Natural Disaster (Book 2): Quake

by Lou Cadle

  “Who?”

  “People in California. Whatever it takes to rebuild the Midwest after this, there’s going to be less willing to do it all over again when L.A. or San Francisco gets hammered in a few years.” He shook his head. “But I’m keeping you here. You look done in, man. Go and get some rest.”

  On the way home, he realized that the best part of the influx of new people might be that he had strangers seeing firsthand the increasing desperation of their food and water situation. A week on shorter and shorter rations, a week without a shower, and he’d have several people with real connections demanding action. State, federal, Red Cross voices added to his own had already won a promise from the state to clear roads sooner.

  Chapter 17: Gale and Bash

  But a week later, despite the outside help and louder pleas, the town was not much better off. They had gotten a few more supplies, but the public frustration was mounting. Incidents of violence were on the increase.

  The police and fire squads were in slightly better shape than the average citizen. They were still getting allotted 1500 calories of food per day. The adults at the tent cities were down to half that. Most people had never been hungrier than what one got on three weeks of a half-assed stab at a New Year’s diet. And with a self-imposed diet, you knew that somewhere out there, ten minutes away, there was a big bag of chips, if you really wanted it. Not here, not now. People were finding hunger very unpleasant indeed, and fights had even broken out over bags of the dreaded potato flakes.

  Gale sympathized. He had dreamt one night about his friends and workers turning into potato flakes, big shambling yellowish flaky hulks of people speaking with eerily familiar voices. With a crack of thunder, rain had begun falling, and when potato-flake Bash started melting, he had jolted awake with a pounding heart, relieved when he reached out for his husband and found him still there.

  More people would have walked towards Rolla, but without food to fuel them, the Red Cross had talked people with children out of making the attempt, while promising more food that didn’t arrive. Every day, a few adults without little ones gave up hope of staying and wandered off to the west. The ones who were left were demanding more food and growing angrier with each passing mealtime that they weren’t being fed enough.

  There was a groundswell of talk of holding an emergency election, to get a new mayor to make the town leaders do more. Gale didn’t protest that idea one bit. He knew he was doing everything humanly possible. He’d love a mayor — would cast his vote for anyone stupid enough to run. Let someone else take the blame for the lack of resources. Let someone else be the public face of failure.

  At the hospital, Bash was seeing an increase in injuries sustained in fights, an increase in psychological problems, and more vague pain complaints that he suspected had mental rather than physical bases.

  At lunch break, he had a chance to discuss it with Dr. Eisenstein. “Too bad we can’t get a big load of tranqs to dump in the town water supply,” she said. “Everybody could use a day off stress.”

  Bash said, “Especially over what we can’t control anyway. That’s the worst for me, feeling as if I can’t do anything to help myself. It must be awful for parents, being unable to help their kids.”

  “How are those girls holding up?”

  “Surprisingly well. They’d both love to talk to their parents, but that’s just not possible, or everyone in town would start demanding radio time. Haruka hasn’t spoken directly to hers at all yet.”

  “You know when the cell service might be working? Special inside knowledge from your husband?”

  “Honestly, I don’t think it’s the top priority. Water, food, levees, latrines, better shelter, fuel. Those are still taking up most of his time. Hey, how’s that compartment injury from this morning?”

  “Holding out for evac if — What the hell?” Dr. E said, looking over his shoulder.

  Bash turned and saw a group of people coming around the corner a block up, marching. They were singing. Two in front held a banner made out of a sheet — Bash’s mind flashed on how that sheet could be better put to use.

  The song resolved itself in his mind: Onward Christian Soldiers. WTF?

  “Uh-oh,” said Dr. E. “Maybe you should make yourself scarce.”

  “What?” he said.

  “Look at the sign. No, don’t. Go, get lost back there in the patients.”

  Bash squinted, thinking, I think I need some eyeglasses. Then the words on the banner resolved itself. “Homos must go.”

  Shit.

  He wanted to make a stand, but he knew such people were beyond reasoning with. And with the angry mood in town lately…he pivoted and wove back through the patients, back from the street, until he was at the pharmacy tent. He ducked in and took a seat in a folding chair, hunkering down.

  “Need something?” the pharmacist said.

  “No, just taking a break.”

  He peered out toward the front of the hospital where the protestors were being stood off by Dr. E and the auxiliary police officer. A man in cleric’s collar was waving a book — bible, no doubt — and shouting, but Bash couldn’t make out any words.

  The crowd behind the bible-wielder surged, and Bash could hear more voices raised in anger.

  Maybe he should get out of here. Make it to his car. Run and hide in the rubble along hospital row.

  Just as the thought crossed his mind, he saw a man he recognized — the angry bigot father of that little girl, the troglodyte — grab Dr. E by the throat and start to shake her.

  The auxiliary cop grabbed the man’s arm, shouting. Bash was out of his chair running forward to help Dr E before he could think.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  A protester waded forward to punch the auxiliary cop, and then another and another. Dr. E was lost in a crowd. Some of the other protestors fell back from the violence, but a dozen leapt forward. A few peeled off and began to upend chairs. The receptionist screamed and one went over and threw over her table, knocking her off the chair.

  Patients and visitors stood up, some shouting. Some tried to get away. A few tried to stop what was clearly a riot in the making.

  Bash stood rooted to the spot, watching, horrified. A man spun out from the central knot of violence and staggered. He caught himself, looked around, and caught sight of Bash.

  It was the troglodyte father. He pointed at Bash. “There he is.”

  Bash turned and ran in the clearest direction he could see. He didn’t plan. It was an animal stampede of pure unthinking terror. By the time his mind came back to him, he was on the street, running for his life, with at least a dozen people running after him, a half-block back. He could hear shouts and the sound of breaking glass behind him. He spared a thought of concern for Dr. E, but he kept running.

  He realized the best thing to do was to lead this part of the mob away from the hospital, away from Dr. E and the innocent patients. If they caught up to Bash, he was in bad trouble. But the innocent didn’t need to get hurt along with him.

  He heard the thumping sound of a helicopter behind him. He could hear the crowd, too, their yells, the word “faggot” and the word “God.” The chopper noise built and with a roar, the medical evac helicopter swooped over his head, spinning dust into his eyes.

  Though blurry vision, he saw the chopper about to land in the street, a half-block ahead. He thought, get out of my way, damn you. And then he saw the medic at the open door, waving at him. Waving him inside.

  The crowd hot on his heels, Bash put on a last burst of speed and ran for the medic. Just as he leapt for the door and grabbed at its edges, he felt it lifting. He hauled himself half in, grabbed for the seat. His feet scrambled for purchase. He could feel the chopper lifting. The medic grabbed the collar of his scrubs and shouted something at him, lost in the noise of the rotor.

  Bash screamed “Help!” as the engine noise went up in pitch. He could feel the thing swing around and rise more, with him barely hanging on. His feet scrambled
for purchase on the side of the machine.

  His grip slipped, and he thought he’d fall, flashing on Gale and how torn up he’d be. He was accepting that he was about to be horribly injured, just as his feet found the landing skids. His hands caught the door. Hanging on in the open door, feeling the medic hanging on to his scrubs, Bash tried not to look down. The chopper skimmed thirty feet above the street, away from the angry mob.

  All things considered, he thought, I’d rather die in a three-story fall from a moving helicopter than be torn limb from limb by a mob of crazed bigots. He closed his eyes and put all his energy into hanging on.

  Long, tense seconds later, he sensed the chopper coming down. The engine noise changed pitch, and he felt the bump as the thing landed. He opened his eyes to see a bare field under them, stubbles of corn against damp dark soil. Farmland, so they had to be at least a mile from the hospital.

  The medic helped him scramble into the front seat next to the pilot. “Belt in,” he heard someone say. It took him a few moments to figure out the seat harness, but he finally got it. With shaking hands, he snapped himself in. Someone behind him handed him a headset and he slapped it on.

  The pilot was talking to him. “What was going on down there? They were chasing you?”

  “They hate me because I’m gay. Some religious people,” said Bash.

  “Christ,” said the pilot. “Idiots. Anybody with half a brain knows that if your religion preaches hatred, it’s the wrong religion.”

  Another voice, the medic’s, came on. “We were supposed to pick up an injury.”

  “Right,” said Bash. “A compartment injury. She needs to get out today.”

  “We’ll get you someplace safe first,” said the pilot. “Where to?”

  Bash’s mind was reeling with fear, still, and it took him a few seconds to an answer. “There’s a landing site at the Walmart parking lot, about a mile due south of here, next to the city government. It’s where supplies are brought in. Go there.”

  He had to direct the pilot toward the interstate, and then he followed it until Bash saw the Walmart and the tents of the EOC. “Right there.”

  The pilot landed the machine and he thanked both him and medic profusely.

  When he got out, he ran over to the center of the EOC and said to the radio operator, “You have to get the police to the hospital. There’s a riot.”

  Then Gale was there, and he was in his arms, safe. The relief made him cry, and the fear he had felt came out in gulping sobs.

  “What?” Gale was saying. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  Bash pulled himself together, wiped his face, and told him what had happened at the hospital.

  Gale’s face turned to stone. “I’ll kill them. I swear.”

  “They’ll kill you, more than likely. There’s two of us and dozens of them.”

  A nearby fat woman said, “There’s more than two of you. We all have your back.”

  “I have to talk to Flint,” said Gale.

  “We should get safe,” said Bash. “You didn’t see them. They might know about you. They could come here next.”

  Gale was clearly torn. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  “If it isn’t safe here, it’s even less safe there.” He turned to the fat woman. “You have the EOC.”

  “Sure. Just take care of your fella.”

  Gale led him over to his car. They drove away from the EOC. Gale seemed to know where he was going.

  “What are we going to do? Do you think it’ll pass, or…?”

  “I won’t take that chance with you. As of now, you are retired from public service in this town.”

  Bash said. “The girls! Oh no, do you think they’re at risk?”

  “No. They’re at the school with a hundred people or more around them. But I’ll make sure they’re okay. Just as soon as you’re safe.”

  “Will I be safe until we can get out of this town?”

  “Same old argument,” said Gale, but his voice was kind and he smiled at Bash.

  He appreciated the effort. “This may admittedly be a little worse than not having anyone to invite to a brunch.”

  “A little,” said Gale.

  Bash managed the first deep breath he’d been able to take in ten minutes. “Shit, Gale, I thought I was going to die. You should have seen them.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Gale said, “with my new gun in my hand.”

  “Don’t even think such a thing.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I’m safe. Let’s try not to make it any worse.”

  “They’ll see justice. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Fine. Just don’t get yourself hurt doing it.”

  The car pulled over in front of a frame house, and Gale looked in the rearview mirror, then all around them. “Wait here. If you see anyone, duck down out of sight.”

  “Where are we?” asked Bash, but Gale was already out of the car and halfway to the front door. He knocked on it, and it opened. Bash tried to see in but couldn’t. After a short conversation, Gale trotted back to the car and motioned Bash out. Then he rushed him up the walk and into the open front door. It shut with a squeak behind them.

  “Bash, George. George, this is my husband, Bash.”

  Bash shook hands as a woman came in through a back entrance.

  Gale said, “And this is Marilyn. They’re the ham radio people I’ve told you about.”

  “Of course,” said Bash. “So nice to meet you.”

  George said to Marilyn, “Sweetie, they need our help.”

  Gale explained to the woman what had happened. “I need someplace to hide Bash. I thought no one would guess he’s here. I don’t trust that he’s safe at our house. Not today. Not tonight. Maybe not for awhile.”

  “Of course,” Marilyn said. “We’d be happy to help. We even have a spare bedroom, if you don’t mind sharing it with some boxes of radio parts.”

  Bash said, “You’re too kind.” He turned to Gale. “You really don’t think they’d come to our house?”

  “I know they would.”

  “But won’t they be arrested?”

  “If I have anything to say about it,” said Gale. “But others will get away, and there may be others out there just as hateful and dangerous.”

  “If I’m not safe, you’re not safe. And you’re more visible. Surely you won’t keep working?”

  “I have to.”

  A wave of weakness swept over Bash. “Do you mind if I sit?” he asked Marilyn.

  “Of course, here,” she said, pointing him to an easy chair.

  Bash collapsed into it and took some deep breaths.

  “I’ll get you both some coffee,” said Marilyn. “You look like you could use it.”

  “Try and get Flint on the radio, please,” said Gale to George.

  Bash rested his eyes, trying to calm his nerves. He was just feeling a full reaction now, having a chance to think about what had nearly happened to him. A wave of guilt over damage done to the hospital swept over him. But no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t his fault, not at all. It was theirs. All he had been doing was his job.

  He felt a touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Marilyn offering him a steaming cup. “Instant coffee,” she said.

  “Thank you.” He reached for the hot drink and cradled it in his hands, oddly comforted by the heat coming off the crockery and into his fingers. “You’re awfully nice to offer to help out.”

  “We’re happy to. We really like Gale,” she said.

  He took a sip of the coffee. It tasted stale and flat, but it was somehow reassuring to drink something warm. He shivered. “Do you have an afghan or blanket? I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a little — “ He wasn’t sure what. Weak. Faint. Aftermath of the jolt of adrenaline.

  She left the room and came back with a fleece throw. “Here you go.”

  He pulled it over his chest and arms and focused his attention on Gale, talking
into the radio about the attack on him at the hospital, his anger obvious in his clipped words. When he signed off, the three of them stood around Bash’s chair.

  Gale said, “The riot’s contained. He’ll do what he can arresting people. He’s happy to hold people for a day or two, just to cool them off, even if there’s not a reasonable charge to make against some of them.”

  “Fools,” said George.

  Gale looked at the man. “I don’t feel good about imposing on you. If it gets out that Bash is here….” He shook his head. Turning to Bash, he said, “I think we should get you out on the last evac helicopter today. Or on the supply helicopter tomorrow morning, at the latest.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.” He set his coffee cup on a nearby table. “I won’t leave you.”

  “We can keep him well hidden here,” said Marilyn. “Like as not, this thing at the hospital will blow over.”

  “I hope,” said Gale. “But people are hungry, and angry, and irrational, and wanting to blame someone.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “There’s no one to blame.”

  “Gale,” said Bash, “What about the girls?”

  “We’re going to need to find another place for them to stay, that’s for sure.”

  “They can stay here,” said Marilyn.

  Gale was shaking his head. “No. They need to not even know where Bash is.”

  “They wouldn’t tell those people,” said Bash.

  “Not on purpose. They’re teenage girls, though. They might let something slip. And if they are seen coming and going from here, it’ll get around.”

  “I can’t just let them go.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to. For their sake. For your own.”

  Bash couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. “Can’t I talk to them? Explain?”

  “I’ll explain to them. They’ll understand, I think.”

  All the things that might happen flashed through Bash’s mind. Another quake. The girls getting hurt, or worse. He himself getting out without ever being able to say goodbye to them. He grabbed his forehead with both palms and pressed hard. “Haven’t we all been through enough?”