Pêro lunged towards the clear opening, a possible passageway which would allow him to go home. He stopped abruptly on the edge of a precipice. The earth split open like a flesh wound, stone cobbles broke away under his feet. He stumbled back from the edge. Below him, others, not so lucky, had been swallowed by the deep chasm.
Across the gap thousands of people were packed into Rossio Square, beating and tearing at their faces, wailing for lost loved ones. Crosses punctuated the crowd like grave headstones.
“Kiss the Cross! Kiss it!” A deranged old woman shouted. Her head shrouded with a black shawl, blood dripping down her cheeks as she shoved her cross in the faces of those around her.
Waves of heat swept across the square from the north, coming from the burning of the box-like Estaus
