by Lisa Stowe
“What the hell?”
Anya glanced at Bird, still barking.
He wasn’t even looking at the squirrels.
Confused, Anya lowered the rifle and stepped closer to her dog. She touched him, felt the rigid muscle. The slight jerk with each bark. “Bird! That’s enough!”
The dog ignored her.
And then the forest floor breathed.
Anya stared, too confused to take in fully what she saw. The ground seemed to undulate, to rise up in waves as if the very trees exhaled. She lost her balance. The movement sharpened. The earth sagged down, out from underneath her. She followed, slamming into the ground only to be thrown back up. A deafening roar rose like an epic avalanche. Louder cracks came from above as trees snapped.
Anya fell again, grabbing the terrified dog as she went down.
Earthquake.
Breath coming in shallow, panicked sips, Anya managed to climb back to her feet. She grabbed Bird’s collar, dragging him with her. She stumbled for one of the truck-sized granite boulders. She plastered herself against the cold flank of rock, sank to her knees and folded around Bird to keep him from bolting.
The quiet woods transformed to a maelstrom. Trees splintered, slammed into the earth with dynamite explosions that sent debris flying. The ground roiled beneath her. A tree hit the boulder above them. Heart pounding, Anya could only close her eyes and hang on as the primal instinct for survival shot adrenaline through her. She barely felt the pain of flying debris hitting her, barely registered her dog’s cries, was barely aware of the screams that tore her throat.
And then the world stilled.
4
The key fob chirped as Ramon hit it with his thumb, locking the car. Traffic in Monroe sucked, and trying to find parking on Kelsey Street sucked even worse, even in the middle of the afternoon. He walked down the sidewalk toward his brother’s small, two-story house to pick up his nieces for their lunch date. Yesterday had been soft and misty but today the rain was more defined, soaking into his short hair and the shoulders of his jeans jacket. Used to warm, dry weather, he shivered. This was spring?
A block from the house he shivered again, a quick dizziness. He stumbled. The vertigo deepened. He reached for the neighbor’s ratty board fence to catch his balance. It didn’t help. What was wrong with him?
But then the earth moved upward, a wave he couldn’t surf. He fell against the fence, heard a loud crash, heard, dimly, screaming.
The sidewalk cracked under his feet. The fence collapsed, leaving him gripping a wooden slat. He struggled to stand as the noise around him became a cacophony of terror. A car and a pickup truck slammed into each other head on. A tree came down, hit the street like a bomb, disintegrating.
Ramon fell as the ground sank beneath him.
Earthquake.
He heard it, the roar of something that should be solid giving way. A telephone pole went, the lines ripping free, zinging through the air, tangling in another tree with sparks and smoke. And still the ground rolled.
Parked cars tumbled against each other. More trees splintered, snapped. Houses moved, seemed to waver.
Ramon tried to stand, heart pounding, and was thrown against a fire hydrant. Pain sliced through his right side. He fumbled, trying to grab the solid hydrant, an anchor in this sea of destruction. But even as he gripped the cap he saw a crack at the base open. He lunged backward as water shot out and up.
There was nowhere to go. No safe refuge in the chaos.
Nothing but pandemonium and horror and obliteration.
5
When the quake hit, it was a sign. Sharon knew she would die fast. While others in Sultan ran screaming, while buildings collapsed and streets convulsed, while the bronze Sultan John statue came down hard, she held arms out. Waiting.
Take me.
Trees fell around her.
I’m here.
The brick façade of the strip mall crumbled, exposing the inside of Vinaccio’s Coffee, where rows and rows of flavored syrup bottles fell from shelves, shattering, shards flying.
I’m right here!
Thrown to her knees, Sharon came down hard on the sidewalk, grit cutting into her knees, the palms of her hands.
A man and woman stumbled past, the man stepping on Sharon’s hand. She cried out with the pain but he didn’t slow down. A hundred feet further down the sidewalk the Tobacco, Cigars, and Vape store blew. The door and windows convulsed outward, pushed by explosive flames that engulfed the man and woman.
And then they were vaporized and Sharon still waited on hands and knees for a quick death to find her. As she struggled to her feet, cradling her bruised fingers, a thought flashed through her brain. If that man had paused to help her he’d still be alive. Followed by the realization that if she’d kept running rather than standing so dramatically with arms outstretched, she’d be dead.
She laughed bitterly even as the heaving earth tossed her back to the ground and she came down on her tailbone. Sharp pain raced up her spine but all she could do was breathe through it as she was thrown around. There was nothing to hang on to even if she’d wanted to try and save herself.
The movement surrounding her slowed and the air filled with sound. Sirens, flames, screams, the crash of poles and buildings and glass hitting the ground, the crunch of cars trying to get somewhere, anywhere.
Sharon stumbled across the narrow parking lot to her BMW sitting unscathed on a patch of still-level pavement. She sat, cold and alone, in the car as darkness fell, convinced the quake was a sign. She exalted in the chaos, knowing her time had come. Something this major, there would be aftershocks.
Death would find her here.
6
Max stood in the tiny parking lot of the Index General Store. Casey, next to him, patiently listened to Maggie, who was describing, yet again, some big black dog that had growled at her and had blood-red eyes. Max had a hard time focusing on the story. Every dog in town growled at Maggie. Every dog she described was always the dog from hell. The short woman stood there with a half-finished wool afghan draped around her shoulders, crochet hook in her hand. The more upset she got, the faster she crocheted.
Max figured whatever she was making would be finished before her story about the crazed dog from hell.
“I understand your concerns,” Casey said in a well-practiced tone. “Let me get your signed statement and-”
“Statement? I’m not signing any statement.” Maggie’s hook never paused. “All I need is for you to shoot that dog.”
“And where is the dog?” Max asked, making a point of squinting down Avenue A.
“I’m not going to do your job for you,” Maggie said. “This town pays the sheriff’s department for your service. Get out there and earn it.”
Max ducked his head to hide his grin.
“We can’t take any action without a signed statement from you,” Casey said. “But Deputy Douglass will certainly go look for this giant dog and wrestle it back here. Won’t you, Deputy?”
Casey reached up and punched him lightly on his bicep.
Max staggered, reached out for Casey, and came down hard, hip and elbow slamming into asphalt. There was a brief second of disconnect, that Casey had actually knocked him over. But then she came down on top of him and he saw her fear-filled blue eyes, her hands splayed out to stop her fall.
Max caught her and held on from pure reflex as the pavement lifted them into the air then dropped away from them. He hit the ground again and sharp pain sliced up his back. Casey’s mouth was moving like she was shouting at him but he heard nothing past the thundering impact of something hitting the ground. Off to the side, he was vaguely aware of Maggie falling forward.
He struggled to get up but the earth was having seizures. In the middle of a parking lot there was nothing to use for a handhold. For a brief moment Casey made it to her hands and knees before slamming back to the ground. Her chin split and blood bloomed, splatting on the ground.
A huge crack in the pavement op
ened just a few feet away and water shot into the sky as a water main broke.
Max slammed onto the rolling ground again, hitting chest first. The Kevlar vest took the brunt of the impact but the wind was still knocked out of him. He struggled to breathe even as he was tossed up again and again and again.
And then it was over. A deep, heavy silence fell and it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t really silence. His sudden lack of movement just felt like silence. He could hear his own gasping for breath. He could hear shouting and screaming, glass shattering, loud crashes.
He groaned and managed to get up on one knee. Casey, a foot or two away, spit out blood. Grit bit into the palm of his hand as he pushed himself up.
“Okay?” he asked.
Casey shook her head, spit blood again, and then struggled to her feet. “Yeth.”
“What?” Max said. “You hurt?”
“I’ll live.” Casey spit blood again. “Get on the radio. Aftershocks.”
Max simply nodded and reached up for the radio on his shoulder unit. But then he saw Maggie on her side and not moving. Glass from the store’s broken windows was scattered across her and her crochet hook was impaled in her eye. Dark blood washed over her cheek and down her neck. He staggered over and dropped to a knee, reaching for her neck, frantically trying to find a pulse. The hook angled upward from her cheek toward the top of her head. The majority of its length was out of sight.
One filmy, old lady eye stared at him, but there was no life behind it. And there was no beat of life under his fingers. He pushed back up to his feet, pain shooting through his hip, back, and chest. He looked at Maggie and forcibly shut down the sorrow. There was no time for that now.
Casey jiggled her radio then jogged the short distance to him. She glanced down at Maggie, recognized death, and her brain automatically clicked into their training. Triage and things they might be able to fix. “Radio’s out. Bridge is down.”
The flagpole behind them slammed to the ground with a loud crash.
“What?”
“I said, the Index bridge is out. Gone. So is the railroad trestle. Unless the old back road is open, help isn’t coming soon.”
Max scanned the area. A familiar Volkswagen Beetle had been thrown into the telephone booth at the side of the general store. He saw the driver’s head slumped forward. One wall of the store had completely collapsed. There were screams in the distance, the tang of propane and smoke in the air, and gushing water from the broken main.
“Get over to the fire department,” he said, gesturing across the street.
Most of that building still stood, although half the roof of the bay had come down. It was going to take work to get a fire engine out. “See who’s in district. Get a jump kit. We need to get everyone who’s not injured searching for those who are.”
She sprinted across the street. The lack of sirens or flashing lights from the tiny volunteer department didn’t bode well for anyone being around. But then he saw someone in uniform come around the corner of the store from the direction of a small house where firefighters lived. He recognized an EMT, a young man he thought was named Samuel.
Max yelled for the guy to follow and ran for the car that had hit the telephone booth. He wrenched open the door and recognized the driver but before he could do more, Samuel was there, pressing his fingers against the man’s neck.
“Curtis! Come on man, wake up now.” Samuel glanced at Max. “I’ve got a strong pulse.”
Max drew in a deep breath in relief as Curtis’s eyes fluttered, opened, and stared uncomprehending.
“Can you tell me where you are?” Samuel asked.
Curtis looked around, struggling to focus, as if he’d been deeply asleep and was only just now waking. He stared at the sign for the general store.
“Index. I’m in Index. The sign fell.”
“It sure as hell did.”
Max saw no blood, no signs of broken bones, no sign that Curtis had impacted the windshield. When he saw Casey coming back across the street hauling a jump kit, he gestured her over. She gave the first aid supplies to Samuel and then got out of the way.
“Samuel, you good here?” Max asked. When Samuel nodded, he turned to Casey. “I’ll clear the store next, you start triage out there.”
Inside the general store, Betty, the owner, was on her knees surrounded by collapsed shelving and shattered goods. She was pale, her eyes dilated with shock, and her arm self-splinted with a belt. Max pushed aside a small table and broken coffee pot and lifted her to her feet, scanning the rest of the store. She spoke but her teeth were chattering too hard for him to make any sense of her words.
The lights flickered, catching glass shards everywhere, and then went out leaving the store in semi-darkness. A sharp vinegar smell filled the air from broken pickle jars. A freezer case was tipped, pinning a man who was still moving weakly, trying to pull himself free. A woman sat on the floor in the back corner where the tiny post office was. She stared wide-eyed at her hand, still clutching mail.
“The front door is clear,” Max yelled to the woman, making his way to the trapped man. “If you can move, get out. Go now, before aftershocks bring down the rest of the building.”
“The door,” the woman repeated, like she didn’t know what the words meant. But Betty went to her and, one-handed, helped the woman to her feet.
Max climbed over a shelving unit, kicked aside a chair, and made it to the freezer. But the man under it was no longer moving and the widening pool of blood under him no longer flowed. Max felt for a pulse anyway, even though he knew it was too late. Just like Maggie, this man was gone.
He quickly searched the rest of the store, flinching and ducking when a portion of the back wall came down with a crash that shattered the icemaker and sent ice cubes skittering into glass and debris. When he found no one else, he stumbled over canned goods and headed outside.
The tiny town was a scene of chaos. People sat in yards or in the street, staring in shock or crying, or with faces buried in hands. Some stood, clinging to each other. Some stood, alone, eyes glazed with shock. Some headed for the fire department as if that was the place they’d be safe in this newly destroyed world.
For a brief moment he was incapable of action. He stood, frozen, simply unable to take in the dramatically changed world. How was he to fix this? And then he saw Casey.
She stood in the middle of the street doing fast evaluations of people, talking and gesturing. She was organizing search parties, pulling the least-injured people into her hastily assembled work crews. He drew in a deep breath that made his ribs ache and kicked his brain into gear. What was the highest priority? The children.
He ran toward Fifth Street and the school. Thank god it was Friday afternoon. That meant a half-day, but there might still be kids inside, and definitely some staff.
The school looked relatively intact, in spite of, or maybe because of, its age. But inside was the same chaos he’d found in the store, with collapsed shelving, scattered books, and tables and desks broken and knocked over.
The school’s secretary knelt next to a stylish dark-haired woman he didn’t recognize. The woman’s blouse was torn and a small shard of glass poked out of her side, but she still clutched a massive red leather purse as if that was more important. The secretary had one hand on the woman’s waist, keeping her from moving. A small amount of blood seeped around the sharp edges of glass.
“I need an aid car,” the woman said, gasping fast and shallow. “A paramedic.”
Max dropped to one knee and met the secretary’s eyes. He carefully lifted the torn edge of the blouse on the woman.
“I didn’t know if I should pull it out,” the secretary said, her hands shaking. “It looks pretty minor.”
“Minor?” the woman asked, eyebrows going up. “I’m impaled. I need a paramedic. An ambulance.”
“Leave it in place,” Max said. He leaned toward the woman. “Look at me.”
The woman met his eyes. He saw anger there, bu
t knew that was often the form fear took. She clutched her purse closer.
“The two of you are going to get out of this building before there’s an aftershock. The glass shard stays in place. This woman will take you to the fire department where the injured are gathering. You’ll be seen as soon as possible. But there will be no paramedic and no aid car. The bridge is down. We are on our own for a while. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“I demand a paramedic.”
Max’s patience disappeared. “That’s fine. Go to the fire department and demand all you want. But you’re leaving this building now.”
He stood and helped both women to their feet. “Take her to the fire department and then see if you can help Samuel there with the injured. Is there anyone else in the building?”
The secretary shook her head. “No. Everyone left early. Our half-day. I stayed because Ms. Martin came to meet about our curriculum.”
“Okay. Get going.” Max watched the secretary tug the woman toward the door and then followed them out into the light rain.
Outside on the street, Casey jogged over to him. Rain dripped down his neck and under the collar of his uniform jacket. He shivered. The town had always felt so small. A hundred and fifty people. But now, with no help coming and the responsibility for these people squarely on him, Casey, and the lone EMT, the population was suddenly overwhelming. One step at a time, he told himself. It wasn’t enough to quiet the small voice of fear deep in his chest.
“The main part of the fire department is pretty solid,” Casey said when she reached his side. “Samuel is doing a good job with triage. He’s got people helping him with the injured we’ve found so far. Some are going to die. There’s no way around that. We don’t have any way to treat internal injuries. I can’t make radio contact with dispatch and cell phones aren’t working so I think the repeater towers are down, too. I’ve got some crews organized to search houses. I’m headed over to Index Avenue.”
