Schrodinger's Gat (25 page)

“
Jesus.” I have to warn Deb and the kids. There isn’t time for them to get out of the Bay Area, but maybe they’re far enough away from the epicenter that they’ll be OK if they can get outside. I call Deb first, figuring that if something happens to me, she can warn the kids. If she answers, that is. I haven’t talked to her since my arrest. She probably thinks I’ve gone completely nuts. The phone rings three times and it seems like an eternity. Finally she answers.

“
What do you want, Paul? I’m at work.”

“
I know,” I say. “You need to get outside, out of the bank. There’s going to be an earthquake.  A big one.”

“
Paul, God damn it. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not falling for it. You’ve lost it, Paul. I knew you were on the edge when you stopped by that night, but … Jesus. How are you even calling me? Aren’t you in prison?”

“
I was released,” I say. “Deb, please. I don’t have time to explain. Just get outside, away from any buildings. Then call the school and tell them there’s been a family emergency. Tell them …” But I’m talking to myself. Deb has hung up. Shit!

We
’re halfway across the bridge now. Tali is on the shoulder, topping out the Lexus. I’m afraid to look how fast we’re going. The cops are actually falling behind. They probably figure this is the sort of thing they have helicopters for.

Suddenly I realize what I have to do. It
’s like an epiphany, beamed into my brain directly from heaven. Maybe this is my one moment of genius. Or maybe Ananke sees it coming and doesn’t really care. She’s got bigger things on her mind. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

I dial the kids
’ school. My heart is pounding is so loudly I wonder if they’ll be able to hear it through the phone. The school secretary answers. “Mark Twain Elementary School, Janet speaking. How may I help you?”

“
Hi, Janet,” I say. “My name is Paul Bayes. Do you recognize my name?”

Silence.

“I’m going to assume that you do. Janet, I’ve planted a bomb somewhere in the school. It’s set to go off in exactly five minutes. If you can get the kids out of the school in five minutes, they will live. Do you understand?”

After a moment, she says, in a hoarse whisper,
“Yes.”

“
Good luck, Janet,” I say, and end the call.

I don
’t think Tali heard me, which is just as well. She’s too focused on keeping us on the road. Well, if there was any reasonable doubt about me being a cold-blooded mass-murderer, I’ve erased it. Not even Peregrine’s lawyers could save me from lethal injection now. The important thing is that the kids are safe. They do fire drills all the time; they have to be able to get everybody out in five minutes, don’t they?

I
’m distracted from my thoughts by the sight of Alcatraz out my window, bobbing up and down in the water. No, that’s not right; islands don’t bob. Shit, that means
we’re
bobbing. It’s hard to tell how much, being on the bridge, but I estimate that we’re swaying a good thirty feet from side to side. Funny, if it weren’t for the horizon moving up and down like that, you wouldn’t even know. I turn around and immediately wish I hadn’t: the cops have fallen well behind, but that isn’t what bothers me: I’m watching the gigantic suspension tower behind us twist and sway crazily, like one of those inflatable balloon guys that car dealerships put up to attract customers. It makes me queasy and I turn to face front.

The view that direction isn
’t much better: Tali is still careening through traffic and the tower in front of us is starting to squirm too. I can feel the movement, now, side-to-side and up-and-down. Occasionally the road warps enough beneath us that I can feel the tires momentarily leave the asphalt. I want to scream at Tali to slow down, but I know we’re dead if we do. We keep going.

Soon the second tower is behind us as well. Solid ground is just up ahead. I wonder if it will be an improvement. I hear something like an explosion behind us and turn to see the base of the first tower has sheared almost completely in half. It
’s falling to my right as I’m facing it, toward the ocean and away from the Bay. It’s pulling the second tower with it. Tali slows and pulls the wheel to the right as suddenly we’re driving on the side of a hill that’s getting steeper by the second. The driver of a pickup in front of us panics and brakes. The pickup’s wheels lock and it spins into the lane to the left, slamming into a Schwann’s truck. Tali swerves to the right, taking advantage of a gap between two Priuses barely big enough for the Lexus and then swerves back to the left. The asphalt is broken ahead of us; the bridge is separating from the land, pulling up and away from the weight of the falling tower. The Lexus leaps a three-foot the gap with aplomb, and suddenly we’re back on solid ground.

Except it
’s not solid. Not by a long shot. I’ve driven through earthquakes before and not even known it at the time. One of them was a four point three. Between the cushioning of the tires and the motion of the car, you don’t even notice the ground move a few inches. But this one I feel. It’s like we’re riding ocean swells. And in addition to the sickening up-and-down movement, there’s a sort of sideways twisting motion that makes it hard for Tali to keep the car on the road. The engine roars wildly at random intervals as the ground slips back and forth underneath us, alternately increasing and decreasing the friction on the tires. At the first opportunity, she pulls over. After a moment’s deliberation, we decide we’re safer outside of the car and off the road. The fewer big heavy things that can fall on us, the better. It’s like running through the waves on the beach; our knees buckle and occasionally we’re knocked flat on the ground, but we keep moving away from the road and the wildly swerving cars. We make our way to a grassy hillside and fall to the ground. The bridge is completely gone, and huge waves are crashing over the rock shore below us. It’s hard to see from here, but I think the Bay Bridge is down too. In the distance I see the city on fire. There are plumes of black smoke rising to the north and east as well.

The quake is over. At least the first one is. Usually there are aftershocks for a while after these things. Still, I figure the greater risk is staying here.
Tali evidently agrees. “We’ve got to get away from here,” she says. “A quake like this … it’s going to be bad.”

I nod. Disasters bring out the best and the worst in people, and I don
’t think either of us particularly feels like playing the odds. We get back in the car and head north. The highway is blocked in several places, but we manage to make slow progress by exiting and taking surface streets a couple of times. Fortunately, it’s the middle of the afternoon so the evening rush hadn’t yet started by the time of the quake. At first I’m surprised that there aren’t more emergency vehicles passing us going the opposite direction, but then I remember that there’s no longer any way to get to San Francisco from here. Probably all four bridges are out, which means that the city is only accessible from the south – or by air. And the highways from the south are probably hopelessly blocked too. There won’t be any help anytime soon for people on the peninsula. The city is going to burn for days. The East Bay probably isn’t in much better shape. Deb is most likely dead, unless she happened to be in the bank’s vault at the time of the quake. Those vaults can take quite a bit. The kids should be fine, assuming they got outside in time. I resist the urge to call the school again. Even if I got through, they probably wouldn’t tell me anything. I try calling Deb a few times but there’s no answer. Then I try her parents’ house in Modesto. No answer there either. I turn off my phone.

We spend the next six hours fighting traffic on 101
North; we’re not the only ones who are getting the hell out of Dodge. There are a few aftershocks, but the worst seems to be over. At nine p.m. we finally stop for gas and food near Santa Rosa. The little corner store is out of just about everything: bottled water, ice, beer, sandwiches … pretty much anything you might want under the circumstances. They’re rationing gas; we’re allotted four gallons. Dinner is black licorice, Wheat Thins and diet raspberry iced tea. Better than nothing, but not by much. While Tali is waiting for the bathroom, I call Deb’s parents again. This time her mom answers.

“
Hello?” she says.

“
Hi, Mom,” I say. I don’t know what else to call her. “It’s Paul.”

“
Paul, my God, where are you? Were you in the quake?”

Something isn
’t right. Deb’s mom never liked me even before I was the prime suspect in a mass murder, but now she sounds genuinely concerned. Concerned about my whereabouts, if nothing else.

“
I’m fine,” I say. “Do you have the kids?”

There
’s a pause. “Yes, Paul. The kids are here.”

“
And they’re OK?”

“
They’re fine, Paul. I think they would like to see you.”

“
Have you heard from Deb?”

After another pause, she says,
“She’s not answering her phone. The bank doesn’t answer either.” I can tell she’s crying.

I don
’t know what to say. I find myself blubbering, “I’m sorry, I tried to warn her …”

She cuts me off.
“You tried to warn her about an earthquake?” she snaps. “Jesus Christ, Paul. What is wrong with you?”

It
’s an excellent question. What
is
wrong with me? Why am I trying to prove to Deb’s mom that I’m really an OK guy? That ship has
sailed
, pal.

“
I’m sorry,” I bluster again. “I just meant that I wish there was something I could have done.”

There
’s a rustling sound and then a man’s voice: Deb’s father. “Paul,” he says. “Martin and Sylvia are here. Where are you? Can you get here?”

“
I’d like to talk to them,” I say. “Can you put Martin on the phone?”

More silence.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Paul.”

“
Why not?” I ask.

“
They’ve already been through a lot,” he says.

“
I’m their
father
,” I snap. “Now put them on the goddamn phone.”

“
I’m not going to do that, Paul,” he says. “They deserve better than you.”

It hits me like a punch in the gut. I want to scream at him, tell him to go fuck himself, but the fact is he
’s right. I was never much of a father and now I’m a wanted fugitive. I’m guessing their house is filled with cops right now scaring the shit out of Martin and Sylvia, all because of me.

I take a deep breath.
“OK,” I say. “But I want you to do something for me. Tell them I love them both. And tell them I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“Please,” I say, swallowing a lump in my throat. “Can you please just tell them? I won’t bother you again.”

After a pause, he says,
“I’ll tell them.”

“
Thank you,” I say. “You can tell the police to go home. I won’t be stopping by tonight.”

“
You know they’ll find you, Paul,” he says. “Do the right thing and turn yourself in.”

I hang up.
By the time Tali returns from the bathroom I’ve managed to mostly compose myself.

“
Any news?”

“
Kids are OK,” I say. “Wife is still missing. Cops are at my in-laws’ house. How long does it take to trace a cell phone call?”

“
Not long, I think,” she says. “But all they can do is pinpoint what tower you’re using.”

“
They’ll know what road I’m on.”

“
But not which direction you’re going.”

I almost laugh at that.
“You’re a real glass-half-full kind of person, aren’t you? What kind of lunatic would be driving south right now?”

She shrugs.
“The kind of lunatic that would call in a bomb threat to save his kids from an earthquake?”

I cringe.
“You heard that, huh? I thought you were distracted.”

“
I heard enough.”

“
Was I convincing?”

“
As a homicidal maniac? Absolutely.”

“
Good. I’m going to put that on my resume.”

“
Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

“
I guess so,” I say. “The kids are OK. That’s the important thing. They’re going to hate me, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“
I’m sorry, Paul.”

I shrug.
“You should get out of here. The cops will probably be here soon.”

“
What are you going to do, turn yourself in?”

“
I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

She laughs.
“What are you going to figure out? You need to decide right now whether you want to survive or not. If you sit here and try to ‘figure something out,’ they’re going to put a needle in your arm.”