Of Withered Apples by Philip K. Dick

<p>Along the edge of the field was a grove of ancient trees. Lifeless trees, withered and dead, their thin, blackened stalks rising up leaflessly. Broken sticks stuck in the hard ground. Row after row of dead trees, some bent and leaning, torn loose from the rocky soil by the unending wind.</p> <p>Lori crossed the field to the trees, her lungs laboring painfully. The wind surged against her without respite, whipping the foul-smelling mists into her nostrils and face. Her smooth skin was damp and shiny with the mist. She coughed and hurried on, stepping over the rocks and clods of earth, trembling with fear and anticipation.</p> <p>She circled around the grove of trees, almost to the edge of the ridge. Carefully, she stepped among the sliding heaps of rocks. Then—</p> <p>She stopped, rigid. Her chest rose and fell with the effort of breathing. &quot;I came,&quot; she gasped.</p> <p>For a long time she gazed at the withered old apple tree. She could not take her eyes from it. The sight of the ancient tree fascinated and repelled her. It was the only one alive, the only tree of all the grove still living. All the others were dead, dried-up. They had lost the struggle. But this tree still clung to life.</p> <p>The tree was hard and barren. Only a few dark leaves hung from it—and some withered apples, dried and seasoned by wind and mists. They had stayed there, on the branches, forgotten and abandoned. The ground around the tree was cracked and bleak. Stones and decayed heaps of old leaves in ragged clumps.</p> <p>&quot;I came,&quot; Lori said again. She took the leaf from her pocket and held it cautiously out. &quot;This tapped at the window. I knew when I heard it.&quot; She smiled mischievously, her red lips curling. &quot;It tapped and tapped, trying to get in. I ignored it. It was so—so impetuous. It annoyed me.&quot;</p> <p>The tree swayed ominously. Its gnarled branches rubbed together. Something in the sound made Lori pull away. Terror rushed through her. She hurried back along the ridge, scrambling franticall