Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

“No point in following these?”

“No harm in it, provided they go in our direction.”

“Roger.” Bruce went back to towing. He called hopefully over the radio every

few minutes and then listened. The tracks cheered him even though he knew how slim

the chance was that they meant anything. The tracks swung out from the hills

presently or, rather, the hills swung in, forming a bay. He took the shorter route

as his predecessor had.

He should have seen what was coming. He knew that he should keep his eyes

ahead, but the need to watch his instruments, the fact that he was leaning into

harness, and the circumstance that he was following tracks combined to keep his head

down. He had just glanced back at Sam when he felt his skis slipping out from under

him.

Automatically he bent his knees and threw his skis into a “snowplow.” He

might have been able to stop had not the toboggan been scooting along behind. It

plowed into him; boy, skis, and toboggan went down, tangled like jackstraws.

He struggled for footing, felt the sand slip under him. He had time to see

that he had been caught-in daylight!-by that lunar equivalent of quicksand, a

morning glory. Then the sifting dust closed over his helmet.

He felt himself slip, slide, fall, slide again, and come softly to rest.

Bruce tried to get his bearings. Part of his mind was busy with horror,

shock, and bitter self blame for having failed Sam; another part seemed able to

drive

ahead with the business at hand. He did not seem hurt-and he was still breathing.

Heisupposed that he was buried in a morning glory; he suspected that any movement

would bury him deeper.

Nevertheless he had to locate Sam. He felt his way up to his neck, pushing

the soft flakes aside. The toboggan hitch was still on him. He got both hands on it

and heaved. It was frustrating work, like swimming in mud. Gradually he dragged the

sled to him-or himself to the sled. Presently he felt his way down the load and

located Sam’s helmet. “Sam! Can you hear me?”

The reply was muffled. “Yeah, Bruce!”

“Are you okay?”

“Okay? Don’t be silly! We’re in a morning glory!”

“Yes, I know. Sam, I’m terribly sorry!”

“Well, don’t cry about it. It can’t be helped.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Stow it, can’t you!” Sam’s voice concealed panic with anger. “It doesn’t

matter. We’re goners-don’t you realize that?”

“Huh? No, we’re not! Sam, I’ll get you out-I swear I will.”

Sam waited before replying. “Don’t kid yourself, Bruce. Nobody ever gets out

of a morning glory.”

“Don’t talk like that. We aren’t dead yet.”

“No, but we’re going to be. I’m trying to get used to the idea.” He paused.

“Do me a favor, Bruce-get me loose from these confounded skis. I don’t want to die

tied down.”

“Right away!” In total darkness, his hands in gloves, with only memory to

guide him, and with the soft, flaky dust everywhere, unlashing the load was nearly

impossible. He shifted position, then suddenly noticed something-his left arm was

free of the dust.

He shifted and got his helmet free as well. The darkness persisted; he

fumbled at his belt, managed to locate his flashlight.

He was lying partly out and mostly in a sloping mass of soft stuff. Close

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overhead was a rocky roof; many

feet below the pile spilled over a floor of rock. Sideways the darkness swallowed up

the beam.

He still clutched the toboggan; he hauled at it, trying to drag Sam out.

Failing, he burrowed back in. “Hey, Sam! We’re in a cave!”

“Huh?”

“Hang on. I’ll get you out.” Bruce cautiously thrashed around in an attempt

to get his entire body outside the dust. It kept caving down on him. Worse, his skis

anchored his feet. He kicked one loose, snaked his arm in, and dragged it out. It

slid to the base of the pile. He repeated the process, then rolled and scrambled to

the floor, still clinging to the hitch.

He set the light on the rock floor, and put the skis aside, then heaved

mightily. Sam, toboggan, and load came sliding down, starting a small avalanche.