"When we get to our new home," said Con, "we'll grow our own wheat, and I'll learn how to bake." Rick was starting to explain how grass, and therefore grain, had not yet evolved when Joe cut him short with a sharp look. "I'll make you an oven," said Joe. "We'll have cakes sweetened with honey."
"I'll bake you and Rick cakes for every birthday," said Con.
"That's going to be a lot of cakes," replied Joe.
Encouraged by Joe, Con's happy talk of their future home continued. Rick abandoned his scientific objectivity to join in creating this bucolic vision. They would raise birds for their eggs and catch fish in the ocean. There would be fruits and vegetables. The world would be safe, purged of the fear-some dinosaurs, to be inherited by the meek.
Yet while Rick participated in Joe's kindly conspiracy, his thoughts were drawn to the river outside. By the time he and Joe had finished washing, the water level had risen to just below their calves. The current had increased also. Rick sur-reptitiously looked outside and confirmed that the river had continued to rise. Eventually, the sound of water rushing against the plane became something he could no longer pre-tend to ignore.
"We should place all our stuff on the seats in the front part of the plane," said Rick.
"Why?" asked Con.
"I want to look outside, and it might get wet when I open the door." The grim present replaced the idyllic future as they moved their gear and clothes to safety. Rick took a flashlight and stood in front of the door. "Someone better close the door as soon as I'm outside." Con rose and positioned herself next to the door button. Rick hit the button and jumped as soon as the opening ap-peared. Water poured into the gap in the fuselage and Con struck the button immediately after Rick cleared the plane. The wall became whole again, leaving a foot of dark water in the rear of the airplane.
Rick slipped when he landed and fell with a splash. He stood up quickly and signaled that he was okay. The slanted plane resembled a sinking boat, with Joe and Con peering out as its passengers. The dreamy look was gone from Con's face, replaced by concern. So much for cheering her up, thought Rick despondently.
He turned his attention to the most pressing matter at hand—the state of the plane. Ducking beneath the surface of the water, Rick felt for the holes they had dug. They had completely filled in with mud. He experienced the helpless frustration humanity always felt whenever nature destroyed the fruits of toil. Anger and despair seized him, and he had to fight from their grip. / must assess our situation, he told himself. He forced his thoughts into an objectivity that coun-terfeited calmness. Giving a reassuring wave to his audience in the plane, he waded out into the rainy darkness.
The airplane rested on a small rise, and Rick took care to stay on its crest as he headed uphill. Upon the crest, the water reached only to his knees. If he veered either left or right, the water quickly reached his waist Staying on course was not easy. The muddy bottom was slippery, the way was crooked, and the current applied a steady pressure against him. The drowned uphill path was a gradual one, and Rick was forty hard-won yards from the plane before he was free of the river's grasp. He shined his light, trying to gauge the extent to which the formerly sluggish and shallow stream had grown, but the driving rain defeated his efforts. The flash-light's beam petered out without ever revealing an end to the water. It's probably filling the valley, he surmised. Rick tried to remember where they were in relation to the valley. He recalled flying over its broad green expanse. If his recollec-tion was right, the river had grown mighty indeed. With the rain unabating, it would grow mightier still.
There were only two possibilities: They could wade to high ground to sit out the rain or they could attempt to fly free from the river's grip. The latter seemed like a hopeful course. The hard-baked earth had become soft mud. Perhaps the current has even scoured away some of the dirt, thought Rick. We might break free. It would be worth a try.
The prospects of escape filled Rick with anxious excite-ment as he returned to the plane. He hurried back as fast as he could. As he fought against the current, it felt stronger, and the water seemed higher. When he was a few yards from the plane, the opening automatically appeared and Rick cursed as he saw water pour into the fuselage. He entered the plane as fast as possible and closed the door. Standing ankle deep in water, he peered at Con and Joe perched in the front of the plane. They said no words to him. It was unnecessary—their agitated looks expressed it all.
"Joe," said Rick, "we might be able to fly free from this place."
"I don't see how," said Joe. "We're still buried."
"The river's softened the ground, maybe even washed some of it away. I think we should try to blast loose."
Joe shook his head. "This craft is built for endurance, not power and speed." He looked at the water that submerged the rear part of the cabin. "All that ballast won't help either."
"We've got to try," said Rick urgently. "The river's rising fast. If we can't fly out, we'll have to abandon the plane for high ground."
"Leave the plane?" said Con in dismay.
"Either that or drown," said Rick grimly.
"Okay," said Joe, "I'll give it a shot." He walked to the pilot's seat and dumped the gear upon it on the floor. Some of it slid down into the water. When Con started to fetch it, he said, "Leave it. It won't matter, whatever happens."
Con and Rick stuffed the clothes remaining on the other seats into duffel bags before sitting down. Joe flipped a switch, and the seats grasped their sides and shifted position to compensate for the tilt of the aircraft.
"Here goes nothing," said Joe, as he pushed a button.
The river beneath the wings boiled, and muddy water splashed against the underside of the plane. Rick felt a vi-bration and, for a glorious instant, he thought they were breaking free. The vibration stopped as Joe turned off the engines.
"Can't you try again?" asked Con is a disheartened voice.
"I'm sure I felt something," said Rick.
"What the hell," said Joe in a dead voice. He pushed the button and the river boiled again. He left the engines on until all hope was extinguished. They were stuck.
Joe turned off the plane, and the seats relaxed their grip. Rick rose with a sigh. "I'll make the first trip," he said. "I'll take a load of stuff and an extra flashlight to high ground and leave a flashlight there as a beacon."
"I'll go, Rick," said Joe.
"No," replied Rick, "you're the pilot."
"A pilot without a plane," said Joe.
"It'll still be here when the rain stops," said Rick.
"Of course," said Joe for Con's benefit. "This old girl's been through fire, what's a little water."
"It seems to me that I'm the one who should go," said Con.
Rick and Joe both shouted "no" simultaneously with such vehemence that she did not argue.
"Look, Con," said Rick, "I just made the trip. It'll be safest for me." Once they resolved to leave the plane, they worked hastily to do so. Each packed their clothes in their duffel bag. Then they distributed the remaining supplies among the three duf-fel bags and a fourth bag to make four equal loads. Rick grabbed a bag, opened the door, and departed on the first trip. Water poured in the opening, but Con and Joe did not close it. They left it open to watch Rick's progress. The water was up to Rick's thighs, and he moved slowly.
Gradually, his light became a misty apparition in the driving rain. It moved unsteadily as it diminished in the distance. The wandering light stopped, then separated into two—one light that stayed put and another that slowly approached Joe and Con. The anxious time until Rick returned was measured by the rise of the water level within the plane. It had reached Con's calves by the time Rick stood before the opening. Out-side, the water was waist-deep.