“Did you hear that?” I shouted.  My best friend was standing a few feet away.  He shook his head.  We were climbing Mt. Blowup on a warm summer day when an earthquake shook the ground.   At first, I was glad to be outside.  Then,  I heard a horrible noise.  Near the peak of the
mountain, a dozen boulders had broken loose and were rolling toward us.  Tall pine trees looked like little pencils in the path of the giant rocks.

    In a few seconds, I started running down the hill, but the boulders gained speed.  My friend ran in the opposite direction.  I screamed,  “HELP!”  I didn’t think that anyone could hear me.  The boulders came up behind me fast.  The roar of the rolling rocks sounded like thunder.  They picked  up speed as they plowed down the hill.

     All at once, I decided to climb the nearest tree.  I came to a limb and pulled myself out to the edge.  A big boulder aimed right at the base of the tree.  I counted the seconds.  Just before the boulder hit, I leaped from the branch onto the rolling stone.  I ran in the direction that the stone was turning. I felt like one of those trained circus seals that walks on a beach ball.  The rock ball steamed downhill faster than a speeding train.  I huffed and puffed to stay on top.  Before I could enjoy my good luck too much, I looked ahead and noticed that the boulder was headed directly for a cliff.

     Suddenly, a helicopter appeared.  The rescuers leaned out the door and yelled, “Catch this!” as they dropped me a ladder.  My hands grabbed the ladder just before the rock fell over the cliff.  Quickly, my feet climbed the ladder and planted themselves in the helicopter.   My heart raced.  The rescuers patted me on the back.  As I turned  to sit down, I noticed my friend resting in the helicopter.  I was proud of  myself that I had survived my experience with the earthquake on the mountain.