“In the face of the unmistakable evidences that such a thing had happened in the past, the absolute assurance that it was bound to happen in the future, the indisputable evidence that Nature destroys the old before she starts to build the new, mere men, serene in their fancied security, contemplated imprisoning me because I dared to see the truth. They’d have done it, too, if they hadn’t finally decided I was ‘harmless,’ something to be laughed at.
“Laughed at! And because I dared to read aright the printed page of the book of nature that was spread out where all might see it!
“I talked to them of the procession of the equinoxes. I spoke to them of the gradual shifting of the poles, of the variation of Polaris. I spoke to them of changing stresses, of unstable equilibriums, and they laughed. Damn them, let them laugh now!”
Phil tapped him on the shoulder.
The man shook his shoulder free of Phil’s hand.
“I know what’s going to happen. I’ll stay here and die contented, at least being privileged to watch a part of the destruction I predicted!”
The girl spoke then.
“No, we can’t leave you here, and my friend has all your emergency equipment. You’d better follow.”
That clinched the argument. He came at their heels without further comment.
Chapter 3
Into the Water
Phil Bregg led the way, setting a pace down the winding stairways that taxed them to keep up. From time to time, as they plunged downward, the building gave little premonitory shivers of a fate that could not long be delayed.
“The beginning of earthquakes,” said the man in the rear. “As the new stresses and gravitational pulls start in, there will be increased disturbances. And it’s going to be interesting to see whether the orbit of the moon is going to be affected. If it isn’t, there’ll be cross tidal influences which’ll twist the very structure of the earth. In fact, there’s a law of tidal limits within which tides destroy the substance. Take, for instance, the question of the asteroids. There’s a very good chance that some tidal...”
The words were drowned out as the whole building swayed drunkenly upon its foundations, then swung gradually, but definitely out of the perpendicular, shivered, and remained stationary again.
“Hurry!” screamed the girl.
Phil Bregg, accustomed to dangers, having the ability to adjust himself rapidly to new emergencies, turned to grin at her reassuringly.
“That’s all right. Going down’s faster than coming up. We’re making pretty fair progress right now. It won’t be long until we reach the water level.”
It was hard to make any progress now. The stairways were smooth marble, and they were inclined at an angle. But the trio fought their way down, making the best speed they could, waiting momentarily for the building to come crashing down about them.
Only once did they encounter any other people. That was a man who was running down one of the corridors. He cried out some unintelligible comment to them, but they could not understand, nor did they dare to wait.
They had long since lost track of floors. Their knees ached with the effort of descending, keeping their balance on the slanting steps. They had no idea whether there were two floors or twenty below them, whether the water was rising or falling.
And, abruptly, as they rounded a corner in the sloping stairway, emerged upon a slanting corridor, they came to the water level.
Windows at the end of the hall were smashed in by the force of the water and the drifting debris which dotted the current. The water was muddy, turbulent, a sea of dancing objects. Here and there people drifted by, clinging to floating objects, or fighting their way in frantic strokes toward some building which seemed to offer a place of refuge.
“What floor is it?” asked the man.
“The eighth, I think,” said the girl.
Suddenly Phil checked himself with an exclamation of astonishment.
“Look!” he said.
There was a door sagging open. The glass which composed the upper half had been broken. A big plate glass window in one side had cracked, and a big piece had dropped out of the center, which held a sign.
That sign read:
And back of the plate glass, held in position on wooden supports, looking neatly trim and seaworthy, was a big motor cruiser with a cabin and a flight of mahogany stairs leading up from the floor to the hull.
“Let’s get in there!” said Phil.
The girl shook her head.
“We could never get it out.”
“It weighs a terrific amount,” said the scientist, “but, wait a minute. There’s a chance! Look here!”
The building was leaning drunkenly. The water was rising steadily, and a part of the inclined floor was already slopping with little wavelets that were seeping in through the cracked partitions.
“If we had that partition out of the way, and...”
As he spoke, the building shivered again. The floor rocked. The cruiser slipped from its wooden supports. The mahogany stairway crashed into splinters. The cruiser careened over on its side, then began to slip down the wet floor.
“Out of the way!” yelled Phil.
They fought to one side.
The cruiser skidded down the slope of the wet floor, hit the frosted glass and mahogany partition marked in gilt letters with the words:
Those partitions suddenly dissolved in a mass of splinters and a shower of broken glass. The sliding cruiser, moving majestically down the wet incline into deeper water, as though she were being launched down greased skids, came to rest against the far wall of the building, floating calmly upon a level keel, in water which was some six or eight feet deep.
“Regular launching,” said Phil. “Personally, I consider that an omen. That’s the outer wall. If, we could only get her through there she’s ready for sea.”
“Wait,” said the scientist. “There’s just a chance! If we could tow her over to that other end, and then had the partitions out between those two big windows, she’d just about go through. There’s some dynamite in that sack of emergency equipment. Here, let me have it. I may bring the building down about us, but I’ll make a hole right enough.”
He tore at the sack with eager fingers.
Once his feet slipped on the wet floor, and he fell, but he scrambled up, dragged an oiled silk container out of the sack, opened it.
“Dynamite,” he said, “and there’s a bit of a more powerful explosive, something that’s the last word in scientific achievement. Here, let me get over there.”
He fought his way toward the side of the building, busied himself there for a few moments, then gave an exclamation of disappointment.
“Matches!” he said. “Of course I had to forget them. Those in my pocket are wet.”
Phil laughed.
“Well, that’s a habit of the cow country that’s hard to get away from. I’ve got a waterproof match box in my pocket. Here they are, catch!”
He tossed over the match box. The little man caught it with eager hands. There was the scrape of a match, and then the sputter of flame and a hissing steam of thin blue smoke.
He was scrambling toward them.
“Quick!” he said. “Out of the way!”
They got out into the outer corridor. The explosion came almost at once, a lightning quick smash of dry sound that was like the explosion of smokeless powder in a modern cannon.