The quake, p.5
THE QUAKE, page 5
“Where are you?” Stanley yelled.
“Down here!”
The sound seemed to come from an area somewhere ahead and to his right—near the oven? At the time of the quake, he had pictured her taking a bath or shower, but maybe she’d been in the kitchen.
“I’m on my way,” Stanley called. He reached out his leg, planted his foot atop of a tilted slab of stucco, wondered for a moment if it would hold him, then stepped aboard. The stucco wobbled, but he kept his footing.
From there, he surveyed the area ahead.
The tumbled remains of the house bristled with shards of window glass, with rows of nails. The thin leather soles of his moccasins might save his feet from cuts, but…
Just don’t step on a nail, he warned himself as he risked another stride.
And for God’s sake don’t fall.
He spread his arms for balance.
He picked his route carefully and moved slowly, trying to avoid slabs or chunks or boards that didn’t look stable. Some broke apart anyway. Many teetered. A few flipped and dropped him ankle-deep into laths or plaster.
“Are you there?” the voice called.
It had to be Sheila’s voice. Though it sounded louder, more distinct than before, it was still battered by conflicting noises. Besides, he’d only heard her speak a few times. He couldn’t be sure this was Sheila.
Must be, he thought. It’s her house. Who else could it be?
“I’m coming,” he answered. “Are you hurt?”
“I think I’m okay. But I’m trapped. I can’t move.”
Her voice didn’t actually seem to be coming from the kitchen area—from that general direction, but not from that distance. Sheila was not so far away. Maybe ten or fifteen feet this side of the oven.
He couldn’t see her, though. Between Stanley and the place where Sheila seemed to be, there stood hills of rubble and the low remains of a few interior walls.
Heading that way, he called, “Was anybody else in the house?”
“No. Just me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sheila. Sheila Banner.”
Yes!
“I’m Stanley Banks. I live in the house behind you.”
“Sure am glad you showed up, Stanley.”
“I was checking around the neighborhood and saw the condition of your house.”
“You mean they didn’t all go down?”
“Nope. From what I’ve seen so far, maybe one out of three or four got leveled.”
“My God!”
“Could’ve been a lot worse.”
“I just hope to God the school’s okay.”
Careful, Stanley thought. “Do you have a child?”
“Yeah. She goes to Rancho Heights High. Have you heard anything—any news?”
“None. It must’ve been a hell of a quake, though.”
“They always said we’d get it.”
“Yeah.” He began to climb a slope of wreckage. Until now, he had avoided anything so high. He could’ve detoured around this one, but knew there would be a good view from its top.
If I can just get there in one piece.
He made his way upward slowly, crouching, open hands down low so that he might catch himself if he should slip.
“How about your house?” Sheila called.
“It got…” His left foot suddenly triggered a small avalanche. He scrambled higher and found solid footing. Hunched there, he panted for breath. He was shaking, drenched with sweat. His pajamas felt sodden. His moccasins felt gooey inside, as if they’d been lathered with lard.
“Stanley?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure? Did you fall?”
“Some stuff… gave out under me. I’m okay.”
“Be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”
“Thanks.” Slowly, he straightened up. With a damp pajama sleeve, he wiped his face.
“What about your family?” Sheila asked. “Are you married?”
“My wife died last year.” He resumed climbing.
As he gained the summit, Sheila said, “I’m very sorry about your wife.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“You sound a lot closer.”
“Yeah, I…” He had been gazing at the debris under his face while he climbed. The moment he lifted his eyes, he saw the blazing house. And the handful of people gathered to watch it burn.
They were the only people he saw.
The burning house had apparently drawn every available spectator, leaving none to notice Stanley.
“What is it?” Sheila asked.
“A house fire. Over on the other side of Swanson. At the corner of Livonia.”
“Is the fire department there?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Police?”
“Afraid not. Just a few neighbors.”
“My God. What if it spreads?”
“It’s pretty far away.”
“Oh God.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’m trapped.” Though the voice came to him along with a confusion of overlapping noises, he heard Sheila’s fear. “I don’t want to burn up.”
“I’ll get you out,” Stanley said. “I’ll save you. I promise.”
“Hurry? Please?”
“I’m coming.” Moving as fast as he could without taking reckless chances, he descended to the bottom of the mound without trouble. From there, he could still see the thick black smoke curling into the sky. But the burning house and the spectators were out of sight, blocked from his view by remnants of Sheila’s walls.
I can’t see them, they can’t see me.
He liked that.
If they can’t see me, they won’t be coming over to snoop.
“Sheila?”
“You sound very close.”
He looked toward the sound of her voice.
It seemed to come from straight ahead—no more than a few strides away. But he could see only more tumbled, broken ruins of the house.
“I can’t see you.”
“There’s a bunch of stuff on me.”
He took a step. Another step. Halting, he studied the debris.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“You’re almost on top of me.”
On top of you. Yes. Oh, yes!
“Can you see me?” he asked.
“Too much in the way. But you sound like you’re somewhere above my feet.”
How could that be? The rubble in front of him looked fairly level and close to the floor. Unless Sheila’d been mashed—but she claimed to be unharmed. And she sounded fine. Scared, but not in pain.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Where are you?”
“I think I’m in the crawlspace.”
“What?”
“The crawlspace. Under the house. I felt the tub drop. All this junk came crashing down, and the tub dropped out from under me. We must’ve landed in the crawlspace.”
“You’re in your bathtub?” Stanley asked.
“Yeah. The luckiest break I’ve ever had.”
Me, too, Stanley thought.
“The stuff would’ve mashed me. But it’s all across the top. Too much for me to budge.”
“Well, I’ll start clearing it away.” He took off his pajama shirt. It felt good to be free of the wet, clinging fabric, to feel the air against his skin. He wanted to remove his pants, as well.
We’d both be naked.
Yeah, and what if somebody comes along? And what’ll Sheila think? She’ll be able to see me as soon as…
“How’s that fire doing?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Stanley twisted around for a look. Nothing had changed much. Black columns of smoke still climbed the sky. “It isn’t getting any closer. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
FIVE
Wellen had only avoided a head-on collision with the RTD bus by steering even farther to the left, two lanes away from their proper side of the road and into the path of a gray Mercedes. He swerved right. Filled in the space between the rear of the bus and the front of an oncoming Ford. Then again to the right, abandoning the westbound lane with an instant to spare.
And it had gone on like that.
Bursts of speed, lurches from side to side, skids and abrupt halts, near misses one after another. It seemed that Wellen would no sooner save them from a crash than still another car or bus or delivery truck would be rushing straight at them.
Barbara, belted into the passenger seat, sat rigid and squeezed her thighs and tried not to scream.
Heather, in the backseat, screamed plenty. And sobbed and pleaded.
Earl and Pete shouted.
Barbara barely noticed anything that wasn’t a direct threat to their Nova. She was only vaguely aware of what they passed: collapsed buildings, fires, wrecked cars, sheared off fire hydrants spouting white geysers into the air, people sprawled on the sidewalk, all bloody, or hurrying somewhere or stumbling along like zombies. Such sights hardly registered on Barbara’s mind. They didn’t matter. They were background. They weren’t real. Only the ride was real—the Nova piloted on its suicidal course by the driver’s education instructor.
On and on and on he sped with his students.
Putting their lives at risk with every turn of the wheels.
Taking them farther from school and from their homes with every second.
A few times, Wellen made detours to avoid sections of Pico Boulevard that appeared to be completely blocked. He whipped around corners, sped down sidestreets, gunned his way through alleys. But always back to Pico.
Until finally, a few blocks past Western, he drove into a trap.
Ahead, all lanes were blocked, a solid row of vehicles side by side from one curb to the other.
Wellen cried out, “No!” and mashed the brake pedal. The Nova skidded. It stopped less than a foot behind the rear bumper of a van. He shifted to reverse. Hit the gas.
The Nova jumped backward and bucked, slamming into something.
“Great move!” Earl yelled.
Barbara twisted her head around to look out the rear window. “A bus,” she said.
Wellen glanced back.
At first, Barbara thought he was just curious to see what he’d bumped. From the way his eyes shifted, however, she realized he was looking for an escape route—a gap in the traffic that would permit him to speed backward and resume his mad rush for the school where his daughter worked.
“No way,” Barbara muttered.
She shot her arm out sideways and twisted the ignition key.
Wellen didn’t seem to notice.
He flung open his door, leaped out, threw the door shut and ran. There was a nice, clear path for him between the two rows of motionless traffic. Seconds after abandoning the Nova, he sprinted past a dumptruck and vanished.
He no sooner vanished than a lean black woman in a brown uniform—the RTD bus driver?—dashed by.
“Get him, lady!” Pete yelled. He sounded delighted.
Barbara laughed. She couldn’t believe she could possibly be laughing, but there was no doubt about it. Her laughter had a certain frantic, crazy ring to it.
She looked back at Pete. He was laughing, too.
We’ve flipped out, she thought.
Heather was in no danger of laughing. She looked as if she might never stop bawling.
Earl opened his door. He climbed outside and stood next to the car for a moment, apparently hoping to see the bus driver catch Wellen. Then he looked to the rear.
“Did she get him?” Pete called.
Earl ducked into the car. “Who knows?” he said. “They’re outa here. And so am I. You guys gonna come along? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, the car’s going nowhere. Traffic’s backed up to hell ‘n gone.”
“Just leave the car here?” Barbara asked, no longer laughing.
“It’s gonna stay here. Don’t matter if we’re in it or not, it’s staying. Guys’re bailing out. Nothing’s gonna move for hours. Maybe not all day.”
Frowning, Pete said, “I don’t think we’re more than six or seven miles from school.”
“Walk it?” Barbara asked. “Yeah. A couple of hours, it shouldn’t take much longer than that. Four miles an hour.” The single mile from school to home should take an extra fifteen minutes. “Let’s do it,” she said. “Better than sitting here. How about you, Heather?”
Heather sniffled. “Okay.”
“Just in case Wellen comes back,” Barbara muttered, and plucked the key out of the car’s ignition. She dropped the key ring into her denim purse, slipped the strap onto her shoulder, and shoved open her door.
The car had been air conditioned. Its windows had been shut. Except for the hole in the windshield, it had been sealed tight until Wellen, then Earl, had opened their doors.
Barbara had thought she would be glad to get out of the car. From the start of Wellen’s mad race, it had seemed like a deathtrap.
She climbed out.
And wanted to climb back in.
“My God,” she muttered.
The deathtrap had been a haven.
Sanctuary from the heat, the stench, the smoke, the noise, the chaos and destruction.
The heat felt like the breath of an oven. Exhaust fumes and smoke from nearby fires stung Barbara’s eyes, scorched her nasal passages. Her ears hurt with the blare of car horns.
Why does everybody have to honk!
Everybody wasn’t honking. It only sounded that way. In fact, many of the vehicles in sight had nobody in the driver’s seat. Some people were standing beside their cars, studying the situation. Others were sitting on hoods or perched atop their car roofs. In a few cases, people had banded together; strangers only minutes ago, they now stood in the midst of the traffic, chatting, nodding, pointing. Barbara supposed that plenty of people hadn’t stuck around at all.
Everybody isn’t honking, just every jerk still sitting in his car.
She longed to shut herself inside the Nova and lock its doors.
But I’ll never get home if I do. This is the only way.
Heather had the right idea, plastering her hands against her ears.
“Let’s get outa here!” Earl yelled. Without waiting for any replies, he swung around and began to stride alongside the line of stopped cars.
Pete gestured for Heather and Barbara to go on ahead of him. Heather held back. She didn’t want to go second. Hardly surprising. Barbara wasn’t eager to be up there near Earl, either. The guy was a major creep. But she knew she was better equipped than Heather to handle him. So she hurried forward.
When she caught up to Earl, she called. “Let’s get away from Pico when we can! Take the first sidestreet! Get away from this mess!”
He frowned back at her, nodding.
At the first corner, they turned to the left.
They bypassed the sidewalk to avoid its collection of broken glass and other debris. This section of road had metered, curbside parking. All the spaces were taken.
They walked in the road, alongside the parked cars.
The vehicles to their right were moving no faster than those harbored at the curb to their left.
At least twenty were stacked up in the two northbound lanes because of the blocked intersection, but this road wasn’t completely jammed. With cars plugging one side and rubble from a collapsed building piled in the other, no vehicles could escape onto it from Pico. The rubble was only at the corner, so the southbound lanes were clear. In a fairly orderly fashion, the cars at the rear were backing off, turning around and heading away. All those trapped here would soon be free.
The drivers were waiting their turns.
Without honking.
With every stride that Barbara took, the din of the car horns on Pico diminished.
So did the smoke. Several buildings had collapsed along this section of road, but none was on fire.
“This is a lot better,” Barbara said.
“Glad I thought of it,” said Earl.
She looked back. Heather, ears uncovered, was walking beside Pete, pressing herself against his side and clutching his arm as if her life depended on keeping herself attached to him.
Give the guy a break, Barbara thought. Maybe he doesn’t want you hanging all over him.
He didn’t look like he minded, though. In fact, he seemed pretty much oblivious to Heather. With a worried frown on his face, he glanced every which way as if he expected trouble and wanted to see it coming.
“Watch where…!”
Barbara couldn’t stop in time. Head turned toward the others, she walked smack into Earl, ramming him with her right upper arm and breast.
“Geez!” he gasped, and shoved her away.
“Sorry.”
“What’re you trying to do to me?”
“I said I’m sorry. If you hadn’t stopped like that…”
“What’s going on?” Pete asked.
“We had a little collision,” Barbara said. “It wasn’t anything.”
“Yeah, right,” Earl muttered. “Ban-butt tried to flatten me with her Flying Tit Express.”
She was already so hot she could imagine steam rising off her skin. Earl’s remark, however, boosted the temperature. A lot. “Jerk,” she said.
The heel of his hand pounded her shoulder. The blow didn’t hurt, but it twisted her torso and she stumbled backward.
Seething, she raised a fist.
“Oooo. I’m so scared.”
“Leave her alone,” Pete said.
“Leave her alone? She’s the…”
“Let’s not fight!” Heather blurted. “It’s stupid! Stupid! We’re lucky to be alive, you people. Honestly! Just look around. The quake… Maybe thousands of people are dead, for all we know. We might get killed ourselves before we ever make it back home through all this. We’ve got to depend on each other. We’ve got to be friends!”
“You’re right,” Barbara said, amazed by Heather’s outburst. The girl was new in school this year, but she’d been in three of Barbara’s classes. In each of them, she had cowered at her desk, huddled in isolation. She had rarely spoken. Several times, she had burst into tears for no apparent reason. A basket case. But mostly a silent basket case. Until now.
“We don’t have to be friends,” Pete said, “but it is pretty stupid to fight among ourselves. We’re in this together.”
