Ripple Effect

by J. Bengtsson

  “I can move that one,” Chad said. “I think maybe it’s just buried and not entombed.”

  Redirecting our efforts, we dug around his right ankle until Chad managed to pull it free of the rubble.

  Seeing our efforts paying off renewed my faith. “Okay, I can do this. Just one more foot and we’re home free.”

  With him assisting from above, I pulled and pushed and heaved with all my might but it was no use. Chad was hopelessly shackled to the earth.

  “Dani, stop.”

  “No,” I cried. “I can do this.”

  He grabbed my hands, the tips rubbed raw from the coarse concrete. “You’ve done all you can.”

  “But—” I gulped, a stream of tears cutting dusty ravines along my cheeks. “We can… maybe if…”

  “No.” Chad shook his head. “It’s time for you to go and get help.”

  He was right. I knew he was, but I hated even the thought of leaving him alone, vulnerable and in pain. We weren’t just neighbors anymore. As weird as it sounded, we were bonded now, his fate forever tied to mine. Decades might pass without seeing each other, but neither of us would ever forget.

  “Go, Dani. Find a phone. Call for help. I’ll be okay.”

  I stood up, hesitant but resigned. It really was the only way.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I’ll be back.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, Chad. I’ll call 9-1-1, tell them where we are, and then I’ll come back.”

  “Dani.” He sighed. “You have to get as far away from this building as you can.”

  “I won’t do that,” I answered stubbornly.

  “It’ll be worse for me if I have to worry about you coming back here.”

  “And it will be worse for me if I have to worry about not coming back here.”

  Chad eyed me, contemplating his next move. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. If you promise me you won’t come back, I’ll promise you that I’ll come out of this alive.”

  He couldn’t promise me that any more than I could promise him compliance. I understood that he didn’t want to be responsible for my death any more than I wanted to be responsible for his, so if it made Chad happier to think I wasn’t coming back, then I’d play along.

  With my fingers crossed behind my back, I replied, “I promise.”

  “Thank god.” He let a breath out. “She does listen.”

  I caught his eye. “Occasionally. Just don’t get used to it.”

  “Never. See you topside.”

  I nodded, turning to leave.

  “Oh, and Dani?” Chad called out to me. “Tell them RJ Contreras is trapped in the parking garage.”

  I spun back around, puzzled. “Wait, RJ Contreras—from AnyDayNow? Why would I tell them that?”

  Chad raised a brow as he waited for me to catch up.

  My mouth dropped open.

  Oh, my god—that wasn’t Chad Woodcock.

  7

  RJ: World’s Worst Lois Lane

  “You’re RJ Contreras?” she asked, not yet ready to believe her eyes.

  “Yes,” I confirmed.

  “You?” she queried again.

  “Yes,” I reconfirmed. “I think we’ve established that already.”

  “No!” she snapped back. “We haven’t established shit.”

  My eyes widened, surprised by her anger. What had I expected, that she would drop to her knees in worship after hearing my confession? Yes, actually that was exactly what I’d expected—what always happened when women realized who I was. But that wasn’t how long-term deception worked in the real world. I couldn’t expect Dani to forget the past five months she’d spent despising my every breath.

  “Just because you say you’re RJ doesn’t make it true,” she challenged, drawing her fingers over her smooth jawline, miming my beard as if the whiskers somehow disproved everything.

  “Okay, then,” I challenged. “How can I prove it to you?”

  “Quick! Name an AnyDayNow song!”

  “‘Desperate for You,’” I fired back.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Everyone knows that one.”

  To be fair, everyone knew a lot of our songs. We’d spent a lot of time at the top of the charts. Still, I tried again, rattling off one cheesy name after another like a semi-automatic weapon. “‘She’s my Truth.’ ‘Back it Up.’ ‘Dream Girl.’ ‘I’d Drop Dead for You.’”

  Dani doubled down on the eye rolls. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was refusing to accept my word only because she didn’t want to concede defeat. “All that proves is you have very bad taste in music, Chad.”

  “Watch it. I helped write some of those songs.”

  Her eyes widened, telling me—without saying a word—how she really felt about my songwriting abilities.

  “Screw you,” I fought back. “At least I don’t have your exceptionally horrible observational skills. I mean, take a good look, Dani. You don’t have to be a hardcore Dayer to see it’s me under all the hair.”

  Emitting an offended squeak, she stomped back over to me, bending down and grabbing my face as she tilted it from side to side. Despite the pain roaring through my insides, I patiently waited for her to confirm my identity, and when the truth finally sank in, she let go of my jaw and backed away. Our eyes met and began a full-on stare down. She was pissed. She was shocked. And judging by the grimace Dani had adopted on that pouty face of hers, my neighbor was not the least bit impressed.

  “Well, isn’t this a treat. RJ Contreras in the house.”

  The way she said it through clenched teeth indicated she didn’t find it a treat at all. I grinned at her faked enthusiasm.

  “RJ Contreras in the parking garage,” I corrected. “But yes, I agree, it is a treat.”

  Dani found no humor in my response, and I watched as she folded her arms over her chest in indignation. Despite my life hanging in the balance, I couldn’t help but take one last dig.

  “You know, Dani, you really are the worst Lois Lane ever. I mean, I thought the fictional Loises were bad, not being able to tell that Clark Kent was actually Superman because he wore glasses, but you…Jesus… All I can think is you don’t get out much.”

  “Uh-huh.” She grimaced. “You have no idea how much I want to kick dirt in your face right now.”

  I laughed, but my amusement was short-lived as pain swept through me. My sudden change snapped Dani from her frustration and her forehead wrinkled in worry.

  “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen, Chad.”

  “RJ,” I corrected.

  Dani’s lips flattened. “Here’s what’s going to happen, RJ. I’m going to go now so that I can save your life. Then once you’re all healed up, I’m going to punch you in the gut for lying to me. Are we clear?”

  I nodded to my savior. “We’re clear.”

  As she turned to leave, her ponytail swung from side to side. Even her hair was full of life. Dani was a breath of fresh air in a world that had gone stale.

  Overwhelmed with affection for this woman who was risking everything for me, I called out to her. “Dani?”

  When she whirled back around, the confident woman was gone. Tears had replaced the anger in her eyes. Dani cared, more than she was letting on, and what surprised me the most was that her desire to help me had nothing to do with my fame. Dani didn’t care about RJ Contreras, the superstar. She cared about some no-name asshole called Chad Woodcock. Somehow, somewhere, the two of us had connected, and now neither one of us wanted to let the other go.

  We stared at each other, soaking in the moment. The tears slipping from her eyes were only steps ahead of the ones pooling in mine.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking with the emotion the moment required. “For being there for me.”

  There was no playfulness. No mocking. Only genuine gratitude. This girl had become my lifeline. Her bravery might not save me, but I’d die knowing someone had cared enough to try.

&nb
sp; She nodded, barely able to meet my eye.

  “Remember your promise,” she said. “You better be alive when the rescuers come.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “No,” she insisted, this time holding my gaze. “You will be.”

  I paused, drawing hope from her strength. If anyone could save me, it was this fiery and determined girl. “I will be.”

  8

  Dani: The Scout

  I didn’t remember the parking garage being so compact… or dark. Typically, I drove in, did my obligatory Cake Walk loop-de-loop with the mentality of a survivalist, and then went about my day, with no cave-ins and no life-or-death decisions to speak of. But this… Why had I always taken for granted that things would remain in the spots they’d always been? Everything was wrong now. Up was down. And down was—buried under a pile of rubble.

  Remembering the concrete under my car dropping away, I realized then that we were underground and, to get out, I had to go up. Except there was no up, no opening. We were entombed. But I couldn’t give up. RJ was counting on me. So I continued on with purpose, every step I took away from him more urgent than the next. RJ was hurt. More than he was letting on, that much I was sure of. If I didn’t bring help back to him, there was a chance he’d die. No. I couldn’t think that way. RJ was going to be fine. He’d live another day. That blender of his would shred a thousand more sliding glass doors if I had anything to say about it.

  After climbing over a wall of downed pipes and concrete pillars, I spotted the exit sign only to discover the exit was no more. Cars from the second floor of the garage were suspended precariously in the air, held only by the steel railing they’d crashed into on their way down. And on top of that were what appeared to be the upper floors of the apartment complex caving into the lower ones.

  And then there was RJ and me, under all of that.

  A squeak escaped me as my eyes tried to process the shock of what they were seeing. I’d promised RJ that I’d get help, but what if there was no help to be had? What if I couldn’t find a way out? I would be as doomed as the man trapped ankle deep in concrete. The man who had a legion of fans to mourn him. Because he was RJ Contreras. RJ frickin’ Contreras! Chad. RJ. Chad was RJ!

  Okay, Dani. We got it. No need to repeat it a thousand times.

  But the more I milled it over in my head, the more shocking the revelation became. The asinine man I’d been absently daydreaming about pushing in front of a stampede of bulls was actually one of music’s biggest stars. RJ didn’t just know the names of those songs he’d rattled off in record time, he’d sung them—nearly every night on stage with his generation-defining boyband.

  Not that I’d ever been a worshipful Dayer, but you’d have to be living in a hole to not know the band AnyDayNow or to not be able to sing along to their songs when they came on the radio. For five years of my life, those Dayer boys had been pretty much unavoidable, appearing in magazines, on television, and on billboards, their music playing over the radio waves way more often than seemed necessary. And I’d just now discovered that I’d been living next door to one of them all this time? How dumb was I? No, really. On a scale from one to ten, I was like a forty-two. My god, I’d even been to one of his concerts, standing just below the stage, so close, in fact, that I’d sworn to my girlfriends that he’d sweated on me. That was the same RJ I was now trying to save. The same RJ Contreras from AnyDayNow! RJ was Chad. Chad was RJ.

  Okay, so we’re doing this again.

  I spotted what I thought might be the turtle woman’s car. It was pancaked into the ground. I didn’t want to look because I was pretty sure I knew what I’d find—the woman dead in her car. There seemed no way she could’ve survived. But miracles did happen. I was still alive, and so was RJ. Although, he was only alive because he’d gotten out of his car just in the nick of time—to save me.

  The thought gave me pause. For all the bickering we’d done, his first thought in the middle of an earthquake had been to save me. That said something about his character, something that hadn’t been spoken in the past. I wanted to know this man, not Chad the dickhead neighbor, but RJ, the man courageous enough to risk his life for me.

  And now I had to be courageous for him, for me… and for the turtle woman in her car. If there was even the slightest possibility she could be saved, I’d have to try. But one horrifying glance inside gave me the answer. Tears welled in my eyes. Had she backed out of her parking spot a minute sooner, she would have been free and clear of the garage before it collapsed.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, placing my hand on the twisted metal that had become her grave. “I’m so sorry.”

  I wanted to collapse to the ground and rage over the unfairness of it all, but I didn’t have the luxury of mourning for this woman I’d never known, not when a man I did know was still breathing. In that moment of reflection, the tiniest ray of light caught my eye. A hole in the destruction. No, not really a hole, more like a precarious gap in a life-size Jenga game. Remove one piece and the entire thing comes tumbling down. But if I didn’t take my turn, I would surely lose.

  Ascending the precarious mound of debris on my hands and knees, I used my fingers to dig out an opening wide enough to allow myself to squeeze through. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes. I repeated the childhood mantra over and over in my head as each part of me emerged into the outside world. It was only when I was finally free of the earth and standing on new colt-like legs that I saw the true scope of what I’d survived. My apartment was gone… as was a good chunk of the building where I’d once lived. I said once because it was clear I’d never live here again. A section of the west side of the complex had collapsed sideways, pancaking on top of the parking garage where RJ and I had been trapped—where he was still entombed. The rest of that wing tilted precariously to one side.

  Looking out over the ruins of my former life, I now understood what people meant when they said, ‘Life changes in an instant.’ Mine just had—the repercussions of this day, I was sure, would stay with me for a lifetime. And for one selfish moment, I mourned the inanimate pieces of my life that were gone. My vintage table thrifted at a flea market. My childhood stuffed animal. The bohemian chic balcony where I tortured RJ with my rules—the ones he’d never once abided by. All the things I’d thought so important once upon a time were now buried under rubble, and yet I was the lucky one. What of those who had lost loved ones? Their pets? Their lives?

  My chest tightened just thinking of RJ’s plight in the parking garage. If he knew what I knew now, would he have even a shred of hope? Somehow in all this destruction, we’d been spared. But how? The only explanation that made any sense was that the twisted metal had created a pocket, a lifesaving shell that had kept our fragile bodies alive. But with smoke and fire from exploding gas lines creating a hazard aboveground, how much longer could RJ survive inside that bubble before the harrowing conditions outside came seeping through?

  There was no time to waste. RJ needed saving right now. I scanned the chaos. Firetrucks and police cars were already here, lining the street. Their ladders were extended, moving from balcony to balcony—or at least those that were left—as the rescue efforts got underway. I raced for the nearest unit and descended upon a young man in yellow fireman pants.

  “Please.” I grabbed on to his jacket. “My neighbor needs help. He’s trapped in the parking garage.”

  The fireman—so youthful-looking I had to wonder if he’d been recruited to the force out of middle school—scanned me, my dust-choked hair, and glass-pocked skin enough to convince him that I was speaking the truth.

  “In there?” He pointed to my apartment complex.

  “Yes. The whole thing came down on top of us.”

  “How is he trapped?”

  “His ankle. It’s under a concrete block. And that block is being held down by another block.”

  The fireman winced. He actually winced. It was clear he knew more than I did about rescuing people in RJ’s situation, but I didn’t want to
give him time to ponder the complexities.

  “There’s a small opening around the back side. I crawled out of it. Come on.” I tugged on him. “I can show you.”

  The Doogie Howser of firemen stood his ground.

  “Okay, hold on a second. I need to call my captain,” he said, putting a hand up to stop my desperate rambling as he pulled a phone from his pocket. I waited as he made contact with someone on the other end of the line.

  “Cap,” he said. “I’ve got a survivor from the garage. She says there’s someone trapped inside.”

  There was a pause. I waited, my foot tapping impatiently. Every second of chitchat was another second RJ didn’t have.

  The fireman’s expression shifted. Something was wrong. He turned away from me and lowered his voice like he didn’t want me to hear.

  “Is it?” he said. “Do we know how long?”

  The conversation ended, and I could tell just by his body language that whatever he had to say I wasn’t going to like.

  So I didn’t let him say it.

  “Let’s go,” I urged, starting to remind myself of Lassie trying to get the stupid humans to come help me pull Timmy out of the well. “I’ll show you where he is.”

  “Miss… I’m sorry, but we have to wait.”

  My eyes bugged right on out their sockets. “What do you mean, we have to wait? I thought you people were all about rushing in and saving the day.”

  “Normally we are, but these are extenuating circumstances we have here.”

  “Uh… yeah. My friend is trapped in the parking garage. All the more reason to get him out now.”

  “There’s nothing I want more than to go in there and save your friend—and all the others who are trapped inside too—but the building is too unstable. One of our guys was injured in the aftershock, so now we have to wait for the structural engineers to assess the building and give us the all-clear before we can continue the rescue efforts.”

  No. No! Tears flooded my eyes as his words sank in. I couldn’t accept his explanation. Wouldn’t.