Authors: Chad Oliver
His
luck
held,
and
he
stopped
going
up
the
mountain
and
struck
off
due
east
across
the
snow.
He
knew that
he
was
leaving
footprints,
but
that
couldn’t
be helped.
Or
could
it?
Ahead
of
him
he
saw
a
black crevice,
a
deep
pass
in
the
mountains.
Seeing
it
clearly before
him,
dark
beside
the
whiteness
of
the
snow, was
the
first
indication
that
he
had
that
the
moon
had risen.
He
looked
up.
There
it
was,
coldly
beautiful
as ever,
a
silver
crescent
hanging
from
the
frosty
stars….
A
wild
thought
raced
through
his
mind.
In
his
own time,
they
were
preparing
to
launch
a
rocket
for
the moon.
Could
it
be?
Did
that
future
time,
his
time, really
exist
somewhere?
Or
was
it
all
just
part
of
the nightmare?
Which
was
the
real
world,
now—or
then?
Mark
shook
his
head.
He
had
to
hurry.
From
far below
him,
he
heard
the
cold
chuckle
and
gurgle
of running
water.
He
smiled,
beyond
pain
now,
beyond anything
save
the
will
to
try.
He
was
stripped
down to
bare
essentials
now,
down
to
the
will
to
live.
What
was
the
phrase?
Survival
of
the
fittest.
Well, he
would
see.
Gingerly,
Mark
lowered
himself
over
the
brink
of the
chasm.
He
could
see
the
outlines
of
rocks
and ledges
in
the
side
of
the
pass,
and
he
would
just
have to
trust
to
fate
that
they
would
support
him.
Going on
raw
courage
alone,
Mark
fought
his
way
down
into the
mountain
valley.
It
was
hard
going,
impossible going,
and
far
below
him
he
saw
the
silver
shimmer of
the
stream,
like
a
cold
snake
writhing
forever
across the
frozen
earth.
He
made
it,
although
afterward
he
never
remembered
how.
He
came
back
momentarily
to
his
senses and
found
himself
standing
on
the
bank
of
the
rushing
stream,
with
the
dark
shadows
of
the
mountains all
around
him.
He
heard
nothing
but
the
rustle
of the
water,
but
he
took
no
chances.
It
would
be
folly to
stop
now,
with
victory
almost
in
his
grasp.
If
he
could
just
hold
out—
Which
way
to
go?
Mark
debated
a
moment,
and decided
that
his
pursuers
would
expect
him
to
go
upstream,
into
the
mountains,
away
from
the
plains
that had
almost
trapped
him.
So
Mark
went
downstream. He
stepped
into
the
icy
water
without
even
feeling it
and
fumbled
his
way
across
the
slippery
stream
bed. If
there
were
any
holes
ahead
of
him,
invisible
in the
moonlight,
it
would
be
too
bad.
But
as
long
as
he stayed
in
the
stream
they
could
not
follow
his
trail. Mark’s
exhausted
mind
gave
out,
but
his
body
kept
on.
While
the
moon
sailed
serenely
through
the
night sky
and
the
stars
marched
through
the
heavens,
Mark Nye
splashed
grimly
onward
through
the
icy
water of
the
mountain
stream.
He
struggled
on
for
what seemed
to
be
miles,
until
the
stream
ran
bubbling
out into
the
plains.
Mark
dragged
himself
out
of
the
water and
headed
east
again,
away
from
the
Neanderthal caverns
and
away
from
the
space-time
machine
that he
had
little
hope
of
ever
seeing
again.