Through a slit between two fingers, he watched the ponderous descent.
The light was enough to sear his retinas, but even they healed faster
than the damage. He estimated the course of the sun, amazed to find that
there was no panic in him, and doubly amazed that he could think at all
over the torture that wracked his body.
Finally, convinced that the sun would strike miles to the south, he
rolled across the scorching surface of the stone block and dropped to
the north side of it. The shock of landing must have broken bones, but
a moment later he could begin to breathe again. The heat was still
intense, even behind the stone block, but it was bearable--at least for
him.
Pieces were breaking off the sun as it fell, and already striking the
ground. One fell near, and its heat seared at him, giving him no place
of shelter. Then the sun struck, sending up earth tremors that knocked
him from his feet. He groped up and stared around the block.
The sun had struck near the horizon, throwing up huge masses of
material. Its hissing against the ground was a tumult in his ears, and
superheated ash and debris began to fall.
So far as he could see, there were no other survivors in the camp. Three
million slaves had died. Those who had found some shelter behind the
stonework had lived longer than the others, but that had only increased
their suffering.
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