He took off his glove to shake my hand。 Then he went over to the car to work out details with the woman in question。 I watched him knock on the rear door。 After a moment it opened and he squeezed into the back seat。 I walked over to one of the oil drums。 Three men and a woman stood around the fire； passing rumors back and forth。
Three of the live deer at the Kung Fu Palace were dead。 The governor was dead； his pilot and co…pilot seriously injured after a crash landing in a shopping mall。 Two of the men at the switching yard were dead； tiny acid burns visible in their Mylex suits。 Packs of German shepherds； the Nyodene…sniffing dogs； had shed their parachutes and were being set loose in the affected munities。 There was a rash of UFO sightings in the area。 There was widespread looting by men in plastic sheets。 Two' looters were dead。 Six National Guardsmen were dead； killed in a firefight that broke out after a racial incident。 There were reports of miscarriages； babies born prematurely。 There were sightings of additional billowing clouds。
The people who relayed these pieces of unverified information did so with a certain respectful dread； bouncing on their toes in the cold； arms crossed on their chests。 They were fearful that the stories might be true but at the same time impressed by the dramatic character of things。 The toxic event had released a spirit of imagination。 People spun tales； others listened spellbound。 There was a growing respect for the vivid rumor； the most chilling tale。 We were no closer to believing or disbelieving a given story than we had been earlier。 But there was a greater appreciation now。 We began to marvel at our own ability to manufacture awe。
German shepherds。 That was the reassuring news I took inside with me。 The sturdy body； dense and darkish coat； fierce head； long lapping tongue。 I pictured them prowling the empty streets； heavy…gaited； alert。 Able to hear sounds we couldn't hear； able to sense changes in the flow of information。 I saw them in our house； snouting into closets； tall ears pointed； a smell about them of heat and fur and stored power。
In the barracks almost everyone was sleeping。 I made my way along a dim wall。 The massed bodies lay in heavy rest； seeming to emit a single nasal sigh。 Figures stirred； a wide…eyed Asian child watched me step among a dozen clustered sleeping bags。 Colored lights skipped past my right ear。 I heard a toilet flush。
Babette was curled on an air mattress； covered in her coat。 My son slept sitting in a chair like some boozed muter； head rolling on his chest。 I carried a camp chair over to the cot where the younger children were。 Then I sat there； leaning forward； to watch them sleep。
A random tumble of heads and dangled limbs。 In those soft warm faces was a quality of trust so absolute and pure that I did not want to think it might be misplaced。 There must be something； somewhere； large and grand and redoubtable enough to justify this shining reliance and implicit belief。 A feeling of desperate piety swept over me。 It was cosmic in nature； full of yearnings and Teachings。 It spoke of vast distances； awesome but subtle forces。 These sleeping children were like figures in an ad for the Rosicrucians； drawing a powerful beam of light from somewhere off the page。 Steffie turned slightly； then muttered something in her sleep。 It seemed important that I know what it was。 In my current state； bearing the death impression of the Nyodene cloud； I was ready to search anywhere for signs and hints； intimations of odd fort。 I pulled my chair up closer。 Her face in pouchy sleep might have been a structure designed solely to protect the eyes； those great； large and apprehensive things； prone to color phases and a darting alertness； to a perception of distress in others。 I sat there watching her。 Moments later she spoke again。 Distinct syllables this time； not some dreamy murmur—but a language not quite of this world。 I struggled to understand。 I was convinced she was saying something； fitting together units of stable meaning。 I watched her face； waited。 Ten minutes passed。 She uttered two clearly audible words； familiar and elusive at the same time； words that seemed to have a ritual meaning； part of a verbal spell or ecstatic chant。
Toyota Celica。
A long moment passed before I realized this was the name of an automobile。 The truth only amazed me more。 The utterance was beautiful and mysterious； gold…shot with looming wonder。 It was like the name of an ancient power in the sky； tablet…carved in cuneiform。 It made me feel that something hovered。 But how could this be？ A simple brand name； an ordinary car。 How could these near…nonsense words； murmured in a child's restless sleep； make me sense a meaning； a presence？ She was only repeating some TV voice。 Toyota Corolla； Toyota Celica； Toyota Cressida。 Supranational names； puter…generated； more or less universally pronounceable。 Part of every child's brain noise； the substatic regions too deep to probe。 Whatever its source； the utterance struck me with the impact of a moment of splendid transcendence。
I depend on my children for that。
I sat a while longer； watching Denise； watching Wilder； feeling selfless and spiritually large。 There was an empty air mattress on the floor but I wanted to share Babette's and eased myself next to her body； a dreaming mound。 Her hands； feet and face were drawn under the sheltering coat； only a burst of hair remained。 I fell at once into marine oblivion； a deep…dwelling crablike consciousness； silent and dreamless。
It seemed only minutes later that I was surrounded by noise and motion。 I opened my eyes to find Denise pounding on my arms and shoulders。 When she saw I was awake； she began battering her mother。 All around us； people were dressing and packing。 The major noise issued from sirens in the ambulettes outside。 A voice was instructing us through a bullhorn。 In the distance I heard a clanging bell and then a series of automobile horns； the first of what would bee a universal bleat； a herd…panic of terrible wailing proportions as vehicles of all sizes and types tried to reach the parkway in the quickest possible time。
I managed to sit up。 Both girls were trying to rouse Babette。 The room was emptying out。 I saw Heinrich staring down at me； an enigmatic grin on his face。 The amplified voice said： 〃Wind change； wind change。 Cloud has changed direction。 Toxic； toxic； heading here。〃。
Babette turned over on the mattress； sighing contentedly。 〃Five more minutes； 〃she said。 The girls rained blows on her head and arms。
I got to my feet； looked around for a men's room。 Wilder was dressed； eating a cookie while he waited。 Again the voice spoke； like singsong patter on a department…store loudspeaker； amid the perfumed counters and chiming bells： 〃Toxic； toxic。 Proceed to your vehicle； proceed to your vehicle。〃
Denise； who was clutching her mother by the wrist； flung the entire arm down on the mattress。 〃Why does he have to say everything twice？ We get it the first time。 He just wants to hear himself talk。〃
They got Babette up on all fours。 I hurried off to the toilet。 I had my toothpaste but couldn't find the brush。 I spread some paste on my index finger and ran the finger across my teeth。 When I got back； they were dressed and ready； heading for the exit。 A woman with an armband handed out masks at the door； gauzy white surgical masks that covered the nose and mouth。 We took six and went outside。
It was still dark。 A heavy rain fell。 Before us lay a scene of panoramic disorder。 Cars trapped in mud； cars stalled； cars crawling along the one…lane escape route； cars taking shortcuts through the woods； cars hemmed in by trees； boulders； other cars。 Sirens called and faded； horns blared in desperation and protest。 There were running men； tents wind…blown into trees； whole families abandoning their vehicles to head on foot for the parkway。 From deep in the woods we heard motorcycles revving； voices raising incoherent cries。 It was like the fall of a colonial capital to dedicated rebels。 A great surging drama with elements of humiliation and guilt。
We put on our masks and ran through the downpour to our car。 Not ten yards away a group of men proceeded calmly to a Land…Rover。 They resembled instructors in jungle warfare； men with lean frames and long boxy heads。 They drove straight into dense underbrush； not only away from the dirt road but away from all the other cars attempting shortcuts。 Their bumper sticker read GUN CONTROL IS MIND CONTROL。 In situations like this； you want to stick close to people in right…wing fringe groups。 They've practiced staying alive。 I followed with some difficulty； our smallish wagon jouncing badly in brush tangles； up inclines； over hidden stones。 Inside five minutes the Land…Rover was out of sight。
Rain turned to sleet； sleet to snow。
I saw a line of headlights far to the right and drove fifty yards through a gulley in that direction； the car heeled like a toboggan。 We did not seem to be getting closer to the lights。 Babette turned on the radio and we were told that the Boy Scout camp evacuees were to head for Iron City； where arrangements were being made to provide food and shelter。 We heard horns blowing and thought it was a reaction to the radio announcement but they continued in a rapid and urgent cadence； conveying through the stormy night a sense of animal fear and warning。
Then we heard the rotors。 Through the stark trees we saw it； the immense toxic cloud； lighted now by eighteen choppers— immense almost beyond prehension； beyond legend and rumor； a roiling bloated slug…shaped mass。 It seemed to be generating its own inner storms。 There were cracklings and sputterings； flashes of light； long looping streaks of chemical flame。 The car horns blared and moaned。 The helicopters throbbed like giant appliances。 We sat in the car； in the snowy woods； saying nothing。 The great cloud； beyond its turbulent core； was silver…tipped in the spotlights。 It moved horribly and sluglike through the night； the choppers seeming to putter ineffectually around its edges。 In its tremendous size； its dark and bulky menace； its escorting aircraft； the cloud resembled a national promotion for death； a