Soon I came to little bits of gravelly stuff, and then little bits of rock, and then bigger pieces of rock, and then I was climbing over boulders, and it was all still in the field. I hadn't even reached the mountain or started to climb upwards. Every once in a while I would look back over my shoulder to Zachary's pile of rocks looming up black against the night sky, to keep my bearings.
I'd been at least half an hour and had gone what seemed a long way before I realized that I wasn't going to be able to get up the mountain. In the starlight I could dimly make out a sheer wall of stone in front of me. Uprooted trees seemed to stick out of it here and there, but there weren't enough of them, and they weren't low enough, to be of any help in climbing up. I stood and called and called and called.
“Mother! Daddy! John! Suzy! Rob! Oh, everybody, help, please help! Mother! Daddy!”
I called and called and no one answered. I realized that one of us would have to be up on top of the mountain for the other to hear, that what was left of the mountain was between us and would cut off the sounds of voices, but I kept on calling till I was hoarse.
At last there wasn't anything to do but turn around and head slowly back across the rocks to the field. The field had become drenched in dew in the time I'd spent climbing over rocks. A couple of times I fell in the darkness, but all I did was scratch and bump myself a little. I wanted very much to cry, and at the same time I was too frightened and unhappy to cry. This was beyond
tears. It was something that couldn't possibly happen to the Vicky Austin who'd grown up in Thornhill, Connecticut, and who was now on a nice, leisurely camping trip with her family.
But it had happened.
I wondered if it would be on the newscasts, and if Uncle Douglas would hear about it in Laguna, and if he'd wonder if we were anywhere near where the earthquake was. I wanted Uncle Douglas.
I got back within communicating distance of Zachary and called, “I'm back.”
“Did you find them?”
I leaned against one of the rocks. “No, Zach. The earthquake kind of messed up the mountainside. I couldn't climb back up.”
“I wish I could have a shot at it,” Zachary said.
“For heaven's sake,” I cried irritably. “A whole hunk of mountain fell off into the field. There's a wall of stone I couldn't climb up even in daylight unless I were a fly.”
“Vicky, I'm sorry,” Zachary said. “I keep getting you into messes.”
I still leaned against the rock as though I couldn't possibly stand up by myself. I'm not sure I could. “Stop blaming yourself. What good does it do?”
“None. I just thought you might like to know that I'm sorry. I don't apologize easily.”
“So what're we going to do?” I asked.
“Wait until morning. Then maybe someone will come to look for us. Or maybe when you can see better you'll see a way up.”
Night had completely fallen now, and the sky was crusted with stars. There were as many stars as there are at home on a
cold, frosty winter night. Looking at the stars I realized that I was cold. I didn't have anything on but Bermudas and a shirt, and the night air cut against me like ice.
Zachary said, “Hey, Vicky, have you got on a sweater?”
“Nope.”
There was a sound of movement from inside the rocks, and a kind of sharp grunt, as though he'd hurt himself, and then I could see something being shoved out the small hole at the bottom of the rocks. “Here.”
“What's that?”
“My jacket. Put it on. I'm protected in here. I don't need it.”
“I don't either.”
“Put it
on
, I said.”
After a minute I reached for the jacket and slid into it. The leather felt cool, but the lining was comfortable with Zachary's body warmth. I buttoned it up tight. Then I sat down and leaned against one of the rocks. It was still faintly warm from the sun, but I knew it wouldn't stay warm all night, and I didn't trust rock any more. I leaned against it, but I couldn't relax. My back was tense, waiting to feel the rock shake underneath me. I thought I'd probably be safer lying out on the dew in what was left of the field in case another earthquake came. But I stayed where I was.
“Hey, Vicky,” Zachary called.
“What?”
“Ever read much science fiction?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Suppose it wasn't just an earthquake? Suppose we're the only people left on earth?”
“At this point your sense of humor doesn't amuse me.”
“I wasn't trying to be amusing. It's barely possible, you know.”
“We're in enough trouble with an earthquake without making up extra trouble. Butâ”
“But what?”
I clamped my jaw shut. “Nothing.”
“But that's a habit of mine. Making up trouble. That's what you mean, isn't it?”
I didn't answer and there was silence from the dark hole out of which Zachary's voice had come. I kept on leaning against the rock. Above me more and more stars came out, filling the sky. Inside the rocks Zachary shifted position.
“Hey, Vicky.”
“
What
?”
“This Andyâ”
“What about him?”
“Do you like him better than you do me?”
“I only
met
him day before yesterday.” Day before yesterday? It must have been longer ago than that. It was longer than years ago. It was outside time ago. The earthquake had split time in two as well as the mountain.
“Do you like him?”
“Yes. I like him.”
“Much?”
“I told you I only met him.”
“I don't want you to see him again.”
“What's it to you? We're not going steady or anything.”
“I just don't want you to see him again.”
“Doesn't seem likely at the moment, does it? I'm tired, Zach. I don't want to talk any more. I want to sleep.”
When Zachary didn't say anything else the hole in the rock seemed to get darker and smaller. I didn't like it. But I didn't want Zachary talking Andy at me. Or science fiction.
“Sleepy?” he asked after a while.
“Nope.”
He began whistling. That stinking song. But this wasn't anything our fellow man had done to us. This was plain old nature. Unless he was right with that science fiction stuff about our being the only people left alive. No. That was nuts. There hadn't been a violent light or a mushroom cloud.
That
idea was Zachary making up trouble, like thinking he was dying of the Black Plague before he ever
got
it. He kept on whistling.
“Shut up,” I said.
“What d'you want me to do? Sing a hymn? Recite a prayer?”
I didn't answer.
Silence.
Every once in a while Zachary would stir, as though he couldn't get into a comfortable position. I couldn't tell just how much room he had in his cave.
Then, over the mutilated remains of the mountain I saw a glimmer of light, and my heart leaped within me. It was a search party! It was Mother and Daddy and John, or even the Greek professors, it didn't matter, we were found!
But it was the moon.
It came up, a great, almost round golden ball, suddenly seeming to shoot up over the broken crest of the mountain into the sky. All the shadows became stronger and darker, and yet I could see everything more clearly. I looked at my watch, and the moon's light was so bright I could read it. Not eleven o'clock.
A terribly, terribly long time till morning. I sat there with my back against the cooling rock, listening, listening.
Inside the cave small, uncomfortable shiftings from Zachary. Outside all the usual sounds, the insects chirping happily as though nothing had happened, as though the earth hadn't had a terrifying convulsion, as though the mountain hadn't fallen.
Zachary's voice came softly, “Vicky?”
“What?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Yes.”
For a while he took the hint. Then he said, “What're you doing? Saying prayers or something?”
“No.”
“Why don't you, then?”
I didn't say anything.
“Why don't you ask your God to get us out of this? The way he got Anne Frank out of all
her
troubles?”
“Anne Frank doesn't have anything to do with it.”
“Why not?”
“That was
people
. This was an
earth
quake.”
“So what's the difference in the long run? I told you life wasn't going to go on being all easy and cozy for you.”
“I never said it was.”
“But you thought God would get you out of any hole you got in, just like your mother and father, didn't you? So why doesn't he get you out of this?”
“I haven't asked Him.”
“Go ahead and
ask
Him, then. And see what happens. Go
ahead like that family in Anne Frank, always saying psalms. I
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
or whatever it is.”
“Shut up,” I said.
There was no longer any help from the hills. There hadn't been ever since I met Zachary. Now the hill had fallen. And even if our help came from the Lord, not from the hills, what about the town of Frank? What about all those people sleeping there innocently and unaware and suddenly the mountain fell on them? What
about
the town of Frank? What
about
Anne Frank?
“Whyn't you go ahead and say a psalm or something?” Zachary sounded very nasty. “It'll make you feel better.”
I stood up. I sounded just as nasty as Zachary. “So you want me to say a psalm, I'll say one.” I turned my back on the pile of rocks and cried at what was left of the mountain.
“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills
From whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord
Which made heaven and earth.
I stopped. “Very pretty,” Zachary growled. “Go on.”
“He will not suffer thy foot to be moved,
I went on,
“He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel
Shall neither slumber nor sleep.
I stopped again. Why didn't He wake up, if He was? Why did Anne Frank die in a concentration camp after her mother had said those words, after her mother had cried out those words? Why did the people of Frank die when the mountain without any warning, fell? Why were Zachary and I here? Where was God? Didn't God have any warning? Couldn't He have stopped it?
“Go on,” Zachary said.
“The Lord is thy keeper,”
I cried,
“The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day,
Nor the moon by night.”
But the moon was smiting us. Its light, cold and impersonal, was splashing me, so that I shivered, and the Lord was doing nothing about it.
Uncle Douglas! You believe in God! Where is He?
I raised my head to the sky and the icy moon and the distant impersonal stars, and I called out,
“The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil;
He shall preserve thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in
From this time forth, and even forevermore.”
Then I began to cry. I cried loudly, because I hated Zachary, and I hated God. I cried and I cried and Zachary didn't say a word.
Finally I stopped crying. Zachary was still silent. The moonlight was still smiting us. The insects were still singing merrily. I reached in the pocket of Zachary's leather jacket but there wasn't anything to blow my nose on.
My anger was all gone. I got down on my hands and knees in front of the dark hole that was the entrance to Zachary's cave, but I couldn't see anything inside except further darkness.
“Vicky?” Zachary's voice came very soft, very gentle.
I made a small sort of noise in response so he'd know I'd heard. After all my shouting it was all I could get out.
“Vicky. I want to live.”
When the earthquake came the ground beneath me had seemed to tremble and heave. Now everything was very still.