The Danger Quotient
Annabel Johnson, Edgar Johnson
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A super-genius in a small underground colony of survivors of nuclear war, eighteen-year-old Casey risks journeying back to the twentieth century to discover why the survivors are dying and how he can save them all.
help muttering a few nervous instructions. Had to repeat them louder, to make myself heard. “Hurry up, you imitation of an unplugged centrifuge!” And when he surged past the pack around the last turn, his great shoulders driving, clods of dirt flying, I let out a primal roaroverhead, the pigeons staggered. As if a membrane had torn and freed a few juicesI found myself grinning at Gil. I am not given to grinning of any kind. She was in shock too, staring at me in a complete reassessment.
can’t blame people, see a son come back shell-shocked. Maybe not coming home at all. Makes anybody mad, makes me mad, too.” “But it’s so far away!” Maggie slammed soft Usts on the table. “I mean, why blame us?” “Nothing’s far away anymore. A man can be here one day, and in two weeks over at the front.” Betsy was taking angry bites “We have to deal with it, that’s ail. We’ve got to make everybody realize that burning our barn was foolish. Then they’ll stop pestering. Papa” she cocked her head,
tried to edge up on the subject, but t really needed to know- “Don’t you ever wish you’d been born a boy?” “Never ever,” she said firmly. “That’s why I can’t stand libbers. They all wish they were men, they say it’s stupid to be sexy and have children, they want you to get an abortion and kill them. They say you’re nothing but a rotten little housewife if you happen to want to get married, and if you don’t just drool over some stinking career you’re a wimp, and it’s none of their business if I
when I told her about it the phone in my hand seemed to suck air for a minute. Then she said, “Please, read it to me.” I tore the sheet getting it out. “Good news,” I said fast. “Glint’s on his way home, arriving tomorrow.” “Oh. Thank you.” But she was realty addressing somebody higher in rank than me. So we put catsup all over our Spam that night, Maxie and I. And if I didn’t eat much, 1 don’t think he noticed. “1 get one game before bed,” he announced, havingjust invented the idea. “You
know-how to a man named Midas Forsythe. You, toolatch onto Forsythe and stick close-By then you’ll understand why. 1 can’t explain it all, you have to take my word for it.” She was absorbing everything, her gray eyes as full of currents as the stream water. “Sure, I believe you, but it’s going to be hard to sell Max. i mean, it’s so weird!” “Somehow you’ve got to. Listen, there’s a picture of me up on the wall of Liza’s room, next to Billy MacDonald. It’s not some long-ago relative, it’s me.