There was no chance of escaping from her room, not with the dresser fallen in front of the door. She had been reading when the shaking started. The earthquake tremors shook every so often, causing things to fly at her from shelves and drawers. She couldn't seem to keep her footing. The roof wasn't falling in, but she couldn't bear everything flying off the shelves at her. The last tremor shook and she fell, her book flying out of her hand. Then there was black.
She woke up to the sound of chirping birds and wondered if there had always been so many birds in San Francisco. As she brushed her hair off of her face she felt the dried blood from the gash on her forehead. When she tried to stand up she felt shaky and collapsed back onto her bed. What she saw out the window in the corner of her eye made her feel shakier then the loss of blood.
It was dawn, probably three in the morning, but this sunrise was unlike any she had ever seen. It rose over the trees and the rocks and into a clear and unpolluted sky. Then there was that mass of stone, with the top seemed to be ripped off and suspended in the sky. Somehow she thought she knew this place, but she couldn't understand how. She put her hand on the table by her bed to steady herself and it landed on the book she had been reading the night before. There it was, the reason she knew that mass of stone. It was an exact drawing right above the title of her book, The Shelters of Stone.