Quake

by Richard Laymon

  'Does that mean you're never going to forgive her?'

  'Not in the foreseeable future.'

  'Whew. Hope I never tick you off.' As she said that, she looked back.

  Clint looked, too. Mary was trudging up the road, the crack behind her.

  'See,' he said. 'She didn't need help, anyway.'

  'Guess not.' They continued uphill. 'But in case of real trouble.' It didn't sound like a question, more like a statement of fact.

  'That remains to be seen,' Clint said.

  Soon, they came upon a tree that had dropped across the road.

  'The cops didn't say anything about this,' Em said. 'Nope, they sure didn't.'

  The tree roots had left a dark pit in the hillside just by the road. The clump hadn't gone far; it rested at the tip the hole like a ball joint popped from its socket. It was to ten feet high, and clotted with dirt.

  'Your choice,' Clint said as they walked toward the tree. 'Over, under, or around?'

  Em turned her head, studying the tree from one end to the other. 'Looks like there's some room to crawl under it,' she said.

  Still in the middle of the road, they angled to the left so they would reach the tree near its roots. Em took the lead. Stopping short of the trunk, she squatted down. She looked from side to side. Clint stopped behind her.

  'Problem?' he asked.

  'Maybe we'd better climb over, instead. It might not be the safest thing in the world, crawling under there.'

  He walked past Em, placed a hand against the trunk, and shoved. The tree didn't budge. 'I don't think it's going anywhere.'

  Em stood up. She made a face at Clint, and shook her head. 'I wouldn't want to be crawling under it if there's an aftershock. That would not be at all swift, if you know what mean. A person could get squashed like a bug. And I think we're past due for an aftershock.'

  'We're probably having them all along,' Clint said.

  'Oh, know. I'm sure we've had dozens, so far. Even hundreds.'

  'I haven't felt any yet, have you?'

  'I don't think so. But you don't have to feel them. They're there, all right. And we'll have a really big one sooner or later. Maybe even one as big as the first quake. Or bigger, though that isn't very likely.'

  'You know your quakes,' Clint told her.

  'Sure. How can you not?'

  'I guess we all do,' Clint said.

  'But I also did a paper on them in sixth grade, so I learned a lot then. It's only a matter of time…'

  'That's close enough,' Clint called.

  Mary, a few yards downslope from Em, stopped and uncapped her plastic bottle. She held the bottle of water by her side and panted for air, apparently too winded to take a drink.

  Em turned around. 'The tree's in our way,' she said. Mary found enough breath to gasp, 'No fooling.’

  'We're gonna climb over it.’

  'Be my guest.'

  'In case of an aftershock.'

  Mary smirked. 'What's an… aftershock… got to do with it?'

  'Make it fall and smash you.'

  'While you're crawling… underneath?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Right. You'd only be under the thing a couple of seconds. Wouldn't fall, anyway.'

  Clint agreed with her, but he kept it to himself.

  'You go ahead and crawl under if you want,' Em told the woman. 'But I'm going over it. Better safe than mashed like a bug.'

  Mary raised the plastic bottle to her mouth and tipped back her head. She only took one swallow, then had to stop for a breath. After another swallow, she lowered the bottle.

  'Do I have to wait?' she asked Clint.

  He shook his head. As Mary stepped closer, he watched her.

  'Don't worry,' she said, 'I'm not gonna beat up on anybody.'

  'I'm not worried.'

  'Just looking for an excuse to smack me, aren't you?'

  'No.'

  'Yeah, right.' She sidestepped past Em and Clint, then turned away and sank to her knees. She crawled under the thing, the plastic bottle dragging against the pavement, her romp swaying from side to side. Clint noticed that she didn't seem to have any stockings on. Had she been wearing them earlier? He thought so. The lack of stockings made her legs seem strangely vulnerable. Maybe shouldn't be so tough on her, he thought. But his moment of regret was pushed aside by the memory of Mary striking Em. Don't go soft, he told himself, just because she looks a little bedraggled and pathetic.

  'She'll make it,' Em said.

  Mary must've heard her. 'The aftershock's waiting for you, sweetie.' A moment later, she cried out, 'OW! Shit shit shit!' Clint and Em crouched and looked.

  Mary was only visible from the rump down. She seemed to be standing, hobbling away from the tree.

  'Are you okay?' Em called.

  'No!'

  'What happened?'

  'I wracked myself.'

  'What happened?' Em asked again.

  'As if anybody cares,' Mary said, and kept going.

  'Wait!' Em rushed forward, dropped to her hands and knees, and started to scurry under the tree. So much for climbing over it, Clint thought.

  And realized that he wasn't concerned about the possibility of an aftershock - such a slim possibility that a huge one would hit at exactly the wrong time and drop the tree onto Em. He found himself more interested in the look of her. She was crawling on her hands and knees, the same as Mary had done. Her white shorts were tight across her rump. Dirt smudges and grass stains on their seat reminded Clint of the fall she'd taken in front of her house - after being punched in the chest by that horrible, ugly woman named Lou. Lou the looter. Even before that, before he had met Em, she'd gotten her back scraped by a brick. And finally, Mary had given her head a swat. She'd been through plenty. A lot more than Mary. But there was nothing at all vulnerable or pathetic about how she looked as she crawled under the tree. A kid on an adventure, eagerly crawling into the mouth of a cave. Barbara. This could've been Barbara, a couple of years ago. They're so much alike. Em's a lot wilder, feistier, but…

  'Watch it when you stand up,' Mary said. 'That's how I wracked myself. Stood up too soon and it got me in the back.'

  She's warning Em. Good for her. Trying to get back in our good graces? Doesn't matter why she warned Em, Clint told himself. Not much, anyway. She did it, and that's what counts. Em stayed down. As she crawled a little farther, Clint got to his hands and knees. They were scraped raw. He winced and gritted his teeth. He thought about his dive to avoid the speeding Toyota pickup truck. The quake had still been going on when he'd thrown himself out of the way and skidded on the pavement. It seemed like a very long time ago. Days ago, not a few hours. So long ago that the abrasions on his palms and knees should've healed by now. But they hurt like hell. Bracing himself up on his knuckles and thumbs, he scuttled underneath the tree on the balls of his feet. No aftershock. In probably no more than three seconds, he was on the other side. He started to rise, then remembered Mary's warning to Em and stayed down a few moments longer. To make sure that he was clear of the tree, he looked over his shoulder. And saw a broken limb jutting straight down from the trunk. A miniature stalactite, no larger than a thumb but sharp at its splintered end.

  Em was lifting the back of Mary's blouse. Clint sidestepped for a better angle. He glimpsed blood on the fabric. Then Mary's skin was there. The gouge started just below the crossstrap of her bra. It was about three inches long, and looked as if someone had tried to plow a furrow down her back with a stick.

  'Bet that hurts,' Em told her. 'God, what if it leaves a scar?'

  'It won't,' Clint said.

  'How would you know?' Mary snapped. 'This is all your fault!'

  Of course, he thought. Should've known. As much as he loved Sheila and Barbara, they were usually quick to put the blame on him - no matter how remote his involvement might be in whatever mishap had befallen them. He had come to figure out that this was normal behavior for women. 'My fault.'?' he asked.

  'You had me so upset,' Mary said
, 'that I couldn't pay attention to what I was doing!'

  'I had you upset.'

  'Treating me like I'm some kind of a criminal.'

  'Oh. see.'

  Em, still frowning at Mary's wound, said, 'We oughta put some water on it, maybe.'

  Clint set down the bag. Em took out a water bottle and paper napkin. She moistened the napkin. While Clint held up the back of Mary's blouse, Em gently dabbed at the wound.

  'How does that feel?' Em asked her.

  'Better.'

  'Weird, huh? It wasn't all that long ago, you were doing this to me.'

  'I liked it better that way,' Mary said.

  Em laughed, and so did Mary. Even Clint found smiling.

  'Now,' Em said, 'Clint's the only one who hasn't gotten screwed in the back.'

  Looking over her shoulder, Mary gave him a tight smile.

  'The day isn't over yet.'

  'Real nice,' he said.

  Em smoothed the wet napkin against Mary.

  'Leave it there,' she said. Em tucked it under the blouse at the back of Mary's skirt. 'That might hold it for a while.'

  Clint looked at Em's back. Her T-shirt was clinging with sweat, spotted a little with blood near her shoulder blade. 'What happened to your paper towel?' he asked her.

  'Oh, it fell out a long time ago.'

  'Is there blood on my shirt?’

  'Some.’

  'Poop!'

  'That's all right,' Clint assured her. 'Your blood fits in with the shirt's "road-kill" motif.'

  She grinned. 'Hadn't thought of that. Speaking of roadkill, who's hungry?'

  Mary turned around and faced them. She glanced from Em to Clint. 'I'11 leave, now. Thanks for nothing.'

  'You don't have to go,' Em said. 'Does she, Clint? Come on, tell her she can stay. I mean, I'm the one she whacked. And anyway, I might've gotten forked by the tree if it hadn't been for Mary.'

  'If it hadn't been for Mary, you would've climbed over it.'

  She grinned. 'Might've fallen and broken my neck. So see?

  That makes twice she's saved me.'

  'Oh, sure,' he said.

  'Anyway, don't you think she's been banished for long enough?'

  Not really, he thought. It's asking for trouble. But Mary had warned Em. That had to count for something. And she hadn't done any serious damage to Em by giving her the smack on the head. And Em herself wanted Mary to be given a second chance.

  'Okay,' he finally said. He met Mary's eyes. 'Are you going to behave from now on?'

  She glared at him. 'I guess so.'

  'You guess?'

  'I don't wanta be left behind any more.'

  'This is sort of going against my rules, so don't blow it.

  Don't make me regret being nice to you.' Mary's upper lip twitched.

  'Why don't we all settle down and take a break and have something to eat?' Em said. 'This is as good a place as any.'

  Gazing up the slope, Clint could see the unlighted traffic signals at Mulholland. They marked the crest of the ridge.

  Just beyond them, Laurel Canyon Boulevard began its long, curving way downward to Hollywood. To Sunset Boulevard. On the other side of Sunset, there would be no more hill to climb. The road would stop being Laurel Canyon and become Crescent Heights, and following it would lead him most of the way home. Clint had wanted to reach the top before taking a break for lunch. But his bouts with Mary made him feel like a dictator. He didn't enjoy the feeling.

  'Fine with me,' he told Em. 'Let's have lunch here. This looks like a great place for it.'

  'Good, 'cause I happen to be starving.'

  ***

  The curtains behind the sofa were shut across the picture window, filtering out the sunlight, giving the room a murky yellow glow. Barbara and Pete sat beside each other on the floor across from the sofa. Barbara figured that Pete had picked this spot because it was low and away from the big window. But maybe he'd avoided the furniture out of simple courtesy, because his trousers were wet. Either way, she liked where she was. She felt fairly safe down here. She had a wall at her back and she had a full view of the curtained window, the door, Heather and Lee. Heather had taken a seat on the sofa as if she'd forgotten all about the blood on her legs and arms and hands. She sat sideways, one leg tucked under her, her hands resting on her thighs, her face toward Lee. Lee was kneeling in the middle of the sofa, elbows on top of the back rest, peering outside through a bright sliver of space between the curtains. His pistol was stuck down the waistband at the back of his jeans. Beside him on the sofa was a mean-looking, stubby rifle with a leather sling. It looked to Barbara like a military weapon. Just in front of its trigger guard, a big chrome magazine jutted downward. A similar magazine was on the table in front of the sofa. At the open top of this one, Barbara could see a couple of slim pointed cartridges that were almost golden in the mellow light. A much smaller magazine was also on the table. Barbara figured that this one must belong to the pistol. On top of the same table were several boxes of ammunition. And a pair of binoculars. The first words out of Barbara's mouth, after being ushered into the apartment and glimpsing the collection, had been, 'Charles Whitman, I presume?'

  'Lee Nolan,' he'd corrected her, grim-faced. Barbara's reference to the Texas Tower sniper had apparently gone over his head. I'm the manager here,' he'd said. 'Your two friends are Pete and Heather. Didn't catch your name.'

  'Barbara. How do you know…?'

  'Their names? You wouldn't believe the way sound carries in this place. From up here, I can hear the ripples in the swimming pool.'

  'You were listening to us.'

  'And watching.'

  A heat of embarrassment had spread through Barbara she pictured Lee at the windows, spying on her and Pete the pool, treating himself to close-up views with the help his binoculars. At such close range, it must've been like watching them from about two feet away.

  'Terrific,' she had muttered, and glanced down to make sure that the top of her blouse hadn't somehow come open in spite of her left hand clutching it shut. The tight fist in the middle of her chest could only draw attention to the problem - and to her breasts. Especially how her left one stuck out and pretty much hid her wrist. Still, she'd been determined to keep her hand there and hold her blouse shut.

  'It's my job,' Lee had explained, 'to know what's happening in and around my facility. And to protect it.'

  'We weren't doing anything,' Pete had told him.

  'Sure you were. But you weren't doing any harm to my tenants or property. That's why didn't interfere until you started trying to get through doors.'

  'We don't normally do stuff like that,' Pete had explained. 'It's all right. This isn't a normal day. Sit down. Everyone sit down. Heather, start talking. I want every detail of what you saw out there.'

  Heather then started in on an expanded version of the story she'd blurted to Pete and Barbara down by the pool. Lee didn't seem to pay much attention. He kept gazing out through the tiny gap between the curtains. Barbara figured that he must've overheard the original…he'd heard everything else said down there. Seen everything, too. She'd been aware, all along, that people might be watching from the apartments. Peeking out from time to time, maybe. It hadn't occurred to her, though, that anyone would study them with binoculars - and listen to every word. From where she sat, she could hear enough to know that the windows were open. She listened for the sound of ripples in the pool. Not quite. There was a vague, hollow murmur that she thought of as 'pool noise' - a sound as faint as the whisper of a seashell held close to the ear. But she couldn't hear ripples. Though maybe if Heather weren't talking… Maybe if there wasn't that undercurrent of noises from outside the courtyard: faraway shouts and barks and sirens and bangs and horn blasts and engines…, tires squealing…, a scream now and then so muffled that she couldn't tell whether it belonged to a cat or a person. Such background noises were barely noticeable unless you listened hard for them. Some of them must've gotten in the way a little, though. Lee couldn't po
ssibly have heard everything. A lot, though. She hated the idea that he might've heard Pete's stumbling speech about liking her. Somehow, that seemed even worse than knowing he'd probably focused those dam binoculars in on her breasts. He saw our kiss, too. It really hurt that he'd watched that. The creep.

  'How many were there?' Lee asked, and Barbara realized that she'd been paying no attention to Heather's story. 'I don't know,' Heather said.

  'Yes, you do. Think.'

  'Well, maybe ten or twelve.'

  He carefully shut the crack between the curtains, then moved sideways on his knees and frowned down at Heather. 'How were they armed?'

  'Some had guns.'

  'How many guns did you see?'

  Heather shrugged, then quickly said, 'Four? Maybe five that I saw. Maybe they all had guns, but just weren't using them. I saw knives, too. And one guy had an axe.'

  Pete grimaced at Lee. 'What'll we do?' he asked.

  'There're too many to take on,' Lee said.

  'Glad to hear it,' Barbara said.

  Lee twisted his head around and gave her a sharp look.

  'Find humor in this situation?'

  'Not really.'

  'I can do without your wise-ass comments.'

  She tried not to cringe. 'I'm sorry, okay? didn't mean anything'

  'Didn't mean anything by that Whitman crack, either, did you?'

  She felt herself suddenly blush. 'Oh, that. Whoops.’

  'Yeah, whoops.'

  This guy had no sense of humor at all.

  'It's just that…, you've got these guns and you sort of look like you're itching for a shootout. So I was sort of surprised when you said that about not wanting to take on that mob, or whatever it is out there. That's all. Okay? I didn't mean to… you know, insult you.'

  'Is that supposed to be an apology?' he asked.

  Barbara shrugged. 'I guess so.'

  'Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness.'

  'Oh, for…' What does he want? 'Right,' she said. 'Whatever you say, sir.'