gauges. The readouts were normal. He picked up the remote radio controller and got out of the truck.
“All set,” he said.
The four of them got into the ’Cuda. Oaktree took the wheel. They drove back to the road, crossed it, and headed into the scrub on the far side. They went partway up the hillside, then Melanie said: “This is fine.”
Oaktree stopped the car.
Priest hoped they were not conspicuous from the road. If they were, there was nothing he could do about it. But the muddy colors of the ’Cuda’s paint job blended into the brown landscape.
Oaktree said nervously: “Is this far enough away?”
“I think so,” Melanie said coolly. She was not scared at all. Studying her face, Priest saw a hint of mad excitement in her eyes. It was almost sexual. Was she taking her revenge on the seismologists who had rejected her, or the husband who had let her down, or the whole damn world? Whatever the explanation, she was getting a big charge out of this.
They got out and stood looking across the valley. They could just see the top of the truck.
Star said to Priest: “It was a mistake for us both to come. If we die, Flower has no one.”
“She has the whole commune,” Priest said. “You and I are not the only adults she loves and trusts. We’re not a nuclear family, and that’s one very good reason why.”
Melanie looked annoyed. “We’re a quarter of a mile from the fault, assuming it runs along the valley floor,” she said in a cut-the-crap tone of voice. “We’ll feel the earth move, but we’re not in any danger. People who are hurt in earthquakes generally get hit by parts of buildings: falling ceilings, bridges that collapse, flying glass, stuff like that. We’re safe here.”
Star looked over her shoulder. “The mountain isn’t going to fall on us?”
“It might. And we might all be killed in a car wreck driving back to Silver River Valley. But it’s so unlikely that we shouldn’t waste time worrying about it.”
“That’s easy for you to say — your child’s father is three hundred miles away in San Francisco.”
Priest said: “I don’t care if I die here. I can’t raise my children in suburban America.”
Oaktree muttered: “This has to work. This just has to work.”
Melanie said: “For God’s sake, Priest, we don’t have all day. Just press the damn button.”
Priest looked up and down the road and waited for a dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited to pass. “Okay,” he said when the road was clear. “This is it.”
He pressed the button on the remote control.
He heard the roar of the vibrator immediately, though it was muted by distance. He felt the vibration in the soles of his feet, a faint but definite trembling sensation.
Star said: “Oh, God.”
A cloud of dust billowed around the truck.
All four of them were taut as guitar strings, their bodies tensed for the first hint of movement in the earth.
Seconds passed.
Priest’s eyes raked the landscape, looking for signs of a tremor, though he guessed he would feel it before he saw it.
The seismic exploration crews normally set the vibrator for a seven-second “sweep.” Priest had set this one for thirty seconds. It seemed like an hour.
At last the noise stopped.
Melanie said: “Goddamn it.”
Priest’s heart sank. There was no earthquake. It had failed.
Maybe it was just a crazy hippie idea, like levitating the Pentagon.
“Try it again,” said Melanie.
Priest looked at the remote control in his hand.
There was a sixteen-wheel truck approaching along U.S. 395, but this time Priest did not wait. If Melanie was right, the truck would be unaffected by the tremor. If Melanie was wrong, they would all be dead.
He pressed the button.
The distant roar started up, there was a perceptible vibration in the ground, and a cloud of dust engulfed the seismic vibrator.
Priest wondered if the road would open up under the sixteen-wheeler.
Nothing happened.
The thirty seconds passed more quickly this time. Priest was surprised when the noise stopped.
Despair engulfed him. Perhaps the Silver River Valley commune was a dream that had come to an end.
But Melanie was not ready to give up. “Let’s move the truck a ways and try again.”
“But you said the exact position doesn’t matter,” Oaktree pointed out. “ ‘A few yards one way or another up here on the surface shouldn’t make any difference five miles down,’ that’s what you said.”
“Then we’ll move it more than a few yards,” Melanie said angrily. “We’re running out of time, let’s go!”
Priest did not argue with her. She was transformed. Normally she was dominated by Priest. She was a damsel in distress, he had rescued her, and she was so grateful, she had to be eternally submissive to his will. But now she was in charge, impatient and domineering. Priest could put up with that as long as she could do what she had promised. He would bring her back into line later.
They got into the ’Cuda and drove fast across the baked earth to the seismic vibrator. Then Priest and Melanie climbed into the cab of the truck and she directed him as he drove, while Oaktree and Star followed in the car. They were no longer following the track, but cutting straight through the brush. The truck’s big wheels crushed the scrubby bushes and rolled easily over the stones, but Priest wondered if the low-slung ’Cuda would suffer damage. He guessed Oaktree would honk if he had trouble.
Melanie scanned the landscape for the telltale features that showed where the fault line ran. Priest saw no more displaced streambeds. But after half a mile Melanie pointed at what looked like a miniature cliff about four feet high. “Fault scarp,” she said. “About a hundred years old.”
“I see it,” Priest said. There was a dip in the ground, like a bowl; and a break in the rim of the bowl showed where the earth had moved sideways, as if the bowl had cracked and been glued together clumsily.
Melanie said: “Let’s try here.”
Priest stopped the truck and lowered the plate. Swiftly he rechecked the gauges and set the vibrator. This time he programmed a sixty-second sweep. When all was set he jumped out of the truck.
He checked his watch anxiously. It was two o’clock. They had only twenty minutes left.
Again they drove the ’Cuda across U.S. 395 and up the hill on the far side. The drivers of the few vehicles that passed continued to ignore them. But Priest was nervous. Sooner or later someone would ask what they were doing. He did not want to have to explain himself to a curious cop or a nosy town councilman. He had a plausible story ready, about a university research project on the geology of the dried-up riverbed, but he did not want anyone to remember his face.
They all got out of the car and looked across the valley to where the seismic vibrator stood near the scarp. Priest wished with all his heart that this time he would see the earth move and open.
He pressed the button.
The truck roared, the earth trembled faintly, and the dust rose. The vibration went on for a full minute instead of half. But there was no earthquake. They just waited longer for disappointment.
When the noise died away, Star said: “This isn’t going to work, is it?”
Melanie threw her a furious look. Turning to Priest, she said: “Can you alter the frequency of the vibrations?”
“Yes,” Priest said. “Right now it’s set near the middle, so I can go up or down. Why?”
“There’s a theory that pitch may be a crucial factor. See, the earth is constantly resounding with faint vibrations. So why aren’t there earthquakes all the time? Maybe because a vibration has to be just the right pitch to dislodge the fault. You know how a musical note can shatter a glass?”
