As We Know It

by Carrie Butler

  Sort of.

  I really didn’t expect him to try and save me…

  “Can you see my watch?” he asks, unfazed.

  “Uhh…” I twist to angle my head down, towards my shoulder, where his arm is bracing me. “Sort of.”

  “Can you see the time?”

  “Looks like”—I squint, trying to make out the glowing numbers—”seven thirty-four.”

  “So, it’s been over four minutes.”

  “And?”

  A massive slab of plaster and tin crashes into the aisle beside us, and I burrow as close as humanly possible. Enemy or not, we’re in this together now. I don’t care anymore.

  Something else out of view falls and lands with a resounding thud. This is it. It’s all coming down now. Why, oh why, did I run into the most decrepit building on the block?

  BOOM!

  I scream again. That one hit us—our table, at least. Can it support that kind of weight?

  The thief holds me tighter, all but his legs covered by our half-assed shelter. “It means, if you survive, you’ll likely have made it through the worst natural disaster in this nation’s history.”

  “What?” I can’t breathe. The air is too thick, and he’s jabbering nonsense. I mean, a nightmare’s unfolding around us… but the worst ever? What does he know that I don’t?

  “Time,” he grunts, demanding I check his watch again.

  “Seven-thirty-five.”

  He lets out a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I repeat. “Don’t spare me whatever you’re thinking. Just spit it out.”

  That earns me a huff, one he probably didn’t think I could hear. “You’ve heard of The Really Big One, right? Cascadia going full rip on us?”

  “You think that’s happening now?” I never paid the earthquake hype much attention. Whenever people posted about it on Facebook, I scrolled past. Same as I would anything else I deemed scary or depressing. Besides, weren’t we supposed to have more time?

  The building continues to rattle, and another barrage of brick and plaster rains down around our table. Okay, maybe I should’ve thought about—

  THUD!

  Without warning, we’re flattened against the floor. Everything goes dark, save for a tiny opening amidst the rubble. I wheeze and cough and try with all of my might to keep from going hysterical. We’re trapped now. My cheekbone aches at the pressure.

  “Damn it,” he mumbles, struggling to move around me. “W-We have to be careful. Don’t want to… shift it…”

  How could we? It feels like someone parked a Hummer on top of the remains of our table. My ribs are going to burst any second now.

  The shaking stops.

  I exhale and hold, waiting for something else to happen—the other shoe to drop. Neither of us dares to move a muscle.

  “Vincent?” a muffled voice calls from across the room. The kid, Naveen. “You two… okay?”

  “Still here,” the thief grits out. Apparently his name is Vincent. “You?”

  Naveen groans. “It… fell on me…”

  Not good. So not good.

  “Hold tight. We’ll come to you.”

  We will?

  Outside, people are shouting. It’s even clearer now that the windows are gone. Bits and pieces are still falling in, but I’m trying to tune it all out. I have to, if I’m going to get out of here.

  Vincent sucks in another deep breath, addressing me now. “Are you up to trying to crawl out? I think one of these is just leaning.”

  “You think?”

  “Either that, or everything will shift and crush us, but we have to try.”

  My eyes go wide in the darkness. “Can’t we call 911? If you can reach my—”

  “No one would come,” he tells me, starting to sound mildly irritated. “No one’s coming here for a long, long time.”

  Before I can open my mouth to question him, he continues with a sore groan, “Fifteen minutes… fifteen minutes and this whole side of town will be underwater.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Are you serious?” I don’t even think I could get to my car and make it out of the garage in fifteen minutes.

  “Did you see all of those pretty blue signs out there?” Vincent grunts. “This is an inundation zone. We’re talking a thirty or forty-foot tsunami at least. One outta every five of us won’t make it home today.”

  What? I try to breathe, but my crushed lungs only lend to croaking gasps. “Shouldn’t we hear sirens?”

  “The earthquake was your siren,” he snaps. “Now are you going to help me save my friend or not?”

  “Y-Yeah, sorry, I just…” I try to shake my head. “What do you need me to do?”

  “On my three, you’re going to slowly crawl back and out with me.” He fixes his grip. “Think of it like Jenga.”

  My eyes burn. “Jenga, right…”

  “One,” he whispers, trembling as he tries to bear a little of the weight above us, giving me a fraction of an inch to move. “Two…”

  I squirm to get in a position to brace with my elbows, tears stinging my face. We can do this. We’re going to get out.

  “Three.” He pushes back with a slow hiss, and I try to mimic his movements, keeping our bodies perfectly aligned. Bit by bit, we inch closer to the only light visible.

  My nerves are pinpricks all over my body. Any second now, I know we’ll catch the edge of something that causes the whole debris pile to resettle. We’ll be crushed instantly. My whole life has led to this moment… and for what?

  I choke on dusty, probably asbestos-filled air. If it wants to kill me, it’ll have to wait in line. I hack several times before Vincent moves on.

  Slowly, the beam of light fades. Either we’re closer to it, or this is what dying feels like. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “I’m going to lean to the right,” he tells me in a quiet voice. “See if this heap has any give to it.”

  I swallow. “It’s Vincent, right?”

  He hesitates. “Yeah?”

  “If something happens,” I mutter into the broken floor, “I just wanted to say thank you… for protecting me.”

  His whole body tenses, but his voice doesn’t betray it. “Don’t thank me yet. In a minute, we might both be pancakes.”

  A not-so-pleasant mental image, but I appreciate his honesty.

  We resume our tandem crawl in darkness, and I can feel every muscle working in his body. If not for the thievery and dire circumstances, I would probably be a little self-conscious of the less-than-firm curves he’s having to navigate. As it is, we’ve got minutes to live, so I don’t care—or at least, that’s my latest mantra.

  If something happens, I’ll probably wet myself.

  “I’m getting some wiggle room,” he mumbles into my hair, his hips grinding against mine. “Most of this back here feels like loose plaster.”

  “Good.” Understatement of the year.

  I alternate between gagging and holding my breath, tears still streaming down my face as we work our way out. Minutes pass that feel like hours, minutes that will probably cost us our lives when the tsunami gets here, but we make it out of our death pocket.

  Now free, I can finally see what happened. A load of debris did collapse our table on top of us, but the massive pieces landed on the crumbling brick border that once housed windows. Had they fallen just a foot short of that…

  I shake my head.

  “Careful,” Vincent says, taking my wrist as we navigate the obstacles separating us from Naveen. “And don’t make any loud noises.”

  I put my shirt collar over my nose and do my best to follow. While most of the roof caved in, the whole building didn’t come down. There are still fluorescent light bulbs and mangled wires dangling over our heads, waiting to drop.

  “Are you… there?” Naveen asks when we near, his voice a little less shaky than before. “I-I am not trapped, but I have been scalded rather severely…”

  Sure enough, the counter he hid behind caught most of th
e rubble. The dust has left everything so hazy, it’s hard to be sure what’s left.

  “Shit,” Vincent curses under his breath, peering over the edge first. “We’ve gotta get something on that.”

  “There is no time,” Naveen manages, his hand hovering over the side he can’t bear to touch, his shirt soaked through. A busted espresso machine lies off to the side. “We must get to high ground.”

  Vincent climbs over the counter and scans the area. “High ground won’t do shit if you go into shock before we get there. We need to cool that burn.”

  “Ice?” I ask behind my collar, trying to be helpful as I ease myself over the edge.

  His nostrils flare. “No, we need cool water. I’m going to check that cooler. You stay with him and try to get that shirt off.”

  “Yes, sir,” I want to say—but I’m a little intimidated, so I give him a curt nod as he tries to get into an upturned machine.

  Naveen gives me a weak smile as I kneel down beside him.

  “Not the best circumstances to meet under, huh?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well, I always prefer to introduce myself before I strip someone down,” I joke, “so I’m Elena.”

  “Pleased”—he winces as I start moving the fabric—”to meet you.”

  Holy—

  I cover my mouth in horror before I can stop myself. His rib cage is covered in angry red skin, bubbling into shiny blisters. It’s raw and oozing and…

  “Here.” Vincent sticks a bottle of water in front of my face. “We can only afford to douse it, so we can get moving. Otherwise, you’d be pouring these for ten, fifteen minutes.”

  “What if we found something to keep it cool?” I ask, looking around. “A sponge or…”

  My gaze lands on a box of strewn packets. “Tea bags! They work for sunburns, right?”

  Vincent mulls it over for a second before giving a shrug. “We’ll try it. Naveen, you have a first aid kit around here?”

  “In the back.”

  He can’t see it, but the back is toast. We need a plan B.

  “What about cling wrap?” Vincent asks, as I start unwrapping tea bags. “Or something to hold these on without sticking too much?”

  “Under the counter… I think.” His eyes gleam with tears in the low light. “You two should just go. This is taking too much time.”

  Vincent turns around and starts rummaging. “Shut up and think happy thoughts.”

  His bedside manner could use a little work, but thank God he knows more about first aid than I do. Not that Naveen doesn’t have a point. We’re on a countdown, and I’m not sure how much time has passed. I hastily soak each bag before applying it to the burn.

  Naveen grits his teeth, and lets out an inhuman growl-scream.

  I pour the rest of the chilled water over his side, still holding the bags in place. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay…”

  “Just so you know,” Vincent says, tilting his chin in my direction as he rummages, “the standard evacuation plan is to leave behind the trapped, injured, disabled, elderly, et cetera. Thought being, they won’t make it out anyway, and then you’ll both be dead.”

  Miraculously, he finds a box without disturbing too many piles. Too bad I’m still stuck on the whole “screw everyone” mindset.

  “So, if you know what’s good for you,” he continues, crouching down to unwrap the roll, “you should probably get going. I bet if you run, you can still make it.”

  Is he kidding me right now? “Just put the damn cling wrap on.”

  Like I’m going to abandon them now. I should’ve died like seven times already! Leaving this world with guilt and regret doesn’t appeal to me any more than roughing it with two strangers.

  Vincent obliges, wrapping thick bands all the way around Naveen’s chest. Then he makes quick work of the discarded shirt, ripping it into strips he uses to loosely tie the wrap in place. “Can you walk?”

  “If the alternative is you carrying me,” Naveen begins, struggling to get to his feet, “then I can walk, run, and tap dance.”

  “Ha, ha,” Vincent stresses each syllable, and checks his watch. “Looks like we’re only about six minutes in. If we can make it high enough in the next ten minutes, we might live to laugh about this later.”

  He gives Naveen another once-over. “Emphasis on might. Given the time crunch, I’d better carry you. Your burn needs to be above your heart anyway.”

  “That is really not necess—” Naveen’s protests are cut off as he’s swept off his feet, his chest pressed to Vincent’s to leave his dressings exposed.

  I blink. “Well, isn’t this a pretty picture.”

  Vincent ignores me. “Let’s go.”

  We pick our way outside, and it’s worse than I could have ever imagined—which says a lot, given the last ten minutes. Clouds of smoke send fiery, apocalyptic signals on the horizon, while a lone burst hydrant sprays water at nothing but dust in the salty air. The street has been left in cracked waves with people zombie-stumbling over debris, stupefied by what they’ve already experienced… bracing for what’s to come.

  Of course, some folks are sprinting uphill like the devil’s chasing them. They’re probably third best off. The second have already made it to safety, and the first didn’t put themselves in harm’s way to begin with. I figure we’re hovering somewhere between the runners and those oblivious to the countdown—not that it matters.

  It’s not like being chased by a bear, where you only have to be faster than the person you’re with. Everyone who hasn’t made it by the time Mother Nature kicks in our door is a goner. I’d be freaking out if I didn’t have so much rum sloshing around in my stomach.

  Speaking of which, I don’t feel so good…

  “Get to higher ground!” Vincent yells, jarring me from my thoughts. He’s glaring at the promenade behind me. “There’s a tsunami coming!”

  I turn around, expecting to spot someone else in need of help, only to find a scattered handful of folks mesmerized by the receding ocean. Some have their phones out, snapping photos, while others are narrating for cameras on neck straps.

  “¡No seas gilipollas!” I offer as a secondary precaution. “¿Te quieres ahogar? ¡Sal de allí ahora!”

  They can’t be seriously making this choice.

  “Baahar jao…” Naveen mumbles in what I assume to be Hindi, wincing from the exertion. Sadly, the effort is lost on these people. They’re too busy taking pre-death selfies.

  We trek on.

  “We’re going to have to get off of Broadway,” Vincent tells me, as he picks up the pace. “There’s no way the bridge survived the quake. We’ll have to cross over to First.”

  I nod, but I have no idea what he’s talking about. This isn’t my town. I’ve never even been here before, despite its relative proximity. And a fine time I chose to visit…

  Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I hesitate for half a second to make sure it isn’t someone flagging us down. It’s not. Uneven chunks of sidewalk are sliding back and forth, as if the earth has been exposed enough to see its breaths. A little stream of water slips out beneath another slab, and then pulls back, mimicking waves. “Is that… ?”

  “Liquefaction,” Vincent answers without breaking stride. “Keep moving.”

  I scamper to catch up, nearly catching my toe on a brick. “But it’s creepy though, right?”

  “No creepier than being swept out to sea, never to be found.” He hangs a left behind a parking garage, navigating the debris with stubborn determination. “We’re going to have to run from here, at least until we’re on the other side of the Necanicum.”

  Before I can answer, he’s already taken off with Naveen.

  I tear after them, afraid of getting left behind. Oh God. It hurts to breathe. Why does it hurt to breathe? And curse my adorable wedge heels! If the pavement weren’t so littered with glass, I’d consider hoofing it barefoot. Sooner or later, these bad boys are going to turn my ankle, and with my luck, it
’ll probably send me spiraling into a miles-deep crevice.

  Vincent sneaks a puzzled look over his shoulder as he weaves in and out of caustic plumes. “Are you holding your tits?”

  I look down. Eloquent wording aside, he’s not wrong. My hands must’ve snuck up there on instinct. Big girls don’t run without support for a reason. “E-Eyes forward, buddy.”

  Utility poles are down all over the next street, their wires sprawled every which way. As if we don’t have enough hazards to deal with, now we have to play electric hopscotch? I think I’ve found a new worst-case scenario for my shoe-induced tumble.

  We keep moving, despite my lungs’ sharp protests. Lo and behold, one of the mythical tsunami evacuation route signs finally makes an appearance at the intersection of First and North Columbia. Its host pole is a little bent, but it’s still visible. We’re on the right track. I think. “W-What if that pole was twisted around, pointing to the wrong street?”

  Even Vincent, at the peak of physical fitness, is breathing hard now. Carrying another man while running, jumping, and climbing will do that to you. “I know the route.”

  “What about tourists? My brethren are screwed.”

  His brow crumples. “Do you not understand how dire the situation is right now? As it stands, you will die within the hour. There’s no if about it.”

  That shuts me up, but not Naveen.

  “Did you… see the large maps… posted around town?” His voice is weaker. “Instructions on… the sleeve of your… hotel keycard? Pamphlets… in its lobby?”

  Man, these guys are defensive of their town. I’m not knocking it. I’m just pointing out a potential flaw in the whole don’t-get-everyone-killed plan. “Okay, one, I thought those were directories. Two”—I pant—”I didn’t look at the keycard sleeve, and now it’s buried in rubble. And three, do people actually pick up pamphlets anymore? I have a phone.”

  Pain contorts my face. “Had a phone. It’s under rubble, too.”

  “Well… you have us now,” Naveen tells me, closing his eyes.

  “Thanks.” I savor the warm and fuzzies his inadvertent reassurance gives me.

  By now, the fabric straps on my heels have dug in and started carving out blisters. It stings every time my feet make contact with the ground, but I can’t say anything. I didn’t have an espresso machine fall on me.