“If I could have everyone’s attention, please.” Her voice is somber, so unlike the tone you usually hear piped through one of those things. “I’m Deirdre Harris, chairperson of the SPC. If you’re just making your way here, there are a few things I’d like to point out.”
We move through the gathering crowd until she comes into view, standing on the hood of a Lexus with its lights on. I lean over to Vincent. “SPC?”
“Seaside Preparedness Council.” He nods at the yellow vest over her wrinkled blouse. “Kind of a neighborhood patrol for disaster.”
“Ah.”
“Triage will continue here across Hilltop,” Deirdre continues, “so if you’re uninjured, please find somewhere to settle along Maple, Cedar, or Hemlock. The street signs are lit with twelve-hour glow sticks, and it’s a simple grid. In addition to the supply barrels, we’ve got people setting up tables across Alpine for food and water. Neighbors, if you have perishable food that you’re willing to share, please go ahead and bring it. From what I understand, we won’t have outside help for a while.”
Murmurs race through the crowd and a man shouts, “How long’s a while?”
Deirdre bristles, like she was hoping she wouldn’t have to answer that question in a public forum. “I haven’t been in contact with anyone directly, but from what we’ve gathered from the radio… days, at best.”
Vincent snorts and crosses his arms. “That’s optimistic.”
How does he even know so much about all of this?
“We’re starting a registry by the food tables,” she goes on, gesturing toward the darkened neighborhood behind us. “Please supply all relevant information, and take a moment to look through the names for anyone you’ve yet to connect with. Once we find a way to access the Internet, we’ll post the list for your loved ones on social media. All assembly areas will be using the same hashtag, so it should be fairly comprehensive.”
More murmurs. I wonder if Naveen will be on that list somewhere.
Deirdre rubs the bridge of her nose and looks down for a moment. “Those who’ve already lost their lives—”
What does she mean by already? Are we not expected to survive the back end of this ordeal?
“—and have been recovered are being laid across Fernwood, so… please be respectful of that area. If there are any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them now.”
Dozens of interrogatory shouts muddle together, like no one can remember how to remain civil, and Deirdre has to hold up her hand. “One at a time. You, green shirt.”
A teenage boy in a ball cap steps forward. “Um, what are they saying on the radio about what happened? Like, how big was that earthquake?”
She lets out a sigh and sits down on the hood of her car. “The early reports are estimating a magnitude 8.9, but they’re also saying that number is likely to rise, like in Tōhoku.”
“Japan?”
She nods. “The water is supposed to retreat and then batter us several more times over the next ten hours, so everyone is advised to stay away from the inundation zone… indefinitely.”
“Why indefinitely?” he asks, taking another step forward, eyes wide. “What about after the water’s gone?”
“After the water’s gone”—she blows out a deep breath—”they’re saying there won’t be anything to return to.”
My skin crawls. I knew we were trying to survive a natural disaster, but this information screams total catastrophe. “How widespread is the damage?”
Crap. I didn’t mean to ask that out loud.
Deirdre’s brow pinches at my out-of-turn interjection, but she addresses me anyway. “It was a full rip, Vancouver, British Columbia to Cape Mendocino, California.”
I grasp for Vincent’s arm as little sparks dot my vision. There goes denial. If it shook Seattle anything like it did here, I’m not going to have a home to return to.
Deirdre answers someone else’s question, but I can’t hear her. I can’t breathe.
“C’mon.” Vincent pulls me free of the crowd and takes deliberate steps toward the darkness. “Those rations are going to go fast.”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I don’t have a home, a car, a phone—not even an ID. How the hell am I supposed to get by like this? Where do I go?
He drags me past yet another house that has slid off its foundation. Anxious barks sound behind it as we pass, and I dig my heels in. “Wait. Gizmo!”
“What?”
“My dog,” I explain, squirming out of his grasp to cross the yard. “Well, not mine, but one I saved. She’s on her own, too. We should keep her with us.”
“Elena, there’s no us.”
“I wasn’t insinuating anything weird.” I pick through broken glass, still barefoot, and feel for the latch on the kennel. The moonlight outlines a few dogs inside, cohabiting rather well given the circumstances, but—I pause, letting my eyes adjust—Gizmo isn’t among them. “Damn it.”
Where could she be? Mama Jay said she was with other pets in a kennel. Did she mean a different one? I bite my lip and scan the surrounding yards. Patio, carport, trampoline…
“Just so you know,” Vincent starts behind me, “I’m leaving after this.”
“What?” I turn around.
“I’m gonna grab some food and move on.”
Panic seizes my heart. Courtesy or not, he just dropped a solitary sentence on me like it was nothing. How am I supposed to survive on my own, stuck in a strange place with nowhere to go? Waiting days, weeks, maybe even months to make my way back north, and then what? What if there’s nothing left for me there? I swallow hard. “W-Where are you going?”
“That’s not your concern.”
Not my concern? “You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Yeah, well, I thought you should know.” He shoves his hands back into his pockets, furrowing his brow. “You’re going to have to learn to make it on your own, so we may as well just part ways here.”
I blink. “Let me get this straight. You robbed me—”
“I didn’t rob you.”
“Um…” Did I miss something?
“Robbing suggests force,” he grits out. “I pickpocketed you.”
Semantics? Now? Really? “Whatever. You stole my ring, indiscriminately saved my life, returned said ring, and then found me again when you didn’t have to. All choices, all you. Now you’re icing me out like I’ve done something? I don’t get it.”
Vincent turns to walk away. “Just leave it alone.”
“Did something happen while we were separated?”
He lingers long enough to shake his head.
“Did something happen to Naveen?” I call out in a bid of desperation. I didn’t want to broach the subject, but I’m hurt and being abandoned by a man for the second time this week. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
Vincent whirls around so fast I nearly jump out of my skin. “Not acting like myself? Are you kidding? You don’t even know me.”
I recoil at his sudden shift in tone. “But we—”
“But nothing!” he shoots back, eyes alight and voice strained. “I can’t be responsible for you. Do you understand that? I’m not going to be the one to let you die out here!”
I stare openmouthed at the outburst, completely at a loss for words.
He grips his palms against his temples and paces the street, muttering to himself.
“Vincent,” I begin softly, like I’m trying not to startle a wild animal, “are you okay? Seriously.”
“Just go!”
The knife, though metaphorical, burns as it slices through my ribs and finds a home there. I struggle to breathe around it, and the tears finally fall. I am so sick of this! Of being treated this way. I don’t deserve it. No one deserves it. I ball up my fists. “You know what, cabrón? ¡Me cago en la puta leche que mamaste!”
I take a step forward, the first of many toward regaining my dignity, and spit at his feet. “Que te folle un pez espada. Who needs you?”
❇ ❇ ❇
“Please only take enough for one meal,” a man shouts over the crowd forming at the end of Alpine. “We’re going to have to make this stretch.”
Yes, please remind us of the scarcity. That’ll keep morale up.
Now who’s being a jerk? my conscience shoots back. Fair point. They are feeding us, after all. I move up in what’s passing for a line.
A few vehicles have their lights on to illuminate the area. I guess the owners aren’t worrying about draining their batteries, since there won’t be any way out of here in the foreseeable future. If mine weren’t floating in the Pacific, I’d probably lend to the effort, too, but alas…
I laugh to keep from crying.
Bleak-eyed homeowners have dragged their grills into a semi circle, and it smells like they’re fixing every package of meat that once graced the shelves of their freezers. Vegetables, too. From the tantalizing aroma, you wouldn’t guess it’s to feed hundreds of people in dire straits. I suspect the spread will turn a lot less appetizing as time goes on.
Someone shoves me from behind, and I glare over my shoulder—only to find the person behind me yelling over theirs. Domino effect, I guess. People are getting restless. You can almost feel the latent madness in the air, like anyone could snap at any given moment. It might be the elderly gentleman a dozen feet back, it might be me, who knows? We all move forward.
I can see the registry now. Two middle-aged women in vests are sitting behind a patio table with an oil lantern providing light for their notebooks. I guess they’re making a second copy the old-fashioned way. When it’s my turn, I step up.
“Name?” the first woman asks, sounding like she’s about ready to fall on her face.
“Elena Cordova.” I spell it out, just in case.
“Age?”
“Thirty-two.”
“City of current residence?”
“Seattle, Washington.”
She bobs her head alongside her partner as they scribble down notes. “Blood type?”
“I… don’t know.”
Her pen strikes a jagged line across that particular column. “Got it. Have you failed to connect with anyone you know to have been in the immediate vicinity?”
“Naveen,” I offer, blushing when I realize I don’t know his last name. “Just… uh, Naveen.”
She quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing as the other woman flips to the middle of her seemingly alphabetized notebook. “That doesn’t ring a bell, I’m sorry. You may want to check back in a few hours after we’ve had more people come through, or go talk to Jessa at triage.”
My stomach does a queasy slosh around, but I do my best to nod. At least with my name on the list, my family will know I made it through the first night. Meg, too, if she gets access to the Internet before me. “Thanks.”
The next few tables are overloaded with fridge and freezer clean-outs. A veritable “everything must go!” sale, minus the cash exchanging hands. Ice cream, lunchmeat, leftover casserole, partially-eaten takeout, and everything in between. I spot a pizza Lunchable at the back corner, but resist the temptation. It’s the only one, and the last thing I want to do right now is further traumatize some kid behind me.
Instead, I snatch a pack of carrot sticks, a pudding cup, and a sizzling hot dog nestled in a stale bun. A wad of paper towels gets jammed into my wet jacket pocket, along with the pudding and carrots, and I pull a dripping water bottle from a giant cooler. I mouth my gratitude to the volunteers I pass by and hesitate at the crowded intersection. Now where to settle for the night…
Standing against the flow of people, awkwardly clutching my food, makes me antsy. I have to dig in somewhere and make it my safe space. Somewhere with a wall at my back, so I can see what’s going on around me without being a part of it. Honestly, I wish I could just go back to Mama Jay. I’m still carting around my yellow-coded blanket, and I am still injured, but I’d feel terrible taking up space there when I’m able to walk around.
Maybe I could stop long enough to tell her I’m okay, and then secure a spot on someone’s lawn nearby. That sounds like a plan. Anything to keep me from reliving the confrontation with Vincent.
What the hell was that, anyway? I press onward down Cedar, tearing into my hotdog like a starved animal. It was as if someone had flipped his switch, and suddenly he couldn’t wait to get away from me.
I’m still mad, that’s for sure, but more than anything I’m confused. Was it because I wanted to stop and look for Gizmo? Did he think I was being clingy or something? Ugh. I need to worry about other things. Like where I’m going to crash tonight. Now that my adrenaline has all but filtered out, I’m really starting to pay the costs of the day.
My lungs feel like they’re grating against the walls of my chest every time I breathe, and all of the cuts across my hands are starting to reopen in fiery trails. Not to mention my throbbing head and whatever bump is forming up there…
Hilltop comes into view, along with dozens more people than I remember. The ocean is louder here, though I still can’t see it. Thank God. I finish my hotdog and take a few gulps of water, before heading to the fire where I came to probably an hour ago.
As I near, I realize my spot’s been taken, which is fine since I’m not—I blink. Mama Jay is gone, too. What the hell? I reach out to stop a passing yellow vest, my gaze still fixed on the fire. “Excuse me. Sorry, do you know where the woman who used to be here is?”
The man looks at me, and then at my tag. “Should you be up?”
“I’m fine,” I stress. “I just need to see Mama Jay. Skinny, spiky blonde hair, southern accent… have you seen her?”
He swallows hard and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t we go sit down somewhere?”
I shrug him off like he’s trying to fit me for a straight jacket. “I don’t want to sit down. I just want to see her. It’ll only take a minute, and then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”
“Ma’am,” he starts, with a pained expression. “Hold on.”
Do I seem that deranged?
He hurries over to a tent that’s been erected since I left and speaks with a woman who looks like a grown-up version of the redhead from Brave. Apparently, I am quite the spectacle to behold. Neither of them make any attempt to hide their staring as they discuss God knows what. Maybe I still have blood on me somewhere.
“Hey,” the woman calls warmly, crossing the distance between us with an extended hand, “I’m Jessa. I’m helping to run triage in this area.”
I hold up my own hands, palms out, to show they’ve been bandaged. “Sorry. I’m actually just here looking for someone.”
“Yes.” She nods, too calm for the situation. “Bob told me. You say you’re looking for someone called Mama Jay?”
It’s my turn to nod. I really didn’t think it would be this big of a deal.
Jessa gestures toward a row of concrete blocks lining the nearest lawn and takes a seat, indicating that I should join her. Bob hovers nearby, at the ready in his yellow vest.
I don’t like this. Still, I ease onto one of the blocks beside her, scraping bruises I didn’t even realize were forming.
“When you were carried in from that roof,” she begins in a soft voice, “you were laid near the fire here. Do you remember?”
Are these eye-glazers trying to counsel me? I mean, I appreciate the effort, but I really don’t have the time or need for it. “Yes, I remember. I feel fine… enough, I promise. I just want to check on Mama Jay before I settle in somewhere for the night. I told her I’d be right back.”
“That’s where I’m headed,” Jessa tells me, leaning over to put a hand on my forearm. “You were next to a woman who… passed while you were being evaluated. We’ve been so overwhelmed here, we weren’t able to properly attend to her… transportation right away, but she’s there now… on Fernwood.”
Fernwood? What the hell? “I think you’re confusing Mama Jay with someone else. We had a whole conversation, and I’m pretty sure I would’
ve noticed if she’d died in the middle of it.”
Seriously. I get that they’re swamped, but they could give someone a heart attack with this ambush style comfort.
Jessa swallows, pausing to choose her next words. “You had a conversation.”
I raise my eyebrows. And?
“You had a conversation with yourself.”
“What?”
“Some people overheard you talking to the woman you described—this Mama Jay, as you call her—after she had already passed. We believe you might have—”
I jerk my arm back and stand up. “You realize that makes zero sense, right?”
She gives me a pitying look, and I want to strangle her. “You’ve been through a lot. That much is evident. We feel it’s possible this woman’s passing might have been too much for you. Your brain needed a way to cope with what it was seeing, so it… altered your perception of reality.”
“Are you saying I hallucinated the whole thing? Her name, her accent, her explanation about what was going on?”
Bob clears his throat. “We explained a lot of what was happening here to you, but you were in and out of it…”
My heart flips over, having skipped a long beat. “So, you think I’m crazy? I’m walking around here talking to myself, like a prepubescent Haley Joel Osment?”
I bunch my hands up in my thick, damp curls and eye the street. There’s no way. I completely grasp what’s going on—I have since I woke up—and Mama Jay was real in every way. It’s not like her head spun around and the ground turned to candy. Besides, she’s the one who told me about Gizmo! How could I have known that otherwise?
Not that I found her there…
Jessa stands up, failing to mask her alarm at my reaction. “We’re definitely not saying you’re crazy. It’s clear you’re fully cognizant of the situation now. It just might have been a very brief—”
I can’t stand here in the street, listening to this mierda loca. It’s making me feel crazy. I can’t breathe.
Bob moves around Jessa like he’s going to steady me on my feet, but I shoot him a warning with my eyes. “I-I’ve got to go…”
As We Know It Page 6
