James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

The young woman was gradually coming out of her own paralyzing fear. She hung on to Jak’s hand as she hobbled bravely along, trying to keep up with the hard pace set by Ryan, who had serious reservations about taking the geisha with them, after her short, sheltered, soft life. But it was Jak’s decision and he seemed happy enough.

As they moved through the blighted land, they felt two more quakes, each stronger and lasting longer than the one before. The second one made Ryan stop for several heartbeats, waiting for the shifting earth to become stable again.

“Building’s ahead,” J.B. panted.

Ryan saw it looming through the tendrils of foul tasting mist that clung to the valley around them.

“Made it,” he said.

Then the quake struck.

It was a vicious, stabbing, surging tremor.

The ground seemed to shift sideways by six or seven feet in a single violent movement, throwing all of them off-balance into the dirt.

Ryan went down hard, yelping with pain as the bolt of the Steyr rifle dug into the big latissimus dorsi muscle just below the shoulder blade.

The dark, overcast sky rolled all about him, and for a few seconds he completely lost his sense of direction. The air was filled with the instantly recognizable sullen roaring from below the earth, like some enraged primeval beast roused suddenly from millennia of hibernation.

Someone was screaming.

Issie?

It had to be her. The voice was too high and shredded for either Krysty or Mildred.

The quake lasted less than a dozen heartbeats, stopping just as quickly as it had started, leaving the head ringing, ears hurting from the noise. The ground was still again, and Ryan was swiftly up on his feet, rubbing the bruise on his back, calling to the others.

“All right? Anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine, lover.”

“All right, bro. Sudden and sharp, that.”

“Jarred my wrist,” Mildred said, “but I’ll live.”

“By the Three Kennedys! The planet has been taking a most ferocious laxative. I fear that it has given me a minor nosebleed.”

Jak didn’t answer immediately. Ryan saw the flash of white hair in the blackness, stooping over the screaming figure of Issie, trying to calm her.

“She hurt, Jak?”

“Scared. Be fine.”

“Sooner we jump the better. Let’s get in and then place the grens. Destroy the gateway for good and all.”

“Main entrance is open,” the Armorer said.

The quake had jerked one of the heavy iron gates off its hinges, leaving it crumpled on the ground, the driveway to the house open and unguarded.

The path to the front porch, with its overgrown yews, was furrowed by the tremor, some of the cracks several inches deep. The wickerwork sofa had completely fallen from its couplings and lay on one side by the door.

Ryan was first there. He tested the handle, finding that it was open, and looked back to beckon the others to hurry. J.B., Mildred and Krysty were already at his heels. Doc strode a few paces behind them, swinging his swordstick like some Parisian boulevardier taking a summer stroll, dabbing at a worm of blood from his nose with his familiar swallow’s-eye kerchief.

Jak brought up the rear, one arm around Issie’s waist, almost carrying her.

They were still about twenty yards from the relative safety of the house, by the dried fountain, when the quake bared its teeth again.

It was by far the strongest of the tremors and seemed to have its epicenter directly beneath them. There was enough light from the cloud-veiled moon to make out the ground rippling like water as the dirt became liquid. The large house rocked violently back and forth, and broken glass showered from the upstairs windows.

Ryan, Krysty, Mildred and J.B. clung to the rails of the porch and to one another. Doc was flung sideways, reaching out with his right hand and grabbing at the bottom step of the creaking balcony.

But Jak and Issie were stranded in the middle of the shifting holocaust of noise and violence.

His hand was torn from hers, and he was sent staggering and rolling to the left, into the borders, managing to tuck in like the trained acrobat that he was.