“Rock slide,” Reynolds said shortly. “I’ll have to ask you to drive on. The road’s closed to all traffic—”

“Who’re you?” The man looked belligerent.

“I’m the engineer in charge. Now pull out, brother.” He turned back to the radio. “Jim, get every piece of heavy equipment we own over here, on the double.” He paused, feeling a minute trembling in the car. “The Intermix is beginning to feel it,” he went on. “I’m afraid we’re in for it. Whatever that thing is, it acts like a solid body boring its way through the ground. Maybe we can barricade it.”

“Barricade an earthquake?”

“Yeah, I know how it sounds—but it’s the only idea I’ve got.”

“Hey—what’s that about an earthquake?” The man in the colored suit was still there. “By gosh, I can feel it—the whole damned bridge is shaking!”

“Off, mister—now!” Reynolds jerked a thumb at the traffic lanes where a steady stream of cars were hurtling past. “Dan, take us over to the main track. We’ll have to warn this traffic off—”

“Hold on, fellow.” The man unlimbered his camera. “I represent the New Devon Scope. I have a few questions—”

“I don’t have the answers.” Pete cut him off as the car pulled away.

“Hah!” The man who had questioned Reynolds yelled after him. “Big shot! Think you can…” His voice was lost behind them.

4

In a modest retirees’ apartment block in the coast town of Idlebreeze, forty miles from the scene of the freak quake, an old man sat in a reclining chair, half dozing before a yammering Tri-D tank.

“…Grandpa,” a sharp-voiced young woman was saying. “It’s time for you to go in to bed.”

“Bed? Why do I want to go to bed? Can’t sleep anyway.…” He stirred, made a pretense of sitting up, showing an interest in the Tri-D. “I’m watching this show. Don’t bother me.”

“It’s not a show, it’s the news,” a fattish boy said disgustedly. “Ma, can I switch channels—”

“Leave it alone, Bennie,” the old man said. On the screen a panoramic scene spread out, a stretch of barren ground across which a furrow showed. As he watched, it lengthened.

“…up here at the Intermix we have a fine view of the whole curious business, lazangemmun,” the announcer chattered. “And in our opinion it’s some sort of publicity stunt staged by the Port Authority to publicize their controversial port project—”

“Ma, can I change channels?”

“Go ahead, Bennie—”

“Don’t touch it,” the old man said. The fattish boy reached for the control, but something in the old man’s eye stopped him.…

5

“The traffic’s still piling in here,” Reynolds said into the phone. “Damn it, Jim, we’ll have a major jam on our hands—”