"Jesus!" he said. "That's a good idea! Keep them from getting past into that. Jesus!"
He was in a flap, Groff observed. It wasn't surprising. "Flood?" he called. But he knew the answer.
"Flood? Christ a-mighty, the whole goddam Atlantic Ocean's down there. I was trying to pass a lousy milk tank truck for five miles—they ought to widen this road, you get stuck behind a truck on these hills and—anyway, I finally got past him, and all of a sudden I hear him blowing his horn like a son of a bitch and I turn around and—" The man choked. "Jesus!" he said again. "That lousy little creek. This time of year, half the time it's practically dry. And here's the whole creek jumping up out of the ground at me. I stepped on the gas and got the hell out of there." He peered back nervously, as though the creek might still be following, though they were easily two hundred feet up. "You haven't seen that milk truck, have you?"
It would be a long time, Groff was absolutely sure, before anybody saw that milk truck again.
Zehedi leaned across him. "Hey, mister. You think there was much damage down there? I own the store back there—you know, Sam's Grocery, down at the foot of the hill."
The man laughed. It sounded very nervous. "Not any more you don't," he said.
CHAPTER TWO
If you had smoothed out the crumpled paper to look at the ad, you would have read:
GOUDEKET'S GREEN ACRES