Chapter 5
Thursday 7:04pm
This time the shaking was comparatively brief, only twenty seconds in length, and seemingly tame after the earlier shocks. The greatest danger Steve faced was that the rolling and pitching of the street would make him seasick. Up till then, he had only been able to think about surviving the immediate crisis, reacting to each new threat with the speed and decisiveness he had learned on the battlefield and on the streets to keep himself and his self-appointed charge alive.
Now, for the first time, with the imperative of survival dimmed, Steve felt real fear. A cold sweat swept the length of his body, chilling his skin and stinging the multitude of abrasions and cuts scattered along his back and legs. Questions tumbled dizzily through his mind. Was this 'the Big One"? How much damage had been done? Had Mark and his friends escaped the quake unscathed? Steve was not the type to habitually assume the worst, but the sheer power and breadth of the destructive force he'd witnessed made it all too easy to picture his father lying buried and bleeding under the rubble. "Been there, done that, don't need a replay," he muttered darkly in an effort to distract himself from the disturbing images roiling in his head.
The gnawing uncertainly regarding Mark's fate, coupled with the instinctive need to protect his father, created a powerful sense of frustration in Steve as he realised how stranded he was at his present location. With all forms of communication disrupted, and travel severely impeded, it would be impossible to determine his father's status or to go to his aid if he was in trouble, especially considering the fact that his car was doing its best imitation of a pancake. The Gilman murder case suddenly seemed trivial in the face of such devastation, and Steve bitterly regretted traveling so far from home that day.
He was brought back to the present as the earth gave a final groan and shudder then subsided into exhausted quiescence. For a deranged moment, Steve felt an atavistic desire to scream his defiance and triumph to the heavens. There was an exhilaration in being aware of the earth's tremendous power and surviving the extraordinary experience. However, sanity quickly prevailed, and Steve struggled to focus his attention on the community in which he found himself, starting with the bundle that still lay trembling in his arms. He sat the boy on the ground, carefully assessing him for injuries.
"I'm Steve. What's your name?" he asked as he gently wiped the blood from a nasty gash on the boy's face, an injury he had sustained falling off his bike in the first sharp jolt.
"Carlos," the boy answered shyly as he stared in wide-eyed admiration at the tall stranger who had rescued him. "You're hurt," he pointed out, aiming a grubby finger at a large shard of glass buried deep into the back of Steve's right arm.
Steve gingerly pulled it out, feeling the blood flowing freely from the wound. He couldn't help but feel a new appreciation for the phrase 'death by a thousand cuts' as he ruefully contemplated the gory array of lacerations decorating his body.
However, he smiled reassuringly at Carlos. "I'm fine, nothing to worry about. Now," he adjusted his jacket around the boy's frail shoulders. "You sit here while I have a look around. I'll be back."
He stood up shakily, his sense of balance as unstable as if he had just finished a violent ride at the carnival, and gazed around in awe and horror at the effects of a 7.6-magnitude earthquake. A peaceful, if impoverished, neighbourhood had been reduced to shambles, a drunken caricature of its former appearance. The sun glinted off the deluge of shattered glass intermingled in the mounds of brick, stone and mortar from collapsed walls and buildings.
The structures left standing resembled a bizarre cubist's painting of queasy lines and angles. Pavements were buckled, displaced chunks of sidewalk added to the debris, and buildings listed at crazy angles, sunk partly in the ground. The silence, eerie after the constant rumbling, was broken by the continuous blare of a car horn and the mounting cries of the injured, the frightened and the trapped.
Steve's mouth set in grim lines as he realised that his paltry first-aid skills, garnered on the battlefield and from hanging around with doctors, would very likely be the only medical attention available for quite a while. It wasn't the kind of responsibility he relished, but he accepted the exigencies of the situation. The first two people he encountered were beyond medical help of any kind, crushed under falling rubble, but an elderly lady he found clinging to the remains of a parking meter had only suffered a broken arm. There were plenty of wooden fragments from which to fashion a splint, and her gratitude for this basic first-aid bolstered his confidence.
The next few hours were a blur of exhausting activity. As people trickled out of their apartments, stunned by the loss of what little they had, Steve evaluated their injuries and organised those capable into search and rescue parties. He sent out some scouts to find basic medical supplies and water, others to make a reconnaissance trip to the nearest hospital. When he found a small park off the main street, he arranged for the injured to be transported there to await assistance in relative safety. Finding a middle-aged woman named Maria with nursing experience, he happily passed over the medical duties to her and concentrated on his search for survivors. His greatest fear was the possibility of fire, as the air was heavy with the smell of gas intermingling with acrid dust, and Steve ensured that everyone took precautions to minimise the risk.
Steve was a natural leader. He had the dubious benefit of many years of experience dealing with life and death crises, and he didn't have to contend with the emotional impact of the destruction of his home. He automatically inspired trust, and he seemed to the team he gathered around him, and to the people he extricated from the ruins, to be the only stable, permanent fixture in a world turned treacherous and shifting. He was in the midst of all the rescue efforts, a tall dynamic figure, with indefatigable strength, providing unceasing encouragement, even though his hands were torn and bleeding from sifting through the rubble, and his clothes were splattered with blood and caked in dust. He was the first into every dangerous situation, the last to leave, and his resourceful and brave example inspired the stunned victims to take care of themselves, their families and their neighbours as best they could.
As the crepuscular light darkened towards night, operations continued and flashlights twinkled in the ruins like swarms of fireflies. Word had filtered back to Steve that the nearest hospital had not fared well in the quake. The Emergency Room had been crushed when the south wing of the hospital had collapsed, and the walls still standing had ominous fractures, so all patients were being evacuated. He couldn't expect any help from that direction. However, recently, the sound of helicopters nearby had indicated that outside rescue efforts were underway.
The cave-in of the Hilton Heights hospital drove the sliver of fear deeper into Steve's heart. The horror of searching frantically through the wreckage of Community General, desperate to locate his father, but dreading what he might find, was indelibly branded into his memory in glorious Technicolour with Dolby Surround sound for good measure. His cell phone had been smashed at some point during the quake, but he already knew that the phone service wasn't working. For that matter, neither were the water, electricity or sewer systems.
He had been able to force the corroding fears for the safety of his father and friends down to a manageable level in the recent intense activity, but the news from the local hospital had propelled them back to the front of his mind. As his search efforts drew further up the hill whose summit overlooked the greater Los Angeles area, Steve could no longer prolong the agony of uncertainty. Leaving the scene of an imminent rescue, secure in the knowledge that the elderly man involved would now survive, he started the scramble over the debris.
Dread mounted with every step he took, urging him to move faster and faster as he neared the brow of the hill. His heart was pounding with exertion and tension, and he could taste the dust in his mouth as he struggled to draw in enough oxygen to replenish lungs that seemed paralyzed. He braced himself in anticipation of a Sodom and Gomorrah style leveling, but his first glimpse showed the Los Angeles skyline seemingly unaltered in the moonlight, and relief crept through his veins, allowing him to relax for the first time since the ground had started shaking. This proved to be a mistake as it allowed the pain from the lacerations in his back and the deep bruising he had suffered to ambush him. He put out a hand to steady himself as he swayed wearily, then fought back the moment of weakness, concentrating harder on the scene ahead. Closer examination revealed scattered darker areas in the sky, indicating either smoke from fires or, more likely, concrete dust from buildings that had collapsed. However these were few and far between.
All uncomfortable physical sensations and worries were forgotten as lights flashing in the canyon caught his gaze and drew it downwards. At first he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing in the gloom, or to be more accurate, not seeing. The bridge crossing the Soledad Canyon had collapsed, its supports unable to resist the violent shearing. Even as Steve watched, two helicopters descended on the Los Angeles side of the ravine to assist in the rescue efforts there.
His horrified contemplation of the scene was interrupted by the scrabble of approaching footsteps, but, before the sound had consciously registered, he felt a tremulous tugging on his trousers. He looked down to see Carlos, still enveloped in the large leather jacket Steve had lent him. He had noticed that the kid had disappeared earlier, and had hoped that he had found his family safe, but from the desperate expression on the kid's face, he doubted it.
"Please, Mr. Steve, come quickly." As he uttered the plea, the boy gave one last pull and then darted off. Steve responded automatically to the unmistakable urgency projected in the boy's demeanor, and followed as fast as he could, afraid he would lose the agile urchin in the dark maze of streets. Steve thought he understood the nature of the emergency when the boy eventually dropped to his knees next to a woman lying on the street. She was obviously injured; Steve could tell even by the dim illumination of his flashlight that she had a broken leg and probably internal injuries, but his examination was hampered by her attempts to push him away as she cried out in a foreign language.
It was Carlos who explained. "It's the babies, Mr. Steve. They're still in the apartment." Steve swung his flashlight round to investigate the indicated building, and took an involuntary step back as the building loomed above him, listing like a sinking ship. Several floors had collapsed in on each other like a pack of cards, and it looked like a deep breath would bring down the rest on top of them.
Steve shut his eyes as the pain of failure flooded through him. He couldn't save them all, but the knowledge of this family's loss still hurt. He couldn't imagine that anyone could have survived inside, and he was struggling for a way to break the news to his new friend when a tiny sound reached him and his eyes snapped open. He looked at Carlos in astonishment, and the boy beckoned him eagerly towards an irregular, small opening through which the weak cries emanated. The building had subsided, and the angle at which it had settled had contributed to the difficulty of ingress. Although the first floor had partly collapsed into the basement, it had done so mostly as a solid slab and this had undoubtedly been what had saved the children. It had acted as an unorthodox umbrella, protecting them from cascading wreckage.
Steve cautiously stuck his head into the aperture, but his line of sight was blocked beyond the initial drop, so the view didn't prove enlightening. However, he glanced across at Carlos, who was staring at him with a touching mixture of hope and trust, and winked at him, nodding with more confidence that he felt. The boy's face lit up, he turned to his mother and in a stream of excited words obviously passed on the news. As she relaxed somewhat, Steve bent down, picked her up gently and carried her to a safer location. Holding up a finger, he gently conveyed the message - wait.
Returning to the apartment building, he passed his flashlight to Carlos, tacitly enlisting him as his only potential helper. "I won't be able to hold the babies and this, so I need you to shine it as far as you can into this hole," he instructed. "Stay here so I can pass the babies up to you." With a last encouraging smile, he lowered himself over the threshold. He let himself drop down the initial steep descent, reflecting that the return journey with the children would be more problematic. As he landed, he slipped on the sharply inclined block of concrete that was covered with a slick coat of dust and plaster, but caught himself on a slab which lay crosswise and slightly above the first one. He had to navigate his way beneath this in a narrow, sloping tunnel until it dropped off into another void. The darkness beneath him now was so total that he couldn't see to find footholds, and, as he dangled precariously by his fingertips, searching for a ledge by touch alone, he decided that nocturnal rock climbing would never become his favourite pastime. A questing foot brushed against a broken beam, driving a splinter into his unprotected ankle, and he was struggling to banish the image of upturned stakes waiting to impale him, when he lost his footing on the crumbling wall and slid the last four feet, landing with a splash in a few inches of water. The descent had been a lot more abrupt than he intended, and he told himself it was the adrenaline rush that made him lightheaded.
Taking a deep breath, he started to squelch along the sodden floor, arms extended in front to alert him to unexpected obstacles. He followed the mewling of the babies, and located a crib by the wall on the side nearest the road, a fortuitous placement since they would surely have died in any other spot. He groped for the occupants, and picked up the first child, feeling its hiccuping sobs soften in the security of his arms. He had little experience with babies, but rather enjoyed its trusting acceptance and the warmth against his shoulder. He climbed carefully, finding the ascent easier than he had feared with the faint reflection from the flashlight slightly illuminating his way. Bracing himself against a wall as he neared the top, he passed the child through the gap to Carlos before returning for its twin. Tactile memory made the repeat journey easier, but exhaustion slowed him down. As Steve started the last leg of the journey, a wet and somewhat squirmy infant cradled securely in one arm, the burning in his muscles informed him just how far he had overtaxed his reserves.
As Steve neared the top, he felt a slight vibration under his hand, and froze in place for a split second, hoping it was just his own movements causing local subsidence. The now familiar escalation of sound and agitation convinced him otherwise - another aftershock was building momentum! Throwing caution to the wind, he leapt for the opening, using all his height and strength to get a grip with his left hand. Boosting the squirming infant in his right, he threw him the last few inches into Carlos' outstretched arms and, as soon as he was the sure the boy had him safe, he shouted - "Run!"
The boy hesitated briefly, reluctant to abandon his friend, but as Steve repeated the command even more forcefully, he vanished from the opening and Steve caught a brief glimpse of his disappearing legs as he fought to keep his balance. Just as he got a grip with both hands and started to swing his body up, a sharp jolt broke his hold, and he plunged helplessly into the darkness as the building folded in on top of him.