The picture switched to a concerned-looking Charlie Gibson, safe iiji New York. (Lucky bastard, Carter thought.) 'Any word yet on what may have caused the fire?'
Back to Jake Tapper... and then to the survivors in their small capsule of breathable air. 'None, Charlie. It was some sort of explosion, that seems clear, but there's been, no further word from the military and nothing from Chester's Mill. Some of the people you see on your screen must have phones, but if they are communicating, it's only with Colonel James Cox, who touched down here about fortynfive minutes ago and immediately conferenced with the survivors. While the camera pans this grim scene from our admittedly remote standpoint, let me give concerned viewers in America - and all over the world - the names of the people now at the Dome who have been positively identified. I think you might have still pictures of several, and maybe you can flash them on the screen as I go. I think my list's alphabetical, but don't hold me to that.'
'We won't, Jake. And we do have some pictures, but go slow.'
'Colonel Dale Barbara, formerly Lieutenant Barbara, United States Army' A picture of Barbie in desert camo came on the screen. He had his arm around a grinning Iraqi boy. 'A decorated veteran and most recently a short-order cook in the town restaurant.
'Angelina Buffalino... do we have a picture of her?... no?... okay.
'Romeo Burpee, owner of the local department store.' There was a picture of Rommie. In it he was standing beside a backyard barbecue with his wife and wearing a tee-shirt that read KISS ME, I'M FRENCH.
'Ernest Calvert, his daughter Joan, and Joan's daughter, Eleanor Calvert.'This picture looked like it had been taken at a family reunion; there were Calverts everywhere. Norrie, looking both grim and pretty, had her skateboard under one arm.
'Alva Drake... her son Benjamin Drake...'
'Turn that off,' Big Jim grunted.
'At least they're in the open,' Carter said wistfully. 'Not stuck in a hole. I feel like Saddam f**king Hussein when he was on the run.'
'Eric Everett, his wife, Linda, and their two daughters...'
'Another family!' Charlie Gibson said in a voice of approval that was almost Mormonesque. That was enough for Big Jim; he got up and snapped the TV off himself, with a hard twist of the wrist. He was still holding the sardine can, and spilled some of the oil on his pants when he did it.
You'll never get that out, Carter thought but did not say.
I was watching that show, Carter thought but did not say.
'The newspaper woman,' Big Jim brooded, sitting back down. The cushions hissed as they collapsed beneath his weight. 'She was always against me. Every trick in the book, Carter. Every trick in the cotton-picking book. Get me another can of sardines, would you?'
Get it yourself, Carter thought but did not say. He got up and grabbed another can of 'dines.
Instead of commenting on the olfactory association he had made between sardines and deceased female sex organs, he asked what seemed to be the logical question.
'What are we going to do, boss?'
Big Jim removed the key from the bottom of the can, inserted it in the tab, and unrolled the top to expose a fresh squadron of dead fish.They gleamed greasily in the glow of the emergency lights."Wait for the air to clear, then go topside and start picking up the pieces, son.' He sighed, placed a dripping fish on a Saltine, and ate it. Cracker crumbs stuck to his lips in beads of oil.'It's what: people like us always do. The responsible people. The ones who pull the plow.'
What if the air doesn't clear? The TV said - '
'Oh dear, the sky is falling, oh dear, the sky is falling!' Big Jim declaimed in a strange (and strangely disturbing) falsetto. 'They've been saying it for years, haven't they? The scientists and the bleeding-heart liberals. World War III! Nuclear reactors melting down to the center of the earth! Y2K computer freezes! The end of the ozone layer! Melting ice caps! Killer hurricanes! Global warming! Chickendirt weak-sister atheists who won't trust in the will of a loving, caring God! Who refuse to believe there is such a thing as a loving, caring God!'
Big Jim pointed a greasy but adamant finger at the younger man.
'Contrary to the beliefs of the secular humanists, the sky is not falling. They can't help the yellow streak that runs up their backs, son - "th^ guilty man flees where none pursueth," you know, Book of Leviticus - but that doesn't change God's truth: those- who believe on Him shall not tire, but shall mount up with wings as eagles - book! of Isaiah. That's basically smog out there. It'll just take awhile to clear out.'
But two hours later, at just past four o'clock on that Friday afternoon, a shrill queep-queep-queep sound came from the alcove that held the fallout shelter's mechanical support system.