Read Online Tales of Natural and Unnatural Catastrophes by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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ask how long the lead containers were supposed to last, but he was supposed to know. Benny knew the containers were more than a foot thick—fantastic—and that seemed made for eternity.
Farther along in the corridor, McWhirty noticed a crack in a concrete wall, and ran his finger along it.
“That’s going to be fixed,” said Mr. Marlucci. “That’s normal for now.”
The rooms were twenty meters square, Mr. Marlucci replied to a question from one of the NCC men. He led them to the Facilities Room, another square concrete-walled room with a blue floor, a counter with stools, cooking facilities, refrigerators, tables and chairs, restrooms, a cigarette vending machine—a scene now eerily barren of a human figure.
“They’re going to stick a few posters up,” said Mr. Marlucci with a smile, “so it won’t look so bleak. It’s really just the Balsam workers’ canteen, so it doesn’t have to look like a happy-hour bar.”
McWhirty wanted to see another container room. “Maybe on the other side of the basement?”
The group began a walk equal to the breadth of the football field above them, Benny supposed, and possibly more. They had to flatten themselves against a wall to let a fork-lift roll by with six containers on it. Benny imagined that he felt the floor shake under him. Was there another basement below this? Small red tanks were fixed at intervals along these walls, and Benny thought they were fire extinguishers until on closer inspection he saw that they were labeled oxygen. A headgear like an old-fashioned gas mask topped each red tank, and the apparatus was sealed in a transparent plastic bubble. At another steel door in a row of doors, Mr. Marlucci stopped, and again worked a digital lock.
“How full is the basement now?” McWhirty asked. “A quarter? A third?”
“More than half, sir,” Mr. Marlucci replied as the steel door rolled into the wall. “Amazing how fast it’s filling up. But then the trucks’re coming in day and night since—oh, nearly a month.”
Now Benny’s spirits sank a little. At this rate, they wouldn’t be able to use Balsam for two or three urgent jobs that were on Benny’s mind. “Where’s it all coming from—mainly?” Benny asked, feeling suddenly like a landlord whose apartment had been taken over by a family larger than had been agreed upon.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, sir. We have orders—top-secret, of course —from Washington to admit this and that from Texas, California, Ohio, anywhere at all they’re having trouble. They’re not labeled when they get here, but if they’re in the right containers, we’re obliged to take ’em in.”
Benny fumed in silence. Washington had higher authority, of course, but why hadn’t Washington or the EWA told the NCC that they were cramming the place?
McWhirty had entered the half-full room whose door had opened, and was looking around at the walls he could see, at the corners of the lead containers. “You’ve got a flashlight, haven’t you, Doug? Check the back wall for cracks and moisture as far as you can.”
Douglas Ferguson pulled a flashlight from his pocket and walked in.
“At this rate,” McWhirty said to Mr. Marlucci, “this basement will be full in another month?”
“This sub-basement,” said Mr. Marlucci, smiling. “Well—I’d say another three to four weeks. We’ll have it full and sealed before the football season.”
Awful, Benny thought. Washington would simply have to donate a stadium to another university somewhere, and as soon as possible.
They were drifting on toward the exit on the side of the basement they had not seen, where Mr. Marlucci said they could take an elevator up to the ground level and see the stadium interior.
On the earth’s surface, on the sunlit grass, Mr. Marlucci shook his head as he spoke to a man in shirtsleeves and blue jeans who had asked him something. Benny was close enough to hear Mr. Marlucci say:
“The fallout shelters’re pretty empty
Farther along in the corridor, McWhirty noticed a crack in a concrete wall, and ran his finger along it.
“That’s going to be fixed,” said Mr. Marlucci. “That’s normal for now.”
The rooms were twenty meters square, Mr. Marlucci replied to a question from one of the NCC men. He led them to the Facilities Room, another square concrete-walled room with a blue floor, a counter with stools, cooking facilities, refrigerators, tables and chairs, restrooms, a cigarette vending machine—a scene now eerily barren of a human figure.
“They’re going to stick a few posters up,” said Mr. Marlucci with a smile, “so it won’t look so bleak. It’s really just the Balsam workers’ canteen, so it doesn’t have to look like a happy-hour bar.”
McWhirty wanted to see another container room. “Maybe on the other side of the basement?”
The group began a walk equal to the breadth of the football field above them, Benny supposed, and possibly more. They had to flatten themselves against a wall to let a fork-lift roll by with six containers on it. Benny imagined that he felt the floor shake under him. Was there another basement below this? Small red tanks were fixed at intervals along these walls, and Benny thought they were fire extinguishers until on closer inspection he saw that they were labeled oxygen. A headgear like an old-fashioned gas mask topped each red tank, and the apparatus was sealed in a transparent plastic bubble. At another steel door in a row of doors, Mr. Marlucci stopped, and again worked a digital lock.
“How full is the basement now?” McWhirty asked. “A quarter? A third?”
“More than half, sir,” Mr. Marlucci replied as the steel door rolled into the wall. “Amazing how fast it’s filling up. But then the trucks’re coming in day and night since—oh, nearly a month.”
Now Benny’s spirits sank a little. At this rate, they wouldn’t be able to use Balsam for two or three urgent jobs that were on Benny’s mind. “Where’s it all coming from—mainly?” Benny asked, feeling suddenly like a landlord whose apartment had been taken over by a family larger than had been agreed upon.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, sir. We have orders—top-secret, of course —from Washington to admit this and that from Texas, California, Ohio, anywhere at all they’re having trouble. They’re not labeled when they get here, but if they’re in the right containers, we’re obliged to take ’em in.”
Benny fumed in silence. Washington had higher authority, of course, but why hadn’t Washington or the EWA told the NCC that they were cramming the place?
McWhirty had entered the half-full room whose door had opened, and was looking around at the walls he could see, at the corners of the lead containers. “You’ve got a flashlight, haven’t you, Doug? Check the back wall for cracks and moisture as far as you can.”
Douglas Ferguson pulled a flashlight from his pocket and walked in.
“At this rate,” McWhirty said to Mr. Marlucci, “this basement will be full in another month?”
“This sub-basement,” said Mr. Marlucci, smiling. “Well—I’d say another three to four weeks. We’ll have it full and sealed before the football season.”
Awful, Benny thought. Washington would simply have to donate a stadium to another university somewhere, and as soon as possible.
They were drifting on toward the exit on the side of the basement they had not seen, where Mr. Marlucci said they could take an elevator up to the ground level and see the stadium interior.
On the earth’s surface, on the sunlit grass, Mr. Marlucci shook his head as he spoke to a man in shirtsleeves and blue jeans who had asked him something. Benny was close enough to hear Mr. Marlucci say:
“The fallout shelters’re pretty empty
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