Pei Jing held his palm to the granite for five heartbeats. The first burrower had come within thirty-two feet of the surface. Three smaller tremors followed it. All four were heading for the camp beneath the wall.
Tent Four was directly above them. Forty-two wounded militiamen and nine mothers with newborns were sleeping there or waiting to be seen. The people in the next two tents were almost as close. Farther down the gorge, thirty thousand refugees were waiting for a turn at the eastern narrows. A cry of danger could send all of them toward the same opening.
Pei Jing rose and called softly to Shi Kang.
“Move Tents Three, Four and Five to the eastern shelf. Leave the bedding. Carry the wounded on their litters and keep the women and children in the middle. You have forty-five seconds.”
Shi Kang turned to the wagoners beside him. “Litters up. East wall. Move.”
Blankets dragged in the dirt as the men carried the first litters away. One of the mothers looked back for a bundle she had left. A wagoner took her elbow and guided her after the others.
Pei Jing walked to the place where Tent Four had stood. The gravel looked firm until he was standing on it. Then he could see gray dust bouncing in little rings. The air smelled of hot stone and sulfur.
