Then it dawned on him that the shell itself was sliding, sliding upwards!
It was Eileen who gave the answer: "Lean back, Fred! The bubble's rolling, that's all. The dirt keeps sliding forward." Strangely, her voice was steady now; calm, almost.
After that, there was no more time for talking. Faster and faster, the grey sphere careened onward, bumping and bouncing. A dozen times, one or the other of them fell. But as long as they held their places against the rear wall, the earth and clods spilled away from them, so that with sweat and scrambling they managed each time to regain their footing.
Then, at long last, the strange globe slowed and changed direction. The surface beneath it seemed smoother now, and the bubble moved in arcs and curves. Shadows fell across it. The light grew dim, then faded altogether.
More movement, through long lanes of utter darkness. Strange sounds, faint whispers in the stillness.
Then, abruptly, light again—a blaze of it, dazzling and incandescent.
The bubble halted.
A crash of silent thunder, more felt than heard.
Its impact pitched Boone and Eileen forward into the dirt. The globe split into segments like a quartered orange.
Half-stunned, they stared about.