Chapter Nine
“My man Alex Padilla behind the boards is helping us stay on the air and co-hosting with me for the next couple hours. . .”
Jake turned on the car and the radio show he left behind came through his speakers. He hit the wipers to brush off the collected ash. He wasn’t alone. The offices of the radio station had emptied and the normally packed parking lot was down to four cars. That he could see. The haze from the fire swirled in the parking lot, as the smoke was pushed west by Santa Ana winds and mixed with the off shore flow.
“. . . Jake was needed down at NBC. Apparently, they need sports guys to cover the fire. Maybe we need to talk about this fire. . .”
“Traffic is bad out there. We have any callers trapped out on the roads. . .”
No need to listen, Jake turned off the radio and enjoyed the silence for a moment. It seemed like another lifetime, yet it was only a few hours ago that he got the bad news. He had hardly been alone. He opened his phone. He had a text waiting from Andrew who was up in the air checking traffic.
Surface roads. Cut through neighborhoods. Freeways are a mess.
Jake put his phone in the holder on his dashboard and turned on the GPS. It flashed no signal. He sighed and pulled out of the parking lot. On the way out, he saw Will’s car. It was covered in a layer of ash. Carmel Valley Road at the end of the hill looked like a parking lot heading toward the 5 freeway. Normally from this spot he could see the flow of the 5 heading to and from LA. He turned left to head south on a surface street.
He would take the coast highway all the way downtown. He sped past the stopped traffic on the other side. He thought about stopping home to check on Vic and the kids. The smarter move was to head to the station and get that over with. He slowed down at a traffic light that was flashing red. He knew this turn-off well. To the right was a wealthy neighborhood. He went to a party there put on by one of the anchors, who had moved to Los Angeles for work.
A group of soldiers in gas masks were guarding the corner, blocking traffic. A Humvee was parked in the way. Jake only got a brief look as he kept driving. His pace was slow. He could faintly make out brake lights ahead from time to time. Time moved slowly and it felt like every time the haze cleared enough to show landmarks it was disheartening to see just how much farther he had to go. He was still slowly moving through the upper class neighborhood of La Jolla.
One after another, he saw soldiers set up on corners.
“Of course you protect the rich,” grumbled Jake. He turned on the radio to get news. He was going to flip to a news outlet. Alex and Will were talking the fire now. Will spoke in a somber tone he had only heard in the bathroom when he confronted him. They gave traffic reports. The freeways were jammed but National Guard had gotten the 805 moving. All transitions were slow. The fire was moving both west and north. The doomsday scenario that had the fire connecting into a wall surrounding the city limits was happening. The guard checkpoints were popping up around the city and directing traffic. It was a creepy feeling, all the cammo, gas masks and rifles, but they were getting the traffic moved. So everyone seemed to accept it.
Jake pulled up to a checkpoint near Mission Bay. The guard members directed traffic around the classic theme park on the beach. He drove a few blocks to see another checkpoint blocking the bay. He was about to cut across to Friars road that ran parallel to the river from Sea World to the old stadium site across Mission Valley.
A woman rode in and out of traffic on a mountain bike with a gas mask on. She passed his car and Jake laughed. It was a smart idea. Traffic was stopped. He could see beyond the car but assumed there was a checkpoint. He turned the radio down. He could hear screams in the distance. He turned the radio lower.
Guttural, desperate screams. The visibility was low. The screams came from deep in the haze. They got louder, closer. Jake drummed on his steering wheel, cracked his window. It let in the nasty air but he could hear better. A young, blond mother with a car seat and baby in the back sat in the Volvo directly in front of him. He could see the mother was nervously looking behind, as the screams came closer still. Their eyes locked for a moment. The woman wanted to back up.
She yelled move! He couldn’t hear it, but read her lips.
Jake turned to look back and cars were piled up behind him. Enough that he couldn’t see where it ended in the haze. Jake shrugged so she could see. The screams were still getting louder.
Gunfire. The thunder of it somewhere unseen in the haze made him and the young mother jump. The screams ceased immediately. It was twenty seconds before traffic started to flow again. They still moved slowly and carefully through the haze. The checkpoint faded into view out of the mist. One soldier directed traffic, waving them forward. Jake looked to his right as they passed. Two soldiers were dragging a body off the road, leaving a trail of blood toward the brush that separated the road and the river.
Maybe this jock did have something to report. He reached for his phone on the dashboard, opened the camera. He was too slow. Two soldiers ran from the Humvee parked on the sidewalk to block the view. Jake dropped the phone in his lap, trying to make eye contact with the soldiers. They were here to direct traffic, not shoot people. Now he wanted desperately to make it to the station.
***
Kendra rolled the white board into the center of the newsroom. Reporters working at various cubicles turned around. They were doing an all-newsroom update five minutes after every hour. Kendra had taped a map of the county to the board. Sally Cole, her veteran former anchor turned lead news editor was looking at a piece of paper using a red and black marker to make dots on the map.
It will be like retirement after DC. Sleepy San Diego, A big small town you’ll love it. A no pressure gig. After covering political scandals and the high murder and crime rate in DC, Kendra remembered hearing all those things when she got this job. The pressure of the morning felt like a rope tightening around her wrists. The fire coverage was enough to raise her stress level. The importance of getting the story right was not lost on her. Report the wrong thing and it could mean lives saved or lost. It could mean congestion on the freeways. She trusted her staff but it was impossible not to look over shoulders.
The national media, starved for non-political headlines, were eager to cover the story. But she felt the most pressure with the reports of gunfire. It didn’t make sense, and no one could confirm the reasons. The story Bingham returned from the riot with didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. None of the calls they got to the newsroom sounded credible. Together they were forming a frightening pattern.
“Alright, everyone, attention. I have a phone call with the network in five minutes. We need to hurry.”
Gonola pulled up a chair in the front. Paul Bingham, the young reporter, waited off to the side still looking frazzled. He raised his hand.
“Bingham, I know you think you have the lead.”
Sally stood straight and pointed at the map. It was dotted across the city in red and black. She cleared her throat.
“As you can see, I have made marks around the county, some in red and some in black. Red represents reports of violent attacks. Black represents sounds of gunfire. As you can see, many are very close together. We are hearing reports basically everywhere.”
Kendra rolled her notes up. “We thought the first one was crank call. But it matches what Bingham heard at the scene of the riot.”
She looked at him. Bingham stood up. “Yeah, the officers wouldn’t go on record but they confirmed a series of assaults with psychotic behavior. If you listen to the calls we are getting reports of wild almost rabid behavior.”
“In dogs?” Gonola asked.
“Are you listening Gonala?” Martinez, the morning anchor, laughed. He hated his evening colleague. “In people. They are getting the reports about people.”
“That is ridiculous. This is San Diego not the Gaza Strip.” Gonola shook his head. “There is a logical explanation.”
“People, we have heard gunfire
around the county. That is a fact. Bingham saw the aftermath of at least one officer involved shooting.” Kendra walked through the group. All eyes stayed on her as she straightened her pant suit. “On a normal day that would dominate coverage. We have a massive wildfire. We have the mayor slipping in a story about water contamination. Any of these stories would be a challenge on a normal day.”
“We need to focus,” said Sally. “The airport is closed. National media are not coming, so if you don’t care about our viewers enough to chase these stories . . . think of your careers.”
Several in the newsroom laughed. Kendra knew from experience the ones who didn’t laugh took what Sally said very seriously.
“Let’s go!” Kendra clapped and her reporters turned back to their desks. Gonola hung around before pointing at the live studio and then back at his suit. Sally waved him off. The two women shared a knowing look. Sally was the only other person feeling the weight of it all.
“We need someone to focus on the water,” Sally spoke softly. “The mayor can’t drop something like that and not explain.”
Kendra nodded. “Assign whoever you want and if they complain tell them the network is interested in that story.”
“Not sure that is enough.”
“Then tell them it is orders and if they don’t want to end up in Terre Haute or Little Rock they better fucking do their jobs.”
***
“Martial Law?”
Martin and the mayor’s team were crowded into the mayor’s office listening to General Redcrow on the speaker phone. Heads shook, hands covered eyes. Stephen gasped. Martin looked across the room at Chief Gibbons. She didn’t argue. She was a ghost of herself, and came into the meeting late, and still on her phone. She warned Martin personally that they would lose command more than an hour ago.
“Not only that, we want the streets clear by 1500 hour.”
Stephen held up three fingers to translate. Heads shook as they all calculated the tasks they would have to do to achieve this task. The streets and freeways were filled with cars still. Children remained at schools while parents inched closer. The teachers with young children understandably wanted to leave, leaving veteran teachers and administrators overwhelmed.
“Hold on, hold on. Chief?” The mayor shut everyone down.
Chief Gibbons was a tough lady. Full of energy, and she could be sweet if she needed to but rough as sand paper if she was unhappy. She locked eyes with the mayor. She looked defeated, tired beyond words.
“Chief, before you speak let me say one thing.” You could hear General Redcrow drag on something deep, likely a cigar. “You’re a fine police chief, but we have more than one crisis we are dealing with. If you’re honest with yourselves you’ll be throwing a goddamn party, not lining up for a pissing match.”
“He’s right.” Chief Gibbons leaned back. “It is a clusterfuck out there.”
“That’s right, let us clean up the flaming bag of shit on your door step.”
The mayor looked at Stephen and then turned his eyes towards Martin. He wanted to know what to do? Martin shrugged. There was nothing to do.
“I’m sorry, I really am.” General Redcrow had real remorse in his voice. “When I woke up this morning this was not the day I had in mind. I respect your authority locally, but understand my job is the security of the nation.”
They all shared a confused look. Chief Gibbons was the one who nodded. She agreed. The General hung up. Martin turned and looked out the window. You couldn’t see the bay or even the building across the street. This would blow over and the Mayor’s leadership would be a serious question in the next election. Part of his job was to think ahead. The Mayor came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll deal with it when it comes, Martin. We have to focus on the roads and getting everyone home safe.” The Mayor turned to the room. “Transportation team in the large conference room in five.”
The meeting broke up. Chief Gibbons hit the door fast. Martin followed her down the hall.
“Chief!” Martin jogged to catch up. She kept going.
“I’m not doing a press conference.”
“The people need to hear from you.”
The chief stopped and pointed a finger at Martin. He almost backed into the wall. “I have half a dozen cops in emergency and double that missing.”
Martin couldn’t say anything. He had no idea.
“Four officers were bitten. Fucking biters. I just got a decade worth of officer involved shooting calls in two hours, and frankly I was ready to rip your guy’s balls off if he argued with the general.”
“He didn’t. We had no idea the level. . .”
“Your about lose your pair, if you lecture me that it was my job to tell you.”
“Chief, the people need—”
“They need me doing my job, not talking at a podium.”
Martin watched her leave out the front door to the office. The door closed slowly, long enough that he could see Jessica, one of the receptionists. She was under the table on her knees leaned over a trash can. Martin took the door and ran to her. Jessica looked up at him. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her skin the color of over cast sky. She was a nerdy bookworm stereotype hired by a previous mayor, but loved by everyone who waited in the outer office. Martin put his arm around her to keep her from falling back.
“You OK?”
“Does she look OK?” asked the chief, as she waited for the elevator.
“Can you get us help?” Martin sounded desperate.
The chief was quiet. “I’m sorry. I have get to my team.”
Martin put his hand on her forehead. Jessica burned with a fever.
“Jess, why don’t you go home?”
Jess nodded but didn’t have the energy to speak.
“Don’t send her out into that,” said the chief, as her elevator dinged in arrival at the eleventh floor. The chief disappeared into the elevator. Martin stared into Jessica’s blood shot eyes. Her head tipped back slightly into more direct light. Martin got closer to her face. He could smell her labored breath. The same smell he got from the tap earlier carried on her breath. The whites of her eyes had a strange yellow tint and he realized the red streaks were not tiny streams of broken blood vessels. He reached up onto the desk knowing that Jessica kept a magnifying glass for reading fine print. He reached around and felt Jessica’s SDSU alumni water bottle sitting on the counter. He leaned her up against the counter and grabbed it. He opened the bottle and took a sniff. It smelled rank. He slammed it down on the counter.
Martin grabbed the magnifying glass and pointed it at her right eye. The red in her eye was not lines at all. They were tiny red dots. It was slight, but they were moving across the surface of her eye.
“Shit.” Martin typed the four digit code to open the door back to the office. Amanda fell back on the floor with the weight and thud of a corpse. Martin looked down to see her convulsing and spitting up. He yelled before letting the door shut. “I need help out here! Somebody! Get Lewis in here now!”
He let the door slam back shut and tipped Amanda on her side as she shook. Habit of shock, he reached into his pocket with the intention of calling 911. After he opened the touch pad and dialed the first 9 he realized that it was pointless. Amanda shook harder. Martin dropped his phone.
“HELP!”
He yelled, but knew no one, not even here at city hall, could do anything. No one he called would answer. He could only look at her face, only feeling guilt. He stared at her foot. She shook the pleather high-heeled shoe right off her foot. He stared at her red painted toe nails and the shaking stopped.
Martin didn’t need to check her pulse. He knew. Martin leaned back behind the desk and cried into his hands, the weight of the day becoming unbearable.
***
Victoria felt like getting out and running several times. On a normal day she could have ran to the front door of the school from her house four times by now. Now, she couldn’t run if she wanted to. The dayli
ght was basically gone. The smoke so low and thick she couldn’t see the end of the school even when she got on the block. Who could run in this? She relaxed some as a text came in from Tiff who hitched a ride with her classmate whose younger sister was at Jefferson elementary one grade over Damian.
Wait with brother.
She texted back knowing she was a few cars from turning into the lot. That took almost ten minutes to move as far as the circle in front of the school that was filled with parents picking up kids.
Almost there.
She thought about telling them to come meet her, but she didn’t want them in this air that long and the school probably needed to see her to release them. She wanted badly to turn off the news but was scared she would miss something important. The fire was growing, but not to worry, the military is taking command of the operation. You might be hearing gunfire. The military has set up checkpoints for your safety. It was looters she suspected. She couldn’t get her babies home quick enough.
Finally, she pulled into the end of the drop-off loop. She turned off the van and jumped out. She had to squint, but her eyes burned. She had to lift her coat over her nose to not breathe the air deeply. She moved through haze, feeling ash bounce off her as she stepped into one of the doors that lead to the gym off the front office.
Victoria felt like the worst mother on the planet when she stepped into the gym and only a dozen students were sitting on or in front of the bleachers. The older kids were using their phones or iPads. A TV on a cart was set up in one corner showing a DVD of Finding Nemo.
Everything was better when her eyes found Tiffany and Damian. They walked towards her and Tiffany was holding her brother’s hand, leading him. Victoria teared up a little at the sight. Tiffany was a mean older sister. She liked to tortured her brother who loved her and normally had no idea what she was doing to him. They ran to her and hugged her.
Ring of Fire Page 10