“You mean-they’re still in there?”
“If they weren’t crushed, they maybe are. But it’s pretty hot on that side now. They’re probably cooked up by this time.”
A figure—then another—showed in the tunnel. Behind trudged a third and a fourth. They carried flashlights. The broken, snaglike intrusions in the tunnel made their approach slow. The first one, Henry saw, was wearing the yellow, plastic garments of a monitor and carrying a counter. This was the one who addressed Ed Pratt and, until he bent close, he didn’t realize it was a woman. Even then he did not recognize Lenore.
“It’s too high a level,” she reported. ‘We got to a lot of metal and kind of a big cave beyond, but it’s too hot to stick around. You can’t send your people any deeper, Mr. Pratt. In minutes they’d get enough radiation to be sick—maybe die.”
The men who had made the perilous trek with her stood by, panting a little, opening and shutting hands that were raw from pulling on timbers, throwing brick, moving heavy bits of building. Other rescue workers gathered around and passed the report along. One of the three who’d gone into the tunnel with Lenore said, “Pity. Beyond that opening she talked about, you could hear kids calling.”
Henry looked with fear and horror at the demolished building, at the frightening flame.
He looked at the rescue people, and they were eying him. “This whole crew,” he yelled out, “will get in touch with my headquarters for another assignment!” He jerked his head. “Abandon this!
You’ve done what you can.”
That was that. Men nodded. One or two women cried. But people began throwing picks, shovels, crowbars, a block-and-tackle, other gear into a metal truck. A bulldozer came alive and moved off in the street. Joe Dennison was driving it.
That was that—until Henry heard a shout near the tunnel mouth and saw two men rush in. “They shouldn’t!” The woman with the radiation counter exclaimed.