by Lou Cadle
“Okay, let me show you some affordable ideas that others have used to harden residential housing against quakes. They’re doing some marvelous things in Japan.”
They spent an hour at it, and Gale was grateful Woodham gave him that much time. Gale went back and forth between hands-on description, walking around one of the new frames, and pulling out full-color illustrations to show him. Convincing people to change was a slow process, and it demanded a surprising number of pretty pictures. He longed for a 3-D printer, too, to create models overnight. But not on the measly budget he had to work with.
They both knew that Woodham wouldn’t be making any changes on this project, but Gale was in it for the long run. He wanted to accomplish two things: to change Woodham’s behavior in the future, but more importantly, to soften him up for the major zoning law change Gale had put together and would propose this winter. Woodham was the biggest builder in the county, and he’d probably be the loudest voice in the opposition. So what Gale was doing here today was mostly whittling away at the man’s resistance.
When Woodman glanced at his watch for the third time in five minutes, Gale wrapped it up. “Give it some thought,” he said. He took out his phone and checked the time, 11:38, and turned on his ringer to vibrate again. “Can I buy you lunch? I know it’s a bit early.”
“Not early in the construction business. But no, I have a luncheon meeting in an hour. I’ll drive you back to your office — “
The ground rolled beneath Gale. He glanced up, saw there was nothing about to fall on them, and held his ground, knees flexed to absorb the ground motion. He counted to himself, one thousand one, one thousand two. It was a healthy shake for about eight seconds, but then it tapered off, and in twenty seconds, he felt nothing at all.
He looked at Woodman, whose arms were out like he was on a surfboard. The man’s usually florid face was paler, with two spots of white over the cheekbones. Gale said, “You okay?”
“If I were a superstitious man, I’d have thought you somehow brought that on.”
Gale barked a laugh. “From talking about it? Not nearly that powerful a person,” he said. “Excuse me while I call in. I’m supposed to get to the EOC, I imagine. I need to check.”
“EOC?”
“Emergency Operations Center. Everyone in city hall has a job, and mine is to coordinate non-emergency services.”
“Like what?”
“Infrastructure.”
“So water lines, sewer, gas, and so on?”
“Exactly, and government buildings.”
“Surely it wasn’t that bad.”
He shrugged and listened to his phone. The phone call didn’t go through. He checked the bars, and he had a signal. “No dice. Probably everyone in town is on their cell phone.”
“I should check on my men before I can drive you back.”
“Yeah, let’s walk up that way, make sure nothing fell on anyone.”
As they strode up the curve of the drive, the flatbed of drywall came into view. A few bundles had cascaded off the top of the pile and were lying tilted against the trailer’s side or burst open on the ground. Men in hard hats — and only one woman he could see — were milling about in the street. No one was hurt.
“Everyone accounted for?” shouted Woodward.
A man in shirtsleeves and jeans stepped forward. “Looks like it.”
“Check. Count off. Check against the sign-in sheet from this morning.”
“Yes sir,” the man said, and hurried off. Woodward followed him.
“Anyone hurt?” called Gale.
“Just my pride,” said one man, pointing at a nearby house. “I was up on the roof there and screamed like a girl. About pissed myself, too.”
The guys laughed more than the small joke deserved, easing their own tension. Gale remembered Bash after the last LA quake, joking endlessly in public, and very wittily, too, but waking up with nightmares at night and quick to tears over every broken plate he threw in the trash.
Gale tried his phone again. Nothing. He had to call work, but he wanted to call his husband. At least with this quake, he and Bash were likely the only ones in town at risk for earthquake PTSD. A quake this size in LA, crisis phone lines would get overwhelmed with calls from survivors of the bad ones.
“Anybody get a cell call out?” he said.
“I did, right after,” said a man, a bricklayer from the look of the mortar that dotted his green coveralls. “Left a message.”
“Mine’s in the car,” said another.
“Nope, just tried,” said the woman, sounding worried. “I wonder what’s wrong.”
“Overuse,” said Gale. “Don’t fret. System is jammed with too many calls. It’ll free up in a short while.” He punched a note into his phone to get something done about this, too. If a minor quake overwhelmed the cell system, they needed a better one.
And then it hit him. He nearly slapped himself on the forehead for being an idiot. Of all the people here, he had the right information, and despite it being a small earthquake, the adrenaline had made him forget everything he knew, like how to make cell phones useful at such times. “We should be able to get texts out,” he said, and punched one in to Angela. He forwarded it to the city manager, too. still at bldg site. need me for EOC? u ok? The texts went through, and he nodded, satisfied. To Bash he sent, love u. u ok?
He glanced up. Around him, the crew was texting or rushing to get their own phones from cars.
The supervisor was walking up with a clipboard, yelling at people to stay together, but that didn’t stop them from going to get their phones. By the time they were all gathered together again, his phone buzzed in his hand and he felt a rush of relief. He glanced down to see a text from Angela. all well. c.m. says no on EOC.
Woodham stood while the supervisor checked names against his list. “Everyone present,” he said. Woodham gave a curt nod. “Get back to work, then. Good job.” He jerked his head toward the parking lot and said to Gale, “I can get you back now.”
They returned to the Lexus, Gale retrieved his jacket and started to hand back the hard hat, then thought better of it. “I know this is an inconvenience, but can I borrow this for the day?” At least until he could get his either from the EOC or the one at home in the garage.
“Why?” said Woodham.
“Just in case.”
“In case?”
“Something happens before I can get back to my office.”
“Something? You mean another quake?” He blanched again.
“It’s possible. There’s an outside chance this is a preshock, the quake before the real one.”
“Keep it, keep it as long as you want,” Woodman said. “Your offer for lunch still open?”
“Sure.”
“I have that lunch deal later, but you could buy me a drink.”
Gale grinned. “You’re on.” If he ever, in his whole career, got a better chance than this to educate a builder about earthquakes, he’d be surprised. Strike while the iron is hot.
“And you can take the opportunity to lecture me some more.”
Gale’s grin turned sheepish. His mind had just been read.
“I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”
“I never thought you were dumb, Mr. Woodham. You’re among the most successful men in the county. All along I thought you were a savvy businessman.”
“It’s a good line of bullshit, at least. And call me Ron.” He slammed the trunk. “Now, that drink.”
He got back to the office from the drink with Woodham, having had only a cola himself, at about quarter to one. Angela was gone to lunch, so he dropped off his files, tucked his hard hat under his arm, and strode down the hall, pleased with what he’d accomplished today.
He stepped into the city manager’s suite. Her assistant was gone, too, maybe out to lunch with Angela. The inner door was open six inches. He tapped on it lightly and looked in.
Evelyn, the manager, was at her desk eating a sandwich and scrolling throu
gh a computer screen. When she caught sight of him, she waved him in.
“Can’t be too bad if you’re still here and not downstairs at the EOC,” he said, sitting down across from her. “Everything okay?
“For us, yeah. Fire department did the windshield survey. Some bricks down, some broken windows. No damage to hospital or schools. Fire station and police department intact. Most of the 911 calls were only panic. One possible concussion the only injury called in. The hospital might have others at the ER.”
“My other stuff fine? I mean, water, sewers? Anything I need to do?”
“Nothing the windshield showed, and nothing we’ve heard of. Power and phone company are checking their own gear — give them a call in a half-hour or so. At least we’re not Caruthersville.” She turned her monitor for him to see and started up a video.
He was watching a news video of a helicopter flying low over a small town. There were tumbles of bricks onto the street and as he watched, they flew over a burst water main. Water bubbled up and ran in a stream down the street, going downhill, seeking the Mississippi.
“I heard on TV at the restaurant that that’s the epicenter.”
“They think almost exactly.”
“Any deaths?”
“None they’re reporting yet.”
He watched the video play out and fade to black. “That could have been us.”
She took a swig of coffee, nodding. “I was a convert to your ideas already.”
“Maybe I should propose the zoning changes next council meeting.”
Her face turned thoughtful. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead. You’re a better politician than I sometimes.”
“Hardly.”
She grinned at him. “See, even that was politically astute, buttering up the boss.” The grin faded. She fiddled with her earring while she thought. “They’re not going to love it, no matter when you take it to them. But yes, this is the time. Still not confident about it going through the first time, but let’s try it now.” She took a decisive bite of her sandwich.
“Heard from the council or the mayor?”
“All but one. Mayor’s taking off work early and coming in at 3:30 to meet with me.”
“Do I need to be here?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d like a late lunch after my assistant and I meet, and then a personal hour.”
“Okay.” Her tone implied the question.
“While I’m thinking of it, I want to refresh all my earthquake kits. I’ve been lax, done nothing in the year since I set them up. New water, boxed food, fresh batteries, all that, switch it all out and consume what was in there.”
“Update the main office stash, too, and you don’t have to take personal time.”
“Sure. Happy to.”
She pointed. “What’s the hard hat about?”
“I got it from Woodham. He needed a drink after the quake, and I let it sit on the table as I hammered home a few choice points.”
“Ah, the big yellow reminder.”
He smiled. “Right where he couldn’t miss it. I never said I was subtle.”
“Probably not the day for subtlety. But why do you still have it?”
“In case I need it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You expect another quake? This some kind of California earthquake-fu prediction?”
He shrugged. “It’s caution. But make sure your kit is up to date at home, too, would you, Evelyn?”
“I’ll put the twins on it. They’ll love it.”
“They okay?”
“Yes. I got a text from them finally, right before you walked in. How about Bash?”
“Haven’t heard from him yet. But he’s probably busy.” Or still mad at me from this morning.
“Okay, what else you got going before the weekend?”
They turned to talking of other matters and in a half hour, he left her. Already, life was settling back down. He hoped by the time the council next met, they wouldn’t feel too settled about the quake. Was it awful to hope for a couple small aftershocks to remind them of the danger? He should take pictures of any damage he saw around town to add to the presentation, and make sure to play that Caruthersville video, maybe on a loop behind him.
A few minutes before 3:00, he finally made it out of the office to run his errands and get lunch. He had connected with Angela and checked the EOC survival supplies, which were extensive, including several five-gallon water containers, MREs, and a few sleeping bags and folding cots. The only expired item was the chocolate, which was likely still good, considering it was in the basement and always cool, but he’d replace it anyway.
He drove the same route he’d taken this morning to the building site but pulled in at the Walmart, parked, and went into the Subway to grab a small turkey sandwich to eat as he shopped. He loaded six 2.5 gallon containers of water onto his cart, which in a pinch could last him and Bash two weeks, six large containers of antibacterial wipes to use in lieu of showers or hand washing, several no-cook boxed meals and a variety of boxes of crackers. He got the chocolate bars for work, and a hazelnut bar as a present for Bash.
When he’d taken the hardhat from Woodham, he realized he could store it in his car trunk along with an extra pair of boots, cheap but solid. Over half the injuries from earthquakes and tornados came from stepping on broken glass, so it wouldn’t hurt to duplicate the boots and hardhat to store in his car. He and Bash already each had hiking boots and hardhats under the bed, along with heavy-duty flashlights. Their other survival supplies were stuffed into a 64-gallon wheeled trashcan in the garage.
He steered his cart to the shoes section and found a pair of mustard-colored work boots, sat down to try them on and paced the aisle to make sure they fit okay. Ugly as sin and only $23. Good enough. He’d probably never use them. And Bash would probably scream when he saw how horrible they looked. Gale smiled at the thought.
At the checkout he grabbed fresh batteries, D and AA. He had the bored cashier check the work chocolate separately and paid cash for it, tucked the receipt into his wallet to submit to work, and charged everything else to his credit card. It came out to less than a hundred dollars, which was damned cheap for some extra peace of mind.
As he left the store, mostly mothers with children in tow were coming in. Elementary schools must have let out. He packed his trunk full of personal supplies and grabbed the chocolate for work to take with him. Easing the car carefully around a group of preteens heading away from the McDonald’s carrying fast food, he steered back onto Brown.
He had gotten two blocks when the second quake hit.
Chapter 3. Bash
“Labor,” he said to Ms. Witherspoon. “You’re sure?”
“No,” the pregnant woman said. “It’s my first baby. But my back hurts and I’m cramping.”
“When’s your due date?”
Mr. Witherspoon said, “In two weeks, two days.”
Bash said, “Okay, I’m going to walk you outside, get you safely away from the building. Then I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that.”
“I’d rather. I hate to be blunt, Ms. W, but I’m not confident either of you is fit to drive.”
She looked at her husband. His eyes were weary, the skin around his mouth gray. “I think I can manage,” she said.
“Let’s debate it outside,” Bash told them. He wished his cell phone wasn’t in his locker. He’d be able to call an ambulance if need be, could call Meggy to tell her he was delayed as he walked them out. And he should check on Gale, too.
He pushed through the fire door and held it for the couple, eyeing them both as they passed. Mr. Witherspoon was slow and shuffling. She held her hand against her back but was upright. He followed them onto the landing and said, “Ms W., you go first.”
“Yeah, better if I fall, I don’t crush you two with my big ol’ pregnant self.”
“You think you’re going to fall? Do you feel faint?”
“No. It was a joke.”<
br />
Bash let out a tense breath. He could only stand next to one of them, and he’d done the triage for that — it was Mr. Witherspoon who needed a hand most. He said to the man, “Hold on to that banister,” and stood beside him, not holding on, but with his arm in the air, poised to support the man if he stumbled.
Slowly, they made their way down the echoing stairwell. Ms. W was going faster but she stopped at every landing to wait for them and rub at her back. The two flights of stairs took them five minutes to navigate, and Bash was relieved when she pushed through the exit bar and daylight flooded the lowest landing.
“Neither of you has a cell phone?” he asked
“In the car, charging,” said the woman, gesturing to the patient parking lot.
There wasn’t a bench at this exit, wasn’t anything but a trash can to break up the concrete expanse. Just before the door closed, he thought to jam the trashcan in the opening, leaving the door cocked open so he could get back in without his keys. He couldn’t leave the couple standing here, and he couldn’t phone anyone for help now. “So we’ll walk to your car.” They all began the slow trek in the direction she pointed.
“I’m feeling well enough to drive,” said Ms. W.
“I’d feel more comfortable if you let me call an ambulance.”
“Knowing this damned insurance the way I do, I doubt they’d pay for it.”
She was probably right about that. Insurance companies were the bane of good health care. It was maddening for Bash to have to choose between the right treatment and financial reality. Choices like that had driven better people than him out of nursing.
“And it’s only four blocks to the hospital,” she said.
And traffic looked light out on the road. “You’ll take it slow?” he said.
“I’ll be careful.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. I may not even be in labor. Maybe it’s a false alarm.”
“Best to get it checked out. Call your OB right away.”
Mr. Witherspoon wasn’t saying anything, and Bash had his eye on the man. He looked washed out and chalky, and his shoulders were slumped with weariness. A few drops of sweat had popped out on his forehead. Bash wanted nothing more than to go with them and make sure both of them were okay, but he had other obligations.
