Alas, Babylon

“You will like the devil drive!” Randy said. “You will stay at home and guard the house, you and Ben Franklin.” And the two men went on talking and planning, as if they already possessed the truck with full tank, and she was left out of it again. At least, she thought, if it really worked, she had contributed something. The Admiral emphasized that whatever was done must be done quietly. Randy decided he could not go to the Hernandez house until after dark. It was not impossible that the highwaymen were holed up in Pistolville, or had contacts there. If Pistolville saw him drive off in Rita’s truck, the news would be all over town within a few hours. Finally, the Admiral asked the crucial question-would Rita cooperate? Was she discreet?

“Rita wants to hold what she has,” Randy said. “Rita wants to live. She is realistic.”

There was one more thing he must do before he left the Admiral. He sat at the typewriter and pecked out the orders.

ORDER NO. l– TOWN OF FORT REPOSE

1. In accordance with the proclamation of Mrs. Josephine Vanbruuker-Brown, Acting President of the United States, and the declaration of Martial Law, I am assuming command of the Town of Fort Repose and its environs.

2. All Army, Navy, and Air Force reservists and all members of the National Guard, together with any others with military experience who will volunteer, will meet at the bandstand at 1200 hours, Wednesday, 20 April. I propose to form a composite company to protect this town.

ORDER NO. 2

1. Two cases of typhoid have been diagnosed in the Sunbury family, upper River Road. It must be assumed that both the Timucuan and St. Johns are polluted.

2. All water will be boiled before drinking. Do not eat fruits or greens that have been washed in unboiled water.

ORDER NO. 3

1. Dr. Daniel Gunn, our only physician, has been beaten and robbed by highwaymen.

2. The penalty for robbery or pillage, or for harboring highwaymen, or for failure to make known information concerning their whereabouts or movements, is death by hanging.

All these orders he signed, “Randolph Rowzee Bragg, 1st. Lt. AUS (Reserve) (02658988).”

Lib reading over his shoulder, said, “Why wait until Wednesday to form your company?”

“I want the highwaymen to think that they have plenty of time,” Randy said. “I want them to laugh at us.”

There were a number of ways by which Randy could have traveled the three miles to Marines Park, and then the two additional miles to the Hernandez house on the outer fringe of Pistolville. The Admiral had offered to take him as far as the town dock in his outboard cruiser, now converted to sail. But Sam Hazzard had not as yet added additional keel to the boat, so it would sideslip badly on a tack. Sam could get him to Marines Park all right, but on the return trip might be unable to make headway against current and wind and be left stranded. Randy could have borrowed Alice Cooksey’s bicycle, but decided that this might make him conspicuous in Pistolville. He could have ridden Balaam, the mule, but if he succeeded in persuading Rita to let him have the truck and gasoline, how would Balaam get home? Balaam didn’t fit in a panel truck. Besides, he was not sure that Balaam should ever be risked away from the Henry’s fields and barn. The only mule in Timucuan County was beyond price. In the end, he decided to walk.

He set out after dark. Lib escorted him as far as the bend in the road. She had tacked his notices firmly to a square of plywood which he was to nail to the bandstand pillar. Thus, she had explained, they would not be lost or overlooked among the offers to trade fishhooks or lighter flints, and the pleas for kerosene or kettles. Across the top of the board she had printed, “OFFICIAL BULLETINS.”

Randy wore stained dungarees, old brown fishing sneakers, and a floppy black hat borrowed from Two-Tone. His pistol was concealed in a deep pocket. When walking Pistolville at night, he wanted to look as if he belonged there.

When he told Lib it was time to turn back, she kissed him. “How long will it take you, darling?” she asked.

“Depends on whether I get the truck. Counting the stop at the park to nail up the orders. I should get there in less than two hours. After that, I don’t know. Depends on Rita.”

“If you’re not home by midnight,” she said, “I’ll come after you. With a shotgun.” She sounded half-serious. In the past few weeks she had been more tender to him, embarrassingly solicitous of his safety, more jealous of his time. She was possessive, which was natural. They were lovers, when there was time, and place and privacy, and respite from fatigue and hunger and the dangers and responsibilities of the day.