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at the cooling body of Adams. You got too big for your boots, partner. Went off the deep end. I think, toward the end, you were crazy.
    He picked up the phone, telling the operator, “Get me the White House, miss. Tell whoever answers that Col. Bull Dean wants to speak with Crazy Horse Travee.” He laughed. “That should get his attention.”
    Â 
    Only hours before the press broke the rumors of a nuclear war looming world-wide, in almost every state in America, people who knew how to survive, were ready for war, were vanishing.
    Prof. Steven Miller disappeared from the campus of USC. The quiet, soft-spoken professor of history, a bachelor, could not be found. His apartment was unlocked, but nothing appeared to be missing or even out of place. An associate professor thought it strange, though, when a box of .223 ammunition was found in a bureau drawer.
    â€œM-16 ammunition,” a policeman observed.
    â€œBut Steven didn’t like guns,” his colleague said. “ ’Least he said he didn’t like them. Come to think of it, he never joined us in any gun-control activity.”
    The policeman shrugged.
    An hour later, the policeman had vanished.
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    Jimmy Deluce, a crop-duster from the Cajun country of Louisiana, and a dozen of his friends did not report for work. No one seemed to know where they went.
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    Nora Rodelo and two of her girl friends were last seen shopping together in Dodge City, Kansas. They dropped out of sight.
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    Anne Flood, a college senior in New Mexico, and a half-dozen of her friends, male and female, got in their cars and vans and drove away. A neighbor told his wife to come quick, look at that. Those kids are carryin’ guns, Mother. Look like machine guns. Don’t that beat all?
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    James Riverson, a huge, six-foot, six-inch truck driver from the boot heel of Missouri, and his wife, Belle, were last seen getting into James’ rig and heading west.
    A neighbor had called to him, “What’re you haulin’ this trip, James?”
    James had smiled, answering, “A load of M-16s and ammo.”
    His neighbor had laughed. “M-16s! James, son, you are a card.”
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    Linda Jennings, a reporter for a small-town Nebraska weekly, did not show up for work. No one had seen her since the day before. She had received a phone call and immediately begun packing.
    â€œYoung people!” her boss had snorted.
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    Al Holloway, a musician in a country and western band, did not make rehearsal. A friend said he saw him getting into his car and heading out. Said it looked like he was carrying a submachine gun.
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    Jane Dolbeau, a French Canadian living and working in New York, was seen leaving her apartment. A young man she had dated had waved at her, but Jane had not acknowledged the greeting. He said she seemed preoccupied.
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    Ken Amato and his wife and daughter locked up their house in Skokie, outside of Chicago, and drove away.
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    Ben Raines sat in his den, listening to classical music and getting drunk. He had no idea that the gods of fate were laughing wildly, shaping his destiny.

SIX
    â€œGeneral Travee? There is a man on the phone claiming to be Col. Bull Dean. He says he wants to speak to Crazy Horse Travee. Begging your pardon, sir.”
    Travee laughed. “So the ornery ol’ Bull is alive.” He jerked up the phone. “Speak, you snake-eater!”
    Bull laughed. “It was Adams, sir. Not me. The rebels are out of it. I can’t tell you everything Adams did, ’cause I don’t know it all. But I’ll tell you what I do know.”
    â€œGive it to me fast, Bull. I don’t think we have much time.”
    Travee listened for several minutes, nodding and grunting every now and then. Finally, he said, “What are you going to do, Bull?”
    â€œI’m going to sit right here on my front porch and watch the ICBMs come in and go out. Fort Drum will surely take one nose-on, so