He had a dream of Phoenix rising glorious from the bleak ashes of the
world and a conviction that only he could make the dream real. To do
this he needed two items: a woman, to produce the children of Phoenix,
and books, to educate them. And so he searched the ruined land and the
broken cities.
He had certain qualities that favored the success of his dreams:
intelligence (BA, MA in English Literature), marksmanship
(sharpshooter's medal, ROTC), and cunning (inherent). But he had one
other quality that was most important to his survival and to the
realization of his dream. That quality showed itself the day he found
the girl in the broken city.
Silence lay over this city like a thick sea; it flowed like rivers in
summer down long streets; it pooled stagnant in the backwash of alleys
and dead-ends. Past sky-scrapers it drifted, like eddies drift past
towers in Atlantis. Overhead, pigeons dived like gulls beneath its
surface, but their cries were not the cries of gulls.
A voice broke the silence that was drowning him. He spun crouching, the
M-1 ready, and saw a girl running toward him. "Gad!" he said. (He had
always felt that "Gad!" was a gentleman's expletive.) Seeing that she
was not armed, he lowered the M-1. The girl, who was fat and dirty,
crashed into him, flinging puffy arms around his neck. "Save me!" she
yelled.
Her yellow hair, streaked with dirt and sunlight, was against his face;
he breathed stale powder and sweat. For exactly this occasion he had a
speech prepared. "Earth Mother! At last, the Earth Mother! Now will I
lift Phoenix from the bleak ashes of the world!"
"Save me!" yelled the Earth Mother.
"Now will I rebuild civilization; now will a new race of man walk the
earth!"
"Save me!" she yelled.
"From what?" he yelled.
"From everything! From the lonesomeness and the rats and the no movies
and the no fun anywhere and from Rocky!"
Abruptly she plopped to the street and started to cry. Her fat face
quivered as she wheezed, and her nose ran. Impassively, he sat on the
curb, handing her his handkerchief. From his jacket pocket he took a
briar pipe, filled it with dried tobacco, and lit it. The Earth Mother
cried. He smoked and waited.
September sun lay bright in the street, with shadows of elms on the
lawn across from them. A porch swing creaked in the wind, and something
too big to be a rat went past the porch and under the trees that
everywhere were closing in on the cities. The Earth Mother's cries
faded to sniffles. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and gave him his
handkerchief. "Keep it," he said, coughing.
"Thanks. Oh, it's so good to see somebody else. You don't know how
lonesome it's been here with nobody around but that goofy Rocky. I been
praying somebody would come. Somebody real cool-looking, like you." She
leaned toward him, blinking her eyes.
He leaned away from her. "And who, may I ask, is Rocky?"
"Joe Nowhere, that's who he is. Rides around on his goofy motorcycle
all the time. He's mean, and real square. Like a cube, you know?"
He stared at her incredulously. Holding the pipe in his left hand, he
put his right hand over his face. "I didn't really expect you to be
pretty, but Gad, did you have to be a thoroughgoing idiot?" Eventually
he lowered his hand. "If he's that bad, why didn't you run away?"
"Where to? Out there it's all empty and scary. Here it's something like
it used to be."
He said, "Nothing is like it used to be."
"That lousy jerk," she said to herself. "The things he did to me! He
pushed me around all the time, too."
For this situation too, he had a speech ready. Dramatically, he stood
up. "Let me take you away from all this! Come, I offer you the chance
to mother the new race!"
She said, "Okay, I'll go," and bounced to her feet, arms spread wide.
He managed to catch her wrists, and said, "First, take me to the town
library."
"Library? You out of your mind? What for?"
"What for? For books to feed the soul of Phoenix! I tell you, our
civilization will not repeat the mistakes of this one!"
She shrugged. "So okay. It ain't far from where I live, anyway." All
the way down the street she told him how glad she was to be going
away with him, and all down another street where no elms were,
only sidewalks with broken glass on them. They walked past doorless
apartments, gutted stores, and rusting, overturned cars. The scuffing
of their shoes mingled with the stupid cooing of pigeons and the
scuttling of rats.
They found no books in the library, only a skeleton with a high-heeled
shoe on its left foot. As they walked down the steps the Earth Mother
said, "I guess they burned them when it got cold."
"There were other things to burn," he said. In her apartment she
packed two suitcases while he searched the other apartments for books.
He found about a dozen paperbacks, Westerns and detectives, which
he kicked into a corner. When he went back to her apartment she was
pounding on the lid of a suitcase. He said, "Well, don't stand there
smirking. Pick them up and we'll be off."
Hesitating, she said, "But I don't even know your name. We ought to
know each other's names. Mine's Darlene."
"Gad, yes, it would be."
"But what's yours?" she said, the suitcases banging against the steps.
"Odysseus. Odysseus, the wanderer."
"I get it. You're kidding."
They walked half a block down the middle of the street that was
shadowed now by big late-summer clouds. With pride in his voice he
said, "My name is C. Herbert Markel, the third." She had no answer to
that.
* * * * *
As they reached the intersection leading to the street where he had
left his car, he stopped abruptly. From behind them came a metallic
growling that grew to an outrageous sputtering and roaring. They turned
and saw a man on a motorcycle weaving spectacularly down the street, in
and out between the debris. He cornered past a rusting old Chevrolet,
circled, and curved to a stop a few yards away. The man leaned the
motorcycle on its kick-stand, pushed back his black cap and said, "Hey,
doll, where you going with this square?"
The Earth Mother said, "Look, it's Rocky!"
Rocky had a sheathed hunting knife in his black, rivet-studded belt,
but no other weapons. His jacket, shirt, pants, and boots were black,
as was the motorcycle. He glared at Markel. "What's your move, square
man? Where in hell you going with my broad?"
"Don't try to stop us," said Markel, pointing the M-1 at Rocky's chest.
"Don't call me your broad," said the Earth Mother.
"Dad, nobody steals Rocky's broad. I'm gonna chop you up."
Patting the stock of the M-1, Markel said, "I think you fail to realize
the situation. You're in no position to chop up anybody."
Rocky laughed, then jerked his head at the Earth Mother. "Get with it,
doll. Come here to Rocky. Get away from that square."
"No. I'm going with him, Rocky. I don't want to see you never again."
Squinting his already narrowed eyes, Rocky said, "You do and I'll get
you, doll. I'll get you both."
Again Markel patted the stock of the M-1. "You haven't a chance. Now
start that monstrosity and get out of here before I kill you."
"I'll hunt you down, square man, and when I find you, I'll chop you up
good."
"Your threats leave me but one recourse," said Markel. He lifted the
M-1.
Rocky laughed. "So go ahead, kill me. I'll hunt you down anyway. You
dig me, man? I said, you kill me and I'll still get you. I'll hunt you
down."
Markel's voice lifted. "Get out of here!"
Still laughing, Rocky leaned back and folded his arms. Markel shot him.
Rocky, his mouth wide with laughter, fell backward from the motorcycle.
Markel walked around the motorcycle and shot him again, twice. Then he
stood over him, until he was sure that Rocky was dead.
And that was the quality Markel had that was most important to his
survival, and to the realization of his dream.
* * * * *
Leaving Rocky lying in the street, they walked to the car, a 1962
convertible. In the back seat Markel put the Earth Mother's suitcases,
in with the spare wheels, ammunition boxes, sleeping bag, gasoline
cans, cooking utensils, canned food, clothes, rope, car tools, and
other necessities. Opening the trunk, he showed her the books he had
collected so far, calling out some of the titles.
When he finished, she said, "You got any books on how to build houses,
or fix toilets, or how to grow stuff? You know, like corn, or tomatoes?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Anybody can do that." He slammed the trunk shut,
and they got into the convertible. He turned it around and drove to
the highway. Where the highway turned west they had a last look at the
city, bleak in the sun, with sunlight in the broken windows. Dust blew
in the gutters, and pigeons drifted into the streets.
Then the outskirts of the city were behind them, and then the suburbs,
and they went down the long, empty highway. Dusk came soft on the
fields and hills, and blue in the valleys. "The world is ours," said
Markel.
"Man, this is a gone set of wheels," said the Earth Mother.
Before dark he stopped, driving several yards across a meadow to park
near a small stream. Gathering deadwood and twigs, he made a fire while
the Earth Mother, following his orders, fixed supper. After supper
Markel said, "I think you've succeeded where the bombs and bugs failed.
I do think you poisoned me." He drank two tin cups of bicarbonate (he
was prepared for all emergencies) and felt somewhat better.
"This is kind of fun, I guess," she said. "Like a picnic I went on
once. Everybody had a swell time and we all sang. I remember that real
good." She sat staring at the fire. "We had lights hanging all around
at night, though. It wasn't scary dark like this."
It was very dark, with a chill wind, when Markel got the sleeping bag
and blankets from the convertible; these he spread on the grass several
yards from the stream. After that he brushed his teeth at the stream,
put out the fire, and rolled up in the blankets, the M-1 beside him.
Just before he fell asleep he heard the Earth Mother squirming and
shifting in the sleeping bag.
He awoke in blackness. The Earth Mother was snoring in counterpoint
to some crickets but neither of these sounds had awakened him. He took
hold of the M-1, rolled over, and got to his knees. A few yards away
the convertible was a solid black bulk in the lesser black of night,
the highway a blacker strip beyond it. There was no moon. He heard the
Earth Mother's snores, the crickets' sad chirping. The rain sound of
leaves in wind. Then he heard the sound that had awakened him, a faint
growling in the distance. Immobile, he listened. The sound stopped.
Making no noise, he got to his feet and, crouching double, ran to the
convertible. The growling came again. Far off between the black fields
a silver needle stabbed briefly then curved away. The growling faded,
and died in a series of sputters.
Markel eased across the wet grass to the highway's edge where he knelt
with the M-1 ready across one knee. He stayed there a long time, but
the sound did not come again, nor did the silver needle. Finally he
went back to the blankets but he didn't sleep.
* * * * *
At breakfast the Earth Mother, her face bloated with sleep, said, "You
ain't eating much and your eyes are all blood-shot like you didn't get
no sleep."
"Any sleep," he said, pushing away the plate of greasy canned meat.
The coffee was hot, at least, and after he lit his pipe he felt better.
He sat beside the girl while she scrubbed the tins in the stream. "Are
you sure there was nobody in the city but you and Rocky?"
She wiped a greasy fork in the grass. "Yeah, I'm sure, I oughta know.
There was only the two of us for a long time, till you came. Before,
there was a whole lot of people, but everybody got sick and swelled up.
They all died except me and Rocky. He didn't even get sick, like I did."
He was silent as they put the blankets and utensils in the convertible
and stayed silent all morning as he drove between fields heavy with
late-summer haze. The Earth Mother yawned. "How come you ain't said
nothing all morning?"
"I've been thinking," he said.
"Yeah?" She switched on the radio, dialed it, listened, then switched
it off. "I forget. I used to keep doing that all the time back in the
apartment. But nothing ever happened, just like now."
"Nothing is likely to, either."
"Rocky always said that everybody else was dead. That ain't true, is
it?"
"Not quite, but it's almost true. It's hard for someone like you to
believe, I suppose."
"I can't believe it. Not everybody."
Abruptly he jammed on the brakes. "Listen!"
"What for? What's the matter?"
"Shut up! Listen!" Markel turned, staring back down the highway. In the
distance he heard a faint growling. The Earth Mother opened her mouth;
Markel shoved her back against the seat. "Listen! Did you hear that?"
They listened in the empty highway. Wind blew across the fields and
high over them a hawk hung motionless. Again came the growling, louder,
like a swarm of angry bees. It stopped. "You heard that, didn't you?"
said Markel.
"I didn't hear nothing."
"You're deaf! Stupid deaf and dumb and blind! Damn it, didn't you hear
anything?"
"I said I didn't, so I didn't."
Markel started the convertible. "Idiot. Low grade idiot."
"What're you so hacked about? What'd you hear, anyhow?"
For four or five minutes he drove without speaking. Then he said, "A
motorcycle."
* * * * *
He had it reasoned out by supper time. There were lots of vehicles
still around in good working order. And, although people were scarce,
it was logical enough to assume that some scarce traveler was taking
the same route they were. It was logical to assume that, because
Markel had put three bullets into Rocky. He explained his logical
theory to the Earth Mother. Concluding, he said, "And perhaps I really
heard a car, not a motorcycle. Distance can be deceiving."
"Rocky was flipped on motorcycles. He had five or six around, always
working on them. He used to ride all around just to pass the time."
"It wasn't Rocky I heard."
"He said he'd hunt us down."
Markel laughed.
She said, "It's Rocky, you know it is! It's him, there's no other
motorcycle riders around here!"
"Calm yourself. You're getting excited."
"It's Rocky's ghost! A horrible ghost!"
"He's dead, I tell you! Now, be quiet!"
She screamed, a falsetto blast that knifed the dark night. "A ghost! A
horrible ghost!" Scrabbling to her feet, she ran screaming around the
grove. She tripped over the blankets, but didn't fall; she caromed from
the hood of the convertible, but kept going; she waved her arms and,
screaming louder, headed toward Markel. When she came close he slapped
her, hard. She stopped, then fell backward. After that she didn't
scream any more.
Markel decided later, lying on his back looking at the stars, that she
was much too emotional to be the mother of the children of Phoenix.
She was also stupid, illiterate, and boring. A strong, peasant body
was her only asset. He would have preferred a woman closer to his own
intelligence, but that, of course, was impossible. Remembering some of
the women he had seen in other cities, he shuddered, and decided to
make the best of the Earth Mother.
Later that night he dreamed. In this dream a golden bird floundered
through fire that flamed blue and silver. The bird tried to fly away
but the flames forced it down, and the golden bird sobbed. Markel awoke
but heard only the Earth Mother crying in the dark. "Oh," he said
drowsily and went back to sleep.
* * * * *
When he heard the motorcycle again, just before noon the next day, he
decided to find out precisely who was driving it. It was very simple:
all he had to do was let the driver catch up to them. So he stopped
the convertible halfway up a long hill road that edged a cliff. He got
out his binoculars and studied the road, which looped down the hill,
straightened, and curled to the horizon. After a long wait in the hot
sun he saw a black dot on the horizon. The dot moved, grew larger.
Markel silently handed the binoculars to the Earth Mother.
She surprised him; she didn't scream. She calmly gave back the
binoculars and said, "It's Rocky. He don't look like a ghost."
Markel ran, dragging her to the convertible. "You drive, and do exactly
as I tell you." He got beside her, the M-1 ready, while she started the
car. "Wait," he said. They waited until the noise of the motorcycle
roared around the curve just below them. "Now! Pull out!" said Markel.
She swung the convertible onto the road and a few minutes later the
motorcycle curved up around the bend.
"Faster," Markel said. The convertible shot up and around the next
bend, swerved close to the guard-rail, angled across the road, then
straightened out. A moment later Rocky came leaning around the curve
at a 30° angle; he swerved, leveled out, and came after them like a
bullet. "Now! Slow down!" Markel shouted into the wind. He braced his
left arm across the back of the seat and aimed the M-1.
Like a runaway jet Rocky came, a poor target crouched behind the
plexiglas windshield. Markel fired and missed. For a split second the
convertible swerved again and Markel held his breath. Rocky slowed, but
he didn't slow enough. Markel's next shot hit the motorcycle's front
tire. It blew like a popped balloon. The motorcycle wobbled, spun,
tilted on its front wheel, and smashed into the guard-rail. Like a
diver, Rocky jackknifed out of the seat, the motorcycle somersaulting
beneath him. Then both of them fell slowly down the cliff side.
The Earth Mother stopped the convertible without being told. "Back it
up," Markel said. At the place where Rocky went over the cliff she
braked it; they got out and went to the edge of the cliff.
The cliff dropped past sumac trees to a boulder-filled creek about a
hundred feet below. Partly in the creek lay the smashed motorcycle and
several feet away was Rocky, against a boulder. He was oddly twisted
and very still.
"He looks dead," said Markel, "but this time I'm going to make sure."
He drove back down the hill to a point where the cliff met the road.
Leaving the Earth Mother in the convertible he walked along the creek
and found Rocky had broken both legs, his left arm, and his clavicle.
Also, Rocky was not breathing and had no pulse. Satisfied, Markel went
back to the convertible and the Earth Mother.