Farnham’s Freehold By Robert A. Heinlein

At which point Hugh discovered why th~ cow was in the tunnel. Someone-presumably someone nearby-had converted the mine to use as a cow barn; there were a dozen or so bales of hay inside. The cow showed no wish to leave once she was at this treasure.

Cartons were carried in, two cartons were dumped and a twin placed in each, with a carton of cat and kittens just beyond and all three weighted down to insure temporary captivity.

While they were unloading Barbara’s survival gear from the trunk, everything suddenly became noonday bright. Barbara said, “Oh, heavens! We aren’t through.”

“We go on unloading. Maybe ten minutes till the sound wave. I don’t know about the shock wave. Here, take the rifle.”

They had the car empty with jeep cans of water and gasoline out but not yet inside when the ground began to tremble and noise of giant subways started. Hugh put the cans inside, yelled, “Move these!”

“Hugh! Come in!”

“Soon.” There was loose hay he had driven over just back of the car. He gathered it up, stuffed it through the door, went back and scavenged, not to save the hay but to reduce fire hazard to gasoline in the car’s tank. He considered backing the car out and letting it plunge down the hill. He decided not to risk it. If it got hot enough to set fire to the car’s gas tank-well, there were side tunnels, deep inside. “Barbara! Do you have a light yet?”

“Yes! Please come inside. Please!”

He went in, barred the door. “Now we move these bales of hay, far back. You carry the light, I carry the bay. And mind your feet. It is wet a bit farther back. That’s why we shut down. Too much pumping.”

They moved groceries, livestock (human, bovine, and feline) and gear into a side tunnel a hundred yards inside the

mountain. They had to wade through several inches of water on the way but the side tunnel was slightly higher and dry. Once Barbara lost a moccasin. “Sorry,” said Hugh. “This mountain is a sponge. Almost every bore struck water.”

“I,” said Barbara, “am a woman who appreciates water. I have had reason to.”

Hugh did not answer as the flash of the second bomb suddenly brightened everything even that deep inside-just through cracks of a wooden wall. He looked at his watch. “Right on time. We’re sitting through a second show of the same movie, Barb. This time I hope it will be cooler.”

“I wonder.”

“If it will be cooler? Sure, it will. Even if it burns outside. I think I know a place where we can go down, and save us, and maybe the cats but not the cow and calf, even if smoke gets pulled in.”

“Hugh, I didn’t mean that.”

“What did you mean?”

“Hugh, I didn’t tell you this at the time. I was too upset by it and didn’t want you to get upset. But I don’t own a manual gear shift car.”

“Huh? Then whose car is that outside?”

“Mine. I mean my keys were in it-and it certainly had my stuff in the trunk. But mine had automatic shift.”

“Honey,” he said slowly, “I think you’ve flipped your lid a little.”

“I thought you would think so and that’s why I didn’t say anything until we were safe. But Hugh-listen to me, dear!-I have never owned a manual shift car. I didn’t learn to drive that far back. I don’t know how to drive manual shift.”

He stared thoughtfully. “I don’t understand it.”

“Neither do I. Darling, when you came away from your house, you said, ‘She’s in there. Grace.’ Did you mean you saw her?”

“Why, yes. She was nodding over the television, half passed out.”

“But, dearest, Grace had been nodding over the television. But you put her to bed while I was making crêpes Suzettes. Don’t you remember? When the alert came, you went and got her and carried her down-in her nightgown.”

Hugh Farnham stood quite still for several moments. “So I did,” he agreed. “So I had. Well, let’s get the rest of this gear moved. The big one will be along in about an hour and a half.”