CON STRUGGLED UP the path to the plane, laden with a bag filled with bottles of mineral water. It was a heavy and cumbersome load. When it's gone, we'll be drinking from puddles. She had been having thoughts like that with each bundle she hurried to the plane. So many things would be the last of their kind, from pretty clothes to pastry. She was already beginning to miss them. All the while, James's question echoed in her mind— Can you really conceive of what you're fleeing to? Each regret was a bleak hint.
Rick was running down the path in the opposite direc-tion. He slowed only momentarily to call, "Stay at the plane. I'm getting the last load."
Con turned to watch him speed away. "Okay," she said weakly. He was all hustle now, shouting orders and run-ning frantically. She understood why, but she still felt abandoned. Her thoughts returned to that moment on the beach, when he had held her and kissed her. Though she knew it was absurd, the idea of embracing by the sea as the world ended seemed wondrously romantic. Standing alone on the path, Con feared Rick's adoring look might never return, that it would be worn from his face by the hardships ahead, and her only moment of love was al-ready past.
Con moved slowly toward the plane. When she reached it, she heaved her burden atop the jumbled heap in the rear. A bag toppled from the pile and a cake, snatched half-baked from the oven, fell to the floor. Con picked up the cake pan. It was still warm. She set it back in the bag and looked at the wet batter spilled at her feet. Its sweet aroma filled the plane, and she felt the pangs of hunger. How can I be hungry at a time like this? Yet she was. She squatted and scooped the batter from the floor with her hands. This is the last cake, she thought, as she licked her fingers clean. When she was finished, she col-lapsed in a seat and began to weep, convinced her descent into savagery had already begun. RICK AND JOE lugged the heavy camp stove up the path to the plane. Although the day was still cool, and a breeze blew in from the sea, they were both drenched in sweat. They moved as fast as their exhaustion would allow.
"Are you sure this is worth bringing?" asked Joe. "We're going to run out of propane."
"We'll find some use for it," said Rick.
"Yeah," said Joe. "Set it over a campfire and pretend we're still civilized."
"Look, Joe," said Rick crossly. "This is our only chance to supply ourselves. There's no coming back."
"That doesn't mean we should drag off everything we can lay our hands on. This extra weight will slow us down."
"So what?" countered Rick. "You said that plane could cruise forever."
"What about the dark?" answered Joe. "You said it will get dark."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Those solar panels won't be much good then."
"Oh, great!" said Rick. He suddenly let go of the stove. As Rick's end fell, the stove wrenched free from Joe's grip and crashed on the ground, barely missing his feet.
"What the hell!" shouted Joe.
"Why didn't you mention the panels earlier?"
"I thought it was obvious," answered Joe. "Maybe if you stopped running around shouting orders and thought for a second .. ."
"We carried this thing halfway to the plane! You should've said something before."
"Well, I'm saying it now," said Joe. He shook his head. "You've got to get a grip, man." Joe and Rick glared at each other over the stove. Joe was the first to make peace. "Neither of us is thinking clearly. Who can blame us? The world doesn't end every day."
"It's not going to end," said Rick irritably. "That's the whole point of leaving here."
"Then let's leave," said Joe. "Are we taking this stove, or not?"
"Leave it," said Rick.
"You sure?"
"Hell, Joe, I'm not sure of anything," said Rick. "Look, I'm sorry I blew up."
"Forget it," replied Joe.
Mindful that every minute counted, they broke into a tired, shambling jog to the plane. They arrived to find
Con in her seat rubbing her red eyes, trying to pretend she hadn't been crying.
"Are we going?" Con asked.
"Yeah," answered Rick.
Joe sat in the pilot's seat and started the engines. The seats grabbed their occupants as the plane began to rise in the air. Once they were aloft, Rick explained to Joe how to read the numerals on the countdown clock.
"Thirty-one minutes!" said Joe. "That's all we got?"
"You have to multiply that by 1.4 to turn it into our time," said Rick. Joe did the math quickly in his head. "Oh, forty-three minutes. That's loads more time." He extended the wings of the plane, then took it into a steep climb. "Okay, Rick, where we going?"
"Eventually, we'll want to go to the southern hemi-sphere, but we can't head that direction now. That would take us toward the impact site. We need to be someplace safe when this thing hits."
"Could you be a little more specific?" asked Joe.
"We should be on the ground, for starters."
"I figured that much out," said Joe sarcastically.
"Head north and inland. When the tsunami comes we'll want to be away from the coast and on high ground," said Rick.
"Anything else?" asked Joe.
"There'll be an earthquake, so we should stay clear of steep terrain," said Rick. "Afterward, the heat and the falling meteors will start forest fires. I guess the ideal place would be upland, away from the forests, but not too close to the mountains. It should be near water, a small river would be best." Joe activated the holographic map and studied it. "I wish Sam had shown me how to figure airtimes," he said. "Seat-of-the-pants was fine for touring, but now . . ." He stared at the map, trying to remember how long it took them to reach past destinations. He pressed another but-ton, and a map appeared in front of Rick's seat. "I've indicated a possible landing site," he told Rick. "What do you think?" Rick looked at the ethereal miniature landscape that floated before him. A red dot flashed in one of the shal-low valleys between the foothills of the mountain range. A tiny squiggling blue line ran through it.
"Nothing far-ther north?" he asked
"You can look for yourself," replied Joe. "That's one place I'm sure we can reach." Rick chose not to second-guess Joe's judgment. "How far from the coast do you think it is?" he asked Joe.
"It's hard to say," Joe replied. "Seventy-five . . . maybe a hundred miles."
"I guess there's no way to tell how wooded it is."
"Not until we get there."
Rick sighed deeply. It wasn't much information on which to base such an important decision. "It looks okay. Let's hope it is."
Joe locked the destination in, and the map disappeared from in front of Rick. There was a slight sense of accel-eration, but the sea below still seemed to slide beneath them at a leisurely pace.
"Is this as fast as it goes?" asked Con.
"I'm afraid so," replied Joe.
Con had been sitting in withdrawn silence. When she spoke up, Rick guiltily realized he had totally ignored her. "You all right?" he asked.
"All right?" she said fiercely. "Why wouldn't I be all right? Daddy's deserted me, the world's about to be smashed, and I'm here like someone's forgotten laun-dry!"
"Con . . ."
"Thanks for asking," she said caustically, then turned away to stare at the landscape below. Rick looked at the sulking girl next to him. It seemed strange that so shortly ago they had been kissing on the beach, preparing to die in one another's arms. That mo-ment seemed easy and natural. Now, he was at a loss for what to do or say. It was especially hard with Joe close by, witnessing it all. He tentatively reached out to touch Con's hand, but she moved it away.