"William Tenn - Generation of Noah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tenn William)

"Especially you. Not many men would become a farmer at thirty-five. Not many men would sink
every last penny into an underground fort and powerhouse, just for insurance. But you're right."
"I only wish," he said restlessly, "that I could work out some way of getting Nancy's heifer into the
cellar. And if eggs stay high one more month, I can build the tunnel to the generator. Then there's the
well. Only one well, even if it's enclosedтАФ"
"And when we came out here seven years agoтАФ" She rose to him at last and rubbed her lips gently
against his thick blue shirt. "We only had a piece of ground. Now, we have three chicken houses, a
thousand broilers, and I can't keep track of how many layers and breeders."
She stopped as his body tightened and he gripped her shoulders.
"Ann, Ann! If you think like that, you'll act like that! How can I expect the chil-dren toтАФAnn, what
we haveтАФall we haveтАФis a five-room cellar, concrete-lined, which we can seal in a few seconds, an
enclosed well from a fairly deep underground stream, a windmill generator for power and a sunken
oil-burner-driven generator for emergencies. We have supplies to carry us through, Geiger counters to
detect radiation and lead-lined suits to move about inтАФafterwards. I've told you again and again that
these things are our lifeboat, and the farm is just a sinking ship."
"Of course, darling." Plunkett's teeth ground together, then parted helplessly as his wife went back to
feeding the baby.
"You're perfectly right. Swallow, now, Dinah. Why, that last bulletin from the Sur-vivors Club would
make anybody think."
He had been quoting from the October Survivor and Ann had recognized it. Well? At least they
were doing somethingтАФseeking out nooks and feverishly building cran-niesтАФpooling their various
ingenuities in an attempt to haul themselves and their families through the military years of the Atomic
Age.
The familiar green cover of the mimeographed magazine was very noticeable on the kitchen table.
He flipped the sheets to the thumb-smudged article on page five and shook his head.
"Imagine!" he said loudly. "The poor fools agreeing with the government again on the safety factor.
Six minutes! How can theyтАФan organization like the Survivors Club making that their official opinion!
Why freeze, freeze alone..."
"They're ridiculous," Ann murmured, scraping the bottom of the bowl.
"All right, we have automatic detectors. But human beings still have to look at the radar scope, or
we'd be diving underground every time there's a meteor shower."
He strode along a huge table, beating a fist rhythmically into one hand. "They won't be so sure, at
first. Who wants to risk his rank by giving the nationwide signal that makes everyone in the country pull
ground over his head, that makes our own pro-jectile sites set to buzz? Finally, they are certain: they
freeze for a moment. Mean-while, the rockets are zooming downтАФhow fast, we don't know. The men
unfreeze, they trip each other up, they tangle frantically. Then they press the button, then the nationwide
signal starts our radio alarms."
Plunkett turned to his wife, spread earnest, quivering arms. "And then, Ann, we freeze when we hear
it! At last, we start for the cellar. Who knows, who can dare to say, how much has been cut off the
margin of safety by that time? No, if they claim that six minutes is the safety factor, we'll give half of it to
the alarm system. Three minutes for us."
"One more spoonful," Ann urged Dinah. "Just one more. Down it goes!"


Josephine Dawkins and Herbie were cleaning the feed trolley in the shed at the near end of the chicken
house.
"All done, pop," the boy grinned at his father. "And the eggs taken care of. When does Mr. Whiting
pick 'em up?"
"Nine o'clock. Did you finish feeding the hens in the last house?"
"I said all done, didn't I?" Herbie asked with adolescent impatience. "When I say a thing, I mean it."