Duel by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online Page A

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    He closed his eyes. His wife’s arm rested on his arm. He looked at her. Their eyes met and she smiled at him.
    â€œIt’s all right,” she whispered.
    The elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors slid open and they went out. It was getting lighter. He hurried them along the enclosed platform.

    They all climbed through the narrow doorway in the ship’s side. He hesitated before following them. He wanted to say something fitting the moment. It burned in him to say something fitting the moment.
    He couldn’t. He swung in and grunted as he pulled the door shut and turned the wheel tight.
    â€œThat’s it,” he said. “Come on, everybody.”
    Their footsteps echoed on the metal decks and ladders as they went up to the control room.
    The children ran to the ports and looked out. They gasped when they saw how high they were. Their mothers stood behind them, looking down at the ground with frightened eyes.
    He went up to them.
    â€œSo high,” said his daughter.
    He patted her head gently. “So high,” he repeated.
    Then he turned abruptly and went over to the instrument panel. He stood there hesitantly. He heard someone come up behind him.
    â€œShouldn’t we tell the children?” asked his wife. “Shouldn’t we let them know it’s their last look?”
    â€œGo ahead,” he said. “Tell them.”
    He waited to hear her footsteps. There were none. He turned. She kissed him on the cheek. Then she went to tell the children.
    He threw over the switch. Deep in the belly of the ship, a spark ignited the fuel. A concentrated rush of gas flooded from the vents. The bulkheads began to shake.
    He heard his daughter crying. He tried not to listen. He extended a trembling hand toward the lever, then glanced back suddenly. They were all staring at him. He put his hand on the lever and threw it over.
    The ship quivered a brief second and then they felt it rush along the smooth incline. It flashed up into the air, faster and faster. They all heard the wind rushing past.
    He watched the children turn to the ports and look out again.
    â€œGoodbye,” they said. “Goodbye.”

    He sank down wearily at the control panel. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his neighbor sit down next to him.
    â€œYou know just where were going?” his neighbor asked.
    â€œOn that chart there.”
    His neighbor looked at the chart. His eyebrows raised.
    â€œIn another solar system,” he said.
    â€œThat’s right. It has an atmosphere like ours. We’ll be safe there.”
    â€œThe race will be safe,” said his neighbor.
    He nodded once and looked back at his and his neighbor’s family. They were still looking out the ports.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œI said,” the neighbor repeated, “which one of these planets is it?”
    He leaned over the chart, pointed.
    â€œThat small one over there,” he said. “Near that moon.”
    â€œThis one, third from the sun?”
    â€œThat’s right,” he said. “That one. Third from the sun.”

WHEN THE WAKER SLEEPS
    IF ONE FLEW OVER THE CITY AT THIS TIME OF THIS day, which was like any other day in the year 3850, one would think all life had disappeared.
    Sweeping over the rustless spires, one would search in vain for the sight of human activity. One’s gaze would scan the great ribboned highways that swept over and under each other like the weave of some tremendous loom. But there would be no autocars to see; nothing but the empty lanes and the colored traffic lights clicking out their mindless progressions.
    Dipping low and weaving in and out among the glittering towers, one might see the moving walks, the studied revolution of the giant street ventilators, hot in the winter and cool in summer, the tiny doors opening and closing, the park fountains shooting their methodical columns of water into the air.
    Farther along, one would flit across the