He had heard stories of how some of them had come, one by one, or in
small groups of a family or two. They had made their way from cities to
the north or the south, along the highway that passed through the
valley. They had come in rags, half-starved, out of the blizzards to the
unexpected sanctuary of a town that still retained a vestige of
civilization.
Unexpectedly, Ken found this very subject was being discussed in the
ration lines when he reached the warehouse. People had in their hands
copies of the twice-weekly mimeographed newssheet put out by the
Council. Across the top in capital letters was the word: PROCLAMATION.
Ken borrowed a sheet and read, "According to the latest count we've made
through the ration roll, there are now present in Mayfield almost three
thousand people who are refugees from other areas and have come in since
the beginning of the disaster.
"As great as our humanitarian feelings are, and although we should like
to be able to relieve the suffering of the whole world, if it were in
our power to do so, it is obviously impossible. Our food supplies are at
mere subsistence level now. Before next season's crops are in, it may be
necessary to reduce them still further.
"In view of this fact, the Mayor and the City Council have determined to
issue a proclamation as of this date that every citizen of Mayfield will
be registered and numbered and no rations will be issued except by
proper identification and number. It is hereby ordered that no one
hereafter shall permit the entrance of any stranger who was not a
resident of Mayfield prior to this date.
"A barbed-wire inclosure is to be constructed around the entire
residential and business district, and armed guards will be posted
against all refugees who may attempt to enter. Crews will be assigned to
the erection of the fence, and guard duty will be rotated among the male
citizens."
Ken passed the sheet back to his neighbor. His mind felt numb as he
thought of some of those he had seen shuffling through the deep snow in
town. He knew now how he had known they were strangers. Their pinched,
haunted faces showed the evidence of more privation and hardship than
any in Mayfield had yet known. These were the ones who would be turned
away from now on.
Ken heard the angry buzz of comments all around him. "Should have done
it long ago," a plump woman somewhere behind him was saying. "What right
have they got to come in and eat our food?"
A man at the head of the line was saying, "They ought to round them all
up and make them move on. Three thousand--that would keep the people
who've got a right here going a long time."
Someone else, not quite so angry, said, "They're people just like us.
You know what the Bible says about that. We ought to share as long as we
can."
"Yeah, and pretty soon there won't be anything for anybody to share!"
"That may be true, but it's what we're supposed to do. It's what we've
_got_ to do if we're going to stay human. I'll take anybody into my
house who knocks on my door."
"When you see your kids crying for food you can't give them you'll
change your tune!"
Just ahead of him in line Ken saw a small, silent woman who looked about
with darting glances of fear. She was trembling with fright as much as
with the cold that penetrated her thin, ragged, cloth coat.
She was one of them, Ken thought. She was one who had come from the
outside. He wondered which of the loud-mouthed ones beside him would be
willing to be the first to take her beyond the bounds of Mayfield and
force her to move on.
* * * * *
That night, at dinner, he spoke of it to his parents and the Larsens.
"It's a problem that has to be faced," said Professor Maddox, "and
Hilliard is choosing the solution he thinks is right. He's no more
heartless than Dr. Aylesworth, for example."
"It seems a horrible thing," said Mrs. Larsen. "What will happen to
those who are turned away?"
"They will die," said Dr. Larsen. "They will go away and wander in the
snow until they die."
"Why should we have any more right to live than they?" asked Mrs.
Maddox. "How can we go on eating and being comfortable while they are
out there?"
"_They_ are out there in the whole world," said Dr. Larsen as if
meditating. "There must be thirty million who have died in the United
States alone since this began. Another hundred million will die this
winter. The proportion will be the same in the rest of the world. Should
we be thankful for our preservation so far, or should we voluntarily
join them in death?"
"This is different," said Mrs. Maddox. "It's those who come and beg for
our help who will be on our consciences if we do this thing."
"The whole world would come if it knew we had stores of food here--if it
could come. As brutal as it is, the Mayor has taken the only feasible
course open to him."
Ken and Maria remained silent, both feeling the horror of the proposal
and its inevitability.
In the following days Ken was especially glad to be able to bury himself
in the problems at the laboratory. His father, too, seemed to work with
increasing fury as they got further into an investigation of the
material originated by Dr. French. As if seized by some fanatic
compulsion, unable to stop, Professor Maddox spent from 18 to 20 hours
of every day at his desk and laboratory bench.
Ken stayed with him although he could not match his father's great
energy. He often caught snatches of sleep while his father worked on.
Then, one morning, as an especially long series of complex tests came to
an end at 3 a.m., he said to Ken in quiet exultation, "We can
decontaminate now, if nothing else. That's the thing that French had
found. Whether we can ever put it into the atmosphere is another matter,
but at least we can get our metals clean."
Excited, Ken leaned over the notebook while his father described the
results of the reaction. He studied the photographs, taken with the
electron microscope, of a piece of steel before and after treatment with
a compound developed by his father.
Ken said slowly, in a voice full of emotion. "French didn't do this,
Dad."
"Most of it. I finished it up from where he left off."
"No. He wasn't even on the same track. You've gone in an entirely
different direction from the one his research led to. _You_ are the one
who has developed a means of cleaning the dust out of metals."
Professor Maddox looked away. "You give me too much credit, Son."
Ken continued to look at his father, at the thick notebook whose
scrawled symbols told the story. So this is the way it happens, he
thought. You don't set out to be a great scientist at all. If you can
put all other things out of your mind, if you can be absorbed with your
whole mind and soul in a problem that seems important enough, even
though the world is collapsing about your head; then, if you are clever
enough and persevering enough, you may find yourself a great scientist
without ever having tried.
"I don't think I'll ever be what the world calls a great scientist,"
Professor Maddox had said on that day that seemed so long ago. "I'm not
clever enough; I don't think fast enough. I can teach the fundamentals
of chemistry, and maybe some of those I teach will be great someday."
So he had gone along, Ken thought, and by applying his own rules he had
achieved greatness. "I think you give me far too much credit, Son," he
said in a tired voice.