"'I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.' I think that explains it best." He sighed. "It's my fault, I suppose. Man is omnipotent, I said. Man is all-powerful. Man can do anything! Yes, it was enough to rouse the anger of a jealous God."
"Is He going to kill us, then?"
"I don't know, Phillips. He could have, long before this...."
"How can we fight Him," Cole whispered. "How?"
"We can't," the old man said. "God is the only omnipotent One. We are not." He got to his feet, came around to face them.
"One thing we can do."
"What?" they wanted to know. "What can we do?"
"We can try to—talk to Him."
The grassy world sped softly toward its dawning. Beyond the hill that rose above them, lean fingers of light came creeping from the lifting sun. It seemed to come in answer to those stumbling, clumsy, fervent prayers—the first prayers that had touched the lips of men in a thousand years.
Lost in concentration, MacMartree felt the sweet breath of the sun's first warmth upon his back. He opened his eyes, found them dimmed somehow, and a wetness on his cheeks.