Quake (12 page)

***

    'You're not quitting?' Mrs Klein asked, alarm in her voice.

    'Just taking a breather,' Barbara said as she climbed backward down the slope of rubble.

    'A brief rest,' Mrs Klein said.

    'Yeah.' Feet on the flat, safe surface of the alley, Barbara stood up straight. She stretched, arching her spine, twisting, thrusting her shoulders back. Then she bent over and held on to her knees and panted for air. Sweat dripped off her face. Her blouse was so wet that it hugged her back. A couple of the top buttons had come undone, so the front drooped open to her belly and let air in. Her bra felt sodden. Her panties were glued to her rump. 'Such wonderful young people you are,' Mrs Klein said. 'Glad to help,' Barbara muttered. They'd hardly gotten away from the body of the kid who'd snatched Barbara's purse before they'd been waylaid by Mrs Klein. Actually, Barbara supposed they'd gone two blocks. Maybe three. The woman had come stumbling out of the alley just in front of them, weeping, frantically flinging her head from side to side, then spotting them and calling out, 'Help me! Please! Help me!'

    'Quick!' Heather had whispered. 'Let's get out of here!'

    'Not me,' Pete had said. 'Sorry. mean, look at her.' About fifty years old, fashionably dressed, she looked like a woman who might've just been mugged on her way to a luncheon in Beverly Hills. Her brown hair was mussed, her face streaked with mascara as if she'd wept blue tears, her ivory silk blouse filthy and untucked, her stockings snagged and split with runs, her knees bloody beneath the hem of her skirt, her shoes missing.

    'Are you okay, ma'am?' Pete had asked as she hobbled toward them.

    'Am okay? Is my outfit a ruin? Is my heart broken? Help me! Help me save my baby!' Without waiting for an answer, she'd dragged Pete into the alley. As Barbara and Heather had hurried after them, she'd gasped out, 'How could this happen to me? My poor Susie! only left her for two minutes. Two minutes, not a second longer. I'd forgot my checkbook in the house. My checkbook! A checkbook don't need. Do have credit cards? Who doesn't? But off go for a checkbook don't need, and all God's hell breaks loose, do you know what mean? The house? A shambles, but up it stays. The garage, down it goes like a bad stock. On top of my baby! My poor baby! You'll save her?'

    'We'll do whatever we can,' Pete had assured her.

    'Is she in the car?' Barbara had asked.

    'Yes, yes. Such a fool was to leave her alone. But only for two minutes? What can happen in only two minutes? An earthquake, for instance! The end of the world? Who knows! For two minutes leave her alone. If I'd known! But we don't know these things! These things are rocks thrown at us- we're not paid to duck, if you know what mean.'

    Barbara had no idea what she meant. That didn't matter, though. It only mattered that her daughter was trapped. More likely her granddaughter, considering the gal's age - though Barbara supposed Mrs Klein might be the child's actual mother.

    When they came to the ruin, Heather realized that more than a simple garage had fallen. 'Was it two stories?' she asked.

    'An apartment up above. But it was vacant, thank God.’

    'Your car's buried under all of that?' Heather asked.

    'It's not so much. You should've seen it before. A mountain, that's what it was. Me, I've whittled it down. But I…' Shaking her head, she raised her hands. They were shredded and bloody.

    'It's okay,' Barbara had said. 'We'll get her out.'

    With Mrs Klein watching from the alley, Barbara and Pete and Heather had climbed the rubble and gotten to work. They'd made good progress for a while. Then Pete had gashed his forearm on the point of a nail. The wound not only took him out of commission while Mrs Klein hustled him into her house for first aid, but put a stop to Heather's half-hearted labors.

    Crouching on the slope, Heather had watched the woman lead Pete away. Just when they were about to enter the back door of the house, she'd called, 'Wait! I'm coming, too!' and started to hurry down.

    'You don't have to go with them.'

    'I do, too. Anyway, I'm thirsty.'

    'How do you think her kid feels?'

    'She's probably dead.'

    'Maybe not. The car could've protected her.'

    'Yeah, sure. This is a big waste of time. I'm only helping 'cause Pete wants to. Anyway, I'm taking a break.' Then she'd hurried on to the house.

    A while later, Mrs Klein had come back alone. Not only had she returned to the alley without Pete and Heather, but without a soda or even so much as a glass of water for Barbara.

    That's when Barbara had decided it was time for a breather. 'Such wonderful young people you are.’

    'Glad to help.'

    Barbara raised her arms, one at a time, to wipe her face on the short sleeves of her blouse. 'What happened to Pete and Heather?'

    'They'll be along. The poor girl overheated herself.’

    'I'm pretty hot, myself.'

    She suddenly seemed to see Barbara. 'Why, you're soaking wet.'

    'I could sure use a drink.'

    'A drink? You look ready to collapse, you poor thing.’

    'No, I'm not that…'

    'You shouldn't be standing out here, you'll drop dead from heat prostration. Into the house with you, right this minute. Find yourself a drink in the fridge.' She patted Barbara's arm. 'Sit, rest, cool off. won't have you dropping dead from the heat. Come out when you're ready. You and your friends. But don't take too long. My Susie…'

    With that, Mrs Klein staggered to the pile of debris, leaned forward, and picked up a chunk of stucco.

    'I'll just get a drink and come right back,' Barbara told her.

    'Cool off,' Mrs Klein said without stopping her work. 'A few minutes you should take to cool off.'

    'Sure,' Barbara said, though she had no intention of relaxing inside the house. Maybe after they'd found Susie.

    A narrow walkway led from the side of the demolished garage, through a neatly trimmed back yard to the patio of Mrs Klein's single-level, stucco house. The outside of the house looked undamaged. A faded awning shaded the patio. Barbara let out a sigh as she stepped beneath it. So great to get out of the sun. On her way to the back door, she lifted the front of her blouse and wiped the sweat off her face. Then she fastened the buttons. She pulled open the door and entered the kitchen.

    Most of the cupboards were open, their contents thrown out and scattered on the counters and floor. No sign of Pete or Heather. 'Hey, you guys,' Barbara called.

    'In here,' Pete called to her. He sounded as if he were a room or two away.

    'Be right there. What're you drinking?'

    'She's got Pepsis in the fridge.'

    The refrigerator was still standing, but looked as if it had been dragged toward the middle of the kitchen. Barbara headed for it. She stepped over a small pile of broken plates, kicked a can of Campbell's tomato soup out of the way, and tugged open the refrigerator door. No light came on. But the kitchen was bright, so she had no trouble finding several cans of soft drinks lined up inside a rack on the inner side of the door. She lifted one of them out. It felt fairly cold. But cool slime suddenly slipped onto her hand. She gasped.

    'You okay?' Pete called.

    'I think so.' Barbara looked at the top of the can. It was coated with a clear, mucous substance. Floating on the can and embedded in it, were bits of broken eggshell.

    'You oughta get in here,' Pete said. 'We wanta show you something.'

    'Just wait'll you see this,' Heather added.

    'I'll be right there.'

    Barbara spotted a roll of paper towels beside the sink. She made her way toward it. She wondered if her kitchen at home had looked like this, everything shaken off shelves, hurled out of cupboard, broken jars and bottles and cans and boxes and plates glasses and mugs all over the floor- a strange jumbled mix of containers, spilled ingredients, and utensils. What a mess! Maybe Mom'll have it cleaned up by the time… Please, Mom, be okay… And Dad.

    At the counter, she tore off a handful of paper towel and cleaned the top of her Pepsi can. Then she sidestepped the sink, held the can underneath the spout, and twisted the water faucet handle. No water came out. Of course not. No water, she thought, and here we are drinking up woman's sodas. Barbara raised the can to her face. She sniffed. A lingering odor of raw egg. She took the unopened can back to the refrigerator, opened the door, and set it into the rack. She noticed there were five or six other cans. It won't kill her if drink one, she thought. Ah, the can stinks anyway. The egg couldn't have gotten them all. But she left them all there, anyway, and shut the door. At the end of a short, dim hallway, she found the living room. Pete and Heather were sitting on a sofa beneath a crooked watercolor of a Paris street in the rain. They looked dirty and sweaty. They each held a can of Pepsi.

    'You didn't get yourself a drink?' Pete asked.

    'Nah. don't feel like one. Too sweet.'

    'You need to get some liquid in you. You don't want to get dehydrated.'

    'I don't know.' Barbara shrugged with one shoulder, and felt her top button slip out of its hole. Ever since the kid had grabbed her purse and tugged her blouse open, her buttons hadn't worked the way they should. Pete and Heather didn't seem to notice the problem, so she left the button alone. On her way to the sofa, she looked around. Mrs Klein's living room had fared better than her kitchen. Except for a table lamp that lay on the floor with one side of its shade mashed in, there didn't seem to be any real damage.

    'I bet you didn't find Susie,' Heather said.

    'Not yet.' Barbara sat down beside Pete. 'How's the arm?' He held it up, showing off the neatly taped patch of gauze on the underside of his forearm. 'Not bad. Doesn't even hurt. Mrs Klein, though, she said how I'd better check with my parents and make sure my tetanus shots and things are up to date.'

    'Will you need any stitches?'

    'Nah, it's mostly just a scratch.'

    'Good thing.' She leaned back, and sighed at the wonderful feel of the soft cushion. She hadn't realized how sore she was: how much her neck and back and rump and legs ached. I'll just stay here forever, she thought. But suddenly realized that her sweaty hair and back might stain the upholstery. So she sat up straight, and groaned.

    'Why don't you take a drink of mine?' Pete asked. He held his can toward her. 'Well…'

    'Go ahead. I'm done, anyway.'

    'Well… Okay. Thanks.' She accepted the can. It felt half full.

    'You'll never guess what we found out,' Heather said. Barbara took a few swallows. The soda did taste too sweet.

    It's not too sweet, she thought. It's just not cold enough. Medium cool just doesn't do it when you're drinking colas. Better than nothing, though. She stopped herself from drinking more, and held the can out to Pete. 'Here, you finish it.''No, you go ahead.'

    'I have to get back outside and help Mrs Klein.'

    'I don't think there's a big hurry about that,' he said. 'What do you mean?'

    'Get a load of this,' Heather said. Leaning forward, she stretched her arm past Pete. Her hand stopped above Barbara's left knee. It was holding a small tin of Whiskas cat food.

    'What?' Barbara asked.

    'Three guesses,' Heather said.

    'We looked around,' Pete said. 'There's only one bedroom, and no sign that Mrs Klein has any children.'

    Heather, still leaning forward, gave Barbara a smug grin. 'Get it? Her Susie eats Whiskas.'

    'Susie is her cat,' Pete explained, and shook his head. 'You're kidding,' Barbara muttered. 'Are you sure?'

    'There's a plastic bowl on the kitchen floor,' Pete said. 'It has Susie's name on it.'

    'Really?'

    'And milk in it,' Heather added. 'Most of the milk's on the floor, but there's still some in the bowl. Susie's bowl.'

    Barbara shook her head slowly from side to side. 'I don't believe this,' she muttered. 'Susie is her cat? We've been busting our butts out there, cooking in that sun, wasting God only knows how much time when we could've been on our way home to rescue that woman's pussycat?'

    'It sort of looks that way,' Pete said. 'Terrific.'

    Heather grinned. 'Cute, huh? knew we shouldn't stop and help her.'

    'We didn't know it was just a cat,' Pete said.

    'She didn't exactly say it wasn't,' Barbara pointed out. 'She called it her baby, but a lot of people do that sort of thing.'

    'She wanted us to think it's a person,' Heather said. 'She just figured we wouldn't help if we knew it was only a cat.'

    'She would've been right,' Pete said.

    Barbara shook her head. 'I mean, there are probably people trapped under buildings. If I'm gonna bust my butt trying to dig somebody out, I'm gonna do it for a human being.'

    'I'd do it for my own dog,' Pete said. 'If had one.’

    'I'd do it for my cat, Mickey,' Heather said. ‘My father pounded his brains out with a claw hammer one time.'

    'You're kidding,' Pete said.

    'Huh-uh.'

    'Why'd he wanta do that?'

    Here we go again, Barbara thought. Another story sickness and blight from Lady Cheerful.

    'Mickey got into the Thanksgiving turkey.'

    'Oh, man,' Pete muttered.

    'It was right out of the oven and we were waiting for it to cool, and watching a rerun of the Rose Parade on the TV. Mom went in the kitchen to mash the potatoes, and she yelled - this was before she killed herself.'

    Never would've guessed, Barbara thought.

    'So then Dad went in, and he went totally ape. First off, punched out Mom for leaving the turkey out where the cat could get to it.'

    'Where'd she leave it?'

    'On the kitchen counter.'

    'Where was she supposed to…?'

    'Nowhere. That wasn't the thing. Hell, Dad's the one who put it on the counter, anyhow. But that didn't matter. She was the one who got smacked for it.'