by John Randall
Ray looked at his Big Guy, pointy ears and all, then back at the WSDOT officer. “Are the hospitals open?”
“Yes, no; I’m not sure.”
“Then it doesn’t much matter if I’m with you or with him. Thank you, officer,” Ray shook the man’s hand; his name plate said Lt. Dan Baker. “Thank you, Lt. Dan. How bad is it?” Ray swept his hand across the skyline.
“As bad as you can imagine, Mr. Spaulding. I-5 is closed from here to Sea-Tac. The tsunami overran Vashon Island and downtown Tacoma; to the north Edmonds, Lynwood, Whidbey Island, and Everett, terrible destruction. Lt. Dan didn’t ask again. He turned and ran back to the helicopter and in an instant it was up above what used to be Pier 54 and into the misty morning, which had just turned to rain.
“I suppose everybody calls you Marmaduke,” Ray laughed.
Ruff.
University of Washington
Seattle
“What happened?” Denny asked.
“The seismographs went off the chart; something in the range of an 11.2 in the Yellowstone area of Wyoming, which was immediately followed by a 9.45 in Puget Sound off of Bainbridge Island. I’m not sure I want to go outside,” Karen added. Bending over to retrieve her jacket Dr. Denny Kane couldn’t help but notice how the worn fleece of her gray jogging pants formed a clear outline of her buttocks. Muy bien. No panty there, not even a string. She was someone who was sure of her sexuality.
Interesting.
“I need to get you to the hospital,” donning her waterproof jacket, a twinkle of a sparkle in her eyes for the first time in the day.
“Don’t you have a purse, or something?” Denny asked.
“Nope, I travel light,” she patted a zipped pocket of her jacket. “Plus, I don’t want to go back in there.”
The pair carefully exited Johnson Hall and crossed Thurston Lane toward Drumheller Fountain. Karen felt like she was in the foreground of a 3-D apocalyptic video game. Low clouds covered Seattle.
“How’s your leg?” Karen asked.
“Not as bad as it looks, I hope,” Denny answered.
The campus was designed not in NS or EW fashion, but NW-SE slightly-off-kilter. Why? The wide expanse SE of Drumheller was referred to as Rainier Vista, an eighty-yard area of grass that stretched all the way to the Ship Canal between Lake Washington and Union Bay, and on clear days offered an unobstructed world-class view of Mount Rainier. All the buildings on the campus were placed in a just-off-center position because of the straight-shot view from Drumheller to “The Mountain”.
While there might have been a mountain in the distance, today there was nothing but low clouds. The first of several fronts was going to drop down from the Gulf of Alaska and start bringing the endless monsoon season to the Pacific NW. The damp cold of January led to the nine-week rains of February. Some calendars even had the whole month of March and part of April removed; what day is it? February 54th.
“Where is everybody?” Karen exclaimed, twinkle gone, panic returned. She did a quick 360 of the campus. Most of the buildings within eyesight had been damaged, including Johnson Hall and renovated Mary Gates Hall, named in honor of the billionaire businessman’s mother, Mary Maxwell Gates. Further north, the huge six-level Central Parking Garage situated between the Suzzallo/Paul Allen Library complex and the beautiful 1206-seat Meany Hall for the Performing Arts had taken a direct hit from an invisible wrecker’s ball; three of the massive concrete and rebar support towers had domino’d. Nobody was driving anywhere. People coming to work were dead.
Crossing Stevens Way the building complex of the University Medical Center and the attached Magnuson Health Sciences Center came into view. One of the hospital wings had partially collapsed. A throng of people were streaming away from the hospital across Pacific Street, slowly heading back toward the campus. It was clear the hospital was in evacuation mode.
Denny put his good hand on Karen’s shoulder.
“Karen,” he urged her to stop. She followed his finger which pointed to the southwest across Lake Union. Karen’s eyes blinked rapidly; her head cocked and consciously focused.
“Oh, my God!”
The Space Needle was gone; remaining was a broken stem. The building had been so damn tough to destroy that the center core had withheld the earthquake, but the rotating circular restaurants had not. The building had been shaken like a child’s toy and the top piece of it had broken off—but not completely. During the earthquakes the restaurant top of the building had whipped back and forth, up to thirty feet in each direction before snapping, then falling like a 200-ton yo-yo. Incredibly, the severed head didn’t hit the ground, instead plunging to a point where the cables and stiffness of the core kept it aloft, albeit only yards above the treetops of the park below; amazing in concept, amazing in execution, amazing in death.
Karen began to cry; now multiple emotions running through her.
“Hey,“ said Dr. Cain, soothingly. “Don’t. I need you. More than you know,” breath exhaled in cold vapors. His fingers pressed into her shoulder in a please-pay-attention. “Do you live close by?” He saw her eyes shift gears in reaction. “Jesus, I’m not hitting on you. Is that all you women can think about?” Karen snapped out of her brief box canyon tour.
“This isn’t good,” Denny looked her in the eye. His hand swept to the south. “There are no lights on anywhere. You live where?”
“Shoreline, off of 155th which was 108 blocks due north and twenty blocks west of the UW campus.
“Do you take the bus or drive?”
“Drive.”
“Where do you park?”
Karen turned north and looked at the collapsed Main Parking Decks. Denny grunted; time for Plan B.
“Karen, I’m hurt and I’m going to need rest and some antibiotics and someone to set my shoulder. U-Dub Hospital is ranked in the top 10 hospitals in the United States. It’s evacuating its patients. There is no chance I’m going to receive any care. So I’m, we are on our own. “
Denny’s brain was going in fast forward. They had no place to stay other than the abandoned Johnson Hall, or wherever else they might lay their heads.
“Where do you live, Dr. Cain?” Karen asked her eyes curious on multiple levels; first day on the job.
“I was going to meet my landlord this afternoon; a place in West Seattle. I’m in the same lot as you,” he turned and looked at the collapsed parking deck. At that moment the wind picked up a notch, prickling the ears uncomfortably.
“Karen, is there any way you could get us to downtown?”
“Where to?” She asked her brain on overload.
When he told her, her eyes sharpened to question marks, then softened.
“I’m not sure. Let’s go,” she steered him toward Stevens Way. The crowd exiting the hospital was getting bigger. While Karen’s brain had registered the missing Space Needle, it hadn’t yet noticed there were no lights in Seattle as far as the eye could see; nothing close up, nothing in the distance across Lake Union toward downtown.
“Did you ever watch the movie Night of the Living Dead?” Denny asked as he limped, his shoulder hurting like hell. Karen was close by worried that he would fall over at any time.
“Yeah,” she replied. “We’re in it.”
Ahead of them and to the right was the massive UW hospital complex, in bad shape from the earthquakes. People were walking slowly away from the buildings; led by doctors, nurses and orderlies all pushing patients’ beds. A misty fog covered the area, lowering the clouds to a thousand feet or less. In the distance past Husky Stadium the greyness of Union Bay, then Lake Washington melded into the grey-green of Bellevue. Someplace in between was the 520 Floating Bridge, no longer floating; a typical dismal morning in February; with the exception of a 9.45 earthquake with aftershocks.
Karen stopped someone, a young woman, obviously hurt, cuts on her arms and face and bleeding from several places. The girl had a blank look on her face.
“Where are you going?” Karen asked.
&nbs
p; “I don’t know,” the girl replied. “Back to the dorm, I guess.” She was nineteen and clueless. “Someone said they were going to set up tents in the stadium. Move the hospital there.” The girl turned back toward the hospital. “There are dead people there. They’re everywhere; one of the hospital buildings collapsed.”
Denny exchanged eyes with Karen. To their left a massive stream of the injured slowly headed toward the large football stadium, which in the near distance appeared to be unscathed from the earthquake. Sure, construct a football stadium to withstand an earthquake but not a hospital. She thought; because that’s where we’ll have the circuses and entertainment.
The girl numbly drifted away.
“We need to get out of here, Karen,” Denny urged, his breath now coming in gasps. “And, I’m going to ask you a big favor.”
“What’s that?” she replied, tears of indecision and fear in her eyes.
“I have a dislocated shoulder. There’s no doctor available. You’re going to have to set it for me. Hurts like hell.” As he gave her the bad news he began to slump.
“Me! I can’t!” she protested, looking this way, then that for help.
“You got me out of an elevator. You’re Super Girl. I’m not sure how much further I can go,” Denny fell to his knees then flopped onto his back with an exclamation of pain. “Shit, shit, shit, this hurts.” Denny focused on Karen standing over him. “Come on, Karen. This really hurts. I’d do it myself but I’m too chicken. I’ll walk you through it.” Denny closed his eyes and groaned in pain.
“I can’t!” Karen stuttered, as she looked around her for help. It was 8-something in the morning and her familiar friendly University of Washington campus was in shreds; buildings that were sturdy and comfortable were now in ruins, one of the best hospitals in the United States was nearly collapsed, patients hobbling away; doctors and nurses bringing patients out into the cold, foggy morning.
“Karen,” he spoke in a Dad voice. “You’re going pop my shoulder back in. Now!” Tears from pain dribbled down his cheeks; his breath came in gasps. “Sit down!” he ordered. Karen sat, but started to blubber. “Put my hands down along my body. Oh God damn!” he shouted as he flattened his hands along the side of his body. “Karen. I’m going to yell. I’m going to curse. I’m going to be in pain,” Denny pleaded. “But, you can’t let go!” Denny’s voice came in and out, sweat drenched his face. “Feel my shoulder! Feel it!” Denny shouted. Karen put her right hand on his shoulder, which felt like a carved-up turkey carcass, gross, oddly-shaped, not like hers. “You have to snap it back. It’s called the rotor cuff. Jesus fucking Christ! Please help me, Karen!” Denny shouted.
“What do I do?” She blubbered, tears streaming down both cheeks.
“Take my arm.” Denny stuttered, in pain. “And bring it back toward my ear. Oh, God!” He exclaimed. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m hurting. This hurts. This is going to hurt,” he paused. “This is going--” he stopped and began to cry again. “Do it, please!” he shouted
Kneeling beside him, Karen took his right arm and gently began to rotate it in an L-fashion upward. Denny screamed in agony.
“God damn it! Don’t be such a fucking pussy!” he shouted, as his left arm came over his body in a natural reaction to protect what was happening on the right side of his body. Karen reacted by leaning into his body, while at the same time pressing down with her right arm onto Denny’s left arm, and raising her left arm and his right arm forward as a wrestler would do. Denny screamed and screamed.
Pop.
Karen felt the rotator cuff fall back into place and instantly let go of her arm bar. The pair lay together, arms splayed; the both of them crying.
“Sweet Jesus,” Denny exclaimed, out of breath. Karen lay across him, crying, firm breasts resting on his chest, chest heaving.
“Nicely done, young Karen,” Denny complimented her. She looked up, sat up a bit and began to wipe the tears from her face.
“We need to get out of here,” his voice was serious. “Look at what we have,” he pointed, and turned in a 360-degree view.
“It was an earthquake in Wyoming,” Karen started to snap back to reality.
“That destroyed Seattle,” added Denny. “Were you old enough to remember hurricane Katrina?” She shook her head. “Well,” he added. “The government, that would be our government, couldn’t do anything for the average person,” he stated.
“What do you mean?” she asked
“We have to take care of ourselves,” Denny said, scrambling to his feet. His right shoulder hurt like hell. He needed an arm cast and a hospital bed, but he was a hell of a lot better than he was five minutes ago. “The walking dead,” his arm swept across the lower campus toward the stadium and the wrecked hospital complex, where people continued to walk dead-head fashion.
“Where do you live, again? I think you told me.”
“West Seattle,” she replied.
“Might as well be Mars.”
“I agree,” she replied.
“Karen, we’re in deep shit. The people we see are all going to need shelter; warmth, food, bathrooms. This isn’t going to be a one-day or a one-night thing. We need to protect ourselves.”
Karen’s contorted into a What do you mean WE look.
“Do you want to go back to Johnson Hall? That’s where we started,” Denny brought her back to current reality. “In six hours the day is going to be headed to night. Do you think they’re going to fix this?” his arm painfully splayed out and around, but not up and down.
No.
“Then, let’s get out of here,” he said.
With that the pair started across the grassy expanse toward Montlake Boulevard, a major highway that ran through the eastern portion of the campus and split the land between the Hospital and sports portions of the campus. A heavy stream of glassy-eyed people headed across Montlake toward Husky Stadium, oblivious to the light traffic.
A Yellow Cab! A beautiful yellow cab; and it was empty! Denny hailed it as the car slowly made its way through the throngs of people headed toward Husky Stadium.
“Yale Avenue and Thomas Street, or someplace close by, please,” Denny instructed the cabbie. “Where have you been this morning? What’s it like?” Denny asked as the cab slowly made its way south across the Montlake Bridge on Montlake Boulevard. The driver headed into a major concrete intersection; Montlake Blvd and the inbound traffic from highway 520; except there were no cars coming from their left this morning.
“The 520 bridge on Lake Washington has collapsed in several places,” the 40-ish driver explained in a heavy Pakistani accent as he slowly crossed the Montlake Bridge and continued south. At this point Montlake Boulevard changed into 24th Avenue E. and entered the upscale Montlake neighborhood of Seattle.
“Don’t you want to take 520 to 5?” Denny asked. The driver shook his head.
“No, I-5 is closed in both directions,” the driver’s name was Fawad and Denny was unable to make out the last name. It was very long with lots of consonants and vowels in the wrong places. Fawad turned to a five-inch monitor and punched in an alpha character, then three digits. The tiny screen popped up with the visual from the Washington State Department of Transportation’s live Traffic and Cameras page which showed nothing but static.
“There is nothing. The Alaskan Viaduct has collapsed also,” Fawad added. “Two ferry boats were hit by a tsunami as they approached the terminal. The one from Bainbridge Island overran Ivar’s Restaurant on the pier and continued on to a point near the main library. The second ferry from Bremerton was driven through the ferry station and up Yesler Way three blocks. The water rushed half-way up the hill, nearly to 4th Avenue before washing back into Puget Sound.”
The Pakistani cabbie was describing horrific damage that took place at the same time Karen was trying to get Denny out the elevator. KOMO radio was on in the background but in heavy static, the DJ repeating himself every few minutes with the highlights of the disaster, broadcasting to the few
people who could listen.
“The tsunami destroyed all of the docks along Elliott Bay, flooded the baseball and football stadium parking lots.” Fawad punched in additional information to his cabbie PC. The dual stadium area south of downtown appeared; both Safeco Field (Mariners) and CenturyLink (Seahawks) were flat and virtually at sea level, both flooded.
There was silence in the cab as the driver zigged, then zagged around a variety of show-stoppers; trees in the street, a bus in a yard, a bus in a Laundromat, telephone and electrical poles on the ground.
“I’ll get you close, but you’re going to have to walk a few blocks. I can’t take a risk on getting in a jam. I’m low on gas,” he added, clearly worried.
“Where are you headed?” Denny asked.
“South Seattle. I’ll be all right. Allah will guide me.” Fawad went back to his driving, now at the point where 24th turns into 23rd; one of the beautifully mystifying features of driving in Seattle is how the same road changes names depending on where it is on the grid. The same road can make a jig or a jag, move a block one way or the other and for that block it changes names; 22nd Avenue to 24th Avenue then back to 23rd Avenue.
“Where is everyone?” asked Karen, amazed at the empty side streets.
“Home,” observed Denny. “What time did it hit? Six-forty or so, before everyone left for work.” It was eerie going through dark neighborhoods; a few homes lit by generator power.
“Or they’re already on the interstates,” Fawad added. “And, can’t get off. He added as he turned on to East John Street which immediately turned into Thomas Street. The traffic signals were dark; fortunately the side streets were virtually empty and there was little traffic. “I’ll get you within ten blocks but I’m not getting close to I-5; can’t afford to run out of gas,” he repeated.
