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Irina says.
    “Where did Brian go?” Mark asks.
    The guard is nowhere to be seen.
    “Nice to know our security guards
are keeping their posts,” Michael snorts.
    “It’s an earthquake, we shouldn’t
be in here,” Rebecca retorts.
    “Maybe he was stealing rare
books?” Irina says, jokingly.
    “This is the Library of Congress.
People don’t do that here,” Mark says coolly and straightens his jacket.
    “Ha!” Rebecca snaps. “Michael told
me people steal rare books by ripping off the book covers and walking out.”
    Michael shoots Rebecca a dark
look. Their shoes echo on the marble as they walk briskly down a corridor
towards the Kluge Center. The Bob Hope exhibit is in good condition but the
Whittall Pavilion isn’t. A cloud of dust hangs over the broken drywall spilling
into the hallway.
    “If we go to the main chamber on
the first floor we could use the side hallway,” Mark says.
    They backtrack. Mark steps over
broken chunks of marble showing pieces of the statue Athena. The first floor
hallway is equally impassable, further frustrating Mark and the others.
    “The only way left to try is the
Main Reading Room,” Michael says.
    They walk up a marble staircase.
Mark glances over a balcony and sees the unbreakable cases containing the four
original Gutenberg Bibles and the Declaration of Independence. Sunlight streams
down through cracks in the breaking ceiling.
    “This sucks,” Michael tells
Rebecca. “The beauty of the building is being destroyed! You see that over
there? It represents the different seasons. It was made by Frank Becket. You
see those sayings on that wall and ceiling? They came from the Librarian of the
Library.”
    “You know what’s happening might
be no different then what happened in cities in Japan, New Zealand, Haiti, Chili, and even California in the last couple of years,” Mark says. “They
experienced epic natural disasters, but life went on.”
    “I always liked Cervantes,” Irina
pipes. “My favorite is Sir Francis Bacon’s quote ‘knowledge is power.’ What are
we doing if we can’t get to the office, Mark?”
    “We need to get to our families
somehow,” Michael says.
    “My family is in Russia. How do I get home?” Irina asks.
    “I can get you to the Russian
Embassy,” Mark says. “Or you can stay with me.”
    Ahead, a streak of sunlight
illuminates a mosaic of the Roman goddess of learning and wisdom, Minerva. The
guardian of civilization holds a proclamation scroll. Mark stares at Minerva
and thinks of how quickly civilization can disintegrate; even this great
library which always reminded him of the fabled library of Alexandria.
    “Do you think Sam will be ok?”
Rebecca asks.
    “See the sun at the upper left
corner of the mural? The darkness recedes and the light creates balance,”
Michael answers.
    “How does that relate to us?”
Rebecca asks.
    “Light and goodness will prevail,”
Mark says. “Come on. We need to go through the Visitor’s Gallery.”
    “Rebecca, the Light will watch
over our son,” Michael says, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry.”
    The Visitor’s Gallery overlooks
the library’s main reading chamber. Michael whistles as he points to the
deteriorating grand ceiling over the balcony. Only two of the eight statues
overlooking the chamber remain. Irina gasps as she looks down. The floor of the
main chamber has imploded inwards. Heavy wooden chairs and desks bury a
multitude of writhing bodies. Low moans of agony lift from the ground floor.
    “We have to do something for
them,” Rebecca says.
    “There’s nothing we can do,” Mark
says and turns away.
    They walk stiffly down the hallway
and turn the corner only to find the way blocked by more collapsed walls.
Distraught, the group finally backtracks to the main entrance.
    Rebecca wrinkles her nose and
asks, “Do you smell that?”
    “I might be able to crawl through
a window,” Irina’s says, her voice carrying a hysterical edge. She rushes down
the hallway and