Jack Sharkey

“ When she could walk no further, she lay down on the rock, rolled onto her back, and smiled emptily at the stark blue skies overhead until unconsciousness stole over her.
A hundred miles away, a naked boy knelt before a cairn of rock, frowning in concentration, his tongue tucked against the corner of his mouth as he carefully arranged smooth red pebbles before the cairn until their design pleased him. Under the cairn lay a steel-and-concrete door, and within the chamber beyond it lay the mummified bodies of his parents and siblings, as he'd found them when he was old enough to crawl. ”

“ The others are swiping jets to fly to their homes. They want to be with their families when hell breaks loose."
"But where's it flying to? Where can you go?"
"Moonbase," said Martin. "There's plenty of room, all the synthetic foods a person needs, oxygen-generators, water-recapturing systems. It's the nearest safe spot, as of that blowup at the UN today."
Beth turned a hopeful gaze to Pete. "Should we, darling? It's not like a shelter, like you were worried about. ”

“ People are trampling one another to get in."
"But the newscasters didn't say—" started Pete, simultaneously with Beth's halting, "Conelrad isn't on the air...."
"Conelrad!" spat young Fenelly. "They don't dare use it. If they did, the panics would grow. Right now, there's still a chance of keeping some order. One warning to the populace, and the country becomes a mob, two hundred million strong!"
"Pete—!" Beth turned to stare up into his face. "What should we do?"
Pete licked dry lips, then looked shrewdly at Fenelly. "What's at the base? Shelters?"
"A ship," said Martin. "A spaceship. ”

“ Her husband nodded, then lifted his beer and sipped it slowly, savoring the taste as though he might not have the chance again, his eyes returning to—but no longer witnessing—the western which the bulletin had interrupted. ”

“ But the commander had picked up a book of crossword puzzles, and was concentrating fiercely on a cryptogram. The other man swallowed noisily, once, then went to carry out the orders.
"It's over," said Corey to his wife. Lucille nodded dully. "Don't you understand, honey? The bombing's stopped, and we're still alive. Enough food for months. The radiation-count will be down by then, and—"
"And what?" asked Lucille, staring from her husband's face to the two children sleeping on the military cot before the crowded bookshelf. "When it's down, what happens next?"
"Why—We go out. ”