Chapter 6

Thursday 6:59pm

Mark tucked the cell phone back into his pocket, feeling inexpressibly lighter after the contact with his son and with the assurance of his imminent return. He still hadn't pinpointed the reason behind his disquietude, but for now the storm cloud that had hovered ominously in his vicinity all afternoon had been dispelled.

"Hey, Jesse," he called out merrily, seeing his young colleague standing near the nurses' desk perusing a patient's chart. He was surprised to receive a slightly wary look in response but, knowing that he hadn't been his usual cheery self that day, Mark gamely forged on. "If you can take your break in about an hour, Steve's bringing over some Chinese."

The peace offering was received with enthusiasm. "Moo-shu Pork?" Jesse asked hopefully.

"Knowing Steve, I would say that was a sure thing," Mark promised him.

"Um...Mark, could I talk to you now about Mrs. Wolansky's surgery?" Jesse asked tentatively.

"Sure, Jesse, anytime," Mark assured him, surprised by his young friend's uncharacteristic diffidence. The brief expression of skepticism intermingled with relief convinced him that something was amiss. "What is it, Jess?"

"Well, ..um.. when I asked you before, you... well, you growled at me," Jesse finished in a rush.

Mark was surprised into a splutter of laughter. "Growl? I don't growl...do I?" The last question held a note of apprehension.

Jesse gave an emphatic nod, but softened the implied criticism with a burgeoning smile and the comment, "There's a first time for everything."

"I'm so sorry, Jess," Mark apologised. "I really don't remember the conversation. I know I've been preoccupied, but..."

He broke off as a distant boom set the windows rattling. An instinctive fear blossomed, but, almost instantly, the sound of a low but rapidly growing rumble brought comprehension. He noticed everyone in the area was frozen in position, staring at the still vibrating glass, and he reflected on the difference the terrorist attacks on September 11th had made to the public sense of security. A suggestion of the unfamiliar, the anomalous, was transformed instantly into a threat, provoking the incipient panic Mark could sense simmering.

"Earthquake!" he announced crisply, pitching his voice to carry over the roar. "Rosemary, get away from the windows. Everyone take cover, under a desk or in a doorway. Don't try to leave the building. Everything's going to be just fine." He truly believed that statement, knowing that, thanks to modern materials and shrewd design, Community General should ride out the quake without too much damage. However, as the building pitched back and forth, the steel beams inside the walls creaking, some doubts crept in.

Mark noticed that Jesse hadn't joined him in the relative security of the doorway, but stood immobile a few feet away. He reached out a long arm and yanked him into opening, bracing himself against the frame to withstand the waves. He could feel the tension in his friend's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze of encouragement, but there was too much noise to offer verbal reassurance. Each sway of the building was accompanied by a sickening, rending sound, as if each nail and joint was being tested to the limit. A food cart crashed to the floor, pictures swung and everything was shaken off the nurses' desk. Mark watched, fascinated, as the wall in front of him seemed to twist into a series of crazy parallelograms.

Strangely enough, his initial response to the earthquake was relief, although it took him a moment to analyse that particular reaction. The pieces of the puzzle that had been bothering him all day fell into place, albeit with a more than usually resounding thud. He remembered reading that animals tended to be more sensitive to vibrations, magnetic fields and electricity than humans, and their bizarre behaviour before a quake had been successfully used to predict a quake. Bob's howling and the antics of the restless bird flock must have tripped a reminder in his subconscious. He derived comfort from the realisation that, even if the abnormal animal behaviour was an infallible prediction of earthquakes, which it very definitely wasn't, a warning to his son would have served little purpose since he could not predict a time or place where he would be safe. It was an ironic consolation that, on this day, Steve was in no more or less danger than any other citizen of Los Angeles. He offered a prayer for the well-being of his son, hoping he had found a safe place to ride out the storm.

After a particularly violent lurch, the lights went out, but, with a brief flicker, the hospital's back-up power system kicked in, and Mark caught his breath in relief at the thought of the patients on ventilators and other life-saving machines.

The tremors gradually lessened in severity, but were followed almost immediately by a violent aftershock. As peace finally resumed, Mark strode over to the nurses' desk, picking up the PA microphone off the floor and testing it to make sure it was still in working order. "This is Mark Sloan. As disaster coordinator for this hospital, I'm declaring the city-wide disaster plan in effect." He paused, tempted to say this is not a drill, but decided that the words were redundant. "Everyone report to their posts. Check every patient and report to your floor supervisor." He replaced the mike and turned to one of the nurses on duty. "See what news you can get on the radio as to the extent of the damage."

He noticed that Jesse was still standing in the doorway, his eyes glazed and swaying slightly from side to side, and the realisation struck him that it was the young man's first earthquake experience. "Hey, Jess, if you're ready, let's head on down to the ER,' he suggested, trying to gently break through his abstraction.

Jesse's gaze swung up to meet his with a start. "Yeah, wow...that was really... oh wow! I mean the floor really..." his hands dipped and waved in the air, expressing what his words lacked. "If I'd had my surfboard, I could almost have... That was awesome!" Mark was amused to see that his irrepressible friend was recovering quickly. By the time they arrived in the Emergency Room, Jesse's burst of adrenaline was spilling over in an attack of verbal loquacity that more than compensated for his earlier inarticulation. "You think the earth is solid, but an earthquake just sets your entire belief in stability as the underlying basis of human life itself in question!"

Mark was entertained by the extemporaneous philosophy, but had no time for a reply. The ER was intensely busy for the next several hours, although it was never totally overwhelmed, supporting Mark's theory that the area had, on the whole, escaped lightly. The first wave of casualties were victims with projectile wounds, people in the wrong place at the wrong time, bombarded with the detritus easily shaken loose from buildings. Mark was happy to hear that no one had suffered serious injuries in the hospital itself. As head of the committee for safety, he had studied all recommendations for minimising damage, and insisted on all internal lighting fixtures and utility equipment being fastened to structural elements, and filing cabinets and other top-heavy furniture being anchored to the walls. Even the medicine storage cabinets had shelf lips and equipment restraints to prevent spillage. Now all his decisions and the time and expenses involved seemed justified.

The long night wore on, the next aftershock barely rating a pause in the bustling ER. Mark worked tirelessly in charge of the triage unit, organising the first line of assistance, rotating the nurses and doctors to avoid mistakes and burnout. However, in his heart, the ache of uncertainty over his son's fate had long since turned to a throb of worry, and only repeated injunctions to himself to remember that the communication systems were still inoperable prevented a full blown cramp of fear.

During the last earthquake to hit Los Angeles, Steve had successfully relayed news of his survival via his watch commander, but no such welcome tidings had arrived this time. Mark reached into his pocket, his thumb playing nervously with the buttons of his cell phone, but he reluctantly refrained from attempting to place another call. He knew that although communication towers would certainly be damaged, it was often the sheer volume of calls from anxious relatives that overwhelmed the system. However, understanding intellectually that there was a reasonable explanation for the persistent silence was not the same thing as accepting it emotionally.

A new wave of casualties centered Mark's thoughts more constructively on the positive contributions he had to offer. He finished setting the broken bones in a twelve year old boy's hand that had been broken by a slamming door, just as Amanda entered looking harried. He greeted her warmly as his patient left with grateful parents.

"Any news from the boys," he asked, immediately interpreting the look of strain in her eyes from personal experience.

She shook her head. "I've not managed to get through to them. But I'm sure they're just fine at Irene's," she added with attempted brightness.

"I'm sure they are too, honey," Mark agreed, but in a rueful tone that let her know he understood how little that belief consoled.

She smiled gratefully at him. "Heard anything from Steve?" she enquired with reciprocal interest.

"Not a bean," he answered cheerfully, trying to conceal from her just how much this disturbed him; but she wasn't fooled by his nonchalance.

"But you're sure he's fine," she teased him gently, and they shared a hug of parental absurdity and mutual reassurance.

"I do have some bad news, though," Amanda continued. "We've got choppers bringing in more casualties. Apparently, a hospital collapsed and they're transferring the survivors to surrounding hospitals. ETA for the first chopper is," she glanced down at her watch, "five minutes. Who can you spare?"

Mark looked around at his busy team. "I'll go," he decided. "Jesse and Dr. Ling should be almost finished. Tell them to follow me as soon as possible."

Mark hesitated in the corridor, deciding if the stairway or elevator was the more secure choice in the event of another aftershock. He concluded that at two o'clock in the morning, he was too tired to worry over the prospect of being stuck between floors, and he chose the more comfortable option.

He reached the roof without incident, and moved over to the edge, looking out over the city. He could hear the distinctive, rhythmic thunder of the approaching helicopter, but, for a brief moment, there was a strangely peaceful sense of isolation. With most of the metropolis dark, the stars shone in bright relief, and Mark idly picked out a few constellations as he pulled out his cell phone for one more try at reaching his son.

The attempt proved fruitless once again, but he had no time to reflect on his frustration as the helicopter swept in for a landing. Hunching his shoulders against the gale generated by the blades, he shifted the patient onto a gurney with the help of a burly EMT, whose nametag identified him as Johnson. He swiftly assessed the extent of the young woman's injuries, talking to her all the while in a quiet, reassuring tone as they moved her down to an operating theatre, where he left her in the capable hands of the surgeon.

As the doors closed behind her, Johnson let out a big sigh and leaned against the wall. "What a night! I'm bushed...and starving come to think about it."

Mark smiled sympathetically. "I can offer you a cup of coffee and some junk food if you're interested."

He led the EMT into a staff room, and, in exchange for plying him with refreshments, he pumped him for news on the conditions he'd witnessed around the city.

Johnson was only too willing to share the information he'd acquired. "It's not too bad, considering. I think the epicenter was near the mountains somewhere, thank goodness. Only a couple of communities up there were really hit violently. Most of LA got off lightly."

Mark felt a chill creep into his chest, a ghostly hand wrapping icily around his heart. "Where?" he asked, his voice hoarse, praying that the terrifying intuition that permeated his core was merely paternal paranoia.

"Here, I can show you." Johnson pulled a map out of his pocket, cheerfully explaining the technology behind it. "The US Geologic Survey team and some other agencies produce this shaking intensity map which shows the estimated severity of shaking and the level of damage it's caused. They send these out to all the emergency managers to help us locate the areas hardest hit so we can send appropriate help."

Mark's eyes scanned the unfamiliar contours of the map which had six levels of colors radiating out in extremely irregular concentric circles of orange, yellow, greens and blues. Gradually the image resolved itself into the greater LA area and part of Southern California, and he zeroed in on one of the two small red blotches in the top right corner, instinctively identifying red as the level of highest destruction.

"Where's that?" he managed to choke out, not recognising his own voice.

"Hilton Heights. Those old masonry buildings just toppled over like pins in a bowling alley." Johnson paused, sensing he'd lost the attention of his audience. Mark was staring at the paper in front of him as fixedly as if the laser printed dots held the answer to the question searing an agonising path through his mind. "Dr. Sloan, are you alright?"

The face that turned slowly to acknowledge his concern was pale with shock and taut with worry.

"My son's there!"