snow, and they concentrated on the job until they uncovered their first victim: dead, blue with cyanosis and cold. Stretcher-bearers came, and a young Air Force officer-they'd turned out the Academy, of course-took particulars of the ID in the man's pocket. He was local. Pete had given him a parking ticket once. One of the stretcher-bearers had a transistor radio, and while it was in earshot it said something about Towerhill being declared a disaster zone.
"First of many," Harry muttered.
"What?"
"I said first of many. You don't think this is the only avalanche they're going to cause with their stinking SST's, do you? The Swiss won't let them overfly the country between October and May-said they'd shoot them down first. So did the Austrians."
Pete handed Harry his shovel. "Let's dig," he sighed.
About ten minutes later it became clear what they'd got into at this spot: a whole collapsed room, if not a building. Uphill, a wall of rough stone had broken the worst impact of the avalanche, but it had shifted on its foundations and twisted into an irregular line of precariously poised fragments. Over that the roof-beams had folded, but not fallen, leaving a small vacant space in which-
"Christ!" Harry said. "Alive!"
Something moved feebly in darkness. White darkness. The snow had burst in through a window, fanned out on the floor.
"Ah-yah-ahh!" The treble cry of a child.
"Look out, you fucking idiot!" Pete roared as Harry made to drop his shovel and dive straight in under the arching timbers. He grabbed his arm.
"What? That's a kid! Get your hands off-I-"
"Look, look, look !" And Pete pointed to the huge trembling overhang of snow that had broken against the stone wall like a frozen wave. Because of their digging it loured above the space in which the child-children, he realized, hearing a second cry discord with the first-in which the children were trapped.
"Ah…Yeah." Harry regained his self-possession and blinked down into the dark hollow. A bed, overset. A lot of snow. "See what you mean. We could bring that whole pile down on us. Got a flashlight?"
"Loaned it to someone. Go get another. And lots of help. See, that beam?" Pete didn't dare so much as touch it. Now it was exposed, the single crucial roof-strut that had spared the children looked like a match, and on the slanted broken roof that it supported lay God knew how many tons of snow and rock.
"Sure! Be back right away!" Turning to run.
"Hang on, kids," Pete called into the cold dark. "We'll get you out soon's we can."
One of the half-seen shapes moved. Stood up. Shedding snow.
Moving snow.
Trying to climb to the light!
"Oh, my God! Harry, HARRY! BE QUICK!"
Crying. And the crying drowned by the noise of weight leaning on a fractured beam. The beam, the one that held back the incredible mass of snow. He saw it spray tiny white flakes, like dust, that danced in the glow of the distant emergency lights.
Christ…Jeannie, Jeannie, it could be a kid of ours down there-I don't mean could , not at fifty bucks a day, but I mean it's a kid, and we could have kids, and…
But those thoughts were spin-off, and had nothing to do with him moving. Shovel dropped. The beam yielding. Turning so his shoulders came under it, his numb hands felt for it. The weight, the incredible intolerable unthinkable weight. He looked down and saw his boots had been driven in over ankles in the packed snow.
At least, though, he could still hear the crying.
THE TINIEST TRACE
"Did it go okay, Peg?" Mel Torrance called as she wended her way through the maze of desks, glass partitions, file cabinets. The paper was losing money. Most papers were losing money. Even Mel had only a cubbyhole for an office, whose door stood permanently open except when he was taking his pills. He was embarrassed about that for some reason.
Ridiculous. Who do you know who doesn't have to take pills of some kind nowadays? Which reminds me, I'm past due for mine.
"Oh, fine," Peg muttered. She'd been out
"First of many," Harry muttered.
"What?"
"I said first of many. You don't think this is the only avalanche they're going to cause with their stinking SST's, do you? The Swiss won't let them overfly the country between October and May-said they'd shoot them down first. So did the Austrians."
Pete handed Harry his shovel. "Let's dig," he sighed.
About ten minutes later it became clear what they'd got into at this spot: a whole collapsed room, if not a building. Uphill, a wall of rough stone had broken the worst impact of the avalanche, but it had shifted on its foundations and twisted into an irregular line of precariously poised fragments. Over that the roof-beams had folded, but not fallen, leaving a small vacant space in which-
"Christ!" Harry said. "Alive!"
Something moved feebly in darkness. White darkness. The snow had burst in through a window, fanned out on the floor.
"Ah-yah-ahh!" The treble cry of a child.
"Look out, you fucking idiot!" Pete roared as Harry made to drop his shovel and dive straight in under the arching timbers. He grabbed his arm.
"What? That's a kid! Get your hands off-I-"
"Look, look, look !" And Pete pointed to the huge trembling overhang of snow that had broken against the stone wall like a frozen wave. Because of their digging it loured above the space in which the child-children, he realized, hearing a second cry discord with the first-in which the children were trapped.
"Ah…Yeah." Harry regained his self-possession and blinked down into the dark hollow. A bed, overset. A lot of snow. "See what you mean. We could bring that whole pile down on us. Got a flashlight?"
"Loaned it to someone. Go get another. And lots of help. See, that beam?" Pete didn't dare so much as touch it. Now it was exposed, the single crucial roof-strut that had spared the children looked like a match, and on the slanted broken roof that it supported lay God knew how many tons of snow and rock.
"Sure! Be back right away!" Turning to run.
"Hang on, kids," Pete called into the cold dark. "We'll get you out soon's we can."
One of the half-seen shapes moved. Stood up. Shedding snow.
Moving snow.
Trying to climb to the light!
"Oh, my God! Harry, HARRY! BE QUICK!"
Crying. And the crying drowned by the noise of weight leaning on a fractured beam. The beam, the one that held back the incredible mass of snow. He saw it spray tiny white flakes, like dust, that danced in the glow of the distant emergency lights.
Christ…Jeannie, Jeannie, it could be a kid of ours down there-I don't mean could , not at fifty bucks a day, but I mean it's a kid, and we could have kids, and…
But those thoughts were spin-off, and had nothing to do with him moving. Shovel dropped. The beam yielding. Turning so his shoulders came under it, his numb hands felt for it. The weight, the incredible intolerable unthinkable weight. He looked down and saw his boots had been driven in over ankles in the packed snow.
At least, though, he could still hear the crying.
THE TINIEST TRACE
"Did it go okay, Peg?" Mel Torrance called as she wended her way through the maze of desks, glass partitions, file cabinets. The paper was losing money. Most papers were losing money. Even Mel had only a cubbyhole for an office, whose door stood permanently open except when he was taking his pills. He was embarrassed about that for some reason.
Ridiculous. Who do you know who doesn't have to take pills of some kind nowadays? Which reminds me, I'm past due for mine.
"Oh, fine," Peg muttered. She'd been out
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