“Don’t bolt it at all.”
Karen shook her head. “I’ll use a couple, so he can hear me draw them. That cat may be a mile away.”
Barbara looked around. It was an L-shaped room; they had entered the end of one arm. Two bunks were on the right-hand wall; Grace Farnham was in the lower and still asleep. The left wall was solid with packed shelves; the passage was hardly wider than the door. The ceiling was low and arched and of corrugated steel. She could see the ends of two more bunks at the bend. Duke was not in sight but he quickly appeared from around the bend, started setting up a card table in the space there. She watched in amazement as he got out the cards he had picked up-how long ago? It seemed an hour. Probably less than five minutes.
Duke saw her, grinned, and placed folding chairs around the table.
There came a clanging at the door. Karen unbolted it; Joseph tumbled in, followed by Mr. Farnham. A lordly red Persian cat jumped out of Joseph’s arms, started an inspection. Karen and her father bolted the door. He glanced at his wife, then said, “Joseph! Help me crank.”
“Yes, sir!”
Duke came over. “Got her buttoned up, Skipper?”
“All but the sliding door. It has to be cranked.”
“Then come take your licking.” Duke waved at the table. His father stared. “Duke, are you seriously proposing to finish a card game while we’re being attacked?”
“I’m four hundred dollars serious. And another hundred says we aren’t being attacked. In a half hour they’ll call it off and tomorrow’s papers will say the northern lights fouled up the radar. Play the hand? Or default?”
“Mmm- My partner will play it; I’m busy.”
“You stand behind the way she plays it?”
“Of course.”
Barbara found herself sitting down at the table with a feeling that she had wandered into a dream. She picked up her partner’s hand, studied it. “Lead, Karen.”
Karen said, “Oh, hell!” and led the trey of clubs. Duke picked up the dummy, laid it out in suits. “What do you want on it?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll play both hands face up.”
“Better not.”
“It’s solid.” She exposed the cards.
Duke studied them. “I see,” he admitted. “Leave the hands; Dad will want to see this.” He did some figuring. “Call it twenty-four hundred points. Dad!”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m writing a check for four hundred and ninety-two dollars-and let that be a lesson to me.”
“You don’t need to-”
All lights went out, the floor slammed against their feet. Barbara felt frightening pressure on her chest, tried to stand up and was knocked over. All around was a noise of giant subway trains, and the floor heaved like a ship in a cross sea.
“Dad!”
“Yes, Duke! Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know. But make that five hundred and ninety-two dollars!”
The subterranean rumbling went on. Through this roar Barbara heard Mr. Farnham chuckle. “Forget it!” he called out. “The dollar just depreciated.”
Mrs. Farnham started to scream. “Hubert! Hubert, where are you? Hubert! Make it stop!”
“Coming, dear!” A pencil of light cut the blackness, moved toward the bunks near the door. Barbara raised her head, made out that it was her host, on hands and knees with a flashlight in his teeth. He reached the bunk, succeeded in quieting Grace; her screams ceased. “Karen?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, Just bruised. My chair went over.”
“All right. Get the emergency lighting on in this bay. Don’t stand up. Crawl. I’ll light you from here. Then get the hypo kit and-ow! Joseph!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You in one piece?”
“I’m okay, Boss.”
“Persuade your furry-faced Falstaff to join you. He jumped on me.”
“He’s just friendly, Mr. Farnham.”
“Yes, yes. But I don’t want him doing that while I’m giving a hypo. Call him.”
“Sure thing. Here, Doc! Doe, Doe, Doe! Fish, Doe!”
Some minutes later the rumbling had died out, the floor was steady, Mrs. Farnham had been knocked out by injected drug, two tiny lights were glowing in the first bay, and Mr. Farnham was inspecting.
Damage was slight. Despite guardrails, cans had popped off shelves; a fifth of rum was broken. But liquor was almost the only thing stored in glass, and liquor had been left in cases, the rest of it had come through. The worst casualty was the shelter’s battery-driven radio, torn loose from the wall and smashed.
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