He asked one of the brassarded men. "Just coffee here," the man said. "Nearest food's the diner up the hill. Can't miss it; it's lit." And the diner did stand out like a bonfire by virtue of one pressure lamp. He found a cop there to keep order and a chipper waitress who looked at him, grinned and set out a bowl of breakfast food, crunched open a can of condensed milk with the corner of a cleaver and poured the whole can into the bowl. "Sugar," she said, and shoved the dispenser at him. "Thanks." He poured sugar on and began to spoon down the cloying mixture as fast as he could. "Another?" the waitress asked when he was done. He patted his stomach experimentally. "I guess not," he said. "You have any coffee?" "Coming up." She slapped a mugful at him and he sipped it down. "Better," he said. "How much?" "For free," she said. She assumed a Greek accent. "Mr. Padopolous says, America's so good to him this is his chance to say thank you." "Well, thank Mr. Padopolous for me when he gets back." He walked out into the dark and bummed a cigarette from the cop. After a deep drag he told him, "I'm a transient. In town by accident." "You're lucky," the cop said sourly. "I live here." "Yeah. Well--I mean, is there anything I can do?" The cop shrugged. "Not much. Help's getting here, lots of it. The army rolled in a hospital and the governor sent a battalion of National Guards. One of them's supposed to show up here and relieve me so I can get some sleep." He yawned tremendously and sat down on the diner steps. "My advice to you, get some sleep and in the morning they'll have something fixed up for you. Maybe those army trucks'll get you where you want to go." Dick said, "Thanks," and walked off. Well, he'd missed it. Slept right through it. The cop called after him, "Hey, kid. Not toward River Street. The Guard sent a sound truck around. Unsafe buildings, wide-open warehouses and stores. They're patrolling with guns. Got it?" "Got it," said the too-late hero. "Thanks." He turned right and walked on. He'd be able to find the school again; it was the only place in town, maybe the only place for miles, with _two_ lights in front, one shining through the door and the other hung to a spike in a phone pole outside where the motor-pool man guarded a weird collection of vehicles. He rambled down one dark street cursing inwardly. He was sure the big, dynamic Mickey Groff hadn't slept through it, had seized the chance for leadership and heroism. Quite suddenly his chance arrived and he almost walked right past it. Two writhing figures in a doorway, a woman and a man in a silent, deadly struggle. He had one arm around her head and his paw over her mouth; her dress was torn down the front. It flashed through his head. He was about to Defend the Virtue of a Maiden against the assault of a Lust-Maddened, Drink-Crazed Human Beast. Chivalry stuff. He grabbed the man's shoulder and heaved, but his heart wasn't in it.