"What happened?" said Zack. "What happened!" He felt his throat getting sore. He must be shouting. "Help!" But he had to shout.
He wiped the dirt and fibers from his eyes. At least he could still see. The buckled roof of the Mercury was touching his head. At least his brain was still in his skull.
The seat of his automobile was twisted, but his back was only sore, his arms intact, his legs fully functioning. He was alive. The car behind had piled into his rear fender and he had rammed uncontrollably into the Toyota pickup in front. Now he remembered the shaking of the road and the wheels wobbling into a side-to-side skid.
A face appeared at the dirty glass of the driver door. Zack could see the man wore the heavy coat and hard-hat of the Fire Department. Zack did not know if he had been knocked out for any length of time, but surely the firefighter had arrived surprisingly quickly at the middle of a bridge only seconds after an earthquake? Zack was not going to worry too much about it.
The rescuer's long hand wiped the dirt and oil from the outside. He looked blankly into Zack's eyes and noted the face. He looked away and mouthed a few words to another unseen person. On a clear, undisturbed day, Zack would have read the lips clearly; might have been more certain. But today, he could only guess at an unlikely and unfriendly phrase. "The punk."
:::
Now there were two firefighters, one pulling firmly at the side of the doorframe, the other manipulating the buckled roof. Their faces were plain, but they looked similar, not quite brothers, but similar.
The oldest one looked in the window again. He met Zack's eyes directly and spoke clearly. "Are your limbs trapped? We can pull you out."
Zack nodded, then felt the pressure released from around his arms as the twisted door fell from the frame. "Thanks," he said as firmly as he could. The two men reached in and placed their hands on his shoulders and neck, holding him temporarily back in the seat. The more senior man reached behind Zack's head. There was a glimpse of a little test instrument, maybe a thermometer.
"No neck collar?" Zack queried. "I don't want to end up with another handicap."
The younger one mouthed "You're good" and they hauled him out of the remains of his Mercury.
Zack stood on the deck feeling nauseous. "Aren't you going to help anyone else?" He held his aching head. He could see more of the cars behind him had crashed into each other and into the superstructure. But in front of him the upper road level had collapsed onto the traffic. It wasn't pretty. There was even a school-bus.
"We'll start with you first, if you don't mind," said the first rescuer.
Zack felt the urge to leave. If these weird rescuers wanted to take him first, he was not going to argue. "Let's go."
He felt drowsy and the city around him blurred and disappeared.
:::
The TV News was showing helicopter footage of the damage around the city, frequently returning to the collapse on the Bay Bridge. From his armchair, Zack sat blinking. He could see that it was a disaster, and that he had narrowly missed a serious injury. He blinked again and shook his head catching sight of someone stood at the little window beside the front door.
Zack realized he was not alone in his apartment. It was the older man. He still wore the S.F.F.D. overalls but the heavier jacket was hung carefully on one of the hooks on the back of the door. The hard hat had gone, but he wore a knitted hat over his hair and ears.
"I'm sorry," the visitor mouthed again. "I asked if you need painkillers? For your head."
Zack was very particular about when he took chemicals. "No thanks." Bush appeared on the screen announcing the Federal response to the quake. "Turn him off," Zack growled. "Federal assistance, my ass. Worthless."
Outside the picture window, a tiny humming-bird was casually attending to the leaves of a shrub Zack had tried to cut back. This part of the Bay Area seemed less affected than the city, but flashing combinations of blue and red lights were passing in a constant stream. No doubt the sirens were being exercised heavily too. But with the room lights off and the midday sun streaming in, it might have been any other ordinary day in the Fall.
:::
"When I tell people I live in Marin County they think I'm rich. But I'm sure you saw on the way up here. There are plenty of areas at the bottom end of the social ladder." He turned from the window. "How'd you know where I live?"
The guest stayed by the door looking thru the small window at the parking lot behind the building. He looked completely at home in Zack's tiny condo. They exchanged a look.
"You revealed your domestic location when we were pulling you from the automobile." Zack focussed hard on the weird lips. Something about the highly controlled speech confirmed what he knew.
"That's a lie," he laughed. "You must have done a lot of research just to turn over my apartment. Take what you want. No-one loves me enough to pay a ransom and I'll be no good as a sex slave. Ask my ex-girlfriend, on both counts."
The visitor's face revealed only a flat look. He raised an eyebrow and pressed his mouth into the limpest of smiles. "Of course. This is Earth - local - humor. I find this amusing too."
"So, why are you here?" Zack ventured.
The door thudded open. The younger man from the bridge and a young woman entered, both dressed as firefighters, exhausted and covered in oil and blood. "I'm sorry Mestral. We would have been quicker, but little Maggie had to assist with other vehicles."