Beatrice gazed far out.
The sun, declining, shot a broad glory all across the sky. Purple and gold and crimson lay the light-bands over the breast of the Hudson.
Dark blue the shadows streamed across the ruined city with its crowding forests, its blank-staring windows and sagging walls, its thousands of gaping vacancies, where wood and stone and brick had crumbled down. The city where once the tides of human life had ebbed and flowed, roaring resistlessly.
High overhead drifted a few rosy clouds, part of that changeless nature which alone did not repel or mystify these two beleaguered waifs, these chance survivors, this man, this woman, left alone together by the hand of fate.
They were dazed, fascinated by the splendor of that sunset over a world devoid of human life, for the moment giving up all efforts to judge or understand.
Stern and his mate peered closer, down at the interwoven jungles of Union Square, the leafy frond-masses that marked the one-time course of Twenty-third Street, the forest in Madison Square.
They heard their own hearts beat. The intake of their breath sounded strangely loud. Above them, on a broken cornice, some resting swallows twittered.
All at once the girl spoke.
"See the Flatiron Building over there!" she said. "What a hideous wreck!"
She took the telescope from Stern, adjusted it; and gazed minutely at the shattered pile of stone and metal.
Blotched as with leprosy stood the walls, whence many hundreds of blocks had fallen into Broadway, forming a vast moraine that for some distance choked that thoroughfare.
In numberless places the steel frame peered through. The whole roof had caved in, crushing down the upper stories, of which only a few sparse upstanding metal beams remained.
The girl's gaze was directed at a certain spot which she knew well.
"Oh, I can even see into some of the offices on the eighteenth floor!" cried she. "There; look!" And she pointed. "That one near the front! I—I used to know—"
She broke off short. In her trembling hands the telescope sank. Stern saw that she was very pale.
"Take me down!" she whispered. "I can't stand it any longer. I can't, possibly! The sight of that wrecked office! Let's go down where I can't see it!"
Gently, as though she had been a frightened child, Stern led her round the platform to the doorway, then down the crumbling stairs and so to the wreckage and dust-strewn confusion of what had been his office.
And there, his hand upon her shoulder, he urged her to be courageous.
"Listen now, Beatrice," said he. "Let's try to reason this thing out together; let's try to solve this problem like two intelligent human beings.
"Just what happened, we don't know; we can't know yet a while, till I investigate. We don't even know what year this is.
"Don't know whether anybody else is still alive, anywhere in the world. But we can find out, after we've made provision for the immediate present and formed some rational plan of life.
"If all the rest are gone, swept away, wiped out clean like figures on a slate, then why we should have happened to survive whatever it was that struck the earth, is still a riddle far beyond our comprehension."
Here he raised her face to his, noble, despite all its grotesque disfigurements. He looked into her eyes as though to read the very soul of her, to judge whether she could share this fight, could brave this coming struggle.
"All these things may yet be answered. Once I get the proper data for this series of phenomena, I can find the solution.
"Some vast world-duty may be ours, far greater, infinitely more vital than anything that either of us has ever dreamed. It's not our place, now, to mourn or fear. Rather it is to read this mystery, to meet it and to conquer."
Through her tears the girl smiled up at him, trustingly, confidingly. And in the last declining rays of the sun that glinted through the window-pane, her eyes were very beautiful.
5. EXPLORATION
CAME NOW THE evening, as they sat and talked together, talked long and earnestly, there within that ruined place. They were too eager for some knowledge of the truth to feel hunger or to think of the conventions of clothing.
Chairs they had none, nor even so much as a broom to clean the floor with. But Stern, first-off, had wrenched a marble slab from the stairway.
And with this plane of stone still strong enough to serve, he had scraped all one corner of the office floor free of rubbish. This gave them a preliminary camping-place wherein to take their bearings and discuss what must be done.
"So then," the engineer was saying as the dusk grew deeper, "we'll apparently have to make this building our headquarters for a while.
"As nearly as I can figure, this is about what must have happened. Some sudden, deadly, numbing plague or cataclysm must have struck the earth, long, long ago.
"It may have been an almost instantaneous onset of some new and highly fatal micro-organism, propagating with such marvelous rapidity that it swept the world clean in a day—doing its work before any resistance could be organized or thought of.
"Again, some poisonous gas may have developed, either from a fissure in the earth's crust, or otherwise. Other hypotheses are possible, but of what practical value are they now?
"We only know that here, in this uppermost office of the Tower, working late, you and I have somehow escaped with only a long period of completely suspended animation. How long? God above knows! That's a query I can't even guess the answer to as yet."
"Well, to judge by all the changes," Beatrice suggested thoughtfully, "it can't have been less than a hundred years. Great Heavens!" and she burst into a little satiric laugh. "Am I a hundred and twenty-four years old? Think of that!"
"You underestimate," Stern answered. "But no matter about the time question for the present; we can't solve it now.
"Neither can we solve the other problem about Europe and Asia and all the rest of the world. Whether London, Paris, Berlin, Rome, and every other city, every other land, has shared this fate, we simply don't know.
"All we can have is a feeling of strong probability that life, human life I mean, is everywhere extinct—except right here in this room.
"Otherwise—don't you see?—men would have made their way back here again, back to New York, where all these incalculable treasures seem to have perished, and—"
He broke off short. Again, far off, they heard a faint re-echoing roar. For a moment they both sat speechless. What could it be? Some distant wall toppling down? A hungry beast scenting its prey? They could not tell. But Stern smiled.
"I guess," said he, "guns will be about the first thing I'll look for, after food. There ought to be good hunting down in the jungles of Fifth Avenue and Broadway.
"You shoot, of course? No? Well, I'll soon teach you. Lots of things both of us have got to learn now. No end of them."
He rose from his place on the floor, went over to the window and stood for a minute peering out into the gloom. Then suddenly he turned.
"What's the matter with me, anyhow?" he exclaimed with irritation. "What right have I to be staying here, theorizing, when there's work to do? I ought to be busy this very minute.
"In some way or other I've got to find food, clothing, tools, arms—a thousand things. And above all, water. And here I've been speculating about the past, fool that I am."
"You—you aren't going to leave me—not tonight?" faltered the girl.
Stern seemed not to have heard her, so strong the urge for action lay upon him now. He began to pace the floor, sliding and stumbling through the rubbish, a singular figure in his tatters, and with his patriarchal hair and beard. A figure dimly seen by the faint light that still gloomed through the window.
"In all the wreckage down below," said he, as though half to himself, "in all that vast congeries of ruin which once was called New York, surely enough must still remain intact for our small needs. Enough till we can reach the land, the country, and raise food of our own."
"Don't go now!" ple
aded Beatrice. She, too, stood up, and now she stretched her hands to him. "Don't, please! We can get along some way or other till morning. At least, I can!"
"No, no, it isn't right. Down in the shops and stores, who knows but we might find—"
"But you're unarmed. And in the streets—in the forest, rather—"
"Listen," he commanded rather abruptly, "this is no time for hesitating or for weakness. I know you'll stand your share of all that we must suffer, dare, and do together.
"Some way or other I've got to make you comfortable. I've got to locate food and drink immediately. Got to get my bearings. Why, do you think I'm going to let you, even for one night, go fasting and thirsty, sleep on bare cement, and all that sort of thing?
"If so, you're mistaken! No, you must spare me for an hour or two. Inside of that time I ought to make a beginning!"
"A whole hour?"
"Two would probably be nearer it. I promise to be back inside of Jiat time."
"But," and her voice quivered just a trifle, "but suppose some wolf or bear—"
"Oh, I'm not quite so foolhardy as all that!" he retorted. "I'm not going to venture outside until tomorrow. My idea is that I can find at '.east a few essentials right here in this building.
"It's a city in itself—or was. Offices, stores, shops, everything right r.ere together in a lump. It can't possibly take me very long to go down and rummage out something for your comfort.
"Now that the first shock and surprise of our awakening are over, we can"t go on in this way, you know—h-m!—dressed in—well, such exceedingly primitive garb."
Silently she looked at his dim figure in the dusk. Then she stretched rut her hand.
"I'll go, too," she said quite simply.
"You'd better stay, It's safer here."
"No, I'm going."
"But if we run into dangers?"
"Never mind. Take me with you."
He came over to her. He took her hand. In silence he pressed it. Thus :rr a moment they stood. Then, arousing himself to action, he said: "First :f all. alight."
"A light? How can you make a light? Why, there isn't a match left anywhere in this whole world."
"I know, but there are other things. Probably my chemical flasks and vials aren't injured. Glass is practically imperishable. And if I'm not mistaken, the bottles must be lying somewhere in that rubbish heap over by the window."
He left her wondering, and knelt among the litter. For a while he silently delved through the triturated bits of punky wood and rust-red metal that now represented the remains of his chemical cabinet.
All at once he exclaimed: "Here's one! And here's another. This certainly is luck. H-m! Shouldn't wonder if I got almost all of them back."
One by one he found a score of thick, ground-glass vials. Some were broken, probably by the shock when they and the cabinet had fallen, but a good many still remained intact.
Among these were the two essential ones. By the last dim ghost of a light through the window, and by the sense of touch, Stern was able to make out the engraved symbols "P" and "S" on the bottles.
"Phosphorus and sulfur," he commented. "Well, what more could I reasonably ask? Here's alcohol, too, hermetically sealed. Not too bad, eh?"
While the girl watched with wondering admiration, Stern thought hard a moment. Then he set to work.
First he took a piece of the corroded metal framework of the cabinet, a steel strip about eighteen inches long, frail in places, but still sufficiently strong to serve his purpose.
Tearing off some rags from his coat-sleeve, he wadded them together into a ball as big as his fist. Around this ball he twisted the metal strip, so that it formed at once a holder and a handle for the rag-mass.
With considerable difficulty he worked the glass stopper out of the alcohol bottle, and with the fluid saturated the rags. Then, on a clear bit of floor, he spilled out a small quantity of the phosphorus and sulfur.
"This beats getting fire by friction all hollow," he cheerfully remarked. "I've tried that, too, and I guess it's only in books a white man ever succeeds at it. But this way, you see, it's simplicity itself."
Very moderate friction, with a bit of wood from the wreckage of the door, sufficed to set the phosphorus ablaze. Stern heaped on a few tiny lumps of sulfur. Then, coughing as the acrid fumes arose from the sputter of blue flame, he applied the alcohol-soaked torch.
Instantly a puff of fire shot up, colorless and clear, throwing no very satisfactory light, yet capable of dispelling the thickest of gloom.
The blaze showed Stern's eager face, long-bearded and dusty, as he bent over this crucial experiment.
The girl, watching closely, felt a strange new thrill of confidence and solace. Some realization of the engineer's resourcefulness came to her, and in her heart she had confidence that, though the whole wide world had crumpled into ruin, yet he would find a way to smooth her path, to be a strength and refuge for her.
But Stern had no time for any but matters of intensest practicality. He rose from the floor, holding the flambeau in one hand, the bottle of alcohol in the other.
"Come now," he said, and raised the torch on high to light her way. "You're still determined to go?"
For an answer she nodded. Her eyes gleamed by the uncanny light.
And so, together, he leading out of the room and along the wrecked hall, they started on their trip of exploration out into the unknown.
6. TREASURE-TROVE
NEVER BEFORE had either of them realized just what the meaning of forty-eight stories might be. For all their memories of this height were associated with smooth-sliding elevators that had whisked them up as though the tremendous had been the merest trifle.
This night, however, what with the broken stairs, the debris-cumbered hallways, the lurking darkness which the torch could hardly hold back from swallowing them, they came to a clear understanding of the problem.
Every few minutes the flame burned low and Stern had to drop on more alcohol, holding the bottle high above the flame to avoid explosion.
Long before they had compassed the distance to the ground floor the girl lagged with weariness and shrank with nameless fears.
Each black doorway that yawned along their path seemed ominous with memories of life that had perished there, of death that now reigned all-supreme.
Each corner, every niche and crevice, breathed out the spirit of the past and of the mystic tragedy which in so brief a time had wiped the human race from earth, "as a mother wipes the milky lips of her child."
And Stern, though he said little except to guide Beatrice and warn her of unusual difficulties, felt the somber magic of the place. No poet, he; only a man of hard and practical details.
Yet he realized that, were he dowered with the faculty, here lay matter for an Epic of Death such as no Homer ever dreamed, no Virgil ever could have penned.
Now and then, along the corridors and down the stairways, they chanced on curious little piles of dust, scattered at random in fantastic shapes.
These for a few minutes puzzled Stern, till stooping, he stirred one with his hand. Something he saw there made him start back with a stifled exclamation.
"What is it?" cried the girl, startled.
But he, realizing the nature of his discovery—he had seen a human incisor tooth, gold-filled, there in the odd little heap—straightened up quickly and assumed to smile.
"It's nothing, nothing at all," he answered. "Come, we haven't got any time to waste. If we're going to provide ourselves with even a few necessaries before the alcohol's all gone, we've got to be at work."
And onward, downward, ever farther and farther, he led her through the dark maze of ruin, which did not even echo to their barefoot tread.
Like disheveled wraiths they passed, soundlessly, through eerie labyrinths and ways which might have served as types of Coleridge's "caverns measureless to man," so utterly drear they stretched out in their ghostly desolation.
At length, after an eternal time of we
ariness and labor, they managed to make their way down into the ruins of the famous and once beautiful arcade which had formerly run from Madison Avenue to the square.
"Oh, how horrible!" gasped Beatrice, shrinking, as they clambered down the stairs and emerged into this scene of chaos, darkness, death.
Where once the arcade had stretched its path of light and life and beauty, of wealth and splendor, like an epitome of civilization all gathered in that constricted space, the little light disclosed stark horror.
Feeble as a will-o'-the-wisp in that enshrouding dark, the torch now showed only hints of things. Here a fallen pillar, there a shattered mass of wreckage where a huge section of the ceiling had fallen. Yonder a gaping aperture left by the disintegration of a wall.
Through all this rubbish and confusion, over and through a score of the little dust-piles which Stern had so carefully avoided explaining to Beatrice, they climbed and waded, and with infinite pains slowly advanced.
"What we need is more light!" exclaimed the engineer presently. "We've got to have a bonfire here!"
And before long he had collected a considerable pile of wood, ripped from doorways, and window-casings of the arcade. This he set fire to, in the middle of the floor.
Soon a dull, wavering glow began to paint itself upon the walls, and to fling the comrades' shadows, huge and weird, in dancing mockery across the desolation.
Strangely enough, many of the large plate-glass windows lining the arcade still stood intact. The glittered with the uncanny reflections of the fire as the man and woman slowly made way down the passage.
"See!" exclaimed Stern, pointing. "See all these ruined shops? Probably almost everything is worthless. But there must be some things left that we can use.
"Think of the millions in real money, gold and silver, in the safes all over the city—in the banks and vaults! Millions! Billions!
"Jewels, diamonds; wealth simply inconceivable. Yet now a good water supply, some bread, meat, coffee, salt, and so on, a couple of beds, a gun or two and some ordinary tools would outweigh them all."
Under the Moons of Mars: A History and Anthology of the Scientific Romance in the Munsey Magazines, 1912-1920 Page 11