Seattle Quake 9.2 (A Jackie Harlan Mystery Book 1)

by Marti Talbott

  Seely turned the radio down and smiled, "I can't seem to relax enough."

  Tim chuckled, "I know what you mean. I had the same problem in the men's room. You know you got to go, and then you realize every muscle in your body is as tight as a drum. It takes real concentration to relax after an earthquake."

  "What we need is a bottle," Jenna snickered.

  Tim's eyes instantly lit up. He grabbed a flashlight and started to rise, "Why didn't I think of that?"

  "I'm as shocked as you are," Jenna teased. "Where are you going?"

  "Guess."

  "Paul's office?"

  Seely's mouth suddenly dropped, "Paul? Our very own Paul McGill keeps booze at the office?"

  Tim's voice was already fading down the hall, "You didn't hear that from me."

  Jenna giggled and brushed blond hair out of her eyes, "You mean you never smelled it on his breath?"

  "Only on Thursdays." Seely winked and struggled to bend one knee. "Ouch."

  "Want some help?"

  "No Darling, I'm just trying to work some of the soreness out. Want to hear something funny?"

  "What?"

  "Well, after that big fight Paul and I had over the earthquake kit, he bought a ten million dollar earthquake insurance policy."

  "No kidding?"

  Seely slowly bent the other leg and tried not to moan, "Guess who makes the payments?"

  "His wife."

  "Right, but she's not the beneficiary. His son by his first wife…the one he just made partner, gets the whole thing?"

  "That slime ball."

  Bottle in hand, Tim soon made his way back, "Who's a slime ball?"

  It was Jenna who answered, "Paul. He bought a ten million dollar policy and made his son the beneficiary."

  "In that case, I'm changing my name to McGill." He sat down, grinned and handed Seely a full bottle of vodka.

  "Um, my favorite."

  Jenna wrinkled her brow and glared at Seely, "Christians aren't supposed to drink."

  "Sugar, we're Christians not saints. We have to die before we get perfect." With that, she handed the bottle back to Tim. "You're the guy, you open it."

  Aimlessly, Jenna gazed at the ceiling, "I wonder what ten million dollars feels like. I'd never have to worry about my bills again and I could spend all I wanted next time I went shopping. Just once, I'd like to know what that feels like."

  "I'm sure it's quite nice," Seely answered. "But sometimes wealth is a curse. It doesn't make Paul happy, his wife hates him and his son is a spoiled brat."

  Tim unscrewed the lid on the bottle and reached inside the earthquake kit for paper cups, "A spoiled brat with ten million dollars."

  "True, but money can be more of a curse than a blessing, especially a lot of money."

  Jenna's legs ached, the bruise on her face was a deep purple and her bones hurt. Even so, she picked up on Seely's comment, "You talk like you know."

  "Well, I've been around a little. I'm old, remember."

  "Come to think of it, I've never heard you talk about money. You don't even complain on payday. Are you rolling in it?"

  Seely laughed, "Would I be working for Paul McGill if I was?"

  Only half listening to their chatter, Tim set three paper cups on the floor, carefully poured, and then lifted each to gage the amount. "Hey, I just thought of something. Isn't a little booze good for bad hearts?"

  "That's what I've always heard." Seely grinned, accepted the paper cup and took a slow soothing sip. Instantly, warmth spread throughout her body.

  Tim handed a drink to Jenna and sat back down. "So, what should we do about the money?"

  Confused, both women asked at the same time, "What money?"

  "The cool thirty thousand Paul keeps in the vault. We can't just leave it here. I mean, who would be fool enough to come back for it? They'll condemn this building and all that cold, hard cash will come crashing down when they implode it."

  Jenna set her cup down, folded her arms and stretched her legs out straight, "Oh no you don't. I'm not going back out there. Certainly not for Paul McGill's money."

  "Who says it's his money?"

  "You mean steal it?" Seely asked. "Timmy, we can't..."

  "Maybe you can't, but I can. I've got a wife to take care of. Think of it as unemployment, after all, our jobs are trashed and old Paul won't pay our wages while he rebuilds. Besides, if he recovered the money, he would have to claim it on his insurance. He would hate that."

  "Yes, but it's dangerous out there," Jenna said.

  "I'm not asking you to go with me. The problem is, I don't know the combination."

  Seely looked into Tim's searching eyes a moment, and then turned her gaze downward. "Zip code."

  "The combination is our zip code? Hot dog!"

  CHAPTER 17

  Collin took a long drag on his last cigarette, and then put it out. The early evening air was cooling and the sun no longer beat down through the damaged roof. Although the advent of night was foreboding, the lack of heat was a relief. Between calls, and right on time, he lifted the microphone and gave KMPR's frequency. He briefly reviewed his list of instructions, adding the number of dead across the street. It hadn't changed in an hour. Those most easily saved had already been pulled out, and without equipment the tired, overburdened workers moved slowly or not at all. Finally, he laid the mike back down next to the Amateur Radio speaker.

  Something was wrong. Sarah's usually cheerful and calm voice sounded on edge, "SK, what is your location?"

  "AV7SK. I'm on 16th Avenue east, over."

  "SK, we need a cross street. Come on people, I've got eight calls backed up here."

  Max instantly stuck his head through the adjoining window. "What's wrong with her?"

  Collin shrugged and listened.

  "SK, we've just had a major earthquake. I don't think anybody cares if traffic is backed up on Capitol Hill. Traffic is backed up everywhere, over."

  "Sarah, I'm trying to tell you we've got a huge sink hole. Over."

  Second after second ticked by before Sarah answered. This time her voice sounded as though she were near tears, "I'm sorry SK. I guess I'm getting a little tired. Can you give me the cross street again, I didn't get it written down, over."

  At first, Max softly whispered, "This is not like Sarah at all. Something's seriously wrong. We need to go get her."

  Collin eased off his stool and walked to the control room window, "Go get her? Where?"

  "Next door."

  "Right next door? I didn't know that. You want me to bring her up here?"

  Max raised his voice a little and stood up, "No. I want you to mind the station. I'll get her this far, then you can carry her up the stairs. Deal?"

  "I don't know how to work the controls."

  Max hobbled around the corner into the studio and grinned, "Good. Don't touch anything. I'll yell when I get her this far." He headed for the door, and then abruptly stopped. This time his voice came across loud and clear, "On the other hand, I'll have to take Net Control. You go get her."

  Collin rolled his eyes and headed out the door, "Isn't that what I just said?"

  "And don't drop her. She can't walk, you know."

  "I won't drop her." This time it was Collin who grinned, already starting his descent down the first flight of stairs. "We're still on the air, you know."

  Max spun around and stared at the black microphone on Collin's console.

  "WC7NJT."

  Sarah didn't answer. Instead, tears streamed down her cheeks and her eyes were glued to her sagging ceiling. Tortured wood began to creak and groan as the duplex apartment attempted to settle on its mangled and broken foundation. And with it, her ceiling moved -- slipping lower and lower.

  "WC7NJT."

  At last, she recognized the Mayor's office call sign, forgot her troubles and instantly perked up, "NJT, how nice of you to call, Mister Mayor."

  "It's me again Sarah, the underpaid public servant, better known as the hapless messenger. I have a
word from the President, over."

  "The president of what, the Mayor's yacht club? Over."

  "WC7NJT. No, the President of the United States. Shall I go on? Over."

  "Is this an election year? Over."

  If he had listened, he would have heard the cracking and popping in the background when Sarah spoke. But he wasn't listening. "This is WC7NJT. Sarah, I know you're tired. We're all tired. The President sends his regards and wants us to know he's doing everything possible to help, over."

  "Help? He can't help us, no one can. We're dying Mister President. We're trapped, we're all alone and we're dying. We..." She stopped talking when she heard someone yank open her dislodged front door. "Who's there?"

  Collin carefully eased through the half opened doorway and looked around. Sarah sat near the end of the living room with the sagging ceiling not more than a foot above her head. Horrified, he bent down and shot across the cracked hardwood floor, nearly slipping in a puddle of wet, soggy fish tank water. "We've got to get you out of here. Max, if you can hear me, take the Net. Sarah's roof is collapsing." He grabbed hold of the back of her wheelchair and pulled. But the wedged doorstopper held it firmly in place. The building groaned louder and in a panic, Collin shoved his arms under her and lifted her out of the chair. Her 96 pounds were lighter than he expected, and he easily spun around and headed back across the room.

  Next door, Max held his breath. With Sarah's radio still transmitting, he could hear the ripping and tearing of over-strained metal and wood. The ceiling gave way with a resounding crash and the apartment sounded as though it was ripping in two. After that, there was silence.

  All across America, strangers sat glued to their radios or televisions. Worried commentators glanced at production managers, and then began whispering into microphones, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it seems all we can do now is wait. For the last few hours, Sarah, a lady whose last name we don't even know, has filled our lives and our imaginations with the graphic details of Seattle's growing tragedy. Bound to a wheelchair, Sarah's calm and steady voice kept others calm and steady, preventing the panic of dozens of Ham Operators in the Seattle area. Now, we wait.

  At approximately 4:26 this afternoon, Seattle suffered a catastrophic earthquake measuring 9.2 on the Richter scale. It is believed that the 1964 Alaska quake measured 9.2. However, the Alaska quake occurred long before accurate measuring devices were in place and the exact magnitude is unknown. How well I remember the first pictures of damage coming out of Anchorage, and it is important to note that Anchorage is nearly eighty miles north of the underwater epicenter. A quake of equal strength may well have left Washington State's entire western slope in ruins."

  *

  Max couldn't hear the commentators nor imagine an entire country, maybe even the world, listening to the events unfolding in his small, upstart radio station. Instead, he nervously waited for each endless second to pass. Becoming impatient, he glanced around, but the only window in the attic faced the wrong direction. When AJ7OMR called in, Max ignored it. For the first time since the quake, he was alone, waiting and listening with countless others who held their collective breaths.

  Just when Max could wait no more, got up and started across the room – the downstairs front door banged open and Collin yelled, "I got her!"

  *

  Seely, Tim and Jenna missed all of Sarah's excitement. Instead, they sat on the forty-third floor with the radio off. When the building shuddered, Jenna's eyes darted all around, waiting to see if it was just the building or if the earth was moving. Just as abruptly it stopped. Several seconds passed before she began to breathe easier.

  This time, Seely didn't panic. Her eyes were closed and she had a peaceful look on her face. A dull pain still ached in her chest, but it did not increase. "Let's talk about something else. Jenna, where do you think your Mom and sister are right now?"

  "Mom didn't mention any special plans this morning. Oh Seely, was it just this morning? It seems like weeks ago."

  "I know. Go on, what about your sister?"

  "She planned to play tennis with a friend this afternoon. We live near a park with tennis courts and she's really quite good for only twelve. I'm not too worried about them; the houses in our neighborhood are fairly new. I wish we could call, though. Don't you have a cell phone?"

  Tim was sitting on his tailbone with his knees up to his chin and his cup half empty. "Cell phones are out just like regular phones."

  "Yes, but maybe they'll come back on. I know, maybe we can find one in one of the offices."

  "Good idea." Seely said. "Turn the radio back on, will you? Maybe they'll say something about cell phones. In LA, I didn't have a radio when the earthquake struck, and I had no way of knowing what was happening in the rest of the world. I think that frightened me more than the quake. ...That's funny."

  Jenna reached for the small radio and began stretching the antenna upward, "What?"

  "Well, that earthquake scared me so bad. I've lived in fear of another one for years, but that one was a walk in the park compared to this."

  The earth began to move again. Tiles shifted, glass clinked and exposed wiring swung back and forth, but it was a small aftershock and the Winningham Blue Building held. When it stopped, all three heaved a sigh of relief and Tim headed straight for the men's room.

  *

  "A7BB, how do you read?"

  "Hey Max, is that you?"

  "Yeah buddy, you alright? Over."

  "A7BB, good as gold. If I keep slipping a little bit with each aftershock, I should be able to walk out of this tree in a mere three or four days. By the way, I found some drinkable water, over."

  "BB, good for you. Can you give us a report? Over."

  "A7BB, not much changed. The fire downtown is still burning and I count more dead bodies floating in the water. Must be from that ferry. The good news is we've got more choppers coming in. They're starting to get thick as thieves. By the way, did I tell you the Canadians have arrived? I just love Canada. Think I'll move there…if I ever get off this cliff, over."

  "BB, what about the cat?"

  "This is A7BB, let me get back to you on that. I'm having trouble spotting her, over."

  "Copy BB. Okay, who's next?”

  "KJ7DRF emergency."

  "DRF, go ahead."

  "KJ7DRF, we've got a near riot over here at Clifton Hardware. Are police available yet?"

  "DRF, what kind of riot?"

  "Owner's trying to sell flashlights for $50.00 each and $10.00 extra per battery. I think they're going to kill the man. KJ7DRF, over."

  "Copy DRF. Anybody in touch with Seattle Police?" Max waited several seconds for an answer. Finally one came.

  "A7SPD, Seattle Police here. We've got our hands full with injuries. Suggest you use fire extinguishers or stay clear of the area. What is that location again? Over."

  "This is WJ7DRF, I'm at 15th NW and 100th place, over."

  Max waited, but when no one spoke, he leaned closer to the mike, "Roger DRF. Did you get that Seattle Police? Over."

  "Roger Net Control. Thanks. A7SPD, out."

  Max took a long, deep breath, "Good to hear from you Seattle Police. Okay, who's next?"

  "WJ7V."

  "WJ, go ahead."

  "We just got help at the Department Store. I don't know how he got through, but that guy at the Construction Company made it, and he brought two crews. The little girl is still buried, but she's alive. Her name is Charlie and now she says her stomach hurts. We sure could use a Doctor. Is Sarah hurt? WJ7V, over."

  "Negative, WJ. She's sitting here on the floor telling me what to do just like always. Soon as we get her a chair, I'll gladly give this job back. Who's up next?"

  *

  Sam Taylor suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. Fifteenth NW and 100th place couldn't be that far away. Cautiously, he approached a bent street sign and tipped his head to read the numbers.105th -- only five more blocks. Squinting his eyes, he tried to look down 15, but another of Seattle's rol
ling hills kept him from a full view of the hardware store and the flashlight crisis. 100th place had to be just over the next ridge. He grinned and walked on.

  *

  A7BB moved the branches of the tree one way, and then the other, trying to spot the cat. He couldn't see it, even amid the bodies and the mounting slabs of broken wood gathering along the shore. At length, he gave up and searched for the blue air crane instead. The sky seemed filled with choppers now, flying over the city or bringing precious cargo to the Aircraft Carrier, but none of them were blue. The noise of one coming in soon became overwhelming, so A7BB held his radio closer to one ear, and then covered the other ear with his free hand. It didn't help.

  A chopper flying low over downtown quickly peeled away and headed across Elliott Bay. Behind it, another banked and turned the same direction. A7BB followed both with his eyes. The Bremerton fire, where the Navy housed its weapons at a massive shipyard, looked larger. He watched for a long time, but Bremerton was too far away to see details, so he turned his attention back to his Ham Radio.

  "N7UES."

  "UES, go ahead," Max answered.

  "Roosevelt Hospital here. Any ETA on that blood? Over."

  "On its way Doc. Red Cross reports 300 units of "O" positive coming from Portland with another 200 units out of LA. Will advise as soon as it arrives. Over."

  "N7UES, copy. We're nearly out of sutures and bandages. Over."

  "Roger UES, sutures and bandages needed at Roosevelt Hospital."

  *

  Tim was in the kitchenette trying to determine the best way to get to the vault when he heard a chopper. In fact, he heard several. Downtown was becoming a sea of them and as he ventured as close as he dared to an outside window, he tried to read the markings. "A Portland News chopper. How about that, the press finally heard about our little disaster. I bet they're getting some great pictures. Wish I were home, in front of my TV watching."

  As soon as the chopper disappeared, he went back to finding the easiest way to the vault. It stood with its door closed against the far wall and to his relief, not that much debris blocked the path. He stepped out of the kitchenette and started toward it.