Once they’d dispersed, Kit lowered his arms and rubbed them. “You’re a genius, Chance. I thought they were going to tear me apart in a minute.”
They probably were.
Chance had always heard that mobs of frightened people were one of the scariest things on earth, but now he believed it. He’d take another earthquake over that.
The lobby had emptied except for the people crowding around the stairs, Marci, and her daughters. Now that it wasn’t crammed with people, the place looked even worse. It was a miracle the ceiling hadn’t caved in. Chance shuddered at the idea of an entire floor falling down on their heads. It wouldn’t just be cement and wood and wires. It’d be people too.
He gave himself a mental shake to dispel the dark image. “What should we do? Marci has her kids with her. We have to get them out.”
“I think we should follow your advice and head for one of the other exits. We can all work together to clear them.”
Inwardly, Chance agreed, but that didn’t stop him from glancing wistfully at the staircase that was feet from them. “You think that’s best?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But we’re some of the only young people in the building. Don’t you think we should be helping?”
Chance swallowed, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t tell if his mouth was dry from the dust or the low-key terror pulsing in him like a second heartbeat. “You’re right. We have to help if we can. Let’s discuss it with Marci and see what she wants to do.”
They made their way over to her and presented the options: wait here, or find another route.
“We should try the other ways.” She looked down at Shana, who was clinging to her leg. “They might have cleared them by now for all we know.”
“I think the majority were headed for the side stairs,” Kit said. “That means more people working together, but a longer wait. We should try the fire escape first. With us helping, maybe we can get right out.”
Chance shuddered. “Let’s hope so.”
The dust had mostly settled by then, allowing Marci to uncover Ranelle’s face and free up a hand. Using her own flashlight app, she led the way, Ranelle on her hip. Chance was in the middle, holding both Marci and Kit’s shoulders so they wouldn’t get separated in the dark. Kit took up the rear, cradling Shana in his muscular arms. For the first time since the quake, she seemed at ease.
They wound their way down halls, through an empty conference room, and to an outer corridor lined with windows. The sunlight streaming through them was no comfort; it made the layers of broken glass gleam. Balmy wind buffeted them from what felt like all directions.
“Hold on a second,” Chance said.
They stopped, and he took a quick peek out one of the windows. They were too high up for him to see much detail, but he didn’t need to. Abandoned cars looked like toys strewn over a broken facsimile of the city. Sirens wailed in the distance. A busted fire hydrant spewed water onto the fractured pavement.
“Jesus,” he whispered. A wave of vertigo hit him, and he had to look away.
Something warm and large touched his shoulder. Kit’s hand. Kit gave him a squeeze and said nothing. They started moving again.
The fire escape was situated at the end of the corridor. Long before they reached it, they spotted the problem: a giant concrete support beam had fallen across it, along with most of the adjacent wall and the ceiling. The debris was a good five feet deep and stretched far above their heads. There was no telling how long it would take to dig their way through it.
Three women were kneeling at the base of the mess, digging with their hands. A skinny teenager wearing a red shirt with a white logo stood behind them. He must’ve heard their footsteps, because he turned around. His hair and face were bloody.
His eyes went straight past Chance. “Kit!”
“Pat! I’m so glad you’re all right,” Kit said as they reached the end of the hall. “What’s going on with the fire escape?”
One of the women stood up. Chance recognized her. Sam from human resources. Her face was streaked with dirt. Sweat left muddy trails down her neck.
“We’re trying to dig under the beam.” Sam pointed to where it appeared to be cracked in the middle. “We think we can shift it enough to move it aside. Then we can climb over the debris.”
“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” Kit said. He handed Shana over to Marci and made for the blockage. “Let me help y—”
The ground turned frenzied beneath their feet. Like before, it seemed to push and roll at the same time. Chance’s teeth rattled in his skull.
Panic rippled through him, clawing at his insides. At first, he was too startled to think. Then, one word repeated over and over in his head like a morbid echo.
Aftershock. Aftershock. Aftershock.
He fell to the ground, and later, he wouldn’t be able to say if he’d meant to or if his knees had simply given in. Bits of ceiling crashed onto his back. He kept his eyes shut and his head down.
There was a sickening shredding sound up ahead. Something glanced off his shoulder, and pain seared into him. Shrieking pierced through the clamor, though Chance couldn’t tell who it was coming from. It might have been him.
The vibrations faded, taking ten years of Chance’s life with them. He raised his head slowly. Bits of ceiling slid off his back. The sunlight caught the fresh particles in the air in a way that would have been beautiful were they not swirling into Chance’s eyes, ears, and nose.
He coughed and then gagged, dust caking his throat. Someone pounded him on the back, and he was able to work up the saliva to dislodge most of the crap in his airways.
“Everyone okay?” he croaked.
Marci had both of her daughters in her arms. She looked up. Tears had left streaks in the grime on her face. “We’re okay.” She pushed herself into a kneeling position. She’d covered Ranelle’s whole face with her shirt to protect her eyes as well. The baby’s muffled sobs were clearly audible, which was fantastic. She was still breathing.
“We’re okay too.” Pat and a woman—Chance was pretty sure her name was Lisa—were huddled together by the broken windows. Pat had his arm thrown up; there was a piece of glass lodged in his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at the ceiling, which was almost concave. It looked like it was dying to drop down on their heads.
Kit was crouched next to Chance, a grim look on his face. He must’ve been the one who’d pounded him on the back.
Chance nodded at Sam and the woman he didn’t recognize. “What about you two?” They were now sitting by the wall as if they’d been thrown against it. Their faces were dazed.
Sam shook her head as if to clear it. “I’m all right.”
“Me too,” said the other woman.
“Good,” Kit said. His deep voice was strained. “Let’s see the damage.”
The aftershock hadn’t shifted the beam at all, but it had added a whole new layer of debris between them and the exit. Perfect.
The women prodded at it while Kit tried to climb up and get a grip on the beam. Chance knew it was fruitless. Even if he could, there was no way he could move it by himself. It was solid cement.
“Maybe we should try the side staircase,” Chance said.
Lisa coughed hard and cleared her throat. “No use. We went there first. It’s not as bad as this one, but everyone’s arguing about how to get the passage cleared, and there are dozens of people. We’re more likely to get trampled than get out that way.”
“Shit.”
“You’re telling me.” She’d wormed her way under a plank of wood. It was getting harder to hear her. “If this doesn’t work out, I think we should—” She gasped. Or at least Chance thought she did. It was hard to tell with her torso buried in rubble. “We can squeeze through this way!”
“What?” Sam stopped trying to move a chunk of ceiling she’d been picking at and dropped to her knees by Lisa’s side. “Are you sure?”
“I think so.” Lisa crawled
backward out of the pile. “It’s narrow, but the aftershock moved the debris enough that there’s almost a way through.”
“Oh, thank God.” Marci covered her mouth. “We’re saved.”
“Wait, what do you mean almost?” Chance asked.
“I can see the door, but the path isn’t wide enough for a person the whole way through.” Lisa pointed at a metal pipe jutting up like a flagpole. “That has to be moved. It’s stuck under this big chunk that’s in the way. If someone can pull it to the side and hold it, we can all crawl through.”
She paused.
Chance understood what she wasn’t saying immediately. Except whoever’s holding it.
He opened his mouth to protest, but Kit cut him off. “I’ll move it.”
“Can you even reach it?” Pat asked.
“Let’s find out.” Kit peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders and handed it to Marci. “Wrap Ranelle in this. You won’t be able to cover her face and crawl at the same time.”
Marci took it with a grateful nod. Her eyes were sad as they looked at Kit. There was no question she’d arrived at the same conclusion Chance had.
Kit examined the blockage, seemingly trying to find the best angle of attack. It was a good thing he was so tall. Even so, the metal bar was out of reach until he kneeled on a jagged piece of particle board and nearly threw himself at it. He grabbed it with first one hand and then the other. Red-faced, he wrenched the metal bar back an inch at a time, and the whole pile of rubble shifted.
For a second, Chance feared they’d miscalculated. What if moving the pipe brought the whole thing crashing down on them? But a moment later, it stabilized.
“Hurry up,” Kit said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know how long I can hold it.”
“We should tell the others,” Marci said. “Let everyone know they can get out this way.”
“There isn’t time.” Kit drew a ragged breath. “Go now, before I drop this. The path might collapse if I do, and then we’ll be right back where we were.”
“I can help.” The words were out of Chance’s mouth before he even knew if they were true. He stumbled over to Kit. Now that he was holding the pipe closer, Chance was able to reach up and grab it too. The weight made his arm sockets scream. He couldn’t imagine how Kit had been holding it all on his own. Sweat beaded on his brow within seconds.
Kit shot him a grateful smile from inches away. Chance nodded in response. They were shoulder to shoulder, and Kit’s warmth against his side gave him strength.
“All right.” Lisa breathed out. “I’ll go first. Everyone, wish me luck.”
No one protested. If there was anything that could supersede everyone’s desire to get out, it was their lack of desire to be the first one to crawl into a nest of death held up only by two trembling, injured men.
Lisa’s head disappeared into the small opening, followed by her torso, and then her legs. It took some wriggling, but eventually, her body disappeared into the detritus. For what felt like years but was probably ten seconds, they heard only the sound of faint scuffling to tell them she was still alive. Then, there was a yelp.
“Shit.” Sam peered into the passage. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Lisa’s voice was barely audible. “There’s a sharp piece of wood on the right. Jabbed the hell out of my arm. Stay clear of it if you can.”
A second later, they heard the creak of metal hinges, and fresh air wafted into the room.
Lisa’s disembodied voice was jubilant. “I got the door open! It looks like this way isn’t blocked. We can get out!”
A cheer sounded from all of them, even Chance, who was panting for breath. Sam started to crawl after her, but then she caught sight of Marci. “Why don’t you go first?”
“Thank you.” Marci turned to Shana. “I need you to be a brave girl. Pretend like we’re playing fort and crawl through the pillows and blankets to the other side. Lisa is waiting for you. You’re going to be fine, baby.”
Shana nodded, but her eyes were already filling up with tears.
“I’ll be right behind you. I love you.”
Shana disappeared into the makeshift tunnel. True to her word, Marci tried to crawl after her, but at the entrance, they encountered their first problem. The opening was so narrow, she could barely squeeze through with Ranelle in her arms. Marci had to clutch her so tightly, Ranelle started crying again.
But the two of them pushed through, and several minutes later, Marci called to them from the other side. “We’re out! Stay calm, guys. We’re going straight to find some help.”
“Focus on getting to safety, you guys,” Kit called. “Don’t worry about us. We’re going to get out too.”
Chance swallowed. That’s a lie. Someone’s going to get left behind.
Sam went next, followed by Pat. As Chance watched the teen fight to wriggle through the opening, he envied his small frame. Anyone much bigger than Pat wouldn’t be able to fit . . .
When Pat had confirmed he was out, that left Chance and Kit.
They looked at each other at the same time. Chance was shaking from the effort of holding the bar. His muscles screamed at him to let go. At the same time, his brain was shouting that freedom was mere feet away.
“Well.” Kit huffed. “This is your chance, Chance. Go.”
Chance shook his head. “You should go. Get out of here. You have to lead a good life to redeem yourself for making that terrible pun.”
Kit laughed, and his grip slackened for half a second. The debris shuddered and shifted menacingly.
Chance tightened his fingers on the pipe until it felt like they’d break. “Shit.”
Kit shook his head. “Chance, please go. I can’t fit through there anyway. You’re skinny enough that you might be able to make it.”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
His sweaty palms disagreed. They were making it impossible for him to hold on. Chance’s heart was pounding worse now than it had during the quake.
Kit looked at him, blinking sweat out of his beautiful brown eyes. “That’s exactly the sort of sweet, ridiculous thing I’d expect from you. But don’t forget: there are still two other staircases. I’m going to be fine. I’ll hold this long enough for you to get out, and then I’ll go to one of the other exits. I’ll meet you outside, okay? Promise.”
Chance swallowed hard. Fuck, that was convincing. It didn’t help that the lizard part of his brain was howling for him to save himself. Every instinct he had was joining in, forming a discordant harmony. When all the pleasantries and civility were stripped away, he was a scared animal, same as everyone else.
“Okay.” Chance exhaled, stomach roiling. “But I will see you out there. And I’m going to get help, like Marci said.”
“I believe you. Now go. I’ll hold it for as long as I can, but without your help . . .”
His meaning was clear. Chance needed to hurry.
“On the count of three, I’m going to let go.”
Kit tightened his grip, straightened his back, and nodded. His eyes narrowed, and he pressed his lips into a thin, hard line. He looked like he was prepared to hold the whole world up, like Atlas. For some reason, the sight of it made Chance’s eyes mist.
“One . . . Two . . . Three!”
Chance dropped the pole, palms stinging. The rubble lurched, but miraculously, Kit held it in place.
Chance fell to his knees. The tunnel was still there. Tiny. Too tiny to fit him, he thought for a panicked moment. But if he squeezed his shoulders in and pushed . . .
He started to hunch down and get into position, but at the last second, he made a fatal mistake.
He glanced up for one last look at Kit.
Kit was beet-red in the face and panting for breath. His fingers were white on the pipe. But he was holding it. Pain was evident on his face, and concentration, and something Chance now recognized well. Fear.
Chance did the worst thing he could possibly do in that moment. He hesitated.
In th
e handful of seconds he stared at Kit—every fiber of his being screaming at him to move, move, move—his chance slipped away.
Kit’s grip failed. He released the metal, and it snapped back. But it didn’t stop there. The whole pile shifted, taking the wall and the support beam with it. The ceiling caved in, dumping rock and wood and insulation down on them. It was like an avalanche of the building’s guts, sweeping toward them.
They were thrown back. It was all Chance could do to scramble away before he got buried. When it finally settled, there was nothing left of the end of the hallway but an impenetrable wall of debris.
The fire escape was completely blocked off.
1:48 p.m., Monday, August 13th
As afternoon set in, heat invaded the building in earnest. Kit wiped sweat from his eyes and tried to think beyond the maelstrom of guilt raging in his head. It refused to calm, however, and spat one truth in his face over and over: he’d failed. He hadn’t held the exit open for long enough. Chance was trapped here because of him.
With the guilt also came a healthy dose of terror. He’d been able to keep it at bay when he’d had a mission. Get to the fire escape. Clear the way. Help people. But now that their escape route was closed off, and the silence was heavy around them, the weight of their situation crushed the air from his lungs.
Chance had been quiet beside him ever since Kit had lost his grip. Was he furious? Kit hoped not, though he certainly couldn’t blame him.
He brushed his stray thoughts aside like dust. They needed to focus. There were still two other ways out. They’d find one and get to safety. Kit had to believe that, or fear would consume him.
A gust of wind whistled through the windows, snagging on the bits of broken glass still stuck in the frames. It ruffled Kit’s dusty hair and dried the cold sweat on his brow.
“Chance.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Chance was staring at the ground. His dark hair was white with dust. His clothes—which normally consisted of neat button-down shirts and pressed slacks—were grubby and hanging off his lean frame. He had no obvious injuries, however, unlike Kit, who could feel the cut on his temple with every beat of his heart.
On Solid Ground Page 4
