“Bartender, another scotch!” he yelled into the air.“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, sir?” asked the young barkeep.“It’s only my fi...st one, but yes I’ve had enough,” as he brought the newspaper to the bartender’s nose. “Now be a good lad and pour me another drink.”His legs slackened. His eyes became heavy and bloodshot. His breath fumed.“A killing here and a killing there, smart people up, dumb people down, blacks on one side, whites on another, hatred and fear: heads, love and goodwill:. The beer ran out first, not that there was much of that to start with. A week later the liquor was all gone. That was over a month ago. The only way to make more would be to ferment some of the small stock of remaining grain. And that is reserved for a seed stock if we survive long enough to repopulate the surface. High above the cavern the Cobalt-Thorium clock keeps its irregular count. In the early days the count decreased rapidly dropping by a point every day. Two months later the ticks. More

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