Page 54 of Daikon

THIRTY

THEY WAITED UNTIL ONE O’CLOCK in the morning, staring up at the mosquito netting as they lay on their futons, listening as the sounds in the barracks gradually subsided. Finally silence. Hopefully, everyone was asleep.

PO Yagi got up and slipped into the hallway. Most of the doors were open to let in whatever breeze was blowing. Darkness in all the neighboring rooms. Except one.

“Onda’s still up,” he whispered, returning and closing the door. “We’ll have to be quiet.”

They moved about the room in silence, folding up their futons and stowing them against the wall, together with the equipment Kan hoped would be sent back to the Riken.

He had already burned the farewell letter he had written to Noriko, along with his will.

Yagi had similarly disposed of the letter to his sister.

Kan had seen him crumple it up in disgust.

They went to the open window. Faint light was filtering through it, a half-moon drifting in and out behind low scudding clouds.

Fortunately their room was on the ground floor.

They would be able to climb out this way rather than having to traverse the hall, doors open on both sides, floorboards creaking.

Kan touched Yagi on the shoulder. “Are you sure you did it correctly?” he whispered.

Yagi gave him an angry look. He had already explained where he had spliced the thermometer into the Daikon’s detonating wire and how he had reversed the switch. But Kan couldn’t be reassured.

Yagi slipped out the window first, then helped Kan follow, a clumsy, awkward wriggle, too much noise.

They put on their shoes and stood with their backs to the wall, screened by a line of young maples, looking around, listening.

The airfield was in total darkness. The only sound was wind rustling the leaves.

The crunch of boots on gravel. Yagi’s hand on Kan’s chest, holding him still. They froze as a soldier walked past, a rifle slung over his shoulder—one of the guards that patrolled the airfield at night.

The guard was heading away from the runway. They waited for him to disappear around the corner, then moved off in the opposite direction, Yagi starting out low and gliding smoothly, Kan struggling to keep up at a shambling trot that soon slowed to a walk.

They continued on to the far side of the runway, skirting the south end, Yagi taking Kan by the arm to urge him along.

By the time they reached the firing range and the grassy berms rising up in the dark, the scientist was gasping for breath.

Yagi roughly dragged him a little farther into the range until the berms were screening them from the airfield.

Finally he let Kan drop onto the grass, his chest heaving.

He looked around for a moment, scanning for trouble, then sank down beside him.

Slowly, Kan’s breathing recovered. He sat up. He became aware that his right hand, throbbing with pain, was wet. Yagi’s rough handling had broken more skin.

“I’m sorry to be an annoyance,” he whispered. “But when you spliced the thermometer into the—”

Yagi silenced him with a glancing cuff to the head.

Click.

The beam of a flashlight stabbed through the darkness.

Yagi lay down on the grass, pulling Kan with him. The light passed over them, searching the berms.

The sound of a rifle being unshouldered, a round being chambered.

Footsteps approaching.

“Is somebody there?”

It was another guard—a young one judging from the voice. Kan pressed his head into the grass, not daring to breathe.

The footsteps drew nearer. The flashlight beam danced and flitted in Kan’s peripheral vision. The guard seemed to be focused on the area beyond, unaware that Kan and Yagi were now almost under his feet.

“Is somebody there? Show yourself!”

The footsteps continued on past them. Then the light was gone, the guard turning off through a gap to search the other side of the berm.

Yagi’s iron grip on Kan’s arm yanked him to his feet.

Air raid sirens started to wail behind them as they hurried away.

Kan thought at first that it was an alarm being raised because they had escaped. But then came the drone of engines, approaching from the south, followed by B-29s passing overhead—dozens of them, silhouettes in the clearing night sky, backed by the moon.

They continued on through the dark, Yagi leading the way.

Tama Airfield was soon behind them and they were skirting the outer perimeter of the neighboring Tachikawa arsenal complex, Yagi scanning for sentries as they went.

He had slowed his pace, but Kan was still gasping and struggling to keep up.

It was clear that to make it to Tokyo they would need transportation.

Turning south, they came to the Chuo line and followed it east to what a weathered signboard announced was Kunitachi Station, little more than a platform set among fields.

The tracks from here ran straight to Shinjuku Station, with the Riken and Noriko not many kilometers beyond that.

But there were no trains. Enemy bombing had destroyed the tracks in too many places for even irregular service to be maintained.

At least the way to Tokyo was clear. Kan and Yagi continued along the tracks of the derelict line, walking under the dead electrical wiring.

A settlement up ahead, a huddle of houses and abandoned factory buildings, no dogs left to bark.

The breeze had died down. The only sound came from crickets and bullfrogs and the scuffing of Kan’s feet.

He was beginning to stumble. He wouldn’t be able to continue much farther.

It was a truck that saved them. It chugged up behind them on a parallel road, headlights doused, sparks shooting from the charcoal firebox attached to the engine.

Kan was unable to do anything but turn and stare.

It was Yagi who scrambled across the ditch and onto the road and held up his hand to bring the vehicle to a stop.

He conversed with the driver and produced a few coins from his pocket. Then he beckoned to Kan.

There was no room for them in the cab, already crowded with the driver and his family.

Yagi helped Kan climb up into the back, scraping more skin off his hand.

As the truck ground into gear and set off at a speed not exceeding twenty kilometers per hour, Kan lay back on a bed of cabbages and looked up at the stars showing through the scattering of clouds, overcome by a weariness that seemed to penetrate to his bones.

Yagi, stretched out beside him, took advantage of the respite in tension and was soon softly snoring.

As uncomfortable as the cabbages were under his back, Kan drifted off as well, a jumble of images cascading through his mind as he sank deeper.

Tama Airfield. The Renzan. His neglected vegetable plot at the Riken.

The Daikon. An atomic detonation consuming San Francisco.

He couldn’t see Noriko’s face…

He was jarred back to the present by the truck braking to a halt. He sat up, his heart thumping, fearing that they had come to a checkpoint, a guard post.

Yagi was already alert. He was crouched behind the cab, peering forward.

Yagi’s shoulders relaxed. It was only the driver, getting down to feed more charcoal into the firebox to keep the engine going. Yagi lay back down and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Kan looked around. No more fields now. Houses on both sides, barely discernible shadows. They were getting into the city.

The driver climbed back into the cab. The truck started again.

Off to the left, to the north, the horizon glowed orange.