Cretaceous Sea

close when she left the plane. Con quickly stepped outside. The ground beneath her bare feet felt hot and baked. Rick said it would cool off, she thought. She wondered when that would be. The smoke explained the flickering glow in the clouds; it was the reflection of distant fires. The air was as hot as before, perhaps even hotter, but, at least, it was dry. In the privacy of darkness, Con pulled off her shirt. She felt some momentary relief as the perspiration evaporated from her torso. She spread her damp shirt over a fern bush to dry before walking into the brush. The foliage that had been so green and lush when they landed, felt withered and dry now. It crackled beneath her feet. Touch and sound were the dom-inant senses in this shadowed world. Con glanced back to-ward the plane and was alarmed that she could barely make it out. A few more steps and she would have lost sight of it entirely.

When she woke up inside the plane, she thought about going to the river to bathe. Now she realized how dangerous that would be. She could hear the river in the distance and smell its muddy wetness, but it was totally invisible. Bathing risked getting lost. She thought of her first morning on the island and of floating among the ammonites. That blissful, sunlit moment seemed ages ago. It was another world, she reminded herself. That a shallow, mud-choked stream seemed inviting was almost loo ironic to bear. Con squatted among the ferns, feeling like a savage. / bet-

ter get used to this, she told herself. She knew it was but the first, and probably the least, of many indignities. When she stood up, the hunger cramps that had kept her awake so long returned with redoubled force. Thinking of food, she recalled that people ate fern shoots. Fiddleheads, that's what they're called. She remembered seeing them listed once on a restau- rant menu. There, they were served with Hollandaise sauce. Con groped among the fronds, feeling for coiled shapes. Her fingers touched something that felt right, and she tugged it from the plant. It was stiff and dry and had a woolly skin, but she stuffed it in her mouth. It reminded her of a dried-out asparagus. Eagerly, she sought more. She moved from one fern to another, seeking to sate the gnawing emptiness inside. Most of the few fiddleheads she found were too bitter to eat, but she continued foraging. Every once in a while, she glanced anxiously toward the plane to make sure she could still see it.

Her search took her farther and farther afield, for most of the fiddleheads had already uncoiled into fronds. Yet, the plane was still visible because the orange reflection on the clouds had grown brighter. The smoke was thicker also. Con's eyes watered from it. She looked upwind and could see the foothills for the first time. Their tops were silhouetted against a hazy orange glow. A hot, smoky wind began to blow, rustling the dry leaves. The fires were no longer dis-tant.

Con stumbled through the brush to the plane and put on her shirt. It was already dry, but it felt oily against her skin. The opening appeared in the plane as programmed. Con called into it. 'Rick! Joe! Fire's headed our way!'

Two bleary, sweat-soaked faces were illuminated in the plane's opening by the orange glow. 'Oh crap!' said Joe wearily.

'We'd best start digging,' said Rick. His tired voice sounded dispirited. Rick vanished, then emerged from the plane with the three spoons. 'Remember what happened to Joe. Let's not push ourselves too hard,' he said.

Rick's admonition was thwarted by the glow beyond the foothills. As they worked, it grew brighter, driving them to attack the earth with increasing desperation. The baked ground seemed harder than before, and their progress was measured in inches. The handle of Rick's spoon kept bend-ing. When he straightened it for the seventh time, it snapped, forcing him to dig with the bowl. Con bloodied her fingertips trying to claw out a rock while she wept in frustration. Joe worked steadily and stoically, but without hope.

The glow grew brighter and began to waver. Occasionally, a stronger blast of wind would choke them with smoke. By the time Joe had to lie on the ground to reach to bottom of his hole, the first tongues of flames appeared at the crest of ¦ the hills. From those tongues, fire dribbled down the hill-sides.

'Joe,' said Rick, 'what will fire do to the plane?'

'I have no idea, but I don't think we should stay to find out.'

The fire advanced rapidly through the dry scrub. The flames rose high into the sky, filling it with false stars that burned out or fell to the ground and ignited it. Even though it was still distant, they could feel the blaze's heat.

Joe entered the plane and turned on its interior lights. The white light seemed overly bright to their eyes.

'We'd better pack up and make for the river while we still can,' he said.

'We should take our clothes, blankets, the guns, flash-lights, and as much water as we can carry,' said Rick, 'and hope the rest of our stuff makes it through with the plane.' They quickly stuffed three duffel bags with clothes, water, and the flashlights, then grabbed the two guns. Joe shut off the lights and, for a few moments, they found it hard to see. When their eyes became reaccustomed to the dim light, they headed for the river. They had to climb over the fallen trees that marked the river's old bank, then scramble down the dry, stony hill that had been its former bed before reaching water. The tepid, shallow stream was laden with dirt and flowed through a tangle of partially uprooted plants.

Rick felt the leaves of a plant standing in the water. 'This stuff will burn,' he said.

'I see a spot downstream that looks clearer,' said Joe.

They headed in its direction. Although the water was only ankle deep, the earth beneath it had turned into a deep layer of mud, and the going was slow. Once, the muck pulled off

Con's sneaker. She groped in the mud until she found it. Then she washed it off as best she could before putting it in her duffel bag. She removed her other shoe and did the same. By the time she caught up with Joe and Rick, they