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Title: Last night of summer
Author: Alfed Coppel
Illustrator: Jack Faragasso
Ed Valigursky
Release date: November 3, 2026 [eBook #79916]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Hanro Corp., 1954
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79916
Credits: Tom Trussel - Stories of Futures Past (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST NIGHT OF SUMMER ***
Last Night of Summer
by Alfred Coppel
=When The End comes, it will be different from anything man has
imagined—and it will also be different for each of us who must face
it alone.=
[Illustration]
There were fires burning in the city. With the house dark—the power
station was deserted by this time—Tom Henderson could see the fires
clearly. They reflected like bonfires against the pall of smoke.
He sat in the dark, smoking and listening to the reedy voice of the
announcer that came out of the battery-powered portable radio.
“—mean temperatures are rising to abnormal heights all over the world.
Paris reports a high yesterday of 110 degrees ... Naples was 115
... astronomers predict ... the government requests that the civil
population remain calm. Martial law has been declared in Los Angeles—”
The voice was faint. The batteries were low. Not that it mattered.
_With all our bickering_, Henderson thought, _this is the finish. And
we haven’t got what it takes to face it._
It was so simple, really. No war of the worlds, no collision with
another planet. A slight rise in temperature. Just that. The
astronomers had discovered it first, of course. And there had been
reassuring statements to the press. The rise in temperature would be
small. Ten percent, give or take a few million degrees. They spoke of
surface-tensions, internal stresses and used all the astrophysical
terms not one man in two million had ever taken the trouble to
understand. And what they said to the world was that on the last night
of summer it would die.
It would be gradual at first. Temperatures had been high all summer.
Then on September 22nd, there would be a sudden surge of heat from that
familiar red ball in the sky. The surface temperature of the earth
would be raised to 200° centigrade for seventeen hours.
Then everything would be back to normal. Henderson grinned vacuously
at the empty air. _Back to normal_. The seas, which would have boiled
away, would condense and fall as hot rain for a month or so, flooding
the land, washing away all traces of man’s occupation—those that hadn’t
burned. And in two months, the temperature would be down to where a man
could walk on the surface without protective clothing.
Only there would not be very many men left. There would only be the
lucky ones with the talismans of survivals, the metal disks that gave
access to the Burrows. Out of a population of two billions, less than a
million would survive.
The announcer sounded bone-weary. _He should_, Henderson thought. _He’s
been on the air for ten hours or more without relief. We all do what we
can. But it isn’t much._
“—no more applicants are being taken for the Burrows—”
_I should hope not_, Henderson thought. There had been so little time.
Three months. That they had been able to build the ten Burrows was
tribute enough. But then money hadn’t mattered, had it? He had to keep
reminding himself that the old values didn’t apply. Not money, or
materials, or even labor—that standby of commerce. Only time. And there
hadn’t been any of that.
“—population of Las Vegas has been evacuated into several mines in the
area—”
_Nice try, but it wouldn’t work_, Henderson thought languidly. If the
heat didn’t kill, the overcrowding would. And if that failed, then the
floods would succeed. And of course there would be earthquakes. _We
can’t accept catastrophe on this scale_, he told himself. _We aren’t
equipped mentally for it any better than we are physically_. The only
thing a man could understand were his own problems. And this last night
of summer made them seem petty, small, as though they were being viewed
through the wrong end of a telescope.
_I’m sorry for the girls_, he thought. Lorrie and Pam. They should
have had a chance to grow up. He felt a tightness in his throat as he
thought of his daughters. Eight and ten are sad ages to die.
But he hadn’t thought of them before, why should the end of the world
make it any different? He had left them and Laura, too. For what? For
Kay and money and a kind of life that would go out in a bright flash
with the coming of dawn. They all danced their minuscule ballet on the
rim of the world while he sat, drained of purpose or feeling, watching
them through that reversed telescope.
He wondered where Kay was now. All over the city there were Star
Parties going on. The sky the limit tonight! Anything you want.
Tomorrow—_bang!_ Nothing denied, nothing forbidden. This is the last
night of the world, kiddo!
Kay had dressed—if that was the word—and gone out at seven. “I’m not
going to sit here and just wait!” He remembered the hysteria in her
voice, the drugged stupor in her eyes. And then Trina and those others
coming in, some drunk, others merely giddy with terror. Trina wrapped
in her mink coat, and dancing around the room singing in a shrill,
cracked voice. And the other girl—Henderson never could remember her
name, but he’d remember her now for all the time there was left—naked
except for her jewels. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds—all glittering and
sparkling in the last rays on the swollen sun. And the tears streamed
down her cheeks as she begged him to make love to her—
It was a nightmare. But it was real. The red sun that slipped into the
Pacific was real. The fires and looting in the city were not dreams.
This was the way the world was ending. Star Parties and murder in the
streets, and women dressed in gems, and tears—a million gallons of
tears.
Outside there was the squeal of tires and a crash, then the tinkling of
broken glass and silence. A shot came from down the street. There was a
cry that was part laughter and part scream.
_I’m without purpose_, Henderson thought. _I sit and watch and wait for
nothing_. And the radio’s voice grew fainter still.
“—those in the Burrows will survive ... in mines and caves ...
geologists promise a forty percent survival ... behind the iron
curtain—”
Behind the iron curtain, surely nothing. Or perhaps it would be
instantaneous, not sweeping across the world with dawn. Of course, it
would be instantaneous. The sun would swell—oh, so slightly—and eight
minutes later, rivers, lakes, streams, the oceans—everything wet—would
boil up into the sky....
* * * * *
From the street came a rasping repetitive cry. Not a woman. A man. He
was burning. A street gang had soaked him with gasoline and touched
him with a match. They followed him shrieking: _preview, preview!_
Henderson watched him through the window as he ran with that _uuuh uuuh
uuuh_ noise seemingly ripped from his throat. He vanished around the
corner of the next house, closely pursued by his tormentors.
_I hope the girls and Laura are safe_, Henderson thought. And then he
almost laughed aloud. Safe. What was safety now? _Maybe_, he thought,
_I should have gone with Kay._ Was there anything left he wanted to
do that he had never done? Kill? Rape? Any sensation left untasted?
The night before, at the Gilmans’, there had been a ludicrous Black
Mass full of horror and asininity: pretty Louise Gilman taking the
guests one after another amid the broken china and sterling silver on
the dining table while her husband lay half-dead of self-administered
morphine.
_Our set_, Henderson thought. _Brokers, bankers, people who matter._
God, it was bad enough to die. But to die without dignity was worse
yet. And to die without purpose was abysmal.
Someone was banging at the door, scratching at it, shrieking. He sat
still.
“Tom—Tom—it’s Kay! Let me in, for God’s sake!”
Maybe it was Kay. Maybe it was and he should let her stay outside.
_I should keep what shreds of dignity I have_, he thought, _and die
alone, at least_. How would it have been to face this thing with Laura?
Any different? Or was there anything to choose? _I married Laura_, he
thought. _And I married Kay, too_. It was easy.
If a man could get a divorce every two years, say, and he lived to be
sixty-five, say—then how many women could he marry? And if you assumed
there were a billion women in the world, what percentage would it be?
“_Let me in, Tom, damn you! I know you’re there!_”
_Eight and ten isn’t very old_, he thought. _Not very old, really._
They might have been wonderful women ... to lay amid the crockery and
cohabit like animals while the sun got ready to blow up?
“Tom...!”
He shook his head sharply and snapped off the radio. The fires in the
city were brighter and bigger. Not sunfires, those. Someone had set
them. He got up and went to the door. He opened it. Kay stumbled in,
sobbing. “Shut the door, oh, God, shut it!”
He stood looking at her torn clothes—what there was of them—and
her hands. They were sticky red with blood. He felt no horror, no
curiosity. He experienced nothing but a dead feeling of loss. _I never
loved her_, he thought suddenly. _That’s why._
She reeked of liquor and her lipstick was smeared all over her face. “I
gave him what he wanted,” she said shrilly. “The filthy swine coming
to mix with the dead ones and then run back to the Burrow—” Suddenly
she laughed. “Look, Tom—look!” She held out one bloody hand. Two disks
gleamed dully in her palm.
“We’re safe, safe—” She said it again and again, bending over the disks
and crooning to them.
Henderson stood in the dim hallway, slowly letting his mind understand
what he was seeing. Kay had killed a man for those tickets into the
Burrow.
“Give them to me,” he said.
She snatched them away. “No.”
“I want them, Kay.”
“No, nononono—” She thrust them into the torn bosom of her dress. “I
came back. I came back for you. That’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Henderson said. And it was also true that she couldn’t have
hoped to reach a Burrow alone. She would need a car and a man with a
gun. “I understand, Kay,” he said softly, hating her.
“If I gave them to you, you’d take Laura,” she said. “Wouldn’t you?
_Wouldn’t you?_ Oh, I know you, Tom, I know you so well. You’d never
gotten free of her or those two sniveling brats of yours—”
He struck her sharply across the face, surprised at the rage that shook
him.
“Don’t do that again,” she said, glaring hatred at him. “I need you
right now, but you need me more. You don’t know where the Burrow is. I
do.”
It was true, of course. The entrances to the Burrows would have to be
secret, known only to those chosen to survive. Mobs would storm them
otherwise. And Kay had found out from the man—that man who had paid
with his life for forgetting that there were only potential survivors
now and animals.
“All right, Kay,” Henderson said. “I’ll make a bargain with you.”
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’ll tell you in the car. Get ready. Take light things.” He went into
the bedroom and took his Luger from the bedside table drawer. Kay was
busy stuffing her jewelry into a handbag.
“Come on,” he said. “That’s enough. Plenty. There isn’t much time.”
They went down into the garage and got into the car. “Roll up the
windows,” he said. “And lock the doors.”
“All right.”
He started the engine and backed onto the street.
“What’s the bargain?” Kay asked.
“Later,” he said. He put the car in gear and started down out of
the residential district, going through the winding, wooded drives.
There were dark shapes running in the shadows. A man appeared in the
headlights’ beam and Henderson swerved swiftly by him. He heard shots
behind. “Keep down,” he said.
“Where are we going? This isn’t the way.”
“I’m taking the girls with me,” he said. “With us.”
“They won’t let them in.”
“We can try.”
“You fool, Tom! They won’t let them in, I say!”
He stopped the car and twisted around to look at her. “Would you rather
try to make it on foot?”
Her face grew ugly with a renaissance of fear. She could see her escape
misting away. “All right. But I tell you they won’t let them in. No one
gets into a Burrow without a disk.”
“We can try.” He started the car again, driving fast along the littered
streets toward Laura’s apartment.
* * * * *
At several points the street was blocked with burning debris, and once
a gang of men and women almost surrounded them, throwing rocks and bits
of wreckage at the car as he backed it around.
“You’ll get us both killed for nothing,” Kay said wildly.
Tom Henderson looked at his wife and felt sick for the wasted years.
“We’ll be all right,” he said. He stopped the car in front of Laura’s.
There were two overturned cars on the sidewalk. He unlocked the door
and got out, taking the keys with him. “I won’t be long,” he said.
“Say good-by to Laura for me,” Kay said, her eyes glittering.
“Yes,” he said. “I will.” A shadow moved menacingly out of the dark
doorway. Without hesitation, Tom Henderson lifted the Luger and fired.
The man fell and did not move. _I’ve just killed a man_, Henderson
thought. And then: _But what does it matter on the last night of
summer?_
He shot away the lock and walked swiftly up the dark hallway, up
the two flights of stairs he remembered so well. At Laura’s door he
knocked. There was movement within. The door opened slowly.
“I’ve come for the girls,” he said.
Laura stepped back. “Come in,” she said.
The scent she wore began to prod memories. His eyes felt unaccountably
hot and wet. “There’s very little time,” he said.
Laura’s hand was on his in the dark. “You can get them into a Burrow?”
she asked. And then faintly. “I put them to bed. I didn’t know what
else to do.”
He couldn’t see her, but he knew how she would look: the close-cropped
sandy hair; the eyes the color of rich chocolates; her so familiar
body supple and warm under the wrapper; the smell and taste of her. It
didn’t matter now, nothing mattered on this last crazy night of the
world.
“Get them,” he said. “Quickly.” She did as she was told.
Pam and Lorrie—he could hear them complaining softly about being
awakened in the middle of the night—soft little bodies, with the
musty-childish odor of sleep and safety. Then Laura was kneeling,
holding them against her, each in turn. And he knew the tears must be
wet on her cheeks. He thought: _say good-by and make it quick. Kiss
your children good-by and watch them go out while you remain alone in
the dark that isn’t ever going to end. Ah, Laura, Laura—_
“Take them quickly, Tom,” Laura said. And then she pressed herself
against him just for an instant. “I love you, Tom. I never stopped.”
He lifted Pam into his arms and took Lorrie’s hand. He didn’t trust
himself to speak.
“Good-by, Tom,” Laura said, and closed the door behind him.
“Isn’t Mommy coming?” Pam asked sleepily.
“Another time, baby,” Tom said softly. He took them out to the waiting
car and Kay.
“They won’t take them,” she said. “You’ll see.”
“Where is it, Kay?”
She remained sullenly silent and Henderson felt his nerves cracking.
“Kay—”
“All right.” She gave him directions grudgingly, as though she hated to
share her survival with him. She wouldn’t look at the girls, already
asleep in the back of the car. They drove through the city, the looted,
tortured city that burned and echoed to the shrill gaiety of Star
Parties and already stank of death.
Twice, they were almost struck by careening cars, filled with drunken,
naked, insane people, all with the desperate desire to make this last
night more vivid than all the others back to the very beginning of time.
The headlights illuminated tableaus from some wild inferno as the car
swung around through the concrete cemetery the city had become:
A woman hung by the ankles, her skirt shrouding her face and upper
body, her legs and buttocks flayed....
Psalm singers kneeling in the street, not moving as a truck cut a
swath through their midst. And the hymn, thin and weak, heard over the
moans of the dying: _Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me bide myself in
thee...._
Sudden sun-worshippers and troglodytes dancing round a fire of burning
books....
_The death throes of a world_, Henderson thought. _What survives the
fire and flood will have to be better._
And then they had reached the silent hill that was the entrance to the
Burrow, the miles-deep warren clothed in refrigerator pipes and cooling
earth. “There,” Kay said. “Where you see the light. There’ll be a
guard.”
Behind them, the fires burned in the city. The night was growing
lighter, lit by a rising moon, a moon too red, too large. _Four hours
left_, perhaps, Tom thought. _Or less._
“You can’t take them,” Kay was whispering harshly. “If you try they
might not let us in. It’s kinder to let them stay here—asleep. They’ll
never know.”
“That’s right,” Tom said.
Kay got out of the car and started up the grassy slope. “Then come on!”
Halfway up the hill, Henderson could make out the pacing figure of the
guard: death watch on a world. “Wait a minute,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Are you sure we can get in?”
“Of course.”
“No questions asked?”
“All we need are the disks. They can’t know everybody who belongs.”
“No,” Tom said quietly. “Of course not.” He stood looking at Kay under
the light of the red moon.
“Tom—”
He took Kay’s hand. “We weren’t worth much, were we, Kay.”
Her eyes were bright, wide, staring.
“You didn’t really expect anything else, did you?”
“Tom—Tom—!”
The pistol felt light in his hand.
“I’m your wife—” she said hoarsely.
“Let’s pretend you’re not. Let’s pretend it’s a Star Party.”
“My God—please—nonono—” The Luger bucked in his hand. Kay sank to
the grass awkwardly and lay there, eyes glazed and open in horrified
surprise. Henderson opened her dress and took the two disks from
between her breasts. Then he covered her carefully and shut her eyes
with his forefinger. “You didn’t miss much, Kay,” he said looking down
at her. “Just more of the same.”
He went back to the car and woke up the girls.
“Where are we going now, Daddy?” Pam asked.
“Up there on the hill, dear. Where the light is.”
“Carry me?”
“Both of you,” he said, and dropped the Luger into the grass. He picked
them up and carried them up the hill to within a hundred feet of the
bunker entrance. Then he put them down and gave them each a disk. “Go
to the light and give the man there these,” he said, and kissed them
both.
“You’re not coming?”
“No, babies.”
Lorrie looked as though she might start crying. “I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Tom said.
“Nothing at all,” Pam said.
Tom watched them go. He saw the guard kneel and hug them both. _There
is some kindness in this stripping of inhibitions_, Henderson thought,
_something is left after all._
They disappeared into the Burrow and the guard stood up saluting the
darkness with a wave. Henderson turned and walked back down the hill,
skirting the place where Kay lay face to the sky. A warm dry wind
touched his face. _Time running out quickly now_, he thought. He got
into the car and started back toward the city. There were still a few
hours left of this last night of summer, and Laura and he could watch
the red dawn together.
Transcriber’s note:
This etext was produced from Orbit, September-October 1954 (Vol. 1,
No. 4). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.
Obvious errors have been silently corrected, but minor
inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST NIGHT OF SUMMER ***
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