This is a she-tortoise's nest. Her clutch remains intact. It seems a little late in the year for eggs, of any kind, to be incubating... But then, mama must know that...and that might very well be why mama isn't here at the moment. Good thing she doesn't meet a boho-rogue and run off to Vegas... But then, at least if she did, she wouldn't likely run very fast...if at all...

Deep in the ground, a fault starts to itch. It moves around, and scratches itself. And when that happens, seismic waves happen everywhere else.

The earth shakes. The deserts, above, generates many dust clouds. The nearby highlands generate rockslides.

The eggs in the tortoise clutch juggle around. Soon, it'll be egg overboard...

Speak of what, it happens. An egg rises, bounces, and begins a spontaneous migration among quake-manipulated rocks.

Tunnels already run beneath this earth. Soon, no thanks to the quake, more tunnels will soon open. A few open, it seems, as this poor egg makes its way to ethnic displacement.

Up ahead, a skull lies. It's a camel's. Its eye sockets are rather large. There's a hole in its muzzle.

Down an unraveling hill, the tortoise egg rolls. Its world is coming, flowing, and pouring down all around it...

It flies into the eye socket of the camel's skull. Inside, it rolls around inside of the cranium several times, as if it were a hamster's wheel. At long last, it gets chucked through the hole in the camel's muzzle. It's almost as if the camel spat it right back into the quake's chaos.

Up ahead, there's a cave pond. Beneath its surface, bioluminescent fish tread water. Many are cichlids.

By now, the egg's gained more than quite a bit of momentum. Via this, it's skipped across the pond as if it were a rock thrown by a talented child. It reaches the other bank, and keeps following the quake's damage onward and downward...

Below, the cichlids seem minimally disturbed by the ripples that tortoise egg has made, aloft... A few swim to different parts of the pool. It's a mystery, as to how the quake doesn't forcefully evict any of them...or beach them for dead...

Up ahead, there's a creek of magma. Down from the ceilings, rocks fall into it, and make a scalding splash.

Down towards it, rolls the tortoise egg. It seems to roll towards its doom. On one hand, eggs are at home in the presence of a heat source. On the other, magma might be over-qualified for this role... And this might mean, perhaps, mortally so...

From stone to stone rising from the surface of the magma creek, the egg miraculously makes it across the creek, and keeps rolling.

Upstream, the magma creek gets dammed several times. Downstream, and just as often, new falls, from the creek, are made. Good thing a new magma spring isn't shaken loose...

Right before the tumbling egg, a new tunnel is born. As it is, one meter at a time, the egg falls down it. Good thing the tunnel's "building" doesn't quit cold-turkey. If so, this poor tortoise would literally become a squashed egg...

This is a mine. Some of the abandoned equipment is still here...and minimally functional...

Near a wall in the mine, a mega-radio plays. It plays the Blues Brothers' "Rawhide..."

By pure chance, the tumbling egg finds its own lucky path through the mining equipment. At times, it's catapulted. At times, it rolls down a perfect path...one that's almost as if it was custom-made just for this moment. At times, it gets chucked into an empty furnace, and "skateboards" in circles all over the walls, until it finds a way out.

Up ahead, a bowl-shaped pail hangs from a long chain. High aloft, the chain hangs from a wench...

Simultaneously, the egg lands in the bowl-shaped basket at the same time the wench loses its locking mechanism. Hence, the pail takes a tumble...with the egg inside it. The chain, more or less, guides its fall. Too bad the bottom of the shaft can't be seen from here...

Down a railway, a mining cart rolls. It gains much momentum. But then, there's no one to control its brakes...if those even still work...

The pail falls into a chasm. Here, the railway dead-ends...

Highballing on, comes the mining cart. It reaches the dead-end...and keeps going. It'd fly right over the chasm...if it didn't hit the bottom of the pail while doing so.

This, in turn, causes the egg to, once again, be catapulted across the caves. It finds a foothold and keeps rolling down a stray tunnel.

Up ahead, a painting sits in a chamber, leaning against the cave wall. It's of a lion and a lamb resting together in a fiddler's green. The painting's name, hence is the Lion and the Lamb.

The painter's name is scribbled in a lower corner of the painting: Philip Kerr.

Nearby, an actual lion and lamb lie next to one another. Well...not really. The "lion" is really a dachshund. The "lamb" is really a badger. Together, they take a common nap...oblivious to the surrounding quake's impending danger.

It turns out they're not the only "lions and lambs" taking common naps in this chamber. There are many other pairs of dachshunds and badgers to speak of, down here. One can't help but wonder who trained these dachshunds...and whether or not they'd lose their license, if anyone ever found out where these specimens went, or why they never came back...

Out from a hole in the wall, the tortoise egg emerges. It flies across the chamber.

One by one, it plays marimba, as it bops the many dachshunds and badgers on the rump. They all yelp a bit, as the egg hits their rumps. But none of them wake. This is a relief; any of these specimens could be the death of that tortoise embryo...or rather, the abortion.

The seismic waves get closer, as dirt begins to fall from the ceiling. The egg somehow finds another pathway to roll down, and takes its leave, leaving the den of "lions and lambs" in peace.

A lot of dirt starts falling around where the painting leans against the wall. O well; I suppose not all of Philip Kerr's works were meant to withstand the test of time... But then, he did once sacrifice his art career to become a counselor... He also tried being a naval aviator once, but that didn't work out. It's just as well; he was no Tom Cruise, and nor was he a David James Elliott.

Continuing its lucky tumble, the egg goes down another tunnel. Behind it, the tunnel starts caving in. The caving-in is always closing in on the poor egg... And yet, the lucky egg manages to stay one nth ahead of the havoc...like a lucky mouse that outruns a cat giving chase...

This is a desert highway. It's rather void of rest stops...and dollar stores. Not a single billboard advertises an Eagles' concert...let alone the Hotel California.

There is a billboard up ahead, though. It remains intact, despite the quake. It advertises for an upcoming Sunny Sweeney concert. Wherever she'll be performing, she'll be a long way from Longview...no pun intended.

Despite the highway's austerities, as well as the ongoing quake, an SUV makes its way along the highway's length. Vapor rises from the asphalt, both behind and ahead of it.

There's a femme on board, and in the back seat. She's a brunette, and she's in jorts. Her bladder is full. The bumpy road isn't helping matters...and neither is the quake. This quake has been playing bounce-the-tires with this SUV for quite some time, by now... She should be more thankful it isn't playing bounce-the-femme's-poor-little-bladder.

Soon, the quake calms. It won't stay gone, of course... After something like this, there are always a few minor aftershocks. And there will be... But for as long as it lasts, this highway, and all of the land around it, will get to experience a degree of short-term tranquility.

Despite this, Racine can't wait any longer. She demands to be let out.

So, the SUV stops. A door opens.

Racine tears her clothes, while squeezing through a barbed-wire fence. Once through, though, she wanders far and wide, in search of a place to drop her load.

In the sky, the sun moves slightly. The very few clouds never stop doing so. A stronger wind blows.

What's even worse, the SUV closes its door, and ventures on. Racine hasn't returned from her little outhouse visit. But then, that's probably because there's no actual outhouse out here, and for some women, trying to find something as good as out here can be like trying to find a Muslim woman in a porno.

Uphill, in some nearby highlands, there's a hole in the ground. It's vented much "quake exhaust" within the past hour.

At long last, it vents a straggler. Like a rogue golf ball, the tortoise egg finally comes to the end of its long treacherous journey. It gets chucked out of the hole and is sent free-flying across the nearby desert. It flies high and wide...like one of the highest-flying golf balls in the history of the sport...if only golf fans were here to watch.

Between two rocks, a jird hides. He knows he can't stay here long. The desert's hawks and snakes, after all, ever hunt him...

His stay is cut even shorter, alas, as a flood comes down from up on high. It stenches of the innards of a human female. Wet, he scurries away. Behind him, the flood generates steam, as well as an odor...

"Ah," a woman's voice says, from up on high, "at long fucking last... You'd think someone who could maintain a barbed wire fence could at least rent a port-a-potty..."

Aloft, the tortoise egg is still airborne. It still seeks a landing spot. For now, though, it's too bad the embryo inside can't see yet. It's one hell of a view, from this far up... And at that, one that no hatched tortoise ever sees...

Relieved at last, Racine comes out of the low spot in the ground, surrounded by rocks, where she barely managed to find the self-esteem to piss. She's re-dressed, now. And now she's ready to...

And then, it happens. She looks off towards the desert highway...which is now very far from where she is. Alas, she can see well enough to see that her transport is nowhere to be seen. Gaping, she looks up the road...and she looks down it. She still can't see it...

Ignoring the droning noise from up above, which keeps getting louder, she mopes in shock. "What," she finally manages to say, "the..."

And, it happens. The tortoise egg finally finds its landing spot...in the center of her forehead. It bounces off of it...and across the ground nearby.

She stands still, only for a moment. In very short time, though...she falls over backwards. She causes a desert rat to squeal, while doing so. Hopefully, it wasn't the same one she just pissed on...

She's unconscious. And based on how fast the tortoise egg was rolling only moments before, one can only expect her to stay out for a very long time.

As for the tortoise egg... Well...he's still very far from his nest. But at least now he's lost enough momentum to draw relief. Or rather, he would...if he wasn't so busy gestating inside those four cozy albumen walls...or what not.

At long last, a nearby rock stops its rolling. Good thing this isn't midday; if so, the heat from the desert sun, coupled with this rock's surface, might help out more than what's needed in gestating this egg. At least the hatchling would be more likely to be a male, if its incubation temperature was higher...

Inside the egg, the embryo still sleeps. He's completely unaware that he's just survived an earthquake's subterranean hell...or that he's been ethnically displaced from his brothers and sisters. But then, that's of no long-term consequence. Tortoises are solitary, after all.