Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.
References to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
Jolt
There's only one thing you can count on when the world is falling apart. Each other. Smith and Jones Days, 1906.
Chapter 1: Separation
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"Hnnh!"
Heyes woke with a snort. He blinked his dark brown eyes in confusion. The faintest touch of rosy gold light outlined the window drapes. Clem lifted her head from his bare chest. Her eyelashes fluttered.
"What was that?" his wife murmured. She scrunched down under the embroidered counterpane pulling the pillow over her head, her soft sleepy words barely audible. "Mmmph. Tell the children it's too early."
"You're stealing the covers," Heyes teased with a fond smirk.
"'m not."
His slender hand reached out. Again. The world shook. Harder this time, and it kept on shaking.
"Augh!
Heyes flew upwards, thrown from the bed. The nimble man twisted in midair and saw Clem claw at the mattress as the bed stood up on end. His shoulder nearly smacked the ceiling and he crossed his arms in front of his face as he plummeted downward.
"Joshua!" the tiny beauty screamed.
The former outlaw landed on the floor with a thump. The fifty-five year old groaned as he rolled onto his back. Brown eyes blinked. The heavy drapes swayed back and forth. Wild flashes of daylight shot through their bedroom. A windowpane shattered. Shards of glass rained down on the floor between Heyes and the eastern side of the room. Other sounds, more breaking glass, bricks falling, screams, assaulted his ears.
"Oomph!"
Clem landed on top of him. Heyes clutched the curvaceous woman to him. Their bed was now in the center of the room. The heavy bureau, formerly against the nearby wall, rampaged towards them like a beast, clomped across the floor on short stubby legs.
"Make the room stop moving!" wailed Clem.
Above them, cracks spread along the ceiling, racing in every direction spreading out and crackling.
"Get under the lintel!"
"What?" her terrified voice ratcheted higher.
"The doorway!"
Heyes rolled Clem off of him. With an inelegant push to her rear, he directed Clem to the hope of safety. The genius followed her frantic scramble. Behind him the bureau crashed, smashed upon the space they had just vacated. A book skittered across the floor to smack against his shin. The blue and white striped pajama trousers he wore offered little padding against the sharp jab. The cozy bedroom reading chair thumped onto its side. Peering past Clem, Heyes could see the mirror on the dressing vanity swing wildly back and forth, but the vanity still remained in its accustomed place against the wall. Heyes reached past Clem for the white porcelain doorknob. Another shove and she was beneath the lintel. He clambered after her into the space beneath the heavy oak door frame.
"Brace yourself," urged Heyes.
He turned and pressed his back against the oak frame and one foot against the other side. Instead of following his example, Clem threw her arms around him.
"Not quite what I meant," said Heyes, but he wasn't complaining.
He wrapped his arms around Clem. Clinging together, they watched the parlor of their three bedroom suite at the Palace Hotel. Broken glass glittered on the Persian rug beneath the once beautiful bay windows overlooking San Francisco. The chandelier above the oval dining table careened back and forth. Clem peered up at him. Hidden among the dark curls, the occasional strand of silver caught the early morning light.
"What's happening?"
"Earthquake," answered Heyes. "Like Silky told us happened last September."
"He said tremors!" protested Clem. "This isn't tremors!"
In the parlor, a chunk of plaster dropped from the ceiling trailing a wake of dust in its descent, crumbling to small pellets that bounced across the floor upon impact.
"Pa!" a boy's voice shouted from the next bedroom. "Ma!"
"Arthur!"
Heedless of the danger, Clem moved to crawl out from their safe haven. Heyes grabbed the silk waistband of her nightgown and hauled her back beneath the relative security of the door frame. The sofa skidded across the parlor mere inches from them and collided hard against the wall. In the room behind them, the vanity toppled to the floor between the bed and the doorway. Arthur's exclamation was followed by a high pitched scream.
"Jennifer!" called Clem.
"It's an earthquake!" shouted Heyes. "Wait! Stay in your beds until it stops shaking!"
Almost as if the world had heard him and chose to obey, the shaking stopped. Clem's hand clutched his, fingers tightening.
"Is it over?" whispered Clem.
"I don't know," Heyes glanced around. The ceiling, walls and furniture seemed to have stopped moving. "Maybe."
A moment later Arthur's bedroom door jerked open, slammed against the wall. Twelve year old Arthur leaned against the doorway dressed in red plaid pajama pants. The adjacent bedroom door opened to reveal Kid's third daughter. Jennifer clutched a well-loved rag doll against the pin tucked bodice of her light blue nightgown. The fearful gaze in her wide blue eyes darted around the room.
"I couldn't stay in bed any longer." The pale boy brushed a hand back through his dark hair. Arthur's face dimpled as he flashed a shaky smile. "You know I'm an early riser."
As one, the adults and children moved towards each other. Clem enveloped Arthur in a tight hug and then reached to pull Jennifer into her embrace. The tiny woman pressed kisses on the children's faces. Heyes reached his long arms around Clem, Arthur and Jennifer. He pulled them all near and breathed in their warm scent. Alive. He breathed a heartfelt whisper, Thank God! The hotel swayed.
"Not again!" Clem snapped her head back in alarm watching the treacherous room.
Heyes narrowed his eyes. The motion stopped, but cracks sprouted alongside the eastern wall of the hotel room. Reaching the upper corner of the window frame, another chunk of plaster fell to the floor. The end of the ornate brass curtain rod dropped free, exposing lathe and leaving the drapery to dangle akilter. The sound of voices shouting and screaming outside wafted through the broken window along with more crashing noises. Outside a big rumble sounded, followed by another crash and more screams.
"Just an aftershock," Heyes' voice sounded husky. He swallowed hard and tried to sound more normal. "Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?"
For a moment, no one spoke. Heyes held on tight, feeling the frantic pounding in his chest slow to a steady thump. Then a muffled voice sounded. Arthur squirmed. Heyes loosened his grip. His son stepped back, followed by Jennifer. Clem remained at his side, one arm wrapped around his waist.
"What did you say?"
"Can't breathe," mumbled the boy. Brown eyes twinkled with mischief. Arthur smirked, "It would be a shame if I survived an earthquake only to get hugged to death."
"Hugged to death?" Heyes' lips curled up in an answering grin. "I'll try to make sure that doesn't happen."
Clem gave a shaky chuckle. The tiny woman reached upwards to ruffle Arthur's dark hair. Their son was now an inch taller than Clem.
"You two quit being silly!" admonished Clem.
Silly? Heyes quirked an eyebrow up. Sometimes a body had to laugh, especially at silly jokes, just so as to not have to think about the things that might kill them.
"I wanna go home," blurted out Jennifer. Tousled blonde curls cascaded past the eleven year old's shoulders. Her chin trembled. "Now! I don't want to stay in San Francisco for the rest of the week!"
The two adults exchanged a glance. Attending the Western Library Association meeting in San Francisco had seemed like a perfect opportunity to combine business with pleasure. Heyes, Clem, and the two children arrived at the Paris of the West late Sunday afternoon. Heyes' old friend Silky met their train with his driver and fancy automobile. The four visitors squeezed into the plush back seat of the Lozier Tonneau. Silky donned his goggles with a smirk. "We've got time for a little tour before supper. Hold on to your hat!" Three hours later, the wily old conman finally ordered his driver to take them to the Palace. Monday and Tuesday, Joshua Smith attended the two day conference with his fellow librarians while Clem and the children explored the great city with Silky. The centenarian enjoyed acting as their host. Silky laughed and said that it made him feel young again to have children around. His granddaughters were all grown now. Felicity and her family lived in Los Angeles while Stephanie lived in St. Louis.
"Me too!" nodded Arthur.
"Home sounds like a good idea," soothed Clem. "Right Joshua?"
Heyes looked out the broken window. A trail of devastation led down the slope to the harbor. Dark clouds of smoke, signifying structural fires, not the soft white smoke of a chimney, billowed upwards in several different spots. Some of the roads appeared blocked with rubble. Getting home might not be so easy. And even if they could get to the train, their tickets weren't good until Friday afternoon.
"First things first, let's get out of the Palace," declared the tactician. "Then we go check on Silky."
Clem's hazel eyes widened at the scene outside their hotel window. Her eyes traveled across the floor of the parlor and into their bedroom, littered with chunks of plaster, shards of glass and splintered furniture. She shivered and glanced down. Heyes followed her gaze and found himself staring at four pairs of bare feet. The hemline of her nightgown brushed the tops of her toes.
"No, first get dressed! You're not going outside in your nightclothes," objected Clem. "And wear your brogans!"
"But my new boots...," Arthur began to protest.
"Not those stack heeled boots," interrupted Heyes. Remembering the dainty calfskin shoes Jennifer had worn to the opera last night, he turned from his son to face the girl, "And no party slippers like Cinderella."
"But..." spluttered two young voices in dismay.
"There's no telling how far we may have to walk."
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"Wait up a minute," called Kid.
The little group from Thunder Ridge halted and turned to look at the tall man. Kid rolled his broad shoulders and tried not to yawn. The fifty-one year old hadn't slept a wink since they boarded the train in Porterville. Truthfully, he'd hardly slept since Eliza had received the letter from her professor. The security conscious man tugged white cuffs out from the edge of his gray pinstriped suit coat and looked to either side to assess his surroundings. The other passengers disembarking from the train hurried past them out of the train station.
"What for?" grumbled Wheat.
Aside from the steely salt and pepper hair upon Wheat's head, the burly former outlaw looked much like he always had, a little disgruntled and belligerent. Unlike Kid, Wheat hadn't bothered to change into city clothes for the visit to Laramie. Wheat's brown trousers and faded duster contrasted sharply with the richly hued fabric of his wife's travelling suit. Kid carefully shut the locker door, leaving his rolled up holster beneath his blue jeans and sheepskin jacket. Normally he would have had a derringer in his suit pocket, but that had gone with Heyes to San Francisco leaving Kid unarmed this morning.
"I just want to make sure everyone knows to meet back here by one o'clock," reminded Kid.
"Why so soon?" demanded Wheat. "You know doctor visits always take a while and I want to look around Laramie afterwards."
Kid started to answer, but Martha's maroon clad elbow met her husband's ribs. Wheat gave a soft grunt. She pointed to the wall clock mounted above the ticket window. Early morning light reflected on the glass face making it hard to see the big black hands pointing to twelve minutes after six.
"Your appointment is at eight," reminded Martha. She sniffed. "I hope to be in the Three Rules store by nine. When we're finished there, we can go to Durlacher's."
"Dress shopping?" Wheat looked appalled.
"Maybe, and you need a new coat too," reminded the gray haired woman. Her thin lips spread across her face in a cheerful smile. "Afterwards, we can have a nice luncheon at Frank Eggleston's Drug Store. You remember, the place that makes those cherry sodas."
"The soda parlor?" Wheat's lack of enthusiasm was evident.
"Or we could come back here to the Union Pacific Hotel and Depot," offered Martha. "If we're back here before noon, you'll have time for a steak dinner with all the trimmings before we get on the northbound train at one forty five."
"I vote for steak," piped up Kyle. The small man pushed heavy horn rimmed glasses up on his nose. Blue eyes magnified by thick lenses gazed back at Kid. "But what are we gonna do about breakfast?"
"Oh I couldn't possibly eat breakfast," murmured Eliza.
The slim young lady at Kid's side shook her head, golden curls flying back and forth. Kid looked at his oldest daughter in shock.
"What? No breakfast?"
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