by Will Hubbell
SARA DRANK CHAMPAGNE, trying to wash away her ever-growing despondency. She could not remember whether this was her second or third bottle, but it wasn't enough. The nagging, insistent voice within her would not be silenced, no matter how drunk she got. John's not coming back, it said. You're not as desirable as you thought. Even her favorite dress—John's favorite, too— did not give her the assurance she craved. That assurance had dwindled with each anxious moment, until little was left. She felt emotionally drained and helpless. Beauty had been her greatest power and, put to the test, it had failed her.
Pandit sat by attentively, but had long ago ceased to tell her "everything would be fine." She could see now he had never been sincere about that. Yet, as she realized his words were false, she perceived his deeper sincerity. He had not abandoned her. In his gaze she saw the de-votion she had always hoped to see in John's. To him, she was desirable. It was a comfort.
James raced to the table, then, in a voice that seemed unnaturally calm, said, "I suggest we retire to the shelter of the guest quarters. A storm is approaching."
Sara and Pandit walked from beneath the pavilion to gaze at the sky. To the south, it glowed ominously in swirling incandescent colors. The colors advanced to-ward them as they watched. Without further urging, they hurried to Green's former quarters. There, they discov-ered that the hole Joe had kicked through the plaster was sealed by a featureless silvery panel.
"A door!" said James. "Maybe there's refuge after all." He approached and looked for a means to gain entrance.
"Perhaps," said Pandit, "it will respond to your com-mands."
"Open," said James. The doorway remained sealed. "Let us in! Bloody Hell, open up!" James tried other commands with rising urgency and eventually resorted to pounding the metal door with his fists, but it did not budge. "It was a false hope," he said at last.
The fiery clouds were nearly overhead, and the land-scape outside assumed the color of blood. Sara ran into the bathroom and cowered in the corner, as far from the light as she could be.
"I can't stand it," she sobbed.
Pandit followed after her. He uttered the only true words of comfort he could. "I am here, Sara." As he spoke them, he realized it was the first time he had ever called her by that name. Even as Pandit spoke, a horrendous crash resounded through the chamber like millions of exploding bombs. It was more than a sound—it was a physical presence. Even within the stone shelter, it hit them like a fist and smashed them against the wall. The noise became a pain that vibrated their very bones for agonizing seconds be-fore it died away. Then there was silence, except for the ringing in their ears. Pandit ventured from the bathroom to find James sprawled insensate against the wall. "Sara, come quickly," he called, "James is hurt."
Sara ran out and gasped at the sight of James's crum-pled body. "Is he dead?" she asked. Pandit saw James's chest move. "He is breathing," he stated. "We should move him off the floor. Sara and Pandit carefully lifted James to the bed and stretched him out. Sara went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth to place on James's brow. When she did, she saw it was starting to swell. She got a second washcloth and gently washed the blood from his upper lip and the corners of his mouth. Caring for another calmed her own terror and distracted her from the nightmarish scene out-side the colonnade. The force of the concussion had stripped the trees of their leaves. The few that still stood were silhouetted against a sea and sky that appeared merged into a restless inferno. Meteors slashed downward. Usually they burned out in a burst of brilliant light, but occasionally they crashed into the sea, sending up huge plumes of spray. In the unnatural light, the plumes looked like spurting wounds. It became searingly hot.
"Pandit," said Sara, "what will we do?"
"We will live," he replied, "for as long as we can."
CON, RICK, AND Joe watched the sky from inside the plane. The concussion had passed through the valley, briefly lifting the plane as it went. The aircraft now rested ten yards closer to the river, but still upright. The foot-hills that had partially sheltered them from the full force of the concussion also screened the sky to the south. An eerie glow presaged a change. Then, like burning oil spreading over the surface of a pond, fire spilled over the heavens. It rapidly advanced until it reached to both ho-rizons. The sky painted the landscape with nightmare col-ors. Con was reminded of Hieronymus Bosch's ghastly paintings of Hell. Only the demons are missing, she thought. The Damned, she feared, might prove to be themselves.
"What happened?" asked Joe at last.
"Vaporized meteor and rock are falling back into the atmosphere and igniting," said Rick.
"I see shooting stars," said Con, with a combination of fascination and terror.
"I feel like I'm in an oven set on broil," said Joe.
The heat became oppressive. Con sat limp in her seat, her face flushed and her clothes wet with perspiration. "Maybe we should go to the river," she said.
"Not yet," said Rick.
As if to affirm Rick's reply, a grinding, rumbling sound filled the air. The mountains to the south moved as the Earth rippled. The rapid advance of the disturbance was plainly marked by the destruction caused by its passing. Whole mountainsides gave way to crash into the valleys below. The noise grew louder and louder, until suddenly the foothill to the south rose up. It no longer behaved like earth and stone, but moved like a swell on the ocean. Seconds later, the ground beneath the plane rose also in the first and greatest of a series of undulations. The for-merly solid ground assumed a liquid nature, and the plane bobbed upon it like a cork.
Con heard herself screaming as a childhood nightmare came true and the Earth attempted to swallow her. The violent movement of the plane and the churning dirt and vegetation outside made it impossible to know if they were, indeed, being buried alive. Con fell to the sloping floor of the plane, then slid down upon the jumbled sup-plies in the rear. Rick tumbled beside her. She grasped him so tightly it would leave marks, pressed her face into his chest, and squeezed her eyes shut. She clung to him while the plane bucked and rolled. Eventually, the move-ment diminished. The Earth grew calm. Con opened her eyes.
The sky was still visible through the transparent part of the plane. Joe clung to his seat, a shocked expression frozen on his face.
"Is everyone all right?" asked Rick.
"I think so," said Joe.
"Just shaken up," said Con.
"How about the plane?" asked Rick.
Joe scrutinized the control panel. He noted, for the first time, that the flashing red symbols had disappeared. All the indicator lights were still lit, however. They told him that the aircraft's systems still functioned. "She looks okay from the inside," he said. "I'd better take a look outside." Joe pressed a button, and an opening appeared in the rear of the plane. Scorching, dry, dusty air poured in. All three of them clambered out into the inferno to see what the earthquake had done. Their first concern was the plane. It sloped, frozen in the process of sinking into the Earth tail first. The two rear legs of the landing tripod were half-buried and only the two tips of the aircraft's V-shaped tail protruded from the ground. Joe started dig-ging around the tail with his hands. He discovered that the ground, which had been so recently fluid, was solid again. In fact, it was hard.
"We're going to need tools to dig this out," said Joe. He disappeared into the plane and began rummaging about the supplies. While Joe searched the plane, Rick and Con surveyed the landscape about them. Rick had studied the effects of earthquakes, but no one had ever experienced one of this magnitude. There were numerous places where the Earth had behaved like a liquid and flowed. Some hillsides looked like brown glaciers. The river's course had changed. It flowed forty yards from the plane now. It was wider and brown with mud. The trees along its former bank slanted at crazy angles or had toppled over. One tree trunk appeared to have dropped straight into the ground.
Joe emerged from the plane carrying a large serving spoon and two soup spoons. With an apologetic smile he said, "These were all I could find."
SARA TENDED THE unconscious James by sponging his face and arms to cool him in the stifling heat. She had no idea if it did any good, but she liked to think it did. Meanwhile, Pandit kept a wary eye on the sea outside. A
series of waves racing over its surface, warned him of the approaching earthquake. "Sara," he cried, "we must carry Mr. Neville to safety."
"Isn't it safe here?"
"Look at the sea."
Sara looked through the colonnade and saw the im-mense swells traveling toward the island like a range of watery hills. Pandit was already at her side, raising James from the bed. "We can take him to the bathroom."
They had just managed to carry James inside the small room and huddle with him in the corner, when the entire island groaned. They heard the sound of cracking stone, and the whole room began to shake and rise. The lights went out and a pipe burst, spraying them with water. From outside the colonnade came the rumble of falling rock and a cloud of dust filled the room.
Sara and Pandit were just getting their bearings when they heard a different sound. This time it was a deep roar. Water crashed through the open bathroom doorway, slammed into the wall, then quickly filled the room. Pan-dit had but a moment to gasp in air and grab hold of Sara before they were completely submerged. As he prepared to die, he remembered his mother cooking lentils and Sara asking for fruit. The water began to flow out of the room, dragging Pandit and Sara with it. Sara held on to Pandit as tightly as he to her. The retreating wave dragged them as one across the outer room, slamming them into one of its stone columns. The blow knocked the breath out of Pan-dit, and he swallowed seawater. Then the water pulled them beyond the room onto a pile of boulders just out-side. Pandit's lungs screamed for air as his mind began to grow dark.
Suddenly, he was coughing and sputtering on top of jagged stones. Sara, up to her knees in the ebbing water, was tugging at him, trying to get him to his feet. "Pan-dit!" she cried urgently. "Another wave is coming!"
Somehow, Pandit found the strength to rise, and with Sara's help he stumbled across the sodden, sand-strewn room back to the meager shelter of the bathroom. The second wave hit with almost the force of the first, but the water rose only to Pandit's and Sara's chests. When it began to flow out, they dived beneath its surface and grabbed hold of the toilet fixture. This time, they were not sucked from the room. Five more times, the waters reached for them, each time with weakened force. Several more waves broke against the mound of stones left by the avalanche outside the colonnade. Finally, it was over. Sara and Pandit emerged from their shelter to discover the room filled with several feet of sand. A huge fish with wicked teeth flopped upon it. There was no trace of James. The grief Pandit felt for his friend and employer contrasted with his joy at saving Sara. She was covered with scrapes and welts, her hair was bedraggled, and her dress was a tattered rag, yet she never seemed so beautiful to him. Her eyes made all the difference. She gazed at him as if she saw him for the first time. Not as a servant or an adoring buffoon, but as a man. A man who had risked everything for her. Risked everything and won.
Pandit hugged Sara close to him. "Rick was wrong." he said. "The wave did not overcome us. We overcame it."
Sara returned his embrace, then searched for his mouth with her lips.
JOE GRABBED THE handle of the serving spoon with both hands and began digging into the earth to free the air-plane. Rick and Con took the soup spoons and immedi-ately joined in. No one had to say how important the plane was to them. Without it, they would be stranded on one of the most devastated parts of the planet. All their plans counted on them getting far away. That knowledge made them attack the earth with desperate intensity.
It was much harder work than they expected. The rocky soil had been compacted by the shaking and yielded grudgingly to their meager tools. They were emotionally and physically drained to begin with, so digging in the searing heat quickly pushed them to exhaustion. Joe be-came woozy. The spoon dropped from his nerveless hand, and he wavered a bit before slumping over. Con grabbed a water bottle and splashed his face.
"Wha . . . what?" said Joe in a slow, slurred voice.
"Heat exhaustion," said Rick to Con. "Let's get him inside the plane." They helped Joe into the plane; then Rick made his way up the inclined floor to the control panel. Thanks to the tape labels, he was able to close the opening and turn on the environmental controls that cooled the cabin. Meanwhile, Con gave Joe water and wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. He slowly recovered.
"I'm really sorry, guys," said Joe weakly.
"We were stupid to work in that heat," said Rick. "It could have been any one of us. We've got to be more careful."
"But the plane," protested Joe.
"We can work when it's cooler," said Rick. "This heat won't last."
"Speaking of being careful," said Joe, "we should turn off the environmental controls. Our power supply isn't going to recharge anytime soon."
"I don't know," said Rick. "Maybe we should leave them on a bit longer."
"Well, I know," replied Joe. "We'll need that power. Look, I'm okay now." On unsteady feet, he made his way to the control panel and turned off the air-conditioning. Then he returned to the rear of the plane.
"What do we do now?"
"Rest," said Rick.
"We could eat," said Con, trying not to sound too ea-ger.
Joe cracked a genuine smile. "Leave it to Con to think of food."
"It's a good idea," said Rick. He searched though the pile of supplies and found three leftover breakfast rolls and handed them out.
"Best rolls in the world," said Joe, trying to sound lighthearted.
"Only rolls in the world," said Rick.
Con looked at the cinnamon roll in her hand and sa-vored its aroma. She felt so hungry that it hurt, but she forced herself to eat slowly. The roll only whetted her appetite. When she was done, she noticed Joe was watch-ing her.
"I'm not very hungry," he lied. "Would you like to finish mine?"
"I couldn't," said Con.
"Sure you could," said Joe, forcing his half-eaten roll into Con's hand. "It shouldn't go to waste."
"You should save it for later," she protested.
"And have it go stale?" said Joe. "What would Pandit say?" Con gave in to Joe's coaxing and her hunger. She bit into the roll as tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed with difficulty. "Thanks, Joe."
PANDIT AND SARA searched for James. Roaming the is-land, they discovered that the earthquake and the waves had transformed it. The grove of trees was completely erased, replaced by an expanse of wet sand littered with dead and dying sea creatures. A battered mosasaur lay on the rock pile in front of the stone living quarters. It was huge and frightening even in death. The dining pavilion was gone without a trace, as was the staff compound. The shoreline had changed also. In some places, the beaches had disappeared; in others, they were larger. The pro-tected beach had lost some of its sand and extended far-ther inland. Pandit wondered if the device that protected it still functioned. They found no sign of James. He had utterly vanished.
The mounds of sand and fallen rock altered the look of everything, so Pandit could not be sure if the structure of the island was different. Still, he thought it might be so. The stone rooms seemed more elevated than they were before. Strangely, they were the one feature of the island that had changed the least. Whether by pure luck or amazing engineering, they had survived virtually in-tact. In fact, they appeared to have repaired themselves.
When he and Sara returned to Green's former quarters, the burst pipe no longer sprayed water, and the plumbing and lights functioned as before.
That was their sole piece of good fortune, aside from their survival. All the supplies and the contents of all the rooms were gone. In their entire search, all they had found was a shattered dresser and a single shoe that had belonged to Con. The sea had washed away much of the plaster in the storerooms, revealing that all three quarters had doorways that led deeper into the cliff. Featureless silvery panels
solidly sealed all the doorways. Whatever lay behind them was beyond their reach.
Throughout the search for James, Sara's apprehension grew as it became apparent their situation was desperate. There were few material resources to fall back on. She had gone from being the future wife of a billionaire to a woman whose sole possession was a tattered dress. It was a fall from fortune almost too drastic to comprehend. She struggled to get a grasp of her new reality.
The center of that reality was Pandit. When she had kissed him, it had been purely impulse. That morning, he had been a nobody. His attraction to her had been amus-ing and pathetic. He was plump, and his unfashionable face was not particularly handsome, even by natural stan-dards. She had thought that his intense dark eyes—and his cooking—were his only good features.
Now, Pandit was the last man on the world. As they roamed the island, Sara considered her impulsive kiss. She still wondered about its consequences. Will I regret it? She imagined what it would be like if John, instead of Pandit, were stranded with her. Wealth and power had been John's essence. What would he be like without them? Pondering this question, Sara realized she would rather be with Pandit. John had shown his true nature when he abandoned her. Sara felt she could rely on Pan-dit. She knew she would have to. His formerly amusing and pathetic adoration was now her greatest and, perhaps her only, security. She would do-her utmost to ensure he never lost it.
PANDIT WAS NOT a practicing Hindu, much less a devout one. Still, he understood the capriciousness of the gods. They had destroyed the world and got him the woman he adored. He received their largess with gratitude but war-iness. He knew the appropriate response was to savor the moment. It came naturally to him, for his genius as a chef lay in his sensualism. He appreciated Sara's beauty in the same way he did the taste of a rich and exquisite sauce. He saw her perfection as something good in itself. She reminded him of the goddesses carved on the temples, holy in her carnality. The fiery sky had extinguished. In its place were thick black clouds that glowed dimly in a dark shade of sullen red. Lightning and the burning forests on the mainland provided the brightest light. Although it was just past noon, the world was wrapped in dusk. When the glow left the clouds, it would be night. In the still, heavy heat, Sara and Pandit were drawn to the coolness of the sea. The water was so calm that the violence it had wreaked earlier seemed almost impossi-ble. Sara shed her tattered dress and waded out into the sea. There, she splashed water on her hot skin. Pandit watched her, knowing that she was doing this, in part, for his benefit. Her gesture filled him with joy and desire and gratitude. He pushed aside all the concerns that weighed upon him and lived only in the present.
