Inside the storage bin there were now only six tanks of propane. When he replaced the one that was almost empty, there would be five. Five piss-little containers, not much bigger than Blue Rhino tanks, between them and choking to death when the air purifier quit.
Carter pulled one out of the storage space, but he only set it beside the gennie. He had no intention of replacing the current tank until it was totally empty, in spite of that irritating AAAAAAA. Nope. Nope. Like they used to say about Maxwell House coffee, it was good to the last drop.
But that buzzer could certainly get on a person's nerves. Carter reckoned he could find the alarm and silence it, but then how would they know when the gennie was running dry?
Like a couple of rats trapped in an overturned bucket, that's what we are.
He ran the numbers in his head. Six tanks left, each good for about eleven hours. But they could turn off the air-conditioner, and that might stretch it to twelve or even thirteen hours per tank. Stay on the safe side and say twelve. Twelve times six was... let's see...
The AAAAAAAA made the math harder than it should have been, but he finally got there. Seventy-two hours between them and a miserable choking death down here in the dark. And why was it dark? Because no one had bothered to replace the batteries in the emergency lights, that was why. They probably hadn't been changed for twenty years or more. The boss had been saving money. And why only seven little shitlicking tanks in the storage cubby when there had been about a zillion gallons out at WOK, just waiting to blow up? Because the boss liked to have everything right where he wanted it.
Sitting there, listening to the AAAAAAA, Carter remembered one of his dad's sayings: Hoard a penny and lose a dollar. That was Rennie right down to the floor. Rennie the Emperor of Used Cars. Rennie the bigshot politician. Rennie the drug kingpin. How much had he made with his drug operation? A million dollars? Two? And did it matter?
He probably never would have spent it, Carter thought, and he's sure as shit not gonna spend it now. Nothing to spend it on down here. He's got all the sardines he can eat, and they 're free.
'Carter?'Big Jim's voice came floating through the darkness.'Are you going to change that out, or are we just going to listen to it buzz?'
Carter opened his mouth to holler they were going to wait, that every minute counted, but just then the AAAAAAA finally quit. So did the queep-queep-queep of the air purifier.
'Carter?'
'I'm on it, boss.'With the flashlight clamped in his armpit, Carter pulled the empty, put the full one on a metal platform that was big enough to hold a tank ten times this one's size, and hooked up the connector.
Every minute counted... or did it? Why did it, if it was going to come down to the same choking conclusion?
But the survival-watchman inside thought that was a bullshit question. The survival-watchman thought seventy-two hours was seventy-two hours, and every minute of those seventy-two hours counted. Because who knew what might happen? The military guys might finally figure out how to crack the Dome open. It might even disappear on its own, going as suddenly and inexplicably as it had come.
'Garter? What are you doing back there? My cotton-picking grandmother could move faster, and she's dead!'
'Almost done.'
He made sure the connection was tight and put his thumb on the starter-button (thinking that if the little generator's starter-battery was as old as the batteries that had been powering the emergency lights, they were in trouble). Then he paused.
It was seventy-two hours if it was the two of them. But if it was just him, he could stretch it to ninety or maybe even a hundred by shutting down the purifier until the air got really thick. He had broached this idea to Big Jim, who had vetoed it out of hand.
'Got a dickey heart,' he had reminded Carter. 'The thicker the air is, the more likely it is to play up on me.'
'Carter?' Loud and demanding. A voice that got up in his ears the way the smell of the boss's sardines got up his nose. 'What's going on back there?'
'All set, boss!' he called, and pushed the button.The starter-motor whirred, and the gennie fired up at once.
I have to think about this, Carter told himself, but the survival-watchman thought differently. The survival-watchman thought that every minute lost was a minute wasted.
He was good to me, Carter told himself. He gave me responsibilities.
Dirty jobs he didn't want to do himself is what he gave you. And a hole in the ground to die in. That too.
Carter made up his mind. He pulled his Beretta from its holster as he walked back into the main room. He considered putting it behind his back so the boss wouldn't know, and decided against it. The man had called him son, after all, and might even have meant it. He deserved better than an unexpected shot in the back of the head and going out all unprepared.
10
It wasn't dark at the far northeastern end of town; here the Dome was badly smudged but far from opaque. The sun glared through and turned everything a feverish pink.
Norrie ran to Barbie and Julia. The girl was coughing and out of breath, but she ran anyway.