Quake (14 page)

    'Just can't get rid of you, can I?'

    No no no no no. In this case, however, he appreciated the warning. Judy and Herb were certain to have plenty of ice in their freezer so there was no reason to look. The only question was how the ice might last with the power down. It would last longer if the door stayed shut. Stanley turned away from the refrigerator.

    'Okay,' he said. 'Anything else?' Bet Sheila could use some sun block. He laughed.

    Then, with the scissors in his hand, he stepped outside. The sunlight made him squint, but he liked how it felt on his body. He took a deep breath. He smelled smoke, but he also detected a fresh scent of the ocean air, and the sweet candy aroma of Judy's perfume. In the driveway, he bent down and picked up the saw and the plastic jug of water. The jug was dripping. It left a wet place that looked brown on the gray concrete. With the saw and scissors in one hand, the jug in the other, he made his way down Judy's driveway. As he walked, he rubbed the jug against his chest. Its wet plastic was slightly cool. Too bad it wasn't ice cold, the way it had been when Judy brought it out. That was a long time ago, Stanley told himself. I'm lucky the water isn't hot enough to boil eggs by now. He crossed Judy's front yard. On his own driveway, he stopped and looked at the door of his mother's house. My house. He wondered if anything needed to be done inside. Go in and give the Bitch a kick for good measure. One to grow on. Laughing and shaking his head, he walked up his driveway. The garage in front of him was a collapsed ruin. At least I've still got half a house, he told himself. Too bad can't change houses with Judy, he thought. Hardly fair, hers getting off with nothing more than a few broken mirrors and windows while mine is half destroyed. can change houses with her, he realized. At least for the time being. Who's gonna stop me? When he came to the cinderblock wall at the back of his yard, he turned sideways and raised his arms and started ease himself in between two of the rose bushes. A thorn snagged his shorts. He stopped. He glanced at the saw in his hand

    'Ho! No time like the present!' Backing clear, he set down his scissors and jug on the grass. Then he knelt in front of a rose bush. Reaching up with his left arm, just as he'd done in the bathtub to and fondle Judy, he reached low with his right hand pressed the teeth of his saw against the base of the stalk, more than two inches above the garden's soil. The bush shook as he worked the saw back and forth. The teeth bit a deep slot into the stalk. Sweat got into Stanley's eyes, making them burn. It dripped off his chin and the tip of his nose. It tickled him as it spilled down his body. But soon, the bush keeled over sideways against its neighbor. Stanley cut down that bush, too. Then another. He used the blade of his saw to drag and shove the three rose bushes out of his way. Then, breathless from the labor, he sat on the grass. He unscrewed the lid of the jug and took a swallow of water. The grass felt prickly through the seat of his shorts. He stood up, and rubbed his rump. With a slick bare forearm, he tried to wipe the sweat off his face. He wished he'd gotten himself a rag before leaving Judy's house: just something he could use for his sweat. His pajama legs would've been fine, but he'd left them in Judy's kitchen. So he pulled down his shorts and stepped out of them. He wadded them and mopped his face and hair. The cloth felt sodden after that. He twisted his shorts into a tight stub and managed to wring out some of the wetness. Then he shook them open. He wiped his face once more. He wished he didn't have to put the shorts back on. But Sheila might start screaming, or something, if he reappeared naked.

    Then he would need to hurt her, and he didn't want to do that until he had her someplace private - in Judy's house, maybe. Gotta keep her thinking only wanta rescue her, he told himself. So he stepped into the shorts and pulled them up. They clung to him, but the elastic waistband seemed limper than before. He popped open the front, drew the slack out of the band, and resnapped so they didn't feel quite so loose. Then he picked up his jug, scissors and saw. He carried them across the newly cleared strip of ground, and set them on top of the cinderblock wall. After that, he stepped to the side so they wouldn't be in his way when he climbed over. He placed his hands on top of the wall and jumped. Braced high on stiff arms, the edge of the wall pressing against his waist, he got ready to swing a leg up. But straight ahead, beyond the lawn and patio, a man was standing in the ruin of Sheila's house. Stanley felt as if an octopus had suddenly wrapped its tentacles around his bowels and started to squeeze. He groaned. This is exactly what he'd been afraid of- someone else discovering her.

    'I knew it,' he muttered. 'I knew it, knew it.' Shouldn't have stayed so long with Judy, he thought. And then he swung himself over the top. He dropped to the other side, stumbled, fell to his knees, then got to his feet and returned to the wall. Reaching up, he took down his jug of water, his scissors and his saw. He headed for Sheila's place.

    'Hey, all right, a saw, cool. Thata way to go.' The stranger hopped down from a pile of rubble and landed on a clear area of the patio. He didn't look much older than twenty. His blond hair was almost white. Parted in the middle, it hung straight down past his bony shoulders. He didn't have a shirt on. His tan was so deep that Stanley suspected his pale hair might be a dye job. He was very skinny. Stanley could see his ribs. He wore faded old blue jeans. There was no belt, and the jeans hung low on his hips. He wore cowboy boots with pointed toes.

    'You're Stan,' he said, head bobbing.

    'That's me,' Stanley said, and smiled.

    'Cool. We been waiting for you, me and Sheila.'

    'Who are you?' He tried to sound friendly. It was easy; he'd been making himself sound friendly to people all his life, especially to those he feared or despised. 'I'm Ben.'

    'Good to meet you, Ben. How's she doing?'

    The young man bobbed his head some more. 'Good, good. Just scared, you know? Being stuck that way. She thought maybe you'd got hurt, or something, the way you didn't come back.'

    'I had a delay. How long have you been here?'

    'Aah. Five or ten minutes. been going house to house, you know, looking to see if anyone's needing help. She's the first trapped one. Now we got that saw, we'll have her there real fast.'

    'Yep,' Stanley said. 'Let's go.'

    Ben led the way. As he trudged into the debris of the collapsed house, he looked back at Stanley. 'Watch your feet. Stuff'll poke right up through them moccasins. What you need is a good pair of sturdy boots, like me.'

    'Nice boots,' Stanley told him.

    'Yeah, thanks.' Ben smirked. 'Where the hells the rest of your clothes, anyhow?'

    It wasn't much fun being almost naked with a guy around. Embarrassed, Stanley managed a small laugh. 'What am supposed to be wearing? The quake caught me in my p.j. pants. As he said that, he wondered if Ben had stumbled across the shirt of his pajamas. He'd taken it off and thrown it down in the mess before starting to clear the debris covering Sheila. The shirt would make a liar out of him. So what if he found it. What's he gonna do, report me? 'Then my house fell down around my ears,' Stanley added 'I'm just glad don't sleep in the buff.'

    'Whatever,' Ben said. 'You can run around buck naked for all care.'

    Asshole, Stanley thought.

    Ben resumed picking his way through the rubble. Stanley followed. He kept his gaze down and stepped carefully. They circled around the high mound that Stanley had climbed that morning when searching for Sheila. As they passed in front of it, she called out. 'Ben? Is that you?'

    Her voice saying Ben's name gave Stanley a sick feeling. Jealousy? No need to be jealous, he told himself. No need at all. Ben doesn't count. She's mine. found her first, and I'm the guy with the saw. The saw and the scissors.

    'Guess who's here,' Ben called. Before she had a chance to answer, he said, 'Your old friend Stan.'

    'Hey, Stan!' The greeting sounded almost cheerful. It soothed his sick feeling.

    'Hi Sheila. I'm back, and I've got a saw.'

    'Great! Terrific!'

    'Sorry it took so long. Had some trouble.'

    Ben was first to reach the edge of the opening. Stanley moved in close to his side. Bending over, he gazed down at Sheila.

    She was still sprawled inside her tub, pinned down by the four-by-eight support beams: one across the head of the tub and the other jammed down between her legs. She looked exactly the same as Stanley remembered her. Except for one detail. From her breasts to her groin, she was draped with a faded green T-shirt. Ben's shirt, no doubt. The bastard! 'You okay, Stan?' she asked, frowning up at him.

    'I'm fine,' he said. 'I guess.'

    'You're sure a sight for sore eyes,' she told him.

    You, too, he thought. What a wonderful sight. The most incredibly gorgeous, sexy woman in the world. But why did this bastard have to cover you up? 'I'd about given up on you,' she told him.

    'Like said, had some trouble. tried to get back sooner but… How've you been doing?'

    'Could be worse. It's not too comfortable down here. mostly was just scared. Not knowing, you know… And I'm not exactly used to being helpless.'

    'You won't be down there much longer,' he said. He placed the scissors on a slat of broken board near the edge, then held out the saw so she could see it. A smile spread over her face. 'My hero.'

    'Brought you this, too.' With his other hand, he lifted the jug of water. 'Yes!'

    'Do you think you'll be able to drink, lying down like that?'

    'I'll sure give it a try.' She raised her arms toward Stanley. Her hands waited, spread apart, fingers open. Below her chest was hidden beneath green fabric. Stanley stretched his arm out above her and lowered the jug. It remained well above Sheila's reach. 'I'll climb down,' he told her. 'I can catch it. Just let it go.'

    'Drop it?'

    'Sure.'

    'Okay. Ready?'

    'Bombs away,' she said.

    Stanley let go of the jug, but gave it a slight push with his fingertips as he released it. The jug started to tumble. She gasped, 'Damn!'

    Sheila almost caught it. But she bobbled it, knocking it farther off course, and it fell between her hands. It landed on her belly with an impact that sloshed the water inside the jug and disrupted her carefully spread T-shirt. As the jug slid, she grabbed it.

    'Are you okay?' Stanley asked, trying to sound concerned. He realized, now, that she had tucked the T-shirt between her legs. That part of it remained in place. The rest of the shirt was now a rumpled heap beneath her breasts. Oh yes, oh yes! 'I should've had it,' she said.

    She picked up the jug with one hand. With the other, she pulled gently at the T-shirt and rearranged it to cover herself. 'I sort of lost my hold,' Stanley explained.

    'No problem. It didn't hurt.' Holding the jug above her chest, she twisted off its cap. Then she sat up as much as possible, stopping when her forehead met the underside of the heavy beam. She tilted the round opening to her mouth. Some water slopped out and ran down her chin and neck. But then she had the opening tight to her lips, and she drank. After a few swallows, she eased the jug away. 'Great stuff, water.'

    'Why don't you hang on to that,' Stanley said. 'Ben and have to leave you for a while.''What?' Ben blurted.

    Stanley nodded, turned his head, and grimaced at the young man. 'I'm gonna need your help.'

    'I'm not going anywhere. Not till we've got Sheila outa there.'

    'I'm with Ben,' Sheila said. 'You're kidding about leaving, aren't you?'

    'I wish was. There's this girl found. She can't be more than about four years old. ran into her when was looking for the saw, and tried to get her out. That's what took long. She's trapped under part of a fireplace chimney. could just barely lift the thing. But needed both hands for that, so there wasn't any way to drag her out from under. need somebody else, someone to pull her out while hold it off her.'

    'You should've said something,' Sheila told him.

    'Figured you needed a drink. Anyway, wanted to make sure you're all right.''Thanks, but…'

    'Give me the saw,' Ben said. 'I'll have her out of there in five minutes.'

    'Is that what you want, Sheila?'

    'No. For God's sake, get going. Both of you. Ben, go with him. Take care of that kid.'

    Ben looked pained. 'Are you sure?'

    'I'm fine down here. In fact, why don't you hand the saw down? Maybe can cut myself out of this while you're gone.'

    'That wouldn't be such a good idea,' Stanley said, rising. 'Just can't tell, those beams might be holding something up. You don't wanta start a slide - better just wait till we get back.' Before she could object, he turned away. 'Come on, Ben.'

    'How long's this gonna take?'

    Stanley shrugged. 'I don't know, twenty minutes. The house is a couple of blocks from here. It's a question of getting there and back - rescuing the kid shouldn't take any time at all. So I'd say we oughta be back in half an hour, at the most.'

    Looking down at Sheila, Ben asked, 'Is that okay? Half an hour?'

    'It's fine,' she said. 'Get going.'

    'We'll hurry,' Stanley assured her, and headed through the rubble toward the rear of the house.

    Ben followed him. He was silent for a while. He waited until Stanley had hopped down onto the patio, then said, 'I don't like this.'

    'What don't you like?'

    Ben jumped down. 'Leaving her.'

    'Do you want the kid to die?'

    'No, but don't see how five minutes is gonna make a big difference.'

    'Five minutes can make all the difference.'

    'Yeah?'

    'Yeah. Try holding your breath that long.'

    'If this kid ain't breathing, she's dead already.'

    'I didn't say she isn't breathing. I'm just saying five minutes can be the difference between life and death, sometimes. In this case, the kid might be bleeding. Down under the chimney where couldn't see her? Do you want her bleeding to death while we saw on wood to untrap Sheila - who isn't in any danger at all and isn't even hurt?'