Cretaceous Sea

Greighton regained consciousness to the sound of whimpering. 'I'm blind, I'm blind, I'm blind, I'm blind,' said Green's voice. Greighton opened his eyes and dis-covered he was not.

'It looks exactly like Hell,' said Greighton in an awed, frightened voice.

'Tell me what you see,' begged Green.

'There's a hole, a big round hole where the ocean used to be.'

'How big?'

'It's huge! I can't see the bottom or the other side. It's gotta be over a hundred miles across and it's red-hot. But that's not all—everything's on fire! The land... the whole damn sky. It's Hell. That's what it is—Hell.'

'Goddamn Joe!' cursed Green. 'I'll kill him! I'll kill him!'

'No need. He's dead,' said Greighton. 'They're all dead.' As Greighton spoke, the crater's sides collapsed in-ward, enlarging its diameter as the ocean, pushed aside by the impact's blast, flowed back to pour over the cra-ter's lip. Huge jets of steam rose up, obscuring every-thing except the glow of flames. The cabin was hotter than a sauna, but something was working hard to cool it down. Greighton turned his blistered face toward a draft of cool air and saw movement. The strange, immaterial cylinder in the time machine's central column was be-ginning to change. Thin incorporeal tendrils shot beyond the column, altering everything they touched.

'Pete!' shouted Greighton. 'The time machine! It's starting to work!'

'Thank God!' said Green.

'We made it!' shouted Greighton joyously. 'We're saved!' 20

JAMES STOOD ON THE BEACH WATCHING WHAT SEEMED

to be a second sunrise to the south. The illusion was spoiled when the rising 'sun' began to flatten and spread. Racing across the sky, like a rapidly approaching storm, came a glowing wall of flame. Habit born from a lifetime of caring for others made James think of Sara and Pandit. Despite his intention to die alone, with that moment approaching, he found he could not forsake his guest and his staff. Racing back to the guest quarters, he found Sara and Pan-dit in the dining pavilion, drinking champagne. As strange as it seemed, Sara had changed her outfit and was wearing a flimsy pleated dress. Perhaps, thought James sadly, she dressed for Greighton's return.

SARA DRANK CHAMPAGNE, trying to wash away her ever-growing despondency. She could not remember whether this was her second or third bottle, but it wasn't enough. The nagging, insistent voice within her would not be silenced, no matter how drunk she got. John's not coming back, it said. You're not as desirable as you thought. Even her favorite dress—John's favorite, too— did not give her the assurance she craved. That assurance had dwindled with each anxious moment, until little was left. She felt emotionally drained and helpless. Beauty had been her greatest power and, put to the test, it had failed her.

Pandit sat by attentively, but had long ago ceased to tell her 'everything would be fine.' She could see now he had never been sincere about that. Yet, as she realized his words were false, she perceived his deeper sincerity. He had not abandoned her. In his gaze she saw the de-votion she had always hoped to see in John's. To him, she was desirable. It was a comfort.

James raced to the table, then, in a voice that seemed unnaturally calm, said, 'I suggest we retire to the shelter of the guest quarters. A storm is approaching.'

Sara and Pandit walked from beneath the pavilion to gaze at the sky. To the south, it glowed ominously in swirling incandescent colors. The colors advanced to-ward them as they watched. Without further urging, they hurried to Green's former quarters. There, they discov-ered that the hole Joe had kicked through the plaster was sealed by a featureless silvery panel.

'A door!' said James. 'Maybe there's refuge after all.' He approached and looked for a means to gain entrance.

'Perhaps,' said Pandit, 'it will respond to your com-mands.'

'Open,' said James. The doorway remained sealed. 'Let us in! Bloody Hell, open up!' James tried other commands with rising urgency and eventually resorted to pounding the metal door with his fists, but it did not budge. 'It was a false hope,' he said at last.

The fiery clouds were nearly overhead, and the land-scape outside assumed the color of blood. Sara ran into the bathroom and cowered in the corner, as far from the light as she could be.

'I can't stand it,' she sobbed.

Pandit followed after her. He uttered the only true words of comfort he could. 'I am here, Sara.' As he spoke them, he realized it was the first time he had ever called her by that name. Even as Pandit spoke, a horrendous crash resounded through the chamber like millions of exploding bombs. It was more than a sound—it was a physical