Marek Huberath - Nest of Worlds

They managed to descend two levels. Below that, the stairs broke off. They were on the fourth floor, the administrative offices. The shaking subsided. The sun was now establishing itself in the sky. The abandoned building had a dismal air about it. The ceilings here were intact, but one of the wings had collapsed all the way to its foundation. There were splits in the partitioning walls, and some had been knocked over. Glass crunched underfoot.

“Saalstein, on which side of the crack are we?”

“What are you getting at?” He limped along, clutching his painful arm.

“On the ocean side or the Davabel side?”

“There should be a bridge.”

“There is none now.”

In one of the offices they found a tablecloth, spoons, forks, and knives. Saalstein paid with a few gasps for the application of a sling, but he perked up afterward, when his arm felt better. His color improved, though his hair was still plastered down with sweat. He tried to find a door to one of the fire escapes.

He stopped.

“Throzz, come with me. Let’s check something out.”

He ran down the hallway. Gavein had trouble keeping up with the wounded man. On this floor there were no bodies. The door they wanted was locked, but the partitions on either side of it had been reduced to mounds of fragmented plasterboard. The floor of a nearby cubicle was covered with banknotes. Gavein sighed. Saalstein knelt clumsily. With his free hand he filled his pockets.

“You can be executed, if they catch you.”

“Maybe in Lavath. Here, rescue workers do this all the time. Take as much as you want, go ahead. It’ll help pay for your Magdalena’s operation.”

Gavein couldn’t deny this last argument. He too began gathering bills. At first he tried arranging them in bundles, but then the rumble of another explosion reached him, hurried him. Imitating Saalstein, he undid the zipper of his hospital coverall and stuffed the money in his chest. Having the use of both hands, he could stuff more than Saalstein. Soon the coverall was filled up. It wasn’t easy closing the zipper. Since he had no underwear, the bills slipped lower.

“The first time in my life that banknotes tickle my balls.”

“You can also wipe your ass with them. That’ll be a first time too,” the biologist grunted, struggling with his uniform.

“Actually, not a bad idea.” Gavein undid his coverall again and stuffed bills in the rear, where there was room for many more.

“You prefer to be big-assed than have breasts and a beer belly?” Saalstein asked.

“One breast only, in the center.” Gavein patted the bills in front. He helped Saalstein button up his suit. Without question, it was time to leave. Powerful shocks came, one after another.

Gavein forced open the emergency door with a shoulder and his back. The metal stairs, a spiral braid of steel, were suspended in space; most of the supporting struts had been broken. At the floor Gavein and Saalstein were on, the stairs were about a meter from the wall of the building, and the next landing, like a small bridge, was at least one and a half meters below them.

Gavein took a step back.

“Now what?”

“We take the other.”

He leaned out: the other fire escape lay below, twisted on a pile of rubble.

The courtyard of the Division of Science looked as if giant moles had been at work; it was covered with a great assortment of slabs and chunks. Stones, large and small, still fell, hissing as they flew past. Someone in a white coat lay motionless.

In the distance the sky was clear. Sun shone on the buildings of Davabel, but over the DS hung a cloud, violet-brown and stinking.

“Listen, Saalstein. On this floor there are only two fire escapes?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then that’s the other in the courtyard.”

Saalstein swore under his breath. “What do we do?” he asked.

“We jump. A meter across, one and a half meters down…”

“I can’t with this arm.”

“You have a better idea?”

“What I think I’m seeing outside, it can’t be.”

“I see it too. A volcano is forming.”

“If it forms in that trench, we’re done for.”

“We haven’t got to the trench yet,” said Gavein. “There’s no reason to wait here. No one will come flying in for us.”

“On the contrary,” Saalstein said under his breath.

“I’ll jump first, then you. I’ll try to catch you.”

Gavein concentrated. The jump wasn’t difficult, but he couldn’t afford to miss. A fall from the fourth floor would break both legs.

He made it, grabbing a rail to stop himself. He banged his knee painfully.

The fire escape, connected to the top of the building by only one or two struts, began to jerk like a giant spring. A meter down, a meter up. Gavein held on; he could picture the last strut snapping, the whole fire escape separating from the wall and plunging to the ground.

Not this time: the oscillation stopped.

“Your turn, Saalstein. I’ll break your fall.”

“I can’t,” said Saalstein. “My arm.”

He jumped then, and Gavein caught him, but unfortunately Saalstein’s arm hit metal. He howled like an animal and moaned until the fire escape ceased its rocking.

“That’s the end of my arm,” he gasped, when he could speak. “I must have torn nerves.”

“Stop,” Gavein told him. “We either get off this thing or we fall with it. If you’re dead, your arm will make only an ornament to be set beside you in the coffin.”

As if to second his warning, the iron structure groaned and was hit by a ball of lava. Carefully, but as quickly as they could, they descended. The accompaniment of roars and hisses increased in volume. The sky over the ocean glowed a rusty red. The flying lava was coming from that direction.

The fire escape stopped in midair, the stairs ending two and a half meters above the ground.

“I’ll go first,” said Gavein.

He chose a level spot and jumped, somersaulting and turning a few times when he hit, hoping in this way to lessen the impact. But even so he fell hard, and it hurt. The hospital coverall and slippers were not made for acrobatics. Overhead, in response to his jump, the fire escape was shaking and groaning again. He ran, limping clumsily, from under the reach of the stairs. But the anchoring metal at the top held.

Saalstein jumped and landed heavily, on both feet. He tried to remain standing to protect his arm. He had come down on a flat piece of concrete. He screamed from the pain.

“Something tore in me,” he grunted. “My back too.”

“You should have fallen as I did. You probably ruptured yourself.”

They moved away from the falling stones, Gavein limping, Saalstein stepping with exaggerated care, holding the sling with his good arm, not sure if his intestines were in place.

It was on an incline. The last quake had lifted the ground near the trench. To leave the DS area, they had to climb.

They passed a figure in a lab coat. It resembled a white moth with wings outstretched. Aurelia had fallen from a window during the shocks. Her head was surrounded by a smear of black blood.

The sky toward the ocean continued to burn red. Explosions rumbled, light flashed. The cone of the volcano couldn’t be seen—it might not have formed yet. Rocks fell, some breaking into pieces in the air. On the ground, they hissed and steamed. Gavein was struck in the back, but the bills cushioned the blow.

He and Saalstein had no difficulty crossing the trench, which was partly filled with rubble. But then they had to climb the steep, crumbling escarpment that now formed one of the edges of the trench. Saalstein panted, exhausted.

When they were almost at the top, Gavein saw a helicopter approaching.