Earthquake (11 page)

Brendan's stomach hurt and he wished over and over that he had taken a few loaves of bread from
the wagon before the mare had shied and run off. His mouth was so dry that he could barely swallow.

Brendan wondered what street they were on. He had turned off Clay, then turned again, hoping to make sure that Chou Yee couldn't follow them. He had tried to find less crowded streets—now he was afraid that had been foolish. In the dark, the piles of broken brick and shattered windows were menacing. He stumbled over something and felt Dai Yue tighten her grip to steady him.

“I tired.” Dai Yue's voice was small and weak.

Brendan nodded but he didn't answer. He had been up since three o'clock that morning, had begun his deliveries at four. He tried to ignore the aching in his belly. He had spent most of his life without enough to eat but, in the last three years, working for old man Hansen, things had begun to change for him.

“Did you see soldiers down past the Crocker Mansion?”

The gruff voice came from the other side of some shattered brickwork. It was so close that Brendan stopped, startled. Dai Yue stood to one side.

“I didn't see any earlier, Elbert. Maybe
they won't go up there.” This voice was higher, less rough, and there was a hint of an accent that Brendan couldn't place. Brendan could see the flickering of a small campfire. He could smell meat cooking. His stomach cramped.

“You're such a fool. Half the money in this city is up on Nob Hill. You think those rich folks won't demand protection? You haven't got the brains God gave a goose.” The gruff voice was derisive, cruel.

“We go,” Dai Yue whispered.

“Not yet,” Brendan whispered back. He wanted to hear what these men had to say. And he was afraid to attract their attention.

“There are uniforms swarming all over this city,” the rough voice said. “But if we're careful, this could still be our chance.”

There was a long silence, then the younger man spoke up. “I guess it isn't exactly stealing.”

“Hell no,” the rasping voice agreed. “They all have their insurance—they won't lose anything. And even if they don't have insurance, it's like that grocery store. You know the fire is just going to take everything anyway.”

Dai Yue stepped back, making a scraping sound
on the cobblestones. Brendan held his breath. He waited for them to resume their talk, but they did not. He heard one of them moving and stiffened.

“Who's there?” It was the rough voice.

Brendan felt Dai Yue begin to tremble. The men were getting up, walking around the heap of wreckage, coming toward them.

“What are you doing there?”

Dai Yue bolted and Brendan followed half a heartbeat behind her. There were heavy footsteps behind them as they ran. Dai Yue led the way this time, going as fast as she could through the maze of brick and lumber. After a couple of blocks, the sounds of the men's boots on the cobblestones faded. Brendan could hear the quick gasping of her breath when at last they stopped running.

For a long time, they stood silently in the darkness. When Brendan's breath finally slowed, he faced Dai Yue. “We have to find a place to spend the night.” He looked around. It was impossible to tell which way the fires would burn. He started forward, too exhausted to try to figure out the best thing for them to do. All he knew was that they had to keep going until they found a safe place to rest.

One block farther on, Brendan saw a small brick building. Like the rest of the buildings they had passed on this street, it looked deserted. He paused in front of it, not sure why this building had caught his attention. The front door was ajar. He took a deep breath to gather his courage, then pulled it open. No one shouted. There was no sound at all from inside.

“Wait for me,” Brendan whispered, releasing Dai Yue's hand. He slipped through the opening. There was a subtle odor that Brendan recognized but couldn't place for a moment. When he did, he almost smiled. The room smelled like the library at St. Mary's. Was this a bookstore?

Brendan took one cautious step, then another, feeling his way. When his fingertips brushed a leather binding, he did smile. Books. No one would be likely to try to steal books tonight. He and Dai Yue would be safe here.

“Dai Yue.” He said her name so quietly that he thought she might not hear, but a few seconds later she appeared beside him.

“It's a bookstore,” he told her. “Try to find somewhere we can sleep.”

He heard her move away, then he took another
cautious step. The floor was littered with books. He crouched and pushed a few of the heavy volumes along the floor. His hands slid across a thick wool carpet. “Over here, Dai Yue.”

She came to stand beside him again. “Here.”

Brendan touched a piece of cloth—some garment, a coat or cape. “Feel this carpet,” he instructed her, crouching again.

Dai Yue sank to the floor and made a little sound of delight. She began shoving books out of the way. He helped her and within a few minutes they had cleared a space big enough to lie down in. Brendan stretched out, feeling numb.

Dai Yue arranged the cloth over them both. Brendan knew he ought to say something, to tell her not to be afraid. But she turned over, curling up on her side. Brendan listened to her breathing as it slowed and deepened. He closed his eyes and almost immediately felt the tug of exhaustion pulling him toward sleep.

Brendan felt the tremor in the ground and knew he should jump up, get Dai Yue to her feet, prepare to run—but he couldn't. The tremor subsided. Dai Yue did not even stir in her sleep. Brendan relaxed
again. Sleep came easily, warm and dark and comforting. The night went on outside the little shop. Brendan slept peacefully, the smoke, the fires, the shouts all erased for a few hours.

A sharp pain in Brendan's wrist jolted him from sleep. He jerked his hand back and heard a chittering squeak. Rats. He sat up, shoving back the cape. Dai Yue turned wildly, saying something in Chinese.

Rats skittered away, their claws scraping on book covers, the fallen shelves, the empty window frame. Brendan saw five or six of them flow over the windowsill, their fur as dark as the shadows that still filled the corners of the room.

Brendan blinked. It was getting light. Dawn was near. It took him a moment to realize that Dai Yue was crying. Her shoulders shook. He took both of her hands in his and held them tightly, waiting, not sure what else to do.

“I . . . ,” Dai Yue began, then had to stop. He watched her face as she struggled for the words. “I . . . hate rats.”

Brendan nodded. “So do I. Let's get out of here.”

They got to their feet. Brendan felt as though someone had beaten him. Every muscle hurt. His
bones seemed to ache. Dai Yue stretched, yawning and wincing.

Back outside, Brendan walked to the corner and turned in a slow circle, trying to orient himself. The fires were closer. A lot closer. The gray dawn sky was shrouded with smoke.

Brendan glanced at Dai Yue. Her eyes looked hollow and one cheek was reddened beneath the cut on her temple. She noticed him looking and turned away. Brendan studied his hands. He was filthy. Dirt outlined his nails in black.

Brendan lifted his eyes, scanning the ruins of the Financial District on the smoke-blurred horizon. All down Market Street the buildings stood in a jagged line, like gapped teeth. Some had fallen in the earthquake, he knew, but it looked like many more had surrendered to the fires.

The Palace Hotel was still standing, he was pretty sure. It was hard to see it from where he stood. He hoped it had made it through the fire. He loved the graceful arched entries and the beautiful chandeliers. He thought he could see the dome of the Call Building through the smoke, too, but it was hard to tell. He tried to see St. Mary's bell tower, but the
smoke was just too thick. He wondered where Mr. Malloy was now.

The line of fires was still marching inland. Chinatown was mostly a charred ruin now, with only its western edge still in flames. Brendan glanced at Dai Yue. Did it upset her to think about her uncle? He had seemed like a coldhearted man.

Brendan looked back out over the city. The flames were moving steadily toward Nob Hill. There were fires up by Russian Hill, too. Was the whole city going to burn?

Dai Yue tapped his shoulder. “Where we go?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Brendan pointed. “That's Van Ness up there a couple blocks. We could drop back down to Clay Street. I still think we should go to Lafayette Square.”

Dai Yue's face showed the strain of trying to understand his words. She frowned when he was finished. “No soldiers. Please.”

Brendan felt his stomach sink. “I don't know where else to go, Dai Yue.” She blinked and he could tell that she was fighting tears. “All right. We will stay away from the soldiers if we can.”

Brendan knew that they ought to go to Lafayette
Square. They had to find help. They had to eat soon. He felt weak and Dai Yue looked pale and worn-out.

A piercing squeak from a nearby doorway made them both turn. A rat sat on the threshold, cleaning one front paw. Its long, bare tail hung in a curve beside it.

Dai Yue turned. “We go now?”

Brendan started walking. He felt worse than he had before he'd slept. His mouth was sticky and dry and his eyes burned. He pulled in a deep breath to see if his lungs still ached from the smoke. The pain was worse than he expected, and he coughed.

“Hungry.” Dai Yue said the single word as though nothing else was needed to describe the world. Brendan nodded, understanding her perfectly.

As they got close to Van Ness, Brendan crossed the street and turned left. They walked slowly, not because the rubble was any worse here than it had been in other places—Brendan just couldn't go any faster. He tried scraping his tongue against his teeth to make saliva, but his mouth was so dry it didn't work.

Brendan saw a few people among the ruined buildings. In the gray light and with the air hazed by
smoke, they looked like shadows. One man, carrying a box of oranges, darted across the street in front of them. His eyes flickered in every direction as he ran.

Brendan stopped, astonished that he could smell the oranges. He turned to Dai Yue. “Wait here.” He started walking, without allowing himself to think about anything. If there had been one box of fruit, there could be more. He imagined the taste of a juicy orange and ran his tongue over his lips.

In what had to have been a storeroom, Brendan came across two more boxes of oranges. They were heavy, but he managed to hoist a crate up and walk with it. He emerged onto the street, a smile lighting his face as he lifted his head to call out to Dai Yue. But before he could utter a sound, the clatter of hooves startled him and he looked up to see a soldier glaring at him.

The man raised his rifle. “Put down that box, junk thief.”

Dai Yue watched, crouched in a doorway across the street. The soldier dismounted. He kept his rifle ready and spoke to Brendan in a low, threatening voice.

Brendan glanced around and Dai Yue knew that he was looking for her. She wanted to step forward just enough for him to see her, but she was too frightened of the soldier.

“I said get moving,” the soldier ordered, so loudly that his voice echoed.

Brendan began walking. The soldier followed him, leading his horse, the rifle never more than a few feet from Brendan's back. Dai Yue slipped out of the doorway and followed. For a long time, she concentrated
on keeping up without the soldiers seeing her. She ran from one pile of bricks to the next, slipped from one shadow to another. It was only on the last stretch of cobblestone that she realized where the soldier was taking Brendan.

Dai Yue stopped, her breath coming in little gasps. The square was packed with people and surrounded by soldiers carrying rifles. She crept forward, then stopped again, feeling nothing but the pounding of her heart.

Her uncle had told her many times that the Fon Kwei soldiers would shoot her people like dogs. She had seen her cousin's body after the Fon Kwei had beaten him to death.

She wanted to follow Brendan, to help him if she could. She understood fully the great debt she owed him. He had saved her life, her uncle's life, then had helped to free her from Chou Yee. But still, she was terrified to walk toward the seething mass of Fon Kwei faces.

“Shoot them all. Kill the looters,” someone shouted. A ragged cheer went up from the crowd.

Dai Yue forced herself to place one trembling foot in front of the other. The crowd seemed like a
many-headed dragon. It was in just such a place that her cousin had died.

“Line them up right here!” another voice exploded. This time, the cheers were a little louder and lasted a little longer.

Dai Yue was within a few steps of the crowd now. She lowered her eyes and tried to watch only the ground at her own feet. Her heart beat against her ribs and sweat beaded her brow.

A firm hand suddenly clamped down on Dai Yue's arm and she tried to scream, but nothing came from her lips. It was a demon. She knew it. It was her fate to die in a crowd of Fon Kwei.

“Hello, dear,” a voice said from behind her. “Are you all right? Where's Brendan?” Dai Yue looked up into the kind eyes of Miss Agatha Toland.

◊ ◊ ◊

Brendan stood rigidly, fear prickling at his scalp. The soldier seemed to be enjoying this. He let the rifle barrel brush against Brendan's shirt as they walked. And once they were stopped, facing Lafayette Square, the soldier jabbed him between the shoulder blades, then once in the small of his back.

“Junk thief?” An officer snapped out the question.
Then he seemed to really look at Brendan. “He's just a boy.”

“Funston's orders don't state an age limit, do they, sir?”

The officer was silent for a moment. “You have a point. Take him over with the other three. Talk to Sergeant Grant.”

“Let's go, boy.” The rifle dug into Brendan's back once more. He stumbled forward, fear weighting his legs, making him clumsy. He had known that he shouldn't steal the oranges. He had just been so hungry and thirsty he hadn't been able to think clearly. It wasn't an excuse, he knew, but he hadn't meant to steal exactly. His eyes flooded and he forced back the tears. He was not going to cry.