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Updated: June 18, 2025
"No, definitely not, though they have the greatest respect for his memory decorate his grave regularly, drink toasts to him, and so on. But he hasn't been deified. Loudons put the cigar down again and returned to chewing his mustache. "Monty, this has me worried like the devil: "I believe that they suspect that you are the Slain and Risen One!" Altamont considered the idea, then nodded slowly.
If I'd step up the power on this set any more, it'd burn out before I could say, 'Altamont calling Fort Ridgeway." "How far are we from Pittsburgh now?" Loudons wanted to know. Altamont looked across the cabin at the big map of the United States as they had been, the red and green and blue and yellow patchwork of vanished political divisions.
Pistols, auto-carbines, and a few of those concussion-grenades in case we have to break up a concerted attack. I'll get them." The plaza, the houses and the cabins around it, the two-hundred-year-old church, all were silent and apparently lifeless as they set the helicopter down. Once Loudons caught a movement inside the door of a house, and saw a metallic glint.
"But it's only been in the last twenty years that we've been able to make nuclear-electric engines, and this is the first time any of us have gotten east of the Mississippi." "How did your group manage to survive?" Loudons asked. "You call it the Toon. I suppose that's what the word platoon has become, with time. You were, originally, a military platoon?" "Pla-toon!" the white-bearded man said.
"I was thinking about that cache of microfilmed books that was buried at the Carnegie Library." "If it was buried," Loudons qualified. "All we have is that article in that two-century-old copy of Time about how the people at the library had constructed the crypt and were beginning the microfilming. We don't know if they ever had a chance to get it finished, before the rockets started landing."
He knew that now he would have to be the one to stress their original mission: Loudons would probably be so fascinated by this society that the sociologist might never remember the primary reason for coming to Pittsburgh. "There's one thing you can do, no further away than tomorrow, if you're willing."
"And, in the second place, this slain god wasn't crucified, or put to death by any form of execution: he perished, together with his enemy, in combat, and both god and devil were later resurrected." Loudons picked up his cigar again. "By the way, the Enemy is supposed to be the master-mind back of these cannibal savages in the woods and also in the ruins." Loudons shook his head disgustedly.
"Altamont, calling Loudons," the scientist from Fort Ridgeway was saying into the radio. "Monty to Jim: can you hear me?" Silence. "We'd better get ready for another attack," Birdy Edwards said. "There's another gang coming from down that way. I never saw so many Scowrers!" "Maybe there's a reason, Birdy," Tenant Jones said. "The Enemy is after big game, this time."
"Not a whisper. I tried Colony Three, in the Ozarks, and I tried to call in that tribe of workers in Louisiana. I couldn't get either." "Maybe if we tried to get a little more power on the set...." That was Loudons, too, Altamont thought. There wasn't a better man at the Fort, when it came to dealing with people. But confront him with a problem about things and he was lost.
The copper-jacketed machine-gun bullets ripped it to splinters. They returned for a final visit to the distillery awed by what they had seen. "Monty, I don't know what the devil to make of this crowd," Loudons said, that evening, after the feast, when they had entered the helicopter and were preparing to retire.
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