Quake (21 page)

    'Are they coming this way?'

    'Yeah.'

    'Did they see you?' Barbara asked.

    'Chased me.'

    'Oh, my God,' Barbara said.

    'Just two… came after me. Think lost 'em.' Heather stood up straight. Still gasping for air, she wiped her face on a sleeve. Then she looked toward the gate. 'Lost 'em a few minutes ago. Over on… a different street. Hid. Circled around. But the main bunch is coming. Just saw 'em.'

    'From right out in front?' Pete asked.

    'Yeah.'

    'Did they see you come in here?' Barbara asked.

    'Don't know. Don't think so, but… Maybe. We gotta hide. Gotta hide quick.'

    Barbara met Pete's eyes. He looked scared. 'Go for the alley?' she asked.

    'No!' Heather blurted. 'They'll get us. I can't run. Can't. But I… figured it out. We can hide here. All we do is… get in a door…, they'll never find us.'

    'Break into an apartment?' Pete asked.

    'Yeah! Yeah, it's perfect. They won't… know where to look for us.'

    They'll know if they spot a busted door, 'Upstairs,' Pete said. 'We'll try upstairs.'

    Pete in the lead, they ran to the nearest stairway. He rushed up the stairs, taking three at a time. Barbara took two at a time. Heather grunted and wheezed behind her. At the top, Pete raced along the balcony and stopped at first door. He grabbed its knob, twisted it and shoved it.

    'Nobody's gonna leave their doors unlocked,' Barbara said. 'Should I bust it in?'

    'No. Not this one. Keep going.'

    We don't want to hide in the very first room at the top the stairs, she thought. Besides, maybe there would be a door that somebody hadn't bothered to lock. They hurried on to the door of the next apartment. Pete tried that one, shook his head, and kept going. Barbara followed him almost as far as the third door veered to the side and gazed over the railing. Nobody had entered the pool area yet. But she winced at the trails they had left on the concrete. Huge, dark splotches of wetness showed where they climbed out of the pool. A lot of water must've spilled there. Not so much where they had hurried along side of the pool; only a few traces of dampness remained show that trail. But plenty of water remained, undried, at the end where they had sat down to put on their shoes. From there, a weak trail of dribbles, barely noticeable from Barbara's position at the railing, led to the stairway they had used.

    'They're gonna know we were here,' she said.

    Pete lurched to the railing. He peered down. 'It's drying fast,' he said. 'In a couple of minutes, we oughta be okay.'

    As if they'd both been struck by the same idea, Barbara and Pete suddenly turned their heads to see if they'd left a trail of water along the balcony. Just a few drops.

    'We'll be okay if we can get inside,' Pete said.

    'In here!'

    Barbara's heart jumped. She saw Pete flinch, heard Heather gasp. She turned in time to see the door of the next apartment swing open wide. A man stepped out. He had a pistol, but it was pointed upward, not at them. He was young - probably not much older than twenty, stocky and muscular. His hair was so short that the pale skin of his scalp showed through. His face looked handsome, but grim, with bright blue eyes and a broad jaw. He wore a white T-shirt, tight blue jeans and combat boots of gleaming black leather.

    'Get in here,' he said. He gestured them forward with his pistol.

    Pete looked back at Barbara and Heather. He shrugged, then turned again to the man in the doorway. 'Uh… Do we have to? mean, what's going on? Are we supposed to be, like, your prisoners, or…?' He-shrugged again.

    The man stared at Pete, eyes narrow.

    After a moment, he said, 'You don't wanta see them ruined, you'd better get in here fast.'

***

    On their way to the top of Laurel Canyon Boulevard, Clint and Em walked side by side up the middle of the road. Mary followed them at a distance. Sometimes, she gained on them when they stopped for a rest. But soon afterward, she would need to stop, herself, and they would leave her farther behind. They stepped right over a few minor cracks that ran across the pavement.

    When they came to the first of those, Clint had said, 'Watch out. Step on a crack, break your mother's back.'

    Em had stepped over it, then given Clint a puzzled look. 'What was that about my mother's back?'

    'An expression. "Step on a crack, break your mother's back." You've never heard it before?'

    'Not that way. It was "step on a crack, snap a fella's back.” ‘

    'Bet your mom taught you that one.’

    'You mean it doesn't go that way?’

    'It's "break your mother's back." '

    'I've been misled.' Grinning, Em had shaken her head. 'We used to chant it - Mom's version - and jump up and down on every crack we found.'

    'I can't wait to meet your mother. I think I'll have to send you home in a taxi.'

    'Oh, don't worry about her. She'll like you. How can she not, you know what mean? You may be a man, but…'

    'Hey, there's no "may be" about that. Please!'

    'Anyway, you're not a jerk like most guys.’

    'Why, thank you. I'm honored.'

    They'd crossed several more cracks during the next few minutes. Though nothing more was said about the expression, Clint noticed that Em avoided stepping on any of them. Higher up the hillside, they came upon a much larger break in the pavement. The jagged fissure crossed every lane road, but was never more than about two feet wide. Over to the right, several smaller cracks led away from it. Em, striding along by Clint's side, suddenly halted and said, 'Wait wait wait. Whoa.'

    'What?'

    'Look at that thing.'

    'The crack? It's no big deal. We can step right over it.'

    'I'm not so sure about that. How deep is it?'

    Clint walked closer to it. 'Be careful! Don't fall in.'

    One more stride carried him near enough to see the bottom 'It's not even three feet deep.'

    'Are you sure it doesn't drop down into some sort of abyss?'

    'Positive.'

    'Okay. I didn't think so. Not really. But, you know, they do in the movies. I've seen movies where the ground opens up and swallows people whole - and like the crack goes all the way down to the center of the Earth, or something. It is ludicrous. But one can't be too careful, if you know what mean. I've never been in a quake of this magnitude, so who knows what might happen? Have you heard about "liquefaction"? Now that's pretty scary. And it's real, too.

    It's like the ground right under you can turn into quicksand? I've never seen that in the movies, though, have you?'

    'I've seen quicksand in the movies,' Clint said, and crossed over the crack with one long stride.

    'I mean liquefaction.'

    Safe on the other side, he turned around and watched Em staring at the split. 'I haven't seen that in movies,' he said.

    'Me, neither. I guess it's not as dramatic as falling into a bottomless chasm.'

    'I don't know if liquefaction would swallow a person the way quicksand does,' Clint said. 'For that matter, I have my doubts that quicksand swallows people for real the way it does in movies.'

    'You're probably right.' Em began to step toward the crack carefully, like someone walking on the frozen surface of a pond. 'The movies basically never get anything right, do they?'

    'Mostly not.'

    'I love 'em anyway, though.'

    Clutching the grocery sack against his chest, Clint reached out his other arm. Em took hold of his hand. She clutched it tightly as she stepped across the gap. 'A cinch, right?'

    'Right,' Em said. 'Thanks.' She let go, then turned around. She frowned down the road toward Mary, who was slogging her way slowly toward them. 'Maybe we oughta wait for her.'

    'I don't see why,' Clint said. 'She might need a hand.'

    'Tough tacos. She should've thought of that before she whacked you.'

    'You aren't exactly brimming over with forgiveness, are you?'

    'Nope. Come on, let's go.' They resumed walking. 'I'm fairly forgiving of mistakes,' he explained. 'Screw-ups, accidents, errors in judgment… People should pay attention to what they do and consider what the consequences might be, but everybody makes mistakes. Meanness is something else. There's no excuse for it. There's no excuse for the way she hit you.'

    'Does that mean you're never going to forgive her?'

    'Not in the foreseeable future.'

    'Whew. Hope I never tick you off.' As she said that, she looked back.

    Clint looked, too. Mary was trudging up the road, the crack behind her.

    'See,' he said. 'She didn't need help, anyway.'

    'Guess not.' They continued uphill. 'But in case of real trouble.' It didn't sound like a question, more like a statement of fact.

    'That remains to be seen,' Clint said.

    Soon, they came upon a tree that had dropped across the road.

    'The cops didn't say anything about this,' Em said. 'Nope, they sure didn't.'

    The tree roots had left a dark pit in the hillside just by the road. The clump hadn't gone far; it rested at the tip the hole like a ball joint popped from its socket. It was to ten feet high, and clotted with dirt.

    'Your choice,' Clint said as they walked toward the tree. 'Over, under, or around?'

    Em turned her head, studying the tree from one end to the other. 'Looks like there's some room to crawl under it,' she said.

    Still in the middle of the road, they angled to the left so they would reach the tree near its roots. Em took the lead. Stopping short of the trunk, she squatted down. She looked from side to side. Clint stopped behind her.

    'Problem?' he asked.

    'Maybe we'd better climb over, instead. It might not be the safest thing in the world, crawling under there.'

    He walked past Em, placed a hand against the trunk, and shoved. The tree didn't budge. 'I don't think it's going anywhere.'

    Em stood up. She made a face at Clint, and shook her head. 'I wouldn't want to be crawling under it if there's an aftershock. That would not be at all swift, if you know what mean. A person could get squashed like a bug. And I think we're past due for an aftershock.'

    'We're probably having them all along,' Clint said.

    'Oh, know. I'm sure we've had dozens, so far. Even hundreds.'

    'I haven't felt any yet, have you?'

    'I don't think so. But you don't have to feel them. They're there, all right. And we'll have a really big one sooner or later. Maybe even one as big as the first quake. Or bigger, though that isn't very likely.'

    'You know your quakes,' Clint told her.

    'Sure. How can you not?'

    'I guess we all do,' Clint said.

    'But I also did a paper on them in sixth grade, so I learned a lot then. It's only a matter of time…'

    'That's close enough,' Clint called.

    Mary, a few yards downslope from Em, stopped and uncapped her plastic bottle. She held the bottle of water by her side and panted for air, apparently too winded to take a drink.

    Em turned around. 'The tree's in our way,' she said. Mary found enough breath to gasp, 'No fooling.’

    'We're gonna climb over it.’

    'Be my guest.'

    'In case of an aftershock.'

    Mary smirked. 'What's an… aftershock… got to do with it?'

    'Make it fall and smash you.'

    'While you're crawling… underneath?'

    'Yeah.'

    'Right. You'd only be under the thing a couple of seconds. Wouldn't fall, anyway.'

    Clint agreed with her, but he kept it to himself.

    'You go ahead and crawl under if you want,' Em told the woman. 'But I'm going over it. Better safe than mashed like a bug.'

    Mary raised the plastic bottle to her mouth and tipped back her head. She only took one swallow, then had to stop for a breath. After another swallow, she lowered the bottle.

    'Do I have to wait?' she asked Clint.

    He shook his head. As Mary stepped closer, he watched her.

    'Don't worry,' she said, 'I'm not gonna beat up on anybody.'

    'I'm not worried.'

    'Just looking for an excuse to smack me, aren't you?'

    'No.'

    'Yeah, right.' She sidestepped past Em and Clint, then turned away and sank to her knees. She crawled under the thing, the plastic bottle dragging against the pavement, her romp swaying from side to side. Clint noticed that she didn't seem to have any stockings on. Had she been wearing them earlier? He thought so. The lack of stockings made her legs seem strangely vulnerable. Maybe shouldn't be so tough on her, he thought. But his moment of regret was pushed aside by the memory of Mary striking Em. Don't go soft, he told himself, just because she looks a little bedraggled and pathetic.

    'She'll make it,' Em said.

    Mary must've heard her. 'The aftershock's waiting for you, sweetie.' A moment later, she cried out, 'OW! Shit shit shit!' Clint and Em crouched and looked.

    Mary was only visible from the rump down. She seemed to be standing, hobbling away from the tree.

    'Are you okay?' Em called.

    'No!'

    'What happened?'

    'I wracked myself.'

    'What happened?' Em asked again.

    'As if anybody cares,' Mary said, and kept going.

    'Wait!' Em rushed forward, dropped to her hands and knees, and started to scurry under the tree. So much for climbing over it, Clint thought.

    And realized that he wasn't concerned about the possibility of an aftershock - such a slim possibility that a huge one would hit at exactly the wrong time and drop the tree onto Em. He found himself more interested in the look of her. She was crawling on her hands and knees, the same as Mary had done. Her white shorts were tight across her rump. Dirt smudges and grass stains on their seat reminded Clint of the fall she'd taken in front of her house - after being punched in the chest by that horrible, ugly woman named Lou. Lou the looter. Even before that, before he had met Em, she'd gotten her back scraped by a brick. And finally, Mary had given her head a swat. She'd been through plenty. A lot more than Mary. But there was nothing at all vulnerable or pathetic about how she looked as she crawled under the tree. A kid on an adventure, eagerly crawling into the mouth of a cave. Barbara. This could've been Barbara, a couple of years ago. They're so much alike. Em's a lot wilder, feistier, but…

    'Watch it when you stand up,' Mary said. 'That's how I wracked myself. Stood up too soon and it got me in the back.'

    She's warning Em. Good for her. Trying to get back in our good graces? Doesn't matter why she warned Em, Clint told himself. Not much, anyway. She did it, and that's what counts. Em stayed down. As she crawled a little farther, Clint got to his hands and knees. They were scraped raw. He winced and gritted his teeth. He thought about his dive to avoid the speeding Toyota pickup truck. The quake had still been going on when he'd thrown himself out of the way and skidded on the pavement. It seemed like a very long time ago. Days ago, not a few hours. So long ago that the abrasions on his palms and knees should've healed by now. But they hurt like hell. Bracing himself up on his knuckles and thumbs, he scuttled underneath the tree on the balls of his feet. No aftershock. In probably no more than three seconds, he was on the other side. He started to rise, then remembered Mary's warning to Em and stayed down a few moments longer. To make sure that he was clear of the tree, he looked over his shoulder. And saw a broken limb jutting straight down from the trunk. A miniature stalactite, no larger than a thumb but sharp at its splintered end.

    Em was lifting the back of Mary's blouse. Clint sidestepped for a better angle. He glimpsed blood on the fabric. Then Mary's skin was there. The gouge started just below the crossstrap of her bra. It was about three inches long, and looked as if someone had tried to plow a furrow down her back with a stick.

    'Bet that hurts,' Em told her. 'God, what if it leaves a scar?'

    'It won't,' Clint said.

    'How would you know?' Mary snapped. 'This is all your fault!'

    Of course, he thought. Should've known. As much as he loved Sheila and Barbara, they were usually quick to put the blame on him - no matter how remote his involvement might be in whatever mishap had befallen them. He had come to figure out that this was normal behavior for women. 'My fault.'?' he asked.

    'You had me so upset,' Mary said, 'that I couldn't pay attention to what I was doing!'

    'I had you upset.'

    'Treating me like I'm some kind of a criminal.'

    'Oh. see.'

    Em, still frowning at Mary's wound, said, 'We oughta put some water on it, maybe.'

    Clint set down the bag. Em took out a water bottle and paper napkin. She moistened the napkin. While Clint held up the back of Mary's blouse, Em gently dabbed at the wound.

    'How does that feel?' Em asked her.

    'Better.'

    'Weird, huh? It wasn't all that long ago, you were doing this to me.'

    'I liked it better that way,' Mary said.

    Em laughed, and so did Mary. Even Clint found smiling.

    'Now,' Em said, 'Clint's the only one who hasn't gotten screwed in the back.'

    Looking over her shoulder, Mary gave him a tight smile.

    'The day isn't over yet.'

    'Real nice,' he said.

    Em smoothed the wet napkin against Mary.

    'Leave it there,' she said. Em tucked it under the blouse at the back of Mary's skirt. 'That might hold it for a while.'

    Clint looked at Em's back. Her T-shirt was clinging with sweat, spotted a little with blood near her shoulder blade. 'What happened to your paper towel?' he asked her.