The Disaster Days

by Rebecca Behrens

  I pressed the doorbell and didn’t hear a chime from inside—so his house probably didn’t have power either. I rapped with the door knocker. The sound echoed through our silent neighborhood. I knocked again, harder.

  “Mr. Aranita?” My voice wasn’t very strong. I cleared my throat and moved to stand next to the broken window, poking my head inside through the jagged opening. “Mr. Aranita!” I heard a creak from somewhere deep inside the house. Was it possible he hadn’t heard me? Or he had, but…he couldn’t get to me?

  Inside, the house appeared as disheveled as the Matlocks’ had been. A painting had fallen off the wall and been speared by a fireplace poker. Furniture was overturned, and plaster dust covered everything, but I didn’t smell gas or smoke or anything dangerous.

  Even if he wasn’t there to help us, Mr. Aranita might have things we needed to keep going to and across the bridge, like antibiotics, Tylenol, food, and water. I hurried back to the front door and jiggled the handle. Locked, the door wouldn’t budge. The panes of glass in the second window had broken cleanly, leaving no shards at the edges. If I was careful, I could crawl through, but I couldn’t bring Oscar and Zoe in with me, even if I unlocked the front door once I was in. I didn’t know what risks lurked in the house. It was like every place on the island had become booby-trapped: their house, my house, even Forestview Drive.

  I took off my backpack and raincoat, so I could move more easily—Andrea had much longer arms than I did, and even though I rolled up the sleeves they kept sliding down. The bottom hem hung below my knees and made walking awkward. I glanced down at Zoe and Oscar. Oscar’s eyelids fluttered open, and he gazed at the house with a glazed expression. Zoe, sensing I was watching them, looked up at me. “Mr. Aranita’s not home, right?”

  “If he is, he’s not answering.” I warily glanced back at the house. Is it breaking and entering if the windows are already broken for you? Mr. Aranita, though, would surely understand why I’d gone inside and, if I was successful in finding more supplies for us, why I’d taken them. I’d replace anything we took. I could always use my babysitting money. “I’m going to double-check he’s not here and also try to find water and food and medicine.”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, slowly rising to stand.

  “No—you guys should stay out here.”

  Her head snapped in my direction. “What? Alone?”

  I chewed on my lip and nodded. “It’ll be faster, easier—and probably safer—if it’s just me. I don’t really know what the conditions are like in there, other than bad, and it takes so long to get Oscar settled.”

  Zoe looked uncertain. “You’ll come back out?”

  “Right away. Keep an eye on them, okay?” I motioned to Oscar and Jupiter. Oscar’s eyes were still open, his head now turned mournfully in the direction of home.

  “Okay,” Zoe said. But she sounded as uncertain as I’d felt every moment since Andrea had left the house. Before Zoe could change her mind, I turned away from her, cleared my throat, and walked back to the window. The floorboards of the porch groaned ominously from my steps. I walked faster.

  I reached my arms inside the window frame, first using my sleeve to wipe away any lingering glass shards. I don’t think I’d ever been inside Mr. Aranita’s house before. Sometimes when his grandkids from Portland visited, I’d play with them in the yard. The house was small and all on one level, and prior to the earthquake, must have been cute. But this wasn’t the time to poke around. I needed to find the kitchen and the bathroom. Everything we needed should be in those two rooms.

  “Mr. Aranita?” I called again, in case he hadn’t heard me. My grandmother uses hearing aids, and when she turns them off, you can be in the same room and she won’t know you’re there. If Mr. Aranita had hearing aids, and he hadn’t been able to recharge, then he might not be able to hear things in his home. Although, if he were home, wouldn’t he be moving around, starting to fix things? Unless he was trapped by damage somewhere in the house, injured or…worse.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to erase that gruesome thought.

  Across the narrow hallway from the living room was the bathroom. A large, mirrored medicine cabinet lay facedown on the cracked tile floor, reminding me of the fridge in the Matlocks’ kitchen. I flipped it over and a ton of toiletries spilled out: flossers and toothpaste and over-the-counter nasal spray and…antibiotic ointment! I shoved it in my pocket. I took a few squirts of the nasal spray, in case that would somehow help my nose to better take in air. There was a bottle of Tylenol too, and a fresh package of big bandages. There were a lot of prescription bottles. As I rummaged through the pile, I kept hoping that Mr. Aranita had been prescribed an inhaler. But if he had, it wasn’t there.

  I tried turning on the water, but nothing came out of the faucet. It made the same shuddering sounds as the Matlocks’ had.

  I rose back to standing, feeling slightly dizzy, and stumbled into the hallway. It looked like the kitchen might be at the end of it—there was an open doorway. I carefully stepped in that direction, avoiding a puddle of…something. A leak from the ceiling above? Even though the hallway was dim and cramped, it was so much easier to move around without Oscar’s wagon and Zoe behind me. At the rate we were going, we’d be lucky to make it to our side of the bridge by nightfall. If I were walking on my own—even wheezing—I could get there faster. Something to consider.

  Movement flashed past the kitchen doorway. I froze. “Mr. Aranita?” I called again, my voice wavering. I thought of all the things that could be in his kitchen, if not him: A bear. A burglar? The scritch-scratch, even—shadows were cast everywhere.

  Should I keep going? I stood still, working up the nerve. And then something brushed against my leggings. I screamed and jumped, twisting back with my hands out to protect myself.

  Meow.

  One of Mr. Aranita’s cats hissed and raced past me into the kitchen, its tail up. I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, waiting for my pulse to settle.

  After a few moments, I continued on to join the cat in the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and sniffed. No gas smell. No cat either—I hoped I hadn’t scared it outside. His are indoor cats. Mr. Aranita’s fridge was still standing. I tiptoed through the mess on the floor and yanked the door open. Inside, it smelled like sour milk, but there was a bottle of apple juice and a carton of OJ. When I shook the OJ, I found it empty. I grabbed the apple juice and started chugging. Even slightly warm—I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful in my whole life.

  His cupboards had spilled food, too, but a lot was intact. Zoe and Oscar could be safe inside this house, even with all the damage. They’d have plenty of things to eat. They would have shelter from the rain and from wild animals, except for the freaked-out cat(s). I thought again about heading for the bridge on my own. Maybe that was the best thing to do, to get help as fast as possible. Sticking together, we were slow.

  “Mr. Aranita?” I called one more time. Nothing.

  I made my way back from the hallway, still clutching the half-drunk bottle of apple juice. I unlocked the front door and, with a bit of tugging, opened it wide. Zoe and Oscar stared up eagerly from their spot at the bottom of the steps. They had their hoods up—the spitting had grown to real rain.

  “Mr. Aranita’s house is in pretty good shape. I’ll get you guys settled in there, and then I’m going to run to the bridge, see if I can flag help.”

  “You’re going to leave us in there alone?” Zoe asked, her voice rising with disbelief. “And you’re going to run?” I didn’t fault her skepticism about that.

  “I don’t want to go in this house,” Oscar cried. “I want to go home.”

  “We can’t, Oscar,” I said, frustrated. “And we need to get help fast. Which isn’t possible with you in the wagon. Once I find someone who can contact a doctor, I’ll come back for you right away.”

  Zoe shook her head. “No. You promised we’d stay
together!” Her tone was more pleading than angry.

  My stomach twisted, maybe from hunger or maybe from guilt.

  I had promised that.

  I pictured Zoe and Oscar left in this unfamiliar house. What if one suddenly got much sicker? What if Jupiter got loose—and encountered a hungry cat? What if Mr. Aranita’s house started sinking into the ground too, and something collapsed…or his fridge fell over? What if a fire started? Oscar couldn’t move without help, and Zoe couldn’t move him on her own. They’d be unable to escape. Vulnerable and completely trapped.

  Even if they were slowing me down—it would be wrong to abandon them. When Andrea had called and asked me to take on the job of being their babysitter, it had seemed like a not-big deal. But it actually was a big deal to be in charge—whether for a couple of hours or…indefinitely, as I was now. Sure, I had made mistakes. But maybe I didn’t need to be perfect. Like Dad said, I simply needed to try my best. Sometimes that alone was heroic.

  Mrs. Pinales’s instruction was right: babysitters shouldn’t do more than was safe or they were capable of, but I was capable of more than I’d thought—we all were. We’d made it this long and far. Being a hero, right now, was necessary, and that meant sticking together even though that was the much harder thing to do.

  “You’re right, Zoe. I promised that.” I pulled Mr. Aranita’s door shut and walked toward the porch steps. “We’ll stick together.” As though in response to my decision, Jupiter started scratching and squeaking inside the box.

  Zoe peeled back the flaps to check on him, as my eyes fluttered up to the trees. The birds were cawing and taking off for the rain-heavy clouds. Just like they had that first afternoon.

  “Oh no,” I whispered. Below my feet, I could feel it starting again. The shaking.

  20

  It felt like trying to balance on a paddleboard even though my feet were planted on the ground, firmly, which the ground suddenly wasn’t. The grass almost appeared to roll in waves, as we wobbled on it like fledgling surfers. I jerked my arm up to steady myself, spilling all the remaining apple juice down the front of Andrea’s parka.

  “Get down on your knees and cover your head!” I shrieked to Zoe. Oscar looked up from the wagon, which was swaying back and forth. I crawled on my hands and knees to him and threw my body over his head, covering mine with my scraped and blistered palms.

  I looked to the right and saw another mini tidal wave sloshing in the birdbath.

  I snapped my head and hands to the left, following the sound of creaking and groaning. Mr. Aranita’s car was shaking back and forth, like an invisible someone was pushing it. Please don’t start rolling and run us over.

  From inside the house, I heard all kinds of crashing sounds. Rattling and shattering. It sounded like an angry person was throwing dishes against a wall. I’d passed a china cabinet on my way into the hallway through Mr. Aranita’s living room. I hoped the noise wasn’t his dishes being smashed one by one, but that’s probably what it was. Are the cats okay in there?

  The shaking probably only lasted for thirty seconds, maybe a minute at most. It was hard to tell when it did stop, because I felt so dizzy and unbalanced afterward. I couldn’t tell if the ground was still moving or if it was only that I felt like it was in motion—the same sensation as when you get off a boat or a Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair. I couldn’t have walked a straight line right then, no matter how hard I tried. Bile rose up my throat.

  I waited until the sounds of destruction had mostly stopped, the crashes and thuds spaced out by a few moments instead of happening in rapid-fire succession. Eventually, I lifted myself away from protecting Oscar’s head.

  “You can sit up now,” I said to Zoe.

  She uncovered her head, looking woozy. She blinked a couple of times and then pointed at the grass. “Look!” A small crack had formed, snaking through the yard. Our eyes followed it to Mr. Aranita’s walkway, where a block of cement had split in two. That is bananas.

  I stared up at the house. One of the eaves had sunk further. The porch swing had snapped its tether. The other picture window had shattered. Big glass shards had made it all the way into the front yard.

  What would have happened if we’d all been on the porch? Would the sheets of glass have come flying at us? I couldn’t believe I’d even considered leaving Zoe and Oscar in his house alone, like sitting ducks.

  “What do we do now?” Zoe asked, her voice wavering. “Should we go back to the tent?”

  I stared at the crack in the walkway. We’d crossed splits in the road much larger and longer than that. If this aftershock had been powerful enough to make fresh cuts in the earth, the gaps we’d passed earlier must have widened. I wasn’t strong enough to lift up the wagon to cross them, and neither was Zoe. It didn’t matter, though. The only thing the tent could offer us was cover from the rain—not food, not water, not warmth, and definitely not safety from peckish bears.

  There was nothing left for us on Forestview Drive. We had to cross the inlet. Now or never.

  “We’re going to the bridge,” I said.

  “Shouldn’t we wait to make sure this is over?”

  Even if there was more shaking, we’d probably be safer on the road, where there were only trees and the occasional road sign to fall on us. “No. We don’t have a ton of time before dark.” As I rose to standing, I heard Mr. Aranita’s bottle of Tylenol rattle in my pocket. It had been more than four hours since Zoe had swallowed a dose. “Take one of these; it’ll make you feel better while we’re walking.”

  Zoe stuck out her hand for a pill. “Water?”

  I turned to the wagon. I’d spilled all the juice. The only liquid left was in the guinea pig bottle.

  I held it out for Zoe. She wrinkled her nose. “Jupiter’s bottle? Really?”

  “It’s all we have.” I unscrewed the cap, so at least she wouldn’t have to drink from the little metal tip.

  “Do you need some, Oscar?” I asked.

  He shook his head no. His eyes were glassy, his face slack. The medical guide had said we had only hours before his leg would be seriously, possibly permanently damaged.

  “We’re getting you help,” I said, my voice filling with confidence and determination I hadn’t known I had. Neha’s level of determination. “Right now.” Before it’s too late.

  As we started walking, the scent curled under my nose, so slight at first that I thought it lingered from last night’s campfire, but it grew stronger the more I sniffed.

  “Do you smell that?” I asked Zoe. She was behind the wagon, her shoulders slumped, her feet dragging across the asphalt. The last section of the road between Mr. Aranita’s house and the bridge never seemed long in the car, but now that it had been reduced to rubble by the earthquake and aftershocks, it was never-ending. Trees ahead of us, trees behind us, and we hadn’t even gotten to the hill right before the bridge. We were still on road that was flat, or once had been.

  Zoe lifted her head and sniffed at the air. “Smoke,” she said.

  I nodded grimly. “Something’s on fire.” It shouldn’t have been so surprising. We lived adjacent to a forest preserve, after all, and Beth Kajawa had said that fires were burning all around the city.

  Maybe the gas in the Matlocks’ kitchen had ignited during the last aftershock, or maybe a downed power line had sparked a flame.

  “Walk faster,” I said. Wherever the smoke was coming from, I didn’t want it to catch up with us.

  Instead, Zoe stopped. “I can’t anymore. I feel…too sick.”

  I dropped the wagon handle and pressed my palm—raw and cold—to her forehead. She was burning up again, even though she’d just taken more medicine.

  I glanced at the wagon. If we got rid of everything but Oscar and Jupiter in it, Zoe could squeeze inside. Oscar’s leg could be elevated on her instead of on top of the pillows. “Climb in,” I said. “Careful of your bro
ther. Put his foot in your lap.”

  “You’re going to pull us both?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. I had no idea how, but I was going to.

  We left our belongings, including my backpack, in a little pile by the side of the road. Zoe climbed in the wagon, and Oscar barely whimpered as we adjusted his leg. I don’t know whether he was too exhausted to react to the pain, or whether he had become numb. Both were frightening possibilities. As soon as the kids were settled, I grabbed the wagon pull and tugged. The first step took all my strength. I sucked in more air. Keep going. Try your best.

  The hardest I’d ever ran, in gym class or on the soccer field, hadn’t felt a third as challenging as pulling the wagon. My muscles burned. My palms bled. Each breath was a gasp. Over-exertion would trigger my asthma; I knew that, but I couldn’t stop or slow down. We had to reach the bridge before dusk. Before fire caught up to us. Before a bear wandered out of the woods. Before another terrible thing happened to one of the kids.

  I heard faint noise in the distance, something like a honk. Although it was probably just geese, I pretended it was Mr. Fisk’s bus. That kept me going. I pictured us cresting the last hill before the bridge and seeing him below, speeding up to save us. Even better, an ambulance. I squeezed my eyes shut. You got this! Neha told me. Like she always used to before games. It’s only a little farther, I told myself, reopening my eyes. But even a little distance was a long way.

  The rain began falling in big splashy drops. I’d left Andrea’s raincoat on Mr. Aranita’s porch. Her parka was soaked, and I could feel the dampness spreading through the rest of my layers, chilling me to my core. At least that might stop a fire. The squeak of the wagon’s wheels was punctuated by my wheezing. Either the daylight was beginning to fade, or fog was filling the air, or I was becoming faint—things grew dim and fuzzy around me. I fixed my eyes on the road, so I could avoid stumbling on the cracks or falling into one. I could hear Zoe weeping in the front of the wagon. Jupiter’s nails occasionally scratched the cardboard as he scrambled inside the box. Oscar was scarily silent. I kept pushing myself forward. My chest clenched like a fist.