The day dragged on. No tsunamis struck, and the warning alarms stopped blaring. Some of the smoke cleared. There were no more aftershocks. Emma awoke from her nap, hungry.
When Chloe’s stomach growled, Mateo rose to his feet. He pointed at the stairs and made binoculars with his fists.
Emma had no trouble interpreting him. “I look, too!”
“No,” Chloe said. “You can’t go with him.”
Mateo hurried up the stairs while Emma screamed and kicked in Chloe’s lap. Her little foot glanced off Chloe’s injured leg, making her gasp in pain.
“He’ll be right back,” Chloe said.
Emma wasn’t good at waiting. Two seconds or two hours, it didn’t matter to her. She had no real concept of time, like most toddlers. When Chloe tried to distract her with the penlight, Emma threw the item at the stairs. Luckily, Mateo was quick. He came down the stairs wearing an optimistic expression.
“Ya,” he said, offering her his hand.
If he wanted to venture outside, Chloe wasn’t going to argue. She was stiff and sore from sitting so long. She let go of Emma and hobbled to her feet. As soon as she rose, gravity took its toll. The blood drained from her head and an uncomfortable weight settled in her bladder. She winced, pressing her fingertips to the inseam of her jeans.
Mateo frowned at this action. “Que pasa?”
“Nothing,” she said, jerking her hand away from her crotch.
He asked her another question, still concerned.
“I just have to pee.”
“Yo también,” he said with a nod. “Vámanos.”
Getting up the stairs wasn’t any easier than coming down them. She let Emma go first. The adults followed, with Mateo supporting her left side. Once they reached the main floor, the smell of charred wood assaulted her nostrils. Part of the roof was gone. She lifted Emma into her arms and shuffled forward, through the open door.
The destruction to their immediate surroundings wasn’t as bad as Chloe had expected. There was a disturbing combination of untouched green grass, singed eucalyptus trees and smoldering ruins. The pavilions had burned to the ground. Seaside Village was flattened. Most of the restaurants and small businesses in the area had been decimated.
It looked post-apocalyptic, but not unrecognizable. Many of the city’s large skyscrapers and major hotels were still standing. For now. The fires hadn’t died down—they’d just spread inland. Everything that could burn here had already burned. Fresh, dark smoke clouds rose from the downtown neighborhoods in the distance.
Beyond the embarcadero, the bay was lit up like a roman candle. Flames had engulfed the naval weapons station and international airport, creating a thick black fog across the coast. She could barely see the setting sun through the hazy curtain. The western sky swirled with violent colors, deep pink and toxic orange. It was horrifically beautiful.
“Fire hot,” Emma said.
Chloe tightened her grip on her daughter. She didn’t know which direction to travel. The air quality was terrible, with strong chemical fumes and eye-irritating smoke. Bits of ash and debris floated on the wind.
“Allá,” Mateo said, pointing to a public restroom at the end of the bike path. Concrete walls had protected it from fire damage.
She limped alongside Mateo, eager to reach the structure. Her leg ached a little less than before, and she was able to put some weight on her foot. But the dock shoes were a loose fit, and carrying Emma was awkward. They needed a better mode of transportation. When they arrived at the restrooms, Chloe went inside with Emma. The basic fixtures appeared undamaged. Before she closed the door, Mateo rattled the handle and shook his head.
He didn’t want her to lock it.
She accepted this condition easily. At least he wasn’t trying to assist her.
Emma had to go, so Chloe perched her on the commode and held her there. This was one of the secret miseries of motherhood that no one talked about. Chloe couldn’t eat, sleep, or use the toilet until her child had been taken care of.
Just once, she’d like to pee first.
When Emma was finished, Chloe set her aside. Wincing, she removed the sock that was tied around her thigh. The laceration underneath was about six inches across, and seeping blood.
She needed stitches, but she’d live. It was a superficial wound, not a shark bite.
“Owie,” Emma said.
“Hold this,” she said, giving Emma the wet sock.
“Go out.”
“Don’t you dare,” she warned. The last time they were in a public restroom, Emma had opened the door and left the stall while Chloe was occupied.
So embarrassing.
She wrestled her jeans down her hips, holding her breath as the damp fabric dragged over her abraded flesh. Then she sat and relieved herself. Rising was a challenge, so she gripped the aluminum bar beside the toilet for balance. The flush worked, but the sink had no water. She secured the sock around her leg and grasped Emma’s hand before exiting the restroom. Mateo was waiting by the door.
“Listas?”
They were ready. Together they stumbled across the green hills of the park, making slow progress. Although Chloe let Emma walk beside them, she kept her eye on the blackened palm trees nearby. They resembled giant torches, still burning.
Seaside Village had been reduced to ashes. They found a cobblestone path among the remains of quaint boutiques and quirky cafés. Chloe wasn’t sure where they were going. She wanted to get away from the noxious smoke, and she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the cramped utility room.
Traveling inland meant entering the Gaslight District, which might offer no shelter whatsoever. And it would be getting dark soon.
Mateo paused in an empty parking lot as they left the embarcadero. There was a half-destroyed liquor store across the street. He urged her that direction. As they got closer, Chloe noticed the downed power lines at the end of the block. A driver had lost control of his vehicle and struck a telephone pole. The pole had fallen, crushing the SUV and obstructing the intersection. Everything had burned. There was a corpse slumped behind the wheel. Chloe could see bits of white skull beneath the blistered flesh.
She picked up Emma and hugged the child’s head to her chest, determined to shield her from the macabre scene.
Mateo went inside the liquor store for more supplies. The place appeared to have been ransacked, but it was hard to tell. While he stepped over jagged shards of glass, Chloe edged away from the front window. She was chilled by the sight of the dead body at the intersection. There were more where that came from. Inside demolished buildings and crashed cars. They were all around here.
As she recoiled from the thought, her heel brushed something rubbery. She looked down at a man’s discolored arm, sticking out from underneath a crumbled block wall. His hand was open, fingers slack with death.
Smothering a shriek, she lurched forward and covered Emma’s eyes, horrified by the disembodied appendage.
Mateo came out of the store with his beach bag full. His eyes moved from Chloe’s face to the arm and back again. The opposite intersection was blocked, so they had no choice but to skirt by the corpse and keep going.
At the corner, he looked east and said something that sounded like “hospital.” He pronounced it without the H, and stressed the last syllable, so she wasn’t sure.
“Hospital?” she asked.
“Sí.”
The closest one she could think of was the naval hospital, near the wildlife park. Josh went there for exams and treatment. It was several miles inland, on the other side of the Gaslight District. A chaotic maze of fire and rubble awaited them. Injured, with a toddler, climbing over debris and inhaling smoke…it wouldn’t be easy.
But what else could they do? Heading in that direction was as good a plan as any. Maybe they’d find help on the way. She pointed east and nodded.
Before setting off, they shared the snacks Mateo had gathered. He’d grabbed chips, chocolate cupcakes and soda. Emma was delight
ed by the contraband items. She’d never had so many unhealthy snacks in one sitting. Although Chloe was starving, the sight of charred flesh had killed her appetite. She ate a few chips and sipped soda, her skin crawling.
When they were finished, Mateo picked up Emma. She touched his jaw with chocolate-grubby fingers. Exploring, not protesting.
Chloe didn’t argue the arrangement, either. It was easier for her to walk without Emma’s added weight. They continued down Harbor Drive. The streets were empty, which was bizarre in a city known for gridlock. Parked vehicles appeared unoccupied. Everyone must have fled the coast when the tsunami alarms sounded.
Ash and dust particles hung in the air as they reached the iconic sign at the entrance to the historic district. The massive arch hung drunkenly at one corner. The other end had fallen and smashed into the curb.
The Gaslight District was San Diego’s party central. Chloe had never been to the bars or nightclubs here. She and Josh lived in Hillcrest, a lively neighborhood north of the zoo. She didn’t date. After breaking up with Lyle, she’d sworn off drugs and alcohol. She had no reason to visit the trendy, touristy hotspots.
Many of the older buildings in the district were made of brick or stone, fire-resistant but not earthquake-proof. Although the structures had sustained considerable damage, they weren’t engulfed in flames, and the air quality here was better. Maybe this was the best route to take through the city, after all.
As they shuffled past the creaking sign, the ground began to tremble. Another aftershock! It rumbled down the street like a gang of motorcycles, gaining strength and momentum.
She ducked under the eaves of a nearby building with Emma and Mateo. There was an ominous snapping sound, and then…
Crash.
The sign broke loose and slammed down on the sidewalk, very close to where they’d just been standing. Chloe put her arm around Emma and clung to Mateo, smothering a cry of distress. This quake was shorter than the others but it still packed a punch.
When it was over, Chloe glanced around warily. Twilight had crept over the city, bringing grainy dimness and a slight chill. They were only a block in, and she was already exhausted. The downtown area had never looked so deserted, or so menacing. She imagined a parade of zombies waking at dusk and emerging from the rubble.
Mateo asked if she was okay. At least, that’s what she thought he said. Emma sucked her two fingers and stared at the broken sign with big brown eyes. Chloe did what she’d always done. She squared her shoulders and kept going.
It was the most unpleasant journey of her life. They encountered numerous obstacles. Huge rifts in the roads, downed power lines, abandoned vehicles. The only other people they saw were a group of young men looting a video store. One of them stood on the sidewalk with a baseball bat. Mateo put his arm around Chloe and kept his gaze forward as they skirted by, saying nothing.
Chloe followed his lead. She didn’t want to mess with any criminals. This was no time to make a citizen’s arrest.
After traveling several more blocks, Chloe had to admit defeat. It was getting dark. Her leg ached and her flimsy shoes weren’t suited to the terrain. There was no way they could get through the entire district in one night. Mateo seemed to need a break just as much as Chloe did. He was sweating from exertion, breathing hard. His streamlined physique was built for speed, not for carrying heavy weight.
Although none of the gaslights were working, Chloe caught a glimpse of a promising shelter. It was a bar/restaurant that appeared to have been converted from a parking garage. The garage door was wide open, the brick walls were intact and the roof hadn’t collapsed.
“Let’s go in there,” she said.
He nodded, veering that direction. When they arrived, he set Emma down on the sidewalk in front of the open garage door. Motioning for Chloe to stay put, he crept inside. He used a lighter he’d pilfered from the liquor store to inspect the interior. For zombies, perhaps. Or gang members. It must have been free of threats, undead or otherwise, because he returned with a lit candle and a smile.
Chloe limped forward, holding Emma’s hand. The décor was basic. Industrial, even. Cement floors, brick walls and bare wooden tables. There was a social space on one side of the garage and a restaurant on the other. The aroma of spilled alcohol behind the bar was strong, but she didn’t see any broken glass. Just a few overturned chairs.
Mateo led them to a cozy nook in the middle of the garage. It was a VIP section, separated by velvet ropes. There were a few small tables, some leather ottomans and a large, cushioned bench. She knew where they were sleeping tonight.
But first things first. “Bathroom?”
He continued past the swanky lounge, into a dark hallway. There was a ladies’ room on the left side. After opening the door for her and Emma, he set the candle down on the sink. Then he gave them privacy.
Chloe took care of Emma and used the facilities quickly. There was no water, which was a shame, because they were both covered in soot. When she came out with the candle, he ushered them back to the VIP area. She sat down gladly. Emma started exploring the furniture, climbing over ottomans and square end tables. A small, new-age style fountain made of stone and copper stood in one corner.
Mateo had found a flashlight somewhere. He disappeared into the hall, returning with an armful of tablecloths and dish towels.
“Bless you,” Chloe said, dipping one of the towels in the fountain. She used it to clean Emma’s hands and face. Then she scrubbed her own skin. Mateo followed her lead and rinsed off his own grit.
“Quieres pizza?” he asked.
Hunger gnawed at her stomach. She hadn’t eaten enough earlier. “Pizza?”
“I want candy,” Emma said.
He laughed, clearly understanding these words. The candlelight flattered him, but so did his relaxed expression. His teeth were very white against his dark complexion. He had a wolfish smile. Fierce and gentle at the same time.
“No mas,” he said to Emma, holding up his empty palms. Then he picked up the flashlight and wandered off again. What he came back with wasn’t quite pizza. It was flatbread, mozzarella, tomatoes and olives.
Deconstructed pizza.
They devoured it, every morsel. For dessert, he presented a plate of fresh pears and candied walnuts.
“This is the fanciest date I’ve ever been on,” she said honestly.
If he knew what that meant, he didn’t reveal it. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes gliding down to her injured leg. Then he rifled through his supplies and took out a Valentine’s Day teddy bear. It was a small toy, cheaply made. He must have picked it up at the liquor store. Emma accepted this gift with delight. She wrapped her bear in a tablecloth blanket and rocked it like a baby.
Mateo also had something for Chloe: a first-aid kit. She paled at the sight of the box, feeling queasy. Did he plan to stitch her up?
He walked over to the bar and retrieved an unbroken bottle of whiskey, along with a shot glass. Now she was really queasy.
“Quieres?”
“No.”
He frowned at her answer. She knew that treating her leg would hurt, but she couldn’t drink alcohol ever again. Not even a little bit. She’d fought hard to stay sober, and even harder to overcome her depression.
“I can’t,” she said, moistening her lips. It was embarrassing to be confronted this way. Even though she knew it required more strength to tackle her problems than ignore them, she felt weak and abnormal. Most girls her age took shots with glee. They weren’t single mothers. They didn’t haphazardly attempt suicide, either.
She was…a buzzkill.
He came forward with the bottle, ignoring her protests. When he sat down across from her and gestured to her thigh, she realized that he intended to pour whiskey on the wound, not down her throat. There were disinfectant wipes in the first-aid kit, but maybe a quick splash would be less painful.
“A ver?”
She removed the sock with trembling fingers, uncertain what he’d a
sked. The wide rip in her jeans revealed an ugly laceration.
He cleared his throat and said something about pantalones.
Flushing, she stood and unfastened the top button of her jeans. She lowered the zipper, wiggling the denim down her hips, and sat quickly. Although the sweatshirt kept her panties covered, she felt naked.
He handed her a washcloth to put under her thigh. Then he uncapped the bottle and extended his arm, bathing her flesh with liquid fire.
Holy hell. It hurt so bad.
She bit back a cry and slammed a closed fist against her good leg. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Blinking them away, she glanced at Emma. Her daughter was pretending to breast-feed the teddy bear, oblivious.
Chloe unclenched her hand and took a deep breath. Ready.
Mateo didn’t drag it out. He applied some antibiotic ointment and a few butterfly bandages. Then he secured several squares of gauze over the area with tape. That was the most intimate part of the ordeal. He ran his fingertips along the tape, making sure it was stuck to her thigh, and her skin broke out in goose bumps.
When he was done, she felt better. The big, sturdy bandage was a definite improvement over a damp sock.
“Thank you,” she said, pleased with the results.
He smiled at her. “Por nada, mamita.”
She stood to drag her jeans up her hips. Although he hadn’t seemed interested in her exposed areas before, he looked now. It was almost as if he’d forgotten her state of undress.
He jerked his gaze away, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
They were quiet for several moments. Emma scolded her teddy bear and sang it lullabies. Chloe’s heart swelled with emotion. Her love for Emma was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It had overwhelmed her and terrified her, intensifying her worries about unworthiness. But that love had also saved her from herself.
Mateo studied Emma, contemplative. “Y el papá?”
Chloe understood this question. He was asking about Emma’s father. “He’s not…we’re not together.”
Instead of continuing the conversation, he put away the first-aid kit in silence. Maybe he couldn’t find the right words, or he was too polite to inquire further. But she sensed that he’d like to know more about her, and she felt the same way about him.
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