EMERGENCE (10 page)

But Teacher's statistics project only 150,000 hominems on North American continent.
(Entire
continent-8,795,052 square miles [National Geographic World Atlas figures].) Another perspective, same problem: 58.63 square miles per person.

One solution: Rule off continent graph-paper style, in squares 7.6575 miles per side; pick square at random; stand at center; yell through bullhorn. Then repeat—150,000 times.

However viewed, awful lot of elbow room. Population spread terribly thin. Accidental meeting probability effectively zilch—which fact may, upon reflection, be disguised blessing. . . .

Don't really
want
to meet ABs; not until securely ensconced within bosom of AA community. Hate to sound prejudiced, but am; can't forget Teacher's opinion that majority laboring under some form of emotional problem, high percentage downright pathological. Not unreasonable, then, to assume every contact but AAs, absent convincing evidence to contrary, possibly hauling unsecured payload—potentially dangerous.

Which revives burning issue: Peter Bell not here; no hint of how long gone, where to. May even be dead—from available data; likely as not. Speculation pointless.

But I'm alive. Very much so. Firmly resolved to maintain trend. Ergo, logical next step: Pick another AA from File. Doesn't matter which; only Peter Bell personally recommended, described. Others only represented by impersonal File entries. Okay, but faceless.

However, close to 100 AAs recorded, scattered all over U.S. No assurance any address still valid and random visits could take forever, or longer. Only reasonable procedure: Plot locations on map; lay out most efficient meander touching all bases, shortest time, distance—reserving, of course, right to fly off on wild tangent should events offer even most tenuous clue.

Intend just that. Tomorrow morning, though; not now. Tired. Disappointed. Probably still vexed, too, if had energy. Even Terry subdued—for him. Perhaps senses mood. Perhaps just bad day: too long, too many expectations. Too much letdown.

     Never mind. Tomorrow is another day—Pollyanna
lives
. . . !

Good morning, Posterity! Night's sound sleep; huge, well-balanced, delicious breakfast (prepared by gourmet chef, with—or despite—intensive assistance of manic twin [laughing hugely, grabbing at everything in sight]) produced usual result: Energy, optimism restored—along with independence:

Who
needs
Peter Bell . . . !

Plenty of fish in sea; Tarzan File full of alternatives—or failing that, might well be more fun to go out, locate, stalk, capture indigenous AB buck in native habitat; then housebreak, domesticate, teach rudiments of coherent thought, civilized speech. Why not? Might work. (And if not, gently separate cervical vertebrae [to discourage kiss-and-tell; wouldn't want to acquire "reputation"], throw back, try again.)

True, simpler to find AAs, settle again into secure little-girl/student rôle; allow others to make important decisions, feed, clothe, house, protect. (Sometimes wearisome, being master of own destiny. Worse than being genius. Lonely, too. Need hug.)

Enough!
Used up whole year's sniveling ration yesterday. Brace up chin! Square off shoulders! Forward
ho!

So this morning, following breakfast, scrounged campus (carrying crowbar, sledge hammer; implements intrinsic, these days, to serious pursuit of scrounging trade); located large-scale U.S. map, plotted AA locations, connected with straight lines.

And discovered predictable trend: All grouped about top-line schools, leading research centers. Harvard, M.I.T., Johns Hopkins, etc., on East Coast. UCLA, U. of California (Davis), etc., on West. Kansas State U., U. of Minnesota, U. of Colorado, U. of Illinois, U. of Chicago, etc., etc., about Midwest. Plus AEC, NASA, JPL facilities all over country. Appears nation's recent progress muchly traceable to AAs. (Hope didn't also figure in downfall.)

Okay. So much for short-term strategy: Hunt proceeds hence by-the-numbers.

But what about long-term? Good point. What if, at last, search comes up dry? As might. . . .

Indeed—what
if
. . . ? Not most comfortable premise for dyed-in-wool Pollyanna to contemplate, but valid. Every coin has two sides. Rankest stupidity to ignore possibility might lose toss; fail to plan for exigencies lurking on dark side.

Very well. Reflecting as pessimist, grimly: Wise to leave notes all over, wherever might stop, pass through, visit; where other survivors (of whatever stripe) might find. True, probably—
certainly
—come to attention of itinerant ABs. Can't be helped.

But so what? Candy Smith-Foster, youngest-ever wearer of Sixth Degree Black Belt, uneasy at prospect of meeting strangers? Even potentially dangerous strangers? Yes. (But pretty potentially dangerous own self; harbor no genuine doubts about ability to cope with aberrant behavior as necessary.
Will
reach peaceful understanding, accommodation with fellow survivors;
will
live in altruistic, gentle harmony with neighbors, whomever may be, whatever background. Or else.)

College utilities still working; administration building well stocked with modern communications media marvels: electric typewriters, photocopiers, etc. Convenient opportunity; shall take advantage, spend next few days here; compose most utterly bare-bones, boiled-down condensation possible: message to leave about countryside during travels.

Content giving pause. Should identify self—but within limits. (No point, for instance, mentioning age, sex, dimensions. Teacher's caution firmly in mind; well aware that whatever response in numbers, substantial percentage bound to be maladjusted. No point slanting advertising toward weirdos.) Should describe resources, advantages of hometown area, farms (omitting shelter mention; my little secret for now, until familiar with recruitees, confident of intentions). Must include invitation to visit, partake in mutual deliberation over whether acceptance into community advantageous both ways.

Have also concluded, after initial hesitation, message must contain explanation of
H. sapiens/post hominem
situation, etc. Facts, evidence clearly documented; Teacher's conclusion unaffected by scoffers—but doubt will care much for neighbors lacking minds sufficiently open to appreciate data, understand implications, and (most of all) accept
necessity
of next step:

Central industry in
my
community to be AA-type upbringing, education of children (to degree possible in ruined world). All else secondary, supportive. No compulsion, pressure; volunteers only. But dissenters need not apply. Big world; can live elsewhere.

Granted, noble resolve most conveniently parallels own selfish desires
(so
much to learn!); but if Dark Ages follow collapse of
H. sapiens'
civilization, won't be
my
fault.

There! Not so tough: Mere three days' full-time, unremitting labor—writing, rewriting, trimming, condensing, paring, slashing, distilling, rooting out, re-rewriting, etc., etc.—and leaflet complete.

Masterpiece of brevity: single page (legal size, double-sided; uniform 1/10-inch margins top, bottom, left, right; 15-pitch type) says everything necessary in only 5,768 well-chosen words—plus metaphoric extra thousand implied by tiny map sketched at end.

Initial small stock produced on nifty both-sides-at-once Xerox. (Wonderful machine; some benefits of old civilization must be saved-for Posterity—10,000 copies,
three hours!)

Shall affix to doors of food, hardware, sporting goods, clothing stores, etc., as ride along. Pass hundreds every day; been taking local roads rather than interstates. (Esthetic choice; admittedly not logical: Interstates doubtless better condition, easier driving; but somehow lonelier [
said
wasn't logical], more depressing.)

Not terribly original plan, but
I
forage constantly, almost daily; reasonable inference holds other survivors do likewise. And certainly have generally similar needs, "shop" same places.

Final analysis—becomes question of numbers: Post enough leaflets, bound to catch eye. Somebody's eye. Someplace. Sometime. Probably.

Tomorrow leave for Boston. Harvard-M.I.T. area, home for five AAs: Herman Smith, Mario Ling, Gayle Kinnart, Theron Parker, Rex Hollister.

Parker, Ling, Smith deeply involved (according to File) in project combining M.I.T.'s space research center, computer center, nuclear reactor, magnetics lab; Harvard's medical school, biochemical facility, seismographic station. Wouldn't discuss objective, but spin-off breakthroughs, inventions, products so numerous, administration declined to push it.

Hollister working at Harvard only, but at medical research, anthropology, biophysics, geology, political theory.

Kinnart's Ph.D.'s in nuclear physics, oceanography, computer science, meteorology, astronautics. Worked when, where, with whom, on what she chose. Taught, researched, invented at will. Delighted in shaking up Establishment's institutions, the crustier the better; C.L.E.P.ed
Juris Doctor
in spare time, over organized opposition of Bar (disapproved failure to utilize proper law-school channels). Sued
pro se,
won, obtained J.D. by Supreme Court decree. Also holds Seventh Degree Black Belt. (If consciously, actively seeking role model, girl could do lots worse—hope-she likes me.)

Enough woolgathering. To bed now. Far to go tomorrow; much to do.

But calmly, coolly; optimistically but with caution, discipline. No more paralytic disappointment, hysteria, tears—
no matter what.
If trail proves cold, will play hand as dealt: Study facts as materialize; proceed logically, efficiently as indicated.

But can
hope. . . .

Silly me. To think, really expected to make Boston in single day (seemed reasonable goal while studying map: only 275 miles, straight-line distance).

But not crow, not flying. Driving. Slowly, cautiously. Through heavily wooded, very hilly (almost mountainous) terrain; numerous small towns, villages; over narrow, winding, bumpity road obviously surveyed, installed by larcenous paving contractor whose sole ambition (well and truly realized) was smothering in concrete most expensive distance between any two points.

Together with previously observed uniform deterioration of highway system, conditions generally less than ideal for rapid transit: Downed trees, abandoned vehicles, landslides, etc., do little to speed progress.

Then final unexpected barrier: Hudson River. Not anticipated as problem; maps show bridges all up-, downstream.

True, are many bridges; however, those encountered thus far quite impassable: Some blocked by horrendous traffic jams; some visibly unsafe, spans sagging, etc.; some actually collapsed, lying in, under water. Several boast combinations of all of above. (Prefer not to think what must have been like when refugee-laden bridges, loaded beyond designers' worst nightmares, came down.)

Camping tonight on romantic west bank, at lush forest's edge, under clear star-studded, moonlit sky. Doubtless be more favorably impressed if conducting appraisal from other side.

Tomorrow will head south along river. Bridge frequency increases as approach New York City. Bound to get across sooner, later.

Delete previous pearl of wisdom. Written by idiot, without consideration of facts, human nature. Indeed, bridges more frequent to south. Also bigger, wider, more capacious. However, increased population more than made up difference.

Drove south all the way to Newark, Verrazano Narrows Bridge to Brooklyn. All blocked, damaged, or both.

Jams on surviving spans exceed belief. Example (not worst): Faced with immovable crush of vehicles parked on George Washington Bridge, obsessed beyond reason, control, someone elected to leave Manhattan—in large bulldozer,
over top.
And so tightly packed together were cars in path that most occupants unable to open doors, squeeze through windows, etc., flee in time. Predictably dreadful results. (But
someone
coped: Operator, crawler both dead; stopped halfway across, perched like giant carnivore on mashed vehicles beneath.)

Camping again tonight on romantic west bank of Hudson River, same place as night before last—same lush forest, under same clear, star-studded, moonlit sky, etc.

(Bah . . . !)

Tomorrow will head
north
along river. Population density decreases considerably that direction. Bound to get across sooner, later. Or drive
around
damned thing.

Murphy would have snickered, said, ". . .
told
you so." And been right: Very first bridge north of where quit exploring, three days before, stood wide open, unobstructed, safe.

Crossed without incident; continued through New York State, into Vermont, east-southeast across Appalachian Mountain spine into Massachusetts—into more bridge trouble: Connecticut River.

Pretty stream. But wide, impassable due to bridge damage. Lots of bridges, lots of damage. Appears to have been heavy flooding earlier: Barges flung about like toys; presence of bridge supports in paths presented little hindrance.

None daunted but wiser now, headed north immediately, upstream. Mere 150 miles sufficed to bring us to intact span.

Across and flushed with confidence, headed again southeast—toward Boston, with no potential geographical obstacles visible ahead on map.

Be there by noon tomorrow, barring untowardnesses. (And
not
getting excited. Waiting to see what lies ahead. Calmly, coolly, objectively.)

Nothing
lies ahead! Or sits, stands, hops, skips, jumps. And getting mighty fed up with whole business.

Once is nothing more than random incident, dice cast, crumbled cookie, flopped mop. Twice probably coincidence, without statistical significance; no doubt concerning to pessimist, but not alarming to rational intellect. Three times could still be coincidence, but scary coincidence; probability laws bent way out of shape.

Four times is trend. No doubt about it; worry is appropriate response.