Steel by Richard Matheson

as he put down the glass.
    â€œThis thing getting you, kid?” Bill asked.
    â€œIsn’t it getting you?”
    â€œOh…” Bill shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I just make noise to hide what it’s doing to me. I guess. I feel it for Jeannie more than anything else. She’s only five.”
    Outside they heard a car pull up in front of the house and Mary called to say that Fred and Grace were there. Bill pressed palms on his knees and pushed up.
    â€œDon’t let it get you,” he said with a grin. “You’re from New York. It won’t be any different from the subway.”
    Les made a sound of disgruntled amusement.
    â€œForty years in the subway,” he said.
    â€œIt’s not that bad,” Bill said, starting out of the room. “The scientists claim they’ll find some way to de-radiate the country and get things growing again.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œMaybe twenty years,” Bill said, and then he went out to welcome his guests.
    â€œBut how do we know what they really look like?” Grace said. “All the pictures they print are only artist’s conceptions of what the living quarters are like down there. They may be holes in the wall for all we know.”
    â€œDon’t be a knocker, kid, be a booster,” Bill told her.
    â€œUh!” Grace grunted. “I think you’re oblivious to the— terror of this horrible descent into the ground.”
    They were all in the living room full of steak and salad and biscuits and pie and coffee. Les sat on the cherry-colored couch, his arm round Ruth’s slender waist. Grace and Fred sat on the yellow studio couch, Mary and Bill in separate chairs. Jeannie was in bed. Warmth filtered from the fireplace where a low, steady log fire burned. Fred and Bill drank beer from cans and the rest drank wine.
    â€œNot oblivious, kid,” Bill said. “Just adjusting. We have to do it. We might as well make the best of it.”
    â€œEasily said, easily said,” Grace repeated. “But I for one certainly don’t look forward to living in those tunnels. I expect to be miserable. I don’t know how Fred feels, but those are my sentiments. I don’t think it really matters to Fred.”
    â€œFred is an adjuster,” Bill said. “Fred is not a knocker.”
    Fred smiled a little and said nothing. He was a small man sitting by his wife like a patient boy with his mother in the dentist’s office.
    â€œOh!” Grace again. “How can you be so blasé about it is beyond me. How can it be anything but bad? No theatres, no restaurants, no travelling—”
    â€œNo beauty parlors,” said Bill with a short laugh.
    â€œ Yes , no beauty parlors,” said Grace. “If you don’t think that’s important to a woman— well. ”
    â€œWe’ll have our loved ones,” Mary said. “I think that’s most important. And we’ll be alive.”
    Grace shrugged. “All right we’ll be alive, we’ll be together,” she said. “But I’m afraid I just can’t call that life—living in a cellar the rest of my life.”
    â€œDon’t go,” Bill said. “Show ’em how tough you are.”
    â€œ Very funny,” Grace said.
    â€œI bet some people will decide not to go down there,” Les said.
    â€œIf they’re crazy ,” said Grace. “Uh! What a hideous way to die.”
    â€œMaybe it’s better than going underground,” Bill said. “Who knows? Maybe a lot of people will spend a quiet day at home tomorrow.”
    â€œ Quiet? ” said Grace. “Don’t worry, Fred and I will be down in those tunnels bright and early tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m not worried,” said Bill.
    They were quiet for a moment, then Bill said, “The Reseda entrance all right with everybody? We might as well decide now.”
    Fred made a small palms-up gesture with his