I had my second medical checkup since the toxic event. No startling numbers on the printout. This death was still toodeep to be glimpsed. My doctor, Sundar Chakravarty, asked me about the sudden flurry of checkups. In the past I'dalways been afraid to know.

　　1 told him I was still afraid. He smiled broadly, waiting for the punch line. I shook his hand and headed out the door.

　　On the way home I drove down Elm intending to make a quick stop at the supermarket. The street was full ofemergency vehicles. Farther down I saw bodies scattered about. A man with an armband blew a. whistle at me andstepped in front of my car. I glimpsed other men in Mylex suits. Stretcher-bearers ran across the street. When theman with the whistle drew closer, I was able to make out the letters on his armband: SIMUVAC.

　　"Back it out," he said. "Street's closed.""Are you people sure you're ready for a simulation? You may want to wait for one more massive spill. Get yourtiming down.""Move it out, get it out. You're in the exposure swath.""What's that mean?""It means you're dead," he told me.

　　I backed out of the street and parked the car. Then I walked slowly back down Elm, trying to look as though Ibelonged. I kept close to storefronts, mingled with technicians and marshals, with uniformed personnel. There werebuses, police cars, ambulettes. People with electronic equipment appeared to be trying to detect radiation or toxicfallout. In time I approached the volunteer victims. There were twenty or so, prone, supine, draped over curbstones,sitting in the street with woozy looks.

　　I was startled to see my daughter among them. She lay in the middle of the street, on her back, one arm flung out, herhead tilted the other way. I could hardly bear to look. Is this how she thinks of herself at the age of nine—already avictim, trying to polish her skills? How natural she looked, how deeply imbued with the idea of a sweeping disaster.

　　Is this the future she envisions?

　　I walked over there and squatted down.

　　"Steffie? Is that you?"She opened her eyes.

　　"You're not supposed to be here unless you're a victim," she said.

　　"I just want to be sure you're okay.""I'll get in trouble if they see you.""It's cold. You'll get sick. Does Baba know you're here?""I signed up in school an hour ago.""They at least should hand out blankets," I said.

　　She closed her eyes. I spoke to her a while longer but she wouldn't answer. There was no trace of irritation ordismissal in her silence. Just conscientiousness. She had a history of being devout in her victimhood.

　　I went back to the sidewalk. A man's amplified voice boomed across the street from somewhere inside thesupermarket.

　　"I want to welcome all of you on behalf of Advanced Disaster Management, a private consulting firm that conceivesand operates simulated evacuations. We are interfacing with twenty-two state bodies in carrying out this advanceddisaster drill. The first, I trust, of many. The more we rehearse disaster, the safer we'll be from the real thing. Lifeseems to work that way, doesn't it? You take your umbrella to the office seventeen straight days, not a drop of rain.

　　The first day you leave it at home, record-breaking downpour. Never fails, does it? This is the mechanism we hope toemploy, among others. O-right, on to business. When the siren sounds three long blasts, thousands of hand-pickedevacuees will leave their homes and places of employment, get into their vehicles and head for well-equippedemergency shelters. Traffic directors will race to their computerized stations. Updated instructions will be issued onthe SIMUVAC broadcast system. Air-sampling people will deploy along the cloud exposure swath. Dairy samplerswill test milk and randomized foodstuffs over the next three days along the ingestion swath. We are not simulating aparticular spillage today. This is an all-purpose leak or spill. It could be radioactive steam, chemical cloudlets, a hazeof unknown origin. The important thing is movement. Get those people out of the swath. We learned a lot during thenight of the billowing cloud. But there is no substitute for a planned simulation. If reality intrudes in the form of a carcrash or a victim falling off a stretcher, it is important to remember that we are not here to mend broken bones or putout real fires. We are here to simulate. Interruptions can cost lives in a real emergency. If we learn to work aroundinterruptions now, we'll be able to work around them later when it counts. O-right. When the siren sounds twomelancholy wails, street captains will make house-to-house searches for those who may have been inadvertently leftbehind. Birds, goldfish, elderly people, handicapped people, invalids, shut-ins, whatever. Five minutes, victims. Allyou rescue personnel, remember this is not a blast simulation. Your victims are overcome but not traumatized. Saveyour tender loving care for the nuclear fireball in June. We're at four minutes and counting. Victims, go limp. Andremember you're not here to scream or thrash about. We like a low-profile victim. This isn't New York or L.A. Softmoans will suffice."I decided I didn't want to watch. I went back to the car and headed home. The sirens emitted the first three blasts as Ipulled up in front of the house. Heinrich was sitting on the front steps, wearing a reflector vest and his camouflagecap. With him was an older boy. He had a powerful compact body of uncertain pigmentation. No one on our streetseemed to be evacuating. Heinrich consulted a clipboard.

　　"What's going on?""I'm a street captain," he said.

　　"Did you know Steffie was a victim?""She said she might be.""Why didn't you tell me?""So they pick her up and put her in an ambulance. What's the problem?""I don't know what the problem is.""If she wants to do it, she should do it.""She seems so well-adjusted to the role.""It could save her life someday," he said.

　　"How can pretending to be injured or dead save a person's life?""If she does it now, she might not have to do it later. The more you practice something, the less likely it is to actuallyhappen."'That's what the consultant said.""It's a gimmick but it works.""Who's this?""This is Orest Mercator. He's going to help me check for leftovers.""You're the one who wants to sit in a cage full of deadly snakes. Can you tell me why?""Because I'm going for the record," Orest said.

　　"Why would you want to get killed going for a record?""What killed? Who said anything about killed?""You'll be surrounded by rare and deadly reptiles.""They're the best at what they do. I want to be the best at what I do.""What do you do?""I sit in a cage for sixty-seven days. That's what it takes to break the record.""Do you understand that you are risking death for a couple of lines in a paperback book?"He looked searchingly at Heinrich, obviously holding the boy responsible for this idiotic line of questioning.

　　"They will bite you," I went on.

　　"They won't bite me.""How do you know?""Because I know.""These are real snakes, Orest. One bite, that's it.""One bite if they bit............