Mind Webs - Gas Mask

Mind-web.

Welcome to a half hour of Mind-web's short stories from the worlds of speculative

fiction.

This is Michael Hanson with a Mind-web story that comes from the book The Rulans of Earth,

a collection edited by Thomas Dish. This is titled Gas Mask and is written by James Houston.

Charlie Bates didn't mind a freeway as much as he often told his wife when he arrived home from

work. He could take him early in the loan. He listed freeways among those curious obstacle

conveniences with which the world seems so unavoidably cluttered. Charlie was neither surprised nor

dismayed then when one summer afternoon about 5.30 the eight lanes of traffic around him

slowed to a creep and finally to a standstill. He grew uneasy only when movement resumed

half an hour later. His engine was off. The car was in gear, yet it moved forward slowly as if

another car were pushing. Charlie turned around but the driver behind was turned to and the driver

beyond him. All the drivers and all the lanes were turned to see who was pushing. Charlie

or his license plate crinkly opened his door and stood on the sill. He was on a high curving

overpass that looked down on a lower overpass and farther down onto a 12 lane straight away leading

to the city center. As far as Charlie could see in any direction, cars were jammed end to end,

laying to lane and nothing moved. The pushing had stopped. Evidently there was nowhere else to push.

He looked into the car's near him. The drivers leaned a little with a curve sloping

bank. Nobody seemed disturbed. They waited quietly. All the engines were off now. Below him,

the lower levels waited too. Thousands of cars and not a sound. No horns, no one yelling. At first,

the silence bothered Charlie, frightened him. He decided however that it really was the only

civilized way to behave. No, you're getting worked up. He thought. He climbed back in and closed

the door softly as it could. As Charlie got used to the silence, he found it actually restful.

Another hour passed. Then a helicopter flew over in a loud speaker announced,

now I have your attention please. You are part of a citywide traffic deadlock. It will take at

least 24 hours to clear. You have the choice of remaining overnight or leaving your car on the

freeway. The city will provide police protection through the crisis.

The helicopter boomed its message about every 50 yards. A heavy murmur followed it down the

freeway. The driver next to Charlie leaned out his window. Very nuts. Charlie looked at him.

Charlie must be nuts. 24 hours to clear a damn traffic jam. Charlie shook his head,

sharing the man's bathroom. Probably a pile up further down. I've seen him before.

Never takes over an hour to. I don't know about you, but I'm sticking it out. If they think I'm

going to leave my den very and out there in a freeway, there are wet. His name was Arvind Bainbridge.

While two more hours passed, he and Charles chatted about traffic in the world. It was getting dark

when Charlie decided he had at least out of phone his wife. Arvind put the jam would break up

any minute so Charlie waited a little longer. Nothing happened. Finally, Charlie climbed out and

tending to find a phone booth. He realized, however, that in order to reach the ground, he'd have to

hike a couple of miles to the exit. Luckily, Arvind had a tow rope in the trunk. Charlie tied it to the

railing wave to thanks one over the side and hand over-handed to the second level. From there,

he slid out onto a high tree limb and shunnyed to the ground. Gazing up at the freeway's massive

concrete underside, and at Arvind's rope dangling far above him, Charlie knew he'd never climb back.

What the hell? He said to himself, and might as well go home. The cops will be around to watch

things besides the cars all paid for. Charlie began searching for a bus or a cab, but everything

it seemed was tied up in the jam. In a bar where he stopped for a beer to cool off, he learned that

every exit, every approach, every lane in the city's complex freeway system was jammed.

The bartender told him. Yeah, you know, it's funny. It wasn't a single accident. It all

happened so gradually, say. Things slowed down, little by little, and the whole town stopped

just a body once. Some guys didn't even use their brakes. They just went from one mile an hour,

you know, through a dead stop. It took Charlie two hours to walk home. When he arrived, his wife

Fay was frantic. What did you call? I started to hide. What happened to your pan?

I was shitting down his tree, and I guess somebody left a nail in it.

God, say, Charlie, this is no time to kid. If you knew how worried I am.

Not kidding, Fay. You're lucky. I got down at all. Some of the guys are still up there. The older

guys, the fat ones, you know, couldn't get over the rails, and a lot of guys wouldn't leave.

Probably be out all night. Charlie, please, what happened, Charlie? Where have you been?

He guided her to the sofa, and they sat down together. His hairy knees stuck up through the

torn cloth. Well, I thought you'd see it on TV or something, Fay. See what on TV?

While Fay sobbed and sniffled, he told her the whole story. By the time he finished,

she was setting up straight and glaring at him. Charlie, Bates, do you mean you just left our car

out on the freeway? Well, what else could I do, honey? I couldn't stay up there all night,

not in the Volkswagen. They'd catch cold. They'd be all cramped up, you know. You could have gotten

into somebody else's car. This, this Arvin fellow would have let you. Somebody with a heater

or a big back seat or something. You just can't barge into somebody else's car, Fay, and stay

overnight. Anyway, honey, I wanted to phone. That's why I came down in the first place.

Oh, Charlie. At least nothing happened to you. That's the most important thing. But, Charlie,

what do we do? What do we do about what? About the car. Waited out, I guess. Wait till tomorrow,

at least until I break the jam and then get back out there. Of course, that won't be as easy as

it sounds, Fay. I'd probably have to get over to the nearest approach and hike in maybe two,

three miles of freeway up the center strip, I suppose. Plus, getting to the approach itself, which

is right in the middle of town. Well, maybe I can borrow a bike, I don't know, quite. Hey, Don and

Louise have a two-seater. Maybe we can borrow that in both calls. Yeah, well, maybe. Let's worry about

that tomorrow, honey. Unbushed. The next morning, Charlie borrowed a big two-seater from Don

and Louise, Fay packed a lunch, and they peddled across the city, figuring to get there fairly early.

To be honest, when their car was free, although an early solution was no longer likely.

The morning news predicted another 36 hours before traffic would be moving.

The jam now included not only the freeways, but all main streets and key intersections where

buses, streetcars, and trucks were still entangled. It even extended beyond the city.

Police tried to block incoming traffic, but it was impossible. All highways transverse the city

or its net of suburbs. Inpatient motorists, discrediting police reports finally broke the road

blocks and the confusion was extending in all directions by hundreds of cars an hour.

Charlie and Fay smuggly bypassed all that following the devious root of unblocked streets that he

mapped out after watching the news on TV. They peddled most of the morning. At last,

they mounted a high bluff and decided to ride an elevator to the roof of an apartment building

that rose above the freeway where their car was parked. Charlie brought along a pair of navy

binoculars. From that vantage point, they ate lunch and surveyed the curving rows of silent cars.

Can you see ours, Charlie? Yeah, yeah, she looks okay, a little squeezed up, but okay.

Let me see. Here. Gee, some of those poor men are still sitting out there.

Don't they know their wives are worried? Yeah, their wives probably heard the news already.

Everybody must know by now. Still worried though, Albert. I'm glad you came home.

I'll bet those men are hungry. Maybe we should take them some sandwiches.

Take a lot of sandwiches to feed everybody stuck on the freeway, Fay.

I mean for the men right around our car. That arvin, for instance, you know, your friends sort of.

Yeah, I don't really know them that well, I mean.

Well, we ought to do something. The red cross is probably out.

Hey, isn't that a cross on that helicopter way down there by the city hall?

Hey, let me have the glasses. I'll be done. It is. They're dropping little packages.

Yeah, let me see. Yeah. Yeah, that's just what they're doing.

Guys, they're standing on the roof so their car is waving.

Oh, I guess it's been a pretty tough night. The poor deer's.

Charlie munched a tuna sandwich and scanned the city like a skipper.

After a few moments, Fay pointed.

Hey, look, Charlie. Over that way, a couple more helicopters.

Where are you making dot down there?

Oh, yeah. Yeah, a couple of military birds looks like.

I guess they're the armies out too.

What are they doing, lifting out one of the cars?

No, no, not a car. And it looks like a like a long narrow crate or something.

And they're lifting, they're not lifting it. They're lowering the endways.

A couple of guys and overalls are down below waiting for it, Fay.

There, there it goes. It's down.

They're, they're anchoring it to the center strip.

Hey, wait a minute. No, it's not a crate.

One of the guys and overalls just opened the door on the front of a phase, stepping inside.

Hey, hey, people are jumping out of their cars and running down the center strip.

They're running from everywhere. Climbing over a hodge and stuff.

Somebody just knocked over the other guy and overalls.

I think there's going to be a fight.

They're really crowding around that door and pushing.

Hey, no, no, I think it's going to be okay.

The guy inside just came out and he's, he's putting a sign over the door.

Oh yeah, all the men are starting to walk away now.

The women are lining up along the center strip now.

The deer's.

Yeah, yeah.

A woman just opened the door and stepped inside.

Oh Charlie, I'm so glad you came home.

Me too, Fay.

From the rooftop, they could hear the police helicopter's periodic messages.

By the end of the first day, predictions were clearing the jam

where at least two, perhaps three more days.

Knowing they should be on hand whenever it broke,

if wary at the very thought of peddling across the city twice each day

to their vantage point and home again,

they decided to rent an apartment in the building below them.

Unfortunately, one was available on the top floor facing the freeway.

They moved in that evening.

Although they had a little to move, but the binoculars and the thermos.

They agreed that Charlie would pedal home the next day

to pick up a few necessities while Fay kept an eye on the car.

The plan worked marvelously.

Once situated, they set up a rotation watch.

Four hours on, four hours off.

Charlie figured he could reach the car from the apartment

in half an hour if things looked ready to break.

He figured he'd have that much warning

by listening to helicopter messages and watching TV

and frequently checking the progress downtown where the cranes worked.

Through the binoculars, he watched the great jaws,

lift out cars, vans, and buses,

and then dropped them over the sides of the freeway.

Things would loosen up down their first-y figure,

giving him time to bicycle six blocks to the pine tree,

a mile below his car.

Scaling the tree, he could reach the top of a 15-foot high concrete

retaining wall and drop to the freeway.

From there, it was an easy jog up the center strip

and around the sloping clover they've curved to the overpass.

To be safe, Charlie made dry runs over the course of few times each day

down the elevator,

onto his bike up the tree over the wall,

along the freeway to his car.

He'd switch on the engine and warm it for a few minutes,

someone strolled back, waving to waiting motorists

to watch his passage with mixed admiration and re- and disbelief.

By the third day, the men were stubble-faced,

sullen, dark-eyed, and pitiful sleeping.

The women were disheveled,

feisty-faced, most of them staring blankly through wind chills at nothing.

Charlie felt he ought to do something.

Sometimes he squatted on the center strip to talk to the man

who'd plenty the toe rope.

How's it going, Arv?

Move back soon, Charlie.

Pretty hot out here today, huh?

Move back like we've been, Charlie.

Getting used to it now, I guess,

and you probably threw them more than either.

That's a long pole for you.

And that's too bad anymore.

The whole legs are shaping up, Arv.

All's your time.

Well, 28-10 today.

That's cutting it down, eh, boy?

Poco or Poco?

Yeah, Poco or Poco.

It's the elevator that really holds me back,

though, it's the slowest elevator I've ever seen.

I ever thought I'd wait and down on the sidewalk some place, Charlie.

My wife could maybe signal out the window when the time comes.

Say, that's me.

That came to me yesterday, but I figured you'd thought of it already.

No, no, I've never had it in my head.

That's a great idea.

Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you.

Why don't you come up to the apartment and meet Faye?

I've told her about you.

You'd like her, I know.

We could sit around and have a couple of drinks

and just relax for a while.

Well, it's real nice of you, Charlie, but, well, I'm not sure.

The trouble is, you know, you never know when this thing is going to break loose.

Well, I got that two-seater, Arv.

If anything happens, we can pedal back over here in no time.

Cutting it down every trip, you know?

There, come on, it'd be good for you to get away.

Well, I'd like to, Charlie, I really would, but to be honest,

I haven't had this car very long.

I'm still making payments, and well,

I just feel like I ought to stick pretty close to it.

Yeah, I know how you feel, Arv.

And the way I don't blame you, I get a little jumpy myself,

especially at night when I can't see much, but,

well, look, Arv, if you change your mind, I'll be back this afternoon.

Oh, thanks, Charlie.

See you later, Arv, and thanks for that idea.

You know, my pleasure, Charlie.

I hate to have you miss your car when the action starts.

Taking Arv and's advice, Charlie spent most of each day

sitting on a bus-top bench across the street from the apartment house.

At last, on the afternoon of the sixth day after traffic stopped,

phase white handkerchief appeared in the 12th floor window.

Charlie's bike stood before him in the gutter.

He mounted it over the back wheel like a pony express rider.

In a moment, he was off, peddling hard for the pine tree.

From blocks away, he could hear the now unfamiliar roar of a thousand engines.

As he gained the top of the concrete wall and poised ready to drop,

a cloud of exhaust smokes whirled up and blinded him.

It stung his eyes.

He began to cough.

He dropped, anyway, sure, of the route he must follow, even if he couldn't see.

Gasping and wiping his eyes, he clambered over hoods toward the center's strip.

The smoke didn't abate.

It puffed and spurted choking, Charlie.

Every driver was gunning his engine, warming up for takeoff.

In a panic that he'd miss his car that would be carried away in the advancing stream,

Charlie stumbled blindly upward,

deafened by the sputtering thunder of long, cold cylinders,

nauseated by fumes, confused by the sunny darkness of gray and compassing billows.

The cars disappeared.

It seemed he staggered through the smoke for hours.

He nearly forgot where he was and why he was there until he heard a yell behind him.

Hey, Charlie, where are you going?

Hey, that you, Arv?

Yeah, you nearly passed your car.

Oh, it's all this damn smoke.

Yeah, all the thing, isn't it?

Arv was elated through the veil of fumes that curled up from under Arvand's car.

Charlie could see a wild expectancy, lighting the haggard eyes.

His yellow teeth grinned behind the beard.

Yeah, what's happening?

What's happening, Arv?

Well, it looks like we're moving out.

It better warm up.

When did you, when did you get the signal?

Oh, no real signal, but everybody down the line started up, so I started up.

Things ought to get going any time now.

Have you, have you moved it all?

No, not, not yet, but you better get the old engine warmed up, Charlie.

We're on our way, boy.

We're on our way.

Caught even crying, Charlie staggered to his car, climbed in and started it.

He accelerated a few times and leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel

as nausea overcame him.

The noise around him would split as eardrums he thought.

He passed out.

When Charlie came to, he was staring through the wheel at his gas gauge, nearly empty.

He looked around.

It seemed less noisy.

The smoke had cleared a little.

He could see vague outlines of cars in the next lane.

None had moved.

He switched off his engine.

Evidently, others were doing the same.

The rumble of engines diminished perceptibly from moment to moment.

Within minutes after he came to, it was quiet again.

There was little wind.

The smoke thinned slowly.

Only graduated he discerned shapes around him.

Behind him, he saw drivers brawled across the hood just heaving.

In front of him, a man and woman were leaning glassy-eyed against their car.

In the next lane, he heard the wheezing rattle of a man wretching.

He turned and saw Arvin leaning out of his open car door into the gutter.

The police helicopter droned toward them,

hovered, sucking up smoke and announced.

Please turn off your engines.

Please turn off your engines.

The deadlock will not be cleared for at least another 36 hours.

You'll be alerted while in advance of starting time.

Please turn off your engines.

No one seemed to listen.

The helicopter passed on.

Charlie climbed out still queasy, but able to stand.

Arvin was sitting on the eduos seat now, bent forward with his head in his hands.

Hey, Arv, are you okay?

Charlie, look down at him for several moments before the answer came.

You know, I guess so, Charlie.

False alarm, huh?

Well, looks like tomorrow might be the day, though.

Arv nodded and raised his head slowly.

His eyes were dark, weary, defeated, all hope had left him.

Deep creases of fatigue lined his cheeks and forehead.

His beard was straggly and unkempt.

He looked terribly old.

His voice was horse and feeble, as he said.

But, but, Charlie, what if it's not tomorrow?

What are we going to do, Charlie, for God's sake, it's been six days.

Compassion welled up in Charlie, and he said,

Hey, look, Arv, you heard the last announcement.

It'll be at least another 36 hours.

So, why don't you come up to the place and lay down for a while?

A little light brightened Arv and's eyes.

His mouth turned faintly toward his smile as if remembering some long gone pleasure.

But he said, no, I can't, Charlie.

I can't.

I know, Arv.

I know.

Well, I guess I'll see you this afternoon, then.

Charlie waited for Arv and's reply, but his head had fallen again

under the palms of his hands, and he sat there swaying.

Charlie walked away.

Most of the smoke had cleared.

The heavy silence was broken occasionally by distant groans, staccato coughs.

All around him down the curve, he would walk on the other freeways at snakes

or gracefully below him.

In among the rows of dusty cars, he saw people sprawled, hunched,

prone on the center strip, folded over fenders, hanging out windows,

wheezing, staring, stunned.

He picked his way to the concrete wall, scaled it, and left the devastation behind.

Charlie knew, though, that he'd have to return, perhaps several times.

No one could tell when it would be over.

The police reports were meaningless.

He returned to the apartment to console Fay, who felt guilty about sending them on a wild goose chase.

Then Charlie peddled downtown to a lorcer-plus store,

his lungs still burned from the smoke.

He decided to buy Arv and the gas mask, and won for himself.

The story you've heard is titled Gas Mask, written by James Houston.

It appears in the book edited by Thomas Dish, The Ruins of Earth.

I'm Michael Hanson, reading with me in the program was the Wee Strauss-Bowl.

Technical production for this program by Marsha Phillips.

Mindwebs is a production of WHA Radio and Madison, a service of University of Wisconsin,

extension.

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