I let out a deep breath: I don"t know how long I had been holding it. "Gee whiz!" was all I could think of to say.
"I agree in general with your sentiments, Bill," Dad answered. "Molly, hadn"t we better get Peggy inside? I"m afraid she is getting cold."
"Yes," agreed Molly. "I know I am, for one."
"I"m going down to the lake now," I said. The biggest tide of record was expected, of course. While the lake was too small to show much tide, I had made a mark the day before and I hoped to be able to measure it.
"Don"t get lost in the dark," Dad called out. I didn"t answer him. A silly remark doesn"t require an answer.
I had gotten past the road and maybe a quarter of a mile beyond when it hit.
It knocked me flat on my face, the heaviest shake I had ever felt in my life. I"ve felt heavy quakes in California; they weren"t a patch on this one. I lay face down for a long moment, digging into the rock with my finger nails and trying to get it to hold still. hold still.
The seasick roll kept up and kept up and kept up, and with it the noise-a deep ba.s.s rumble, deeper than thunder and more terrifying.
A rock rolled up against me and nipped my side. I got to my feet and managed to stay there. The ground was still swaying and the rumble kept on. I headed for the house, running-like dancing over shifting ice. I fell down twice and got up again.
The front end of the house was all caved in. The roof slanted down at a crazy angle. "George!" I yelled. "Molly! Where are you?"
George heard me and straightened up. He was on the other side of the house and now I saw him over the collapsed roof. He didn"t say anything. I rushed around to where he stood. "Are you all right?" I demanded.
"Help me get Molly out-" he gasped.
I found out later that George had gone inside with Molly and Peggy, had helped get Peg out of the stretcher and back into her room, and then had gone outside, leaving Molly to get breakfast. The quake had hit while he was returning from the barn. But we didn"t have time then to talk it over; we dug-moving slabs with our bare hands that had taken four Scouts, working together, to lay. George kept crying, "Molly! Molly! Where are you?"
She was lying on the floor beside the stone work bench that was penned in by the roof. We heaved it off her; George scrambled over the rubble and reached her. "Molly! Molly darling!"
She opened her eyes. "George!"
"Are you all right?"
"What happened?"
"Quake. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
She sat up, made a face as if something hurt her, and said, "I think I- George! Where s s Peggy? Peggy? Get Peggy!" Get Peggy!"
Peggy"s room was still upright; the reinforcements had held while the rest of the house had gone down around it. George insisted on moving Molly out into the open first, then we tackled the slabs that kept us from getting at the air lock to Peggy"s room.
The outer door of the air lock was burst out of its gaskets and stood open, the wrong way. It was black inside the lock; Jupiter light didn"t reach inside. I couldn"t see what I was doing but when I pushed on the inner door it wouldn"t give. "Can"t budge it," I told Dad. "Get a light."
"Probably still held by air pressure. Call out to Peggy to get in the stretcher and we"ll bleed it."
"I need a light," I repeated.
"I haven"t got a light."
"Didn"t you have one with you?" I had had one; we always carried torches, outdoors in dark phase, but I had dropped mine when the quake hit. I didn"t know where it was.
Dad thought about it, then climbed over the slabs. He was back in a moment. "I found it between here and the barn. I must have dropped it." He shined it on the inner door and we looked over the situation.
"It looks bad," Dad said softly. "Explosive decompression." There was a gap you could poke your fingers through between the top of the door and the frame; the door wasn"t pressure held, it was jammed.
Dad called out, "Peggy! Oh, Peggy, darling-can you hear me?"
No answer. "Take the light, Bill-and stand aside." He reared back and then hit the door hard with his shoulder. It gave a bit but didn"t open. He hit it again and it flew open, spilling him on his hands and knees. He scrambled up as I shined the light in past him.
Peggy lay half in and half out of bed, as if she had been trying to get up when she pa.s.sed out. Her head hung down and a trickle of blood was dripping from her mouth on to the floor.
Molly had come in right behind us; she and Dad got Peggy into the stretcher and Dad brought the pressure up. She was alive; she gasped and choked and sprayed blood over us while we were trying to help her. Then she cried. She seemed to quiet down and go to sleep -or maybe fainted again-after we got her into the bubble.
Molly was crying but not making any fuss about it. Dad straightened up, wiped his face and said, "Grab on, Bill. We"ve got to get her into town."
I said, "Yes," and picked up one end. With Molly holding the light and us carrying, we picked our way over the heap of rock that used to be our house and got out into the open. We put the stretcher down for a moment and I looked around.
I glanced up at Jupiter; the shadows were still on his face and Io and Europa had not yet reached the western edge. The whole thing had taken less than an hour. But that wasn"t what held my attention; the sky looked funny.
The stars were too bright and there were too many of them. "George," I said, "what"s happened to the sky?"
"No time now--" he started to say. Then he stopped and said very slowly, "Great Scott!"
"What?" asked Molly. "What"s the matter?"
"Back to the house, all of you! We"ve got to dig out all the clothes we can get at. And blanketsl"
"What? Why?"
"The heat trap! The heat trap is gone-the quake must have gotten the power house."
So we dug again, until we found what we had to have. It didn"t take long; we knew where things had to be. It was just a case of getting the rocks off. The blankets were for the stretcher; Dad wrapped them around like a coc.o.o.n and tied them in place. "Okay, Bill," he said. "Quick march, nowl"
It was then that I heard Mabel bawl. I stopped and looked at Dad. He stopped too, with an agony of indecision on his face. "Oh, d.a.m.n!" he said, the first time I had ever heard him really swear. "We can"t just leave her to freeze; she"s a member of the family. Come, Bill."
We put the stretcher down again and ran to the bam. It was a junk heap but we could tell by Mabel"s complaints where she was. We dragged the roof off her and she got to her feet. She didn"t seem to be hurt but I guess she had been knocked silly. She looked at us indignantly.
We had a time of it getting her over the slabs, with Dad pulling and me pushing. Dad handed the halter to Molly. "How about the chickens?" I asked, "And the rabbits?" Some of them had been crushed; the rest were loose around the place. I felt one-a rabbit -scurry between my feet "No time!" snapped Dad. "We can"t take them; all we could do for them would be to cut their throats. Come!"
We headed for the road.
Molly led the way, leading and dragging Mabel and carrying the light. We needed the light. The night, too bright and too clear a few minutes before, was now suddenly overcast. Shortly we couldn"t see Jupiter at all, and then you couldn"t count your fingers in front of your face.
The road was wet underfoot, not rain, but sudden dew; it was getting steadily colder.
Then it did rain, steadily and coldly. Presently it changed to wet snow. Molly dropped back. "George," she wanted to know, "have we come as far as the turn off to the Schultz"s?"
"That"s no good," he answered. "We"ve got to get the baby into the hospital."
That isn"t what I meant. Oughtn"t I to warn them?" to warn them?"
They"ll be all right. Their house is sound."
"But the cold?"
"Oh." He saw what she meant and so did I, when I thought about it. With the heat trap gone and the power house gone, every house in the colony was going to be like an ice box. What good is a power receiver on your roof with no power to receive? It was going to get colder and colder and colder ....
And then it would get colder again. And colder....
"Keep moving," Dad said suddenly. "We"ll figure it out when we get there."
But we didn"t figure it out, because we never found the turn off. The snow was driving into our faces by then and we must have walked on past it. It was a dry snow now, little sharp needles that burned when they hit.
Without saying anything about it, I had started counting paces when we left the walls of lava that marked the place where the new road led to our place and out to the new farms beyond. As near as I could make it we had come about five miles when Molly stopped. "What"s the matter?" yelled Dad.
"Dear," she said, "I can"t find the road. I think I"ve lost it."
I kicked the snow away underfoot. It was made ground, all right-soft. Dad took the torch and looked at his watch. "We must have come about six miles," he announced.
"Five," I corrected him. "Or five and a half at the outside," I told him I had been counting.
He considered it. "We"ve come just about to that stretch where the road is flush with the field," he said. "It can"t be more than a half mile or a mile to the cut through Kneiper"s Ridge. After that we can"t lose it. Bill, take the light and cast off to the right for a hundred paces, then back to the left. If that doesn"t do it, well go further. And for heaven"s sakes retrace your steps-it"s the only way you"ll find us in this storm."
I took the light and set out. To the right was no good, though I went a hundred and fifty paces instead of a hundred, I got back to them, and reported, and started out again. Dad just grunted; he was busy with something about the stretcher.
On the twenty-third step to the left I found the road -by stepping down about a foot, falling flat on my face, and nearly losing the light. I picked myself up and went back.
"Good!" said Dad. "Slip your neck through this."
"This" was a sort of yoke he had devised by retying the blankets around the stretcher so as to get some free line. With my neck through it I could carry the weight on my shoulders and just steady my end with my hands. Not that it was heavy, but our hands were getting stiff with cold. "Good enough!" I said, "But, look, George-let Molly take your end."
"Nonsense!"
"It isn"t nonsense. Molly can do it-can"t you, Molly? And you know this road better than we do; you"ve tramped it enough times in the dark."
"Bill is right, dear," Molly said at once. "Here-take Mabel."
Dad gave in, took the light and the halter. Mabel didn"t want to go any further; she wanted to sit down, I guess. Dad kicked her in the rear and jerked on her neck. Her feelings were hurt; she wasn"t used to that sort of treatment-particularly not from Dad. But there was no time to humor her; it was getting colder.
We went on. I don"t know how Dad kept to the road but he did. We had been at it another hour, I suppose, and had left Kneiper"s slot well behind, when Molly stumbled, then her knees just seemed to cave in and she knelt down in the snow.
I stopped and sat down, too; I needed the rest. I just wanted to stay there and let it snow.
Dad came back and put his arms around her and comforted her and told her to lead Mabel now; she couldn"t get lost on this stretch. She insisted that she could still carry. Dad ignored her, just lifted the yoke business off her shoulders. Then he came back and peeled a bit of blanket off the bubble and shined the torch inside. He put it back into place. Molly said, "How is she?"
Dad said, "She"s still breathing. She opened her eyes when the light hit them. Let"s go." He got the yoke on and Molly took the light and the halter.
Molly couldn"t have seen what I saw; the plastic of the bubble was frosted over on the inside. Dad hadn"t seen Peggy breathe; he hadn"t seen anything.
I thought about it for a long while and wondered how you would cla.s.sify that sort of a lie. Dad wasn"t a liar, that was certain-and yet it seemed to me that such a lie, right then, was better than the truth. It was complicated.
Pretty soon I forgot it; I was too busy putting one foot in front of the other and counting the steps. I couldn"t feel my feet any longer.
Dad stopped and I b.u.mped into the end of the stretcher. "Listen!" he said.
I listened and heard a dull rumble. "Quake?"
"No. Keep quiet." Then he added, "It"s down the road. Off the road, everybody! Off to the right."
The rumble got louder and presently I made out a light through the snow, back the way we had come. Dad saw it, too, and stepped out on the road and started waving our torch.
The rumble stopped almost on top of him; it was a rock crusher and it was loaded down with people, people clinging to it all over and even riding the spade. The driver yelled, "Climb on! And hurry!"
Then he saw the cow and added, "No live stock."
"We"ve got a stretcher with my little girl in it," Dad shouted back to him. "We need help."
There was a short commotion, while the driver ordered a couple of men down to help us. In the mix up Dad disappeared. One moment Molly was holding Mabel"s halter, then Dad was gone and so was the cow.
We got the stretcher up onto the spade and some of the men braced it with their backs. I was wondering what to do about Dad and thinking maybe I ought to jump off and look for him, when he appeared out of the darkness and scrambled up beside me. "Where"s Molly?" he asked.
"Up on top. But where is Mabel? What did you do with her?"
"Mabel is all right." He folded his knife and put it in his pocket. I didn"t ask any more questions.
17. Disaster
We pa.s.sed several more people after that, but the driver wouldn"t stop. We were fairly close into town and he insisted that they could make it on their own. His emergency power pack was running low, he said; he had come all the way from the bend in the lake, ten miles beyond our place.
Besides, I don"t know where he would have put them. We were about three deep and Dad had to keep warning people not to lean on the bubble of the stretcher.
Then the power pack did quit and the driver shouted, "Everybody off! Get on in on your own." But by now we were actually in town, the outskirts, and it would have been no trouble if it hadn"t been blowing a blizzard. The driver insisted on helping Dad with the stretcher. He was a good Joe and turned out to be-when I saw him in the light-the same man who had crushed our acreage.
At long, long last we were inside the hospital and Peggy was turned over to the hospital people and put in a pressurized room. More than that, she was alive. In bad shape, but alive.
Molly stayed with her. I would like to have stayed, too-it was fairly warm in the hospital; it had its own emergency power pack. But they wouldn"t let me.
Dad told Molly that he was reporting to the chief engineer for duty. I was told to go to the Immigration Receiving Station. I did so and it was just like the day we landed, only worse-and colder. I found myself right back in the very room which was the first I had ever been in on Ganymede.
The place was packed and getting more packed every minute as more refugees kept pouring in from the surrounding country. It was cold, though not so bitterly cold as outside. The lights were off, of course; light and heat all came from the power plant for everything. Hand lights had been set up here and there and you could sort of grope your way around. There were the usual complaints, too, though maybe not as bad as you hear from immigrants. I paid no attention to any of them; I was happy in a dead beat sort of way just to be inside and fairly warm and feel the blood start to go back into my feet.
We stayed there for thirty-seven hours. It was twenty-four hours before we got anything to eat.
Here was the way it went: the metal buildings, such as the Receiving Station, stood up. Very few of the stone buildings had, which we knew by then from the reports of all of us. The Power Station was out, and with it, the heat trap. They wouldn"t tell us anything about it except to say that it was being fixed.
In the mean time we were packed in tight as they could put us, keeping the place warm mainly by the heat from our bodies, sheep style. There were, they say, several power packs being used to heat the place, too, one being turned on every time the temperature in the room dropped below freezing. If so, I never got close to one and I don"t think it ever did get up up to freezing where I was. to freezing where I was.