Footprints of Thunder (26 page)

“I still can’t believe it,” Tanya said. “I mean, I believe you, but I can’t believe it happened. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Melinda smiled at her sister-in-law. “Yes. We can’t believe it either. You should have seen it, though. First the city out our window was gone and then this huge monster came walking through the grass. It was bigger than any animal I’ve ever seen. And more terrible-looking than any dinosaur I’ve ever seen. I mean seen in movies and books.”

Steve began munching on a piece of the zucchini bread, then started talking with his mouth full.

“You know, it’s almost worth going back over to see it,” he said. “If we had some power I could probably see it on TV by now. The only thing we’re picking up on the radio is there’s been a blackout. Nothing about a big chunk of the city disappearing and especially nothing about dinosaurs.”

“If you really want to go, you can come with me,” Luis said. “I’ve got to go back.”

“No,” Melinda said immediately. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous. You saw what the streets looked like.”

“You know I’ve got to. Mrs. Weatherby is there. She’s got to get out.”

“No. You asked her. You tried to help her. You’ve got no reason to feel guilty. Did Mr. Moreno offer to help? Did the McGregors? No. You did, Luis. God will love you for it. Now God wants you to think only of your family.”

“God wants or you want?”

“Luis—”

“Mrs. Weatherby is a nice old lady who is defenseless. How can I leave her there? I’ll go, I’ll get her … carry her out by force if I have to … and then I’ll come back. Can I bring her here, Tanya? Only until we find her family.”

Tanya started to answer yes but Melinda talked over her.

“Luis, you’re scaring me. Don’t leave me and the kids alone. What if you don’t come back? What would we do? Cinda would never remember her dada.”

“It’ll be okay, Melinda. I’ll be extra careful. Just right there and back, I promise nothing will happen to me.”

Luis was only stubborn when it came to his honor, and somehow this was the honorable thing for him to do. But she managed one last concession.

“You’ll wait till morning? Not in the dark, Luis, it’s just too crazy out there.”

“Not until morning,” he conceded.

Then they snuggled together, both secretly worrying it could be their last night together. Then Steve put out the candles and opened the curtains a little. The street below was empty but in the distance they could see fires,

“Don’t go, Luis,” Melinda whispered, then took his hand and squeezed it.

Luis put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. He never answered. He didn’t have to.

Luis left the next morning by himself. The street was sprinkled with abandoned cars, the streetlights off. There were no cars moving on the street but Luis could hear the sound of traffic somewhere in the distance. He didn’t bother to try the subway, they’d discovered the day before the trains weren’t running.

He walked the streets, watching the shadows and avoiding the alleys and dark doorways, but he made good time. The apartment building’s doors were closed and curtains drawn. The corner groceries, video stores, and delis were locked up but intact. The only businesses open were the two bars he passed. Luis gained confidence with each step through the quiet streets until he turned a corner to face unbelievable destruction.

The street was filled with broken glass, pieces of concrete, and goods looted from the stores. In the distance Luis could see a smoldering overturned car. A few people were milling around, looking through the loot in the street or shop windows. Luis thought of finding another way to Mrs. Weatherby’s but whatever had happened here was over, and the people in the streets looked anything but dangerous. Besides, he reasoned, he knew what was in these streets but he had no idea what he would find on the side streets.

The wreckage in the streets prevented car traffic, so Luis walked down the middle of the street. The debris in the streets changed according to the stores. In front of the looted appliance store was a toaster with its sides smashed in, a smashed boom box, and two TVs with shattered screens. Before the grocery lay smashed eggs, vegetables, squashed loaves of bread and various snack foods. The furniture store had produced broken lamps and mattresses, more TVs and crushed stereos. Luis wasn’t surprised to find little or nothing in front of the liquor store; its stock was precious.

Luis found himself looking carefully at usable, intact things in the street. When he realized what he was doing he felt shame, but he began to understand how looters felt. If he took the items at his feet, he told himself, he’d be doing the city a favor by cleaning the streets. If he gave into that logic, soon he’d begin to think about items sitting in stores with broken windows, how someone was just going to steal them anyway.

As Luis walked, the streets slowly filled with people, the crowd picking through the debris, looking for overlooked items of value. A few children mixed in, finding treasures in what others discarded. There was no hostility in the crowd, only resignation and dismay. Owners of some shops were looking over what was left of their stock. One old Vietnamese man was tossing what was left of his candy store into the street. A small crowd gathered, scrambling for the few fixtures and sweets.

A burning car served as a marker to Luis: On its far side the devastation reached a new level. Every block contained at least one overturned car. Here the stores weren’t merely looted, they were gutted by angry or desperate people, not “shoppers.” Luis felt the tension increase palpably. On the first corner beyond the burning car, two ruined buildings sat smoldering. He couldn’t remember what had been there before.

Now the people looked sullen and withdrawn. Luis wondered if they were the ones who had destroyed the neighborhood, or the survivors. Then he noticed something else— across the street were two Latino young men wearing colors.

Luis recognized the green jackets of the Diablos, and he paused at a car, checking out the street for others in the gang. Except for their colors, the two leaning on a car smoking were no different from dozens of other young around. Still, passersby gave them a wide berth, and then ignored them.

Luis knew he should do the same; his promise to Melinda to come back safely made him extra cautious. He watched the Diablos a few more minutes and then he started out again keeping to the sides of the street, eyes peeled for green jackets or other gang colors. As he walked, he tried to remember where the turf borders had been. He was getting close to his building now, and he was sure this was Zombie territory. Zombies were a white gang and sworn enemies of the Diablos. Luis turned to look behind him, still checking his bearings, when he spotted three green jackets. He moved on more quickly now, trying not to look scared. Two of them were the same Diablos he passed earlier.

Luis’s heart started pounding. He realized his mistake—in a crowd of the poor, he looked prosperous. Luis started walking again, casually at first, but then gradually picking up the pace. It was possible the gang members were simply going the same way as Luis and not following him. He walked a block and then cut across the street to the other side, pausing to pretend to look in a car with smashed windows, but noticing the Diablos on the other side of the street watching him. Luis started off again, wishing Steve had come with him. The Diablos might have passed on two men together.

After half a block, he looked over his shoulder. By now, he and the Diablos knew what was going on. Now they were behind him, and Luis started to jog. He was only about a mile from his building. If he could make it there, he might be safe behind the locked doors. He pumped up to a running speed he knew he could maintain for a while, but when he reached the next block, the Diablos were in pursuit. Already the people in the streets were seeking cover. The hunt was on and the rest of the herd was scattering.

Luis pushed himself to full speed. He didn’t bother to look behind him. He was going to run until he couldn’t run anymore. He was heading up the next block when he was tackled, landing hard on the sidewalk. He began kicking and flailing at his assailant but soon there were three gang members, their fists pounding him. Luis fought back until something hard as steel slammed into his skull and he was lost in the blackness of unconsciousness.

27. Flowers From The Sky

If you were able to hold a teaspoonful of matter from a block hole, it would weigh as much as the entire earth. Near such dense matter the laws governing time and space are radically different from those we use to describe our universe.

—
Dr. Lewis Connors

Heading east at 20,000 feet

PostQuilt: Monday, 6:30
A.M.
PST

W
hile Terry’s body was in a military jet traveling at 600 mph toward Washington, D.C., his mind was in a different place entirely. He was worried about John. The rumor about Portland being missing was impossible to believe but also impossible to forget. A city can’t be missing, Terry told himself over and over. There must have been an avalanche, or an earthquake, or something, he reasoned. Maybe Mount Saint Helens had erupted again and the roads were blocked by ash. No, a city couldn’t just be missing, but then there shouldn’t be a mountain in the middle of I-5 either. If something had happened to Portland, John might need Terry’s help. Knowing that made his decision difficult.

He and Ellen had fought over the course of action. Ellen wanted them to try to get to Portland, to find their son. But influenced by Bill’s authority, Terry had finally accepted that he would be of more use in Washington than in Oregon.

“This kid knows something, Terry,” Bill had argued. “He’s barely hanging on to reality, and we need to know what he knows.”

“Our son needs us too, Bill,” Ellen retorted.

“You can’t even get to Portland. The road’s blocked. There is a traffic jam twelve miles long.”

“We could try the coast highway or a back road, or maybe fly,” Ellen said hopefully.

“I think Ellen’s right, Bill,” Terry said tentatively. “I’ve got a boy in Portland. I need to know if he’s all right.”

Bill was a hard person to disagree with. He didn’t use verbal gymnastics. He just spoke with logic and certainty and Terry’s own doubts convinced him Bill was right.

“I say the best way to help your boy is to find out what has happened. Help me take this kid to Washington and I’ll help you find your boy. We can fly that kid out to Washington and fly back by the time you could find a way to Portland. It’s only going to get worse. People will panic soon. Are you ready to deal with looters and people scared beyond reason?”

Terry was weakening and it showed on his face, but Ellen was even more resolved,

“We’ve got to help our son, Terry, don’t let him—”

“What about your daughter?” Bill countered. “What’s her name?”

“Carolyn,” Angie cut in.

“Yeah, Carolyn,” Bill continued. “She’s in the Washington, D.C., area, isn’t she? What about her?”

“I don’t know, Bill,” Terry stammered.

“I can get us a helicopter.”

That did it. Terry wasn’t even sure he could find another way into Portland. Ellen, however, was outraged. She stopped talking to him entirely, and when he left she didn’t say goodbye.

Bill used his military ID and three phone calls to get Kenny Randall released in his custody. The same procedure got them a Piper Cub at the Medford Airport and a military 707 at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho. Now Terry found himself baby-sitting a sleeping Kenny as he reconsidered his decision.

Kenny stirred, momentarily distracting Terry. Kenny’s eyes moved rapidly back and forth under the lids. Kenny was dreaming, and that meant he’d be awake soon. Terry wondered whether Kenny’s dream could be more fantastic than the events of the last two days.

Bill had been up front talking with the pilots and returned with a grim look.

“It’s worse than I thought. The pilots are picking up reports from all over the country … strange reports- Huge sheets of ice, deserts appearing out of nowhere, floods. There’s also another missing city report. New York.”

Terry’s heart twisted in his chest. One missing city report seemed fantastic; two somehow seemed credible.

“Any response yet?” Bill gestured toward Kenny.

“No. But he’s coming out of it. He’s dreaming. You have to be in a light stage of sleep to dream. Once he wakes up he’ll be lucid for a few minutes. But the more thinking he does, the more anxiety he will feel. He’ll handle that anxiety by shutting out the outside world. We better know what we want to ask right when he wakes. We may get only one chance.”

“Let him sleep. We’re almost to Washington, and I have a doctor standing by to meet us.”

Bill and Terry spent the next twenty minutes writing down questions. They decided on a strategy to build Kenny’s ego, confirming he was right and then manipulating his paranoid tendencies to get the information they needed.

“Where am I?”

The sound of Kenny’s voice rang like a slap across the face. He was looking around the cabin. He seemed generally confused, but not psychotic.