Nightworld

"Come on, Carol," Hank said. "We don't have much time!"

"We've got all day, Hank," she said, trying to hide her annoyance.

"But a day isn't what it used to be. Let's go!"

Carol joined him in the hall where he was holding the elevator.

"Where are we going now?" she asked when the doors had closed them in.

"You've got your list?"

"Yes," she sighed, fingering the handwritten sheet in her coat pocket. "I've got my list."

"We're going to split up," Hank said.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"It's necessary," he said. "I've given it a lot of thought and that's the most efficient way to get everything done."

His eyes were feverish. He'd spent most of the night hours compiling lists of necessities they'd have to pick up today. He'd been up and down repeatedly, checking the windows. A few times he'd found one sort of monstrosity or another clinging to the screens, but for the most part it had been a quiet night.

"But there are warnings on the radio and TV—"

The elevator slowed to a stop at the fourth floor. The doors opened to reveal another couple outside in the hall, each weighted with a pair of suitcases. They looked pale, drawn, shaken. Carol recognized the woman—she'd seen her in the lobby a few times.

"Moving out?" she said, stepping aside to make room for them and their luggage.

The woman nodded glumly. "My sister's got a place in the Catskills. We're going to move in with her until this mess gets straightened out."

"What happened?"

"We had an awful night. Most of the lower floors did. They broke through our living-room windows and chased us through the apartment. We had to spend the rest of the night in the hall closet. Those things were right outside the door all night, clawing, chewing, scratching, trying to get in at us."

"How awful!" Carol said.

She realized then how lucky they were to have an apartment on an upper floor. They'd been spared last night. But what about tonight?

"Not as awful as what happened to the Honigs in four-twelve," her husband said. "Jerry lost his left hand and their little girl got carried off."

The woman's brave facade crumbled as she began to sob. "Poor Carrie!"

Carol's heart went out to the Honigs, whoever they were.

"If there's anything we can do for them—I mean, if they need food or—"

Hank nudged her. When she looked at him, he gave her a quick, tiny shake of his head.

"Hank—!"

"I'll explain later," he said under his breath.

The elevator doors opened onto the lobby then. The other couple hefted their luggage and moved out. Carol grabbed Hank's arm.

"Are you telling me we can't share any of our hoard with our neighbors if they need it?"

"Carol, please keep your voice down," he hissed, glancing around the empty lobby. "We can't let anyone know what we've got. Anyone! You tell one, she'll tell two who'll tell a couple more. Before you know it, the whole building—hell, the whole East Side will know what we've got. And then they'll be knocking on our door, begging. And if we give to one we'll have to give to more. And if we try to save some for ourselves they'll want that too. And when we don't give it to them, they'll break our door down and kill us and each other to get at it."

Shocked, Carol stared at him.

"God, Hank. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me! What's wrong with you? Can't you get it into your head that when things really begin to fall apart, our stock—our 'hoard,' as you like to call it—might be all that stands between us and starvation?"

She stared at him in wonder as a police car roared by outside with its sirens blasting.

Survival? Mere survival? At what cost? She couldn't see herself trading all her humane instincts and values for a full belly. And then an unsettling question wheedled its way into her thoughts: Would hunger—real hunger—put a whole new slant on her perspective?

She hoped the time never came when she had to deal with that question. But now, here, in the present, she had to deal with this strange new Hank. Maybe a more logical approach would work.

"But Hank, even with all we've put away, the time's going to come when that's going to run out too."

"No, no!" he said, a panicked look twisting his features for an instant. "A new order will be established after a while, and then we can begin trading for other things we need. We'll be in the catbird seat."

"Great, Hank. But we'll have had to pick our way through the starved corpses of our friends and neighbors to get there. Will that make you happy?"

"Dammit, Carol, I'm not talking about happiness—I'm talking about survival!"

Like talking to a wall, she thought dispiritedly.

"Fine, Hank. Keep on talking about survival. I need some fresh air."

She strode across the lobby and out to the street. Behind her she heard Hank call out.

"Don't forget your list! We need all that stuff by tonight!"

Carol wished she could have slammed the lobby door behind her.