A Sound of Thunder and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

me go above the town just once more to see what it’s like to be living, to be a town and a people, before they slam the black door on me again.
    Softly, softly, like two white paper lanterns on a night wind, the women moved over their lifetime and their past, and over the meadows where the tent cities glowed and the highways where supply trucks would be clustered and running until dawn. They hovered above it all for a long time.
     
    The courthouse clock was booming eleven forty-five when they came like spider webs floating from the stars, touching on the moonlit pavement before Janice’s old house. The city was asleep, and Janice’s house waited for them to come in searching for their sleep, which was not there.
    “Is this us, here?” asked Janice. “Janice Smith and Leonora Holmes, in the year 2003?”
    “Yes.”
    Janice licked her lips and stood straight. “I wish it was some other year.”
    “1492? 1612?” Leonora sighed, and the wind in the trees sighed with her, moving away. “It’s always Columbus Day or Plymouth Rock Day, and I’ll be darned if I know what we women can do about it.”
    “Be old maids.”
    “Or do just what we’re doing.”
    They opened the door of the warm night house, the sounds of the town dying slowly in their ears. As they shut the door, the phone began to ring.
    “The call!” cried Janice, running.
    Leonora came into the bedroom after her and already Janice had the receiver up and was saying, “Hello, hello!” And the operator in a far city was readying the immense apparatus which would tie two worlds together, and the two women waited, one sitting and pale, the other standing, but just as pale, bent toward her.
    There was a long pause, full of stars and time, a waiting pause not unlike the last three years for all of them. And now the moment had arrived, and it was Janice’s turn to phone through millions upon millions of miles of meteors and comets, running away from the yellow sun which might boil or burn her words or scorch the meaning from them. But her voice went like a silver needle through everything, in stitches of talking, across the big night, reverberating from the moons of Mars. And then her voice found its way to a man in a room in a city there on another world, five minutes by radio away. And her message was this:
    “Hello, Will. This is Janice!”
    She swallowed.
    “They say I haven’t much time. A minute.”
    She closed her eyes.
    “I want to talk slow, but they say talk fast and get it all in. So I want to say—I’ve decided. I will come up there. I’ll go on the Rocket tomorrow. I will come up there to you, after all. And I love you. I hope you can hear me. I love you. It’s been so long.... ”
    Her voice motioned on its way to that unseen world. Now, with the message sent, the words said, she wanted to call them back, to censor, to rearrange them, to make a prettier sentence, a fairer explanation of her soul. But already the words were hung between planets and if, by some cosmic radiation, they could have been illuminated, caught fire in vaporous wonder there, her love would have lit a dozen worlds and startled the night side of Earth into a premature dawn, she thought. Now the words were not hers at all, they belonged to space, they belonged to no one until they arrived, and they were traveling at one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second to their destination.
    What will he say to me? What will he say back in his minute of time? she wondered. She fussed with and twisted the watch on her wrist, and the light-phone receiver on her ear crackled and space talked to her with electrical jigs and dances and audible auroras.
    “Has he answered?” whispered Leonora.
    “Shhh!” said Janice, bending, as if sick.
    Then his voice came through space.
    “I hear him!” cried Janice.
    “What does he say?”
    The voice called out from Mars and took itself through the places where there was no sunrise or sunset, but always the night with a sun in