Nerves

Chapter 9

Through the night Emma Ferrel had sat before the radio and the television set, alternating between them, hugging her dressing gown about her. She had got up only once, and that was to brew herself a pot of strong tea after she caught herself dozing.

But there was no news on the air. Earlier there had been wild rumors and even an account of a riot at the plant that had forced the Governor to call out the militia. Now there was only the hourly showing of the film in which Mayor Walker assured everyone he’d been out to the plant and that there was nothing to fear. There were appeals for calm and for workers to report as usual. All she had learned since dawn was that the turnpike past the plant was closed “for construction,” and that blood was badly needed at the hospital. Blood, she knew, was something they’d need for bad cases of radiation poisoning.

She frowned, trying to remember something that had partly wakened her during the brief time she’d been asleep. It was something about Blake, but she couldn’t remember the words, though they were on the edge of her mind.

All she knew for sure was that Roger had called to say he’d be on the night shift; then later someone else had phoned to say he’d be late because of an emergency operation. They were covering something up and she didn’t like it. She had listened to too much talk about the mysterious broken bits of atoms that could come flying out, invisible but deadly as they ripped and mangled the helpless tissues. Sometimes she pictured them as little X-ray “worms” with savage biting teeth, though she knew better.

They had taken her second child before it was born, whatever Roger said. And now they were trying to take her husband.

She tried calling the plant again. There was a long delay, and then the operator told her curtly the line was out of order.

Out of pure habit, she began boiling water for another pot of tea. It was her only source of strength now, somehow. She made it and sat sipping it, unaware until it was finished that she’d forgotten to put milk in it…. Why hadn’t the paper come? It was long overdue.

She turned the sound up on the television set as one of her favorite local reporters came on. But this morning he wasn’t any different from the others. He read his news off from a script, telling everyone that there was nothing to worry about, and giving nothing new.

She could remember hearing almost the same words in the same tone of voice when she was a little girl and her family had a farm on the bank of the Missouri. She had sat on the roof of their house, staring at the water and mud that was ruining all they owned, while a battery radio told them everything was under control, that the river had been stopped, and that boats were picking up all stranded people almost immediately.

Her mother had died of pneumonia and exposure after everything was “under control.”

She cut off the radio, vaguely troubled by the sounds from the street. The traffic seemed too thin, and even the cars that did pass sounded wrong. She went to the door, looking for the paper again. It wasn’t there, but she saw why the street sounded so quiet; there were no children playing in the yards or on the sidewalks. The street was practically deserted, except for two women who were hurrying along together carrying food packages, with a heavily built man swaggering behind them frequently looking back over his shoulder. Their voices reached her and she stopped in the door listening.

“… her husband couldn’t even get near the place. They had these guards, see, with machine guns, chasing everybody back. Wouldn’t even listen when he told ‘em he had a son inside. Course, like Paul says, it served him right for letting the boy go there in the first place,” the older woman was saying.

The second woman started to say something, but the man cut in. “A little more of this and I’m gonna start agreeing with them that says we gotta go up there and close that place down before we all wake up dying of something. God knows what they’re doing. Like that guy at the meeting says —”

“Ignorant Hoosiers!” the younger woman broke in. “If them atomjerks had obeyed the law and got out when they was supposed to —”

Emma shut the door, disregarding the hatred and trying to make sense of the words. She’d learned more than she had from the radio, at that. The plant was cut off by guards of some kind and nobody could get in. Either it was dangerous to go near it or the men inside were being protected from people like the woman’s husband, or whoever the man was. And it meant that some kind of life and work must still be going on there.

Abruptly, she remembered the half-heard phrase on the radio: “Dr. Blake is wanted at work at once.” Nothing more than that. But there couldn’t be too many doctors here named Blake; and how many would be wanted “at work?” They had practices or went to hospitals and appointments, not to work. It must mean that Blake was missing!

She reached for the telephone again. There was another long delay before the dial tone went on. The phone rang for minutes but there was no answer. That meant either that Blake had already left or that Roger would still be alone there at the plant! Then she remembered the anniversary. The Blakes didn’t always celebrate in the best-behaved way. Something might have happened to them or they might just be refusing to answer their phone. They were capable of anything at times like that.

She limped across the floor, staring from the kitchen into the garage. She’d driven at one time, before they operated on her hip. Maybe not too well, but she’d never had an accident, and several times Roger had ridden with her without saying anything. She even had her driver’s license, renewed regularly as proof of her ability. And it wasn’t as if Roger had got one of those turbine things. She might be rusty, but with the light traffic…

She turned toward the stairs, her mind made up, starting the light under the coffee on her way. She didn’t want it, but she’d heard that coffee was a good thing before driving, maybe tea would do as well, but she didn’t know. She hurried up the stairs as best she could, grabbing the first skirt and blouse she saw, and pulling out heavy sandals. She skipped stockings and make-up. She almost gave up on the underwear, but the idea left her feeling slimy and she compromised by leaving off the slip. Then she ran a comb through her hair, twisting it into a crude bun, and fastened it hastily with pins.

The coffee was boiling when she came down, but she cooled it off and swallowed it somehow.

She spent several wasted minutes looking for the extra keys before she discovered that Roger had left his keys in the lock, as he did too frequently. She tested things, finding the car started easily and that the shift buttons were in the same place. But the gas gauge registered nearly empty. She backed out gingerly, worrying about the fenders. She’d never be able to handle the brake well with her leg, but she could always use the hand brake for any sudden stop. Slowly she moved out onto the street and around the corner. It came as a shock to see that the delicatessen was crowded, but a quick glance showed that canned food seemed to be what people were buying. Beside it, the beauty salon was closed, as was the barbershop further on. The hardware store was open, however and there was a big, fresh sign in the window announcing that guns were on sale.

She found the filling station doing business, but only the owner was there. He filled the tank, but shook his head at the charge plate she found in the glove compartment. “Strictly cash today. Too many people packing up and leaving. Couple dozen like that by here already.” Then, as she was counting out the money, he leaned closer. “Want a paper — today’s paper?”

He pulled one out from under his coat, showing the date. “Only a buck. Cheap, too. Those soldiers or whatever they were picked up darned near every one that was delivered.”

“Mine wasn’t, this morning.” She considered it, catching a glimpse of the headline, but unable to read it. A dollar seemed like a lot, but…

“Maybe yours was delivered. They even picked ‘em off the porches some places, I hear. Friend at the Republican got me a few, though. Want it?”

She nodded, and spread it out on the seat, wondering why the paper had been sent out at all if it was only to be pulled back. The headline drove all other thoughts from her mind:

There was a picture of the plant from the air, looking like a very bad shot made in the early morning, and an arrow that pointed to what was supposed to be the exploded building. She read the story quickly, sick fear inside her. Then anger replaced it. It was all a big guess! They didn’t know any more than she did. No wonder the men had picked up the papers. From now on she’d never read it again! She’d got it only for the columns, and they’d been getting worse ever since it joined that chain Roger was always cursing against.

She started the car and headed down the street, throwing the paper out at the first corner. Then she wished she’d burned it or something; a boy dived out to rescue it and a crowd was collecting around him as she drove on.

There was very little traffic. The bars were all doing a good business, but a lot of the other stores were closed or deserted. There were still only a few children, always of the rougher sort, and even the adults seemed fewer than usual, with those who were out huddled into groups. Main Street seemed ghostly and there wasn’t even a traffic cop on the busy corner.

She passed one street that had been crudely blocked off, with a packed crowd and a loudspeaker shouting something in anger. The sign indicated it was a Citizens’ Protest Rally.

Then she was out of the business section. Now things were quieter again. Few cars passed her, and two of those were loaded with all sorts of equipment and carrying whole families. The big X marks were less frequent, too; she’d been seeing them soaped on some windows, with crude lettering warning all atomjerks to go home — as if they weren’t home, right here in Kimberly!

She drew abreast of a girl who was running along dragging two young children with her, screaming loudly. The girl’s face was red with tears. Emma braked down carefully and leaned out. “Want a lift?”

The girl got in with her children and mumbled an address. She stared morosely out of the window. “I’m an atomjack’s wife!” she announced finally, defiantly.

“That’s all right. I’m Doc’s wife,” Emma told her. The answer seemed to satisfy the girl; she began trying to quiet the children. She even managed a touch of a smile as she got out and went into an apartment building, first looking up and down to make sure there was no one near. There wasn’t a person in sight.

Emma sighed, but it had ceased to bother her. There had been something like it once when she was eight; something she couldn’t remember had happened, and men had started riding around in white sheets and pillow cases, while the colored people had stood back staring whenever you met them. Something bad had happened, and kept happening for a while until it all died away. She couldn’t recall any details, but she still could feel a touch of the fear — not fear you could fight, but fear of something you didn’t know. This was somehow like that. Fear of something unknown was like a fog over everything.

Then she saw the Blake residence and breathed easier. Their car was parked in front and she managed to work in behind it, hoping she wouldn’t get a ticket for being so far out. Then she was ringing the bell — or trying to, since it wouldn’t ring. She knocked on the door, getting no answer. There was no better result at the kitchen door, though here the curtain wasn’t drawn and she could look inside. There was a mess of bottles and broken glass over everything and a fire was burning under a charred, ruined pot.

She went back to the front, taking off her sandal and banging it against the panel of the door. It made a horrible amount of sound, but nobody answered.

Abruptly, a window went up in a house across the street and a man’s voice yelled at her. “You, there! Get away from here! We don’t want no trouble around here! You get, you hear. I got a gun and I’ll use it.”

Other windows were opening. Emma felt her face turning scarlet as she hobbled down the steps and back to her car. The idea of them thinking she wanted trouble! For two cents…

Then she sobered enough to know that what they were doing might be a good thing, if there were trouble makers. She got into the car and started it under the suspicious eyes of the neighborhood, moving away faster than she liked. There was still no sign from the Blake house.

Almost without thinking, she headed for the turnpike, turning on the radio and then snapping it off in disgust. Now there were only a few cars and a number of trucks on the road; the trucks all seemed to be filled with men in uniform carrying guns. The road had a closed sign further on, but she went around it, behind one of the trucks, and nobody tried to stop her. She’d learned long before that driving a car with M.D. license plates saved a lot of bother, if you just acted natural about what you were doing.

Then far ahead she saw the top of the plant’s big flagpole, with the flag whipping about. At least something was still there.

Now her picture of the little X-ray worms with snapping teeth began to creep into her mind. She tried to pretend that they had all grown toothless, unable to bite and tear at her tissues, but she couldn’t convince herself. She felt her hands growing sweaty as they always did near the place. But she drove on, nearing the cut-off to the private road. She’d just have to go in and let them bite. Maybe after a while they wouldn’t bother her. They didn’t seem to bother Roger.

She’d partly expected the guards who were posted at the cut-off and she had decided on the only way she might get through. If they stopped her she could never make it work. But maybe…

She hugged as close as she could to the truck of uniformed men, cranking down a window and pointing to the caduceus on the side of the car. “Ferrel. Emergency!” she shouted. They weren’t plant men, but more of the uniformed ones, and they might not know whether Ferrel was a man or a woman doctor.

She was past them before they could make up their minds to stop her. She watched in the rear-view mirror, but they weren’t following her, at least.

The truck ahead swung off to the side, bumping over the grass-grown land toward the top of a hill, and she saw that the road ended with another blockade at the main gate ahead. The trick would never work here where someone from the plant would be posted. There was no use trying anything. She’d just have to see what happened.

The guard who came out wore the uniform of National, she saw. She tore her eyes off the plant, where all the buildings seemed to stand as usual, except for one ugly structure that she’d never liked anyhow. She could feel the little sharp-toothed radiation things waiting for her just inside the gate, but she fought against them, trying to look natural as the guard approached.

“Mrs. Ferrel! You can’t go in. Absolute orders. I don’t know how you got this far.”

“How’s my husband?” she asked. She stared at the man, trying to remember the name Roger had called him. Then she had it. “Is he all right, Murphy?”

The man ran a nervous hand around the inside of his cap and shook his head, staring toward the militia work on top of the little hill. “Mrs. Ferrel, are any of us? I dunno. He’s in there somewhere, God have mercy on him. You can’t go in.”

“All right,” she agreed, “But I won’t go back. I’ll drive the car into a tree or something if you send me back. How are your daughter’s children, Murphy?” She’d finally sorted him out from the men who got free medical help from Roger outside the plant.

He stared at her, struggling with himself. Finally he nodded. “If you weren’t Doc’s wife, I’d kick you all the way back to Kimberly,” he said darkly. “But I suppose now I gotta say you’ve seen too much, so you stay. And don’t blame me when it gets rough here. With those militia boys more scared to be standing where they are than of getting the jug for desertion… Well, you asked for it. Only don’t get out of the car or I’ll not be responsible for you.”

He swung to one of the other guards. “Bill, park her in the lot back there, if you can squeeze another in.”

“Toward the front,” she said quietly, “I’ve got to be where I can get in as soon as the gates are open again.”

He threw up his hands and nodded.

She settled back in the car after the guard had parked it with an amazing amount of swearing and settled down to watching the corner of the Infirmary she could just see. It hadn’t been so hard to get here after all. All it took was a little firmness and some reasoning with Murphy.