Truckers (19 page)

“Oh, no problem there,” said Dorcas. “That's just bits of wood and string—I can have that ready by tomorrow. I was thinking of the people, see. You're going to need a powerful lot of nomes to do all this. And
they're
going to need training.”

“But—but all that they'll have to do is pull and push when they're told, won't they?”

Dorcas hummed under his breath again. Masklin got the impression that he always did that if he was going to break some bad news.

“Well, laddie,” he said, “I'm six; I've seen a lot of people, and I've got to tell you, if you lined up ten nomes and shouted ‘Pull!,' four of them would push and two of them would say ‘Pardon?' That's how people are. It's just nomish nature.”

He grinned at Masklin's crestfallen expression.

“What you ought to do,” he said, “is find us a little truck. To practice on.”

Masklin nodded gloomily.

“And,” said Dorcas, “have you thought again about how you're going to get everyone on? Two thousand nomes, mind. Plus all this stuff we're taking. You can't have old grannies and little babies shinning up ropes or crawling through holes, can you?”

Masklin shook his head. Dorcas was watching him with his normal mild grin.

This nome, Masklin thought, knows his stuff. But if I say to him
Leave it all to me
, he'll leave it all to me, just to serve me right. Oh, critical path analysis! Why is it always people?

“Have you got any ideas?” he said. “I really would appreciate your help.”

Dorcas gave him a long, thoughtful look and then patted him on the shoulder.

“I've been looking around this place,” he said. “Maybe there's a way we can practice
and
solve the other problem. You come down here again tomorrow night and we'll see, shall we?”

Masklin nodded.

The trouble was, he thought as he walked back, that there weren't enough people. A lot of the Ironmongri were helping, and some of the other departments, and quite a few young nomes were sneaking off to help because it was all exciting and unusual. As far as the rest of them were concerned, though, life was going on as normal.

In fact the Store was, if anything, busier than usual.

Of all the family heads, only the Count seemed at all willing to take an interest, and Masklin suspected that even he didn't really think the Store was going to end. It just meant that the Ironmongri could learn to read, and that annoyed the Haberdasheri, which amused the Count. Even Gurder didn't seem so sure as he had been.

Masklin went back to his box and slept, and woke up an hour later.

The terror had started.

I. Run to the Lifts

Lifts, won't you carry me?

Run to the Walls
,

Walls, won't you hide me?

Run to the Truck
,

Truck, won't you take me?

All on that Day
.

From
The Book of Nome, Exits Chap. 1, v. I.

I
T STARTED WITH
silence when there should have been noise. All the nomes were used to the distant thumping and murmuring of the humans during the long daylight hours, so they didn't notice it. Now that it was gone, they could hear the strange, oppressive silence. There were days, of course, when humans didn't come into the Store—for instance, Arnold Bros (est. 1905) sometimes allowed them almost a week off between the excitement of Christmas Fayre and the hurly-burly of Winter Sale Starts Today! But the nomes were used to this; it was part of the gentle rhythm of Store life. This wasn't the right day.

After several hours of silence, they just stopped telling one another not to worry, it was probably just some special day or something, like that time when the Store had shut for a week for redecoration, and one or two of the braver or more inquisitive ones risked a quick glance above floor level.

Emptiness stretched away between the familiar counters. And there didn't seem to be much stock around.

“It's always like this after a Sale,” they said. “And then, before you know where you are, all the shelves are filled up again. Nothing to get upset about at all. It's all part of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)'s great plan.”

And they sat in silence, or hummed a little tune, or found something to occupy their minds, to stop thinking unpleasant thoughts. It didn't work.

And then, when the humans came in and started taking the few things that
were
left off the shelves and counters, and piling them in great boxes and taking them down to the garage and loading them onto the trucks . . .

And started taking up the floorboards . . .

Masklin awoke. People were prodding him. Somewhere in the distance, other people were shouting. It was somehow familiar.

“Get up, quickly!” said Gurder.

“What's happening?” asked Masklin, yawning.

“Humans are taking the Store to bits!”

Masklin sat bolt upright.

“They can't be! It's not time!” he said.

“They're doing it just the same!”

Masklin stood up, struggling into his clothes. He jigged sideways across the floor, one leg out of his trousers, and thumped the Thing.

“Hey!” he said. “You said the demolition wasn't for ages yet!”

“Fourteen days,”
said the Thing.

“It's starting
now
!”

“This is probably the removal of remaining stock to new premises, and preliminary works,”
said the Thing.

“Oh, good. That should make everyone feel a lot better. Why didn't you tell us?”

“I was not aware you did not know.”

“Well, we didn't. So what do you suggest we do now?”

“Leave as soon as possible.”

Masklin snarled. He had expected two more weeks to solve all the problems. They could have stockpiled stuff to take with them. They could have made proper plans. Even two weeks was hardly long enough. Now the thought of even one week was a luxury.

He went out into the milling, disorganized crowd. Fortunately the boards hadn't been taken up in an inhabited area—some of the more sensible refugees said that only a few had been taken up in the far end of the Gardening Department, so the humans could get at the water pipes—but nomes living nearby were taking no chances.

There was a thump overhead. A few minutes later, a breathless nome arrived and reported that the carpets were being rolled up and taken away.

That caused a terrified silence. Masklin realized that they were all looking at him.

“Er,” he said.

Then he said, “I think everyone ought to get as much food as they can carry and go down to the basement, near to the garage.”

“You mean you still think we should do
it
?” said Gurder.

“We haven't much choice, have we?”

“But we were—you said we should take as much as we could from the Store, all the wire and tools and things. And books,” said Gurder.

“We'll be lucky if we can just take ourselves. There's no
time
!”

Another messenger came running up. It was one of Dorcas's group. He whispered something to Masklin, who gave a strange smile.

“Can it be that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) has abandoned us in our hour of need?” said Gurder.

“I don't think so. He may be helping us,” said Masklin. “Because, well, you'll never guess where the humans are putting all this stuff. . . .”

I. And the Outsider said, Glory to the Name of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)
.

II. For he hath sent us a Truck, and the Humans are loading it now with all manner of Things needful to nomes. It is a Sign. Everything Must Go. Including us
.

From
The Book of Nome, Exits Chap. 2, v. I–II

H
ALF AN HOUR
later Masklin lay on the girder with Dorcas, looking down at the garage.

He had never seen it so busy. Humans sleepwalked across the floor, carrying bundles of carpet into the backs of some of the trucks. Yellow things, like a cross between a very small truck and a very large armchair, inched around them, stacking boxes.

Dorcas passed him the telescope.

“Busy little things, ain't they,” he said conversationally. “Been at it all morning, they have. A couple of trucks have already gone out and come back, so they can't be going very far.”

“The letter we saw said something about a new Store,” said Masklin. “Perhaps they're taking the stuff there.”

“Could be. It's mostly carpets at the moment, and some of the big frozen humans from Fashions.”

Masklin made a face. According to Gurder, the big pink humans that stood in Fashions, and Kiddies Klothes, and Young Living, and never moved at all, were those who had incurred Arnold Bros (est. 1905)'s displeasure. They had been turned into horrible pink stuff, and some said they could even be taken apart. But certain Klothian philosophers said no, they were particularly
good
humans, who had been allowed to stay in the Store forever and not made to disappear at Closing Time. Religion was very hard to understand.

As Masklin watched, the big roller door creaked upward and a truck nearby started with a roar and ground slowly out into the blinding daylight.

“What we need,” he said, “is a truck with a lot of stuff from the Ironmongery Department. Wire, you know, and tools and things. Have you seen any food?”

“Looked like a lot of stuff from the Food Hall on the first truck out,” said Dorcas.

“We'll have to make do, then.”

“What'll I do,” said Dorcas slowly, “if they load it all up on a truck and drive it away? They're working powerful fast, for humans.”

“Surely they can't empty the Store in one day?” said Masklin.

Dorcas shrugged.

“Who knows?” he said.

“You'll have to stop the truck from leaving,” said Masklin.

“How? By throwing myself under it?”

“Any way you can think of,” said Masklin.

Dorcas grinned. “I'll find a way. The lads are getting used to this place.”

Refugees were flowing into the Ironmongery Department from all over the Store, filling all the space under the floor with a frightened buzz of whispered conversation. Many of them looked up as Masklin walked past, and what he saw in their faces terrified him.

They believe I can help, he thought. They're looking at me as if I'm their only hope.

And I don't know what to do. Probably none of it will work—we should have had more
time
. He forced himself to look brimful of confidence, and it seemed to satisfy people. All they wanted to know was that someone, somewhere, knew what he was doing. Masklin wondered who it was; it certainly wasn't him.

The news was bad from everywhere. A lot of the Gardening Department had been cleared. Most of the Clothes departments were empty. The counters were being ripped out of Cosmetics, although fortunately not many nomes lived there. Masklin could hear, even here, the thud and crunch of the work going on.