The Changing Earth Series (Book 1): Day After Disaster

by Hathaway, Sara F.

  “I didn’t know what to do and it weighed a ton, but I knew I had to get out. My mind wanted to panic but somewhere inside me a calm came over me. My eyes adjusted as much as possible to the darkness of the shelter and I swiveled my head around, scanning for anything that could help me. In the shadows, I thought saw a milk crate that had been used to transport the wine to the rack. It didn’t look too far out of reach; all I needed to do was free my right hand, so I could reach it. Heaving up on the oak rack again, I only tried to move it enough to move my arm. The little bit I could push it up was enough to squeeze my hand up toward my head.

  “I couldn’t hold the rack up for long though and when I let it go I only had one arm to support the weight of the oak and it fell hard onto my ribs, ripping the air out of my lungs. After catching my breath, I was even more concerned with having a look at my body. I needed to find out if I was seriously hurt because right then it felt like every bone in my body was broken. Pushing the pain away, I reached out for the crate. I knew that it was essential to get a good grip on it and pull it directly toward myself. I didn’t want to push it away.

  “All in one movement, I thrust the rack up and grabbed the crate. My fingers slid through the square holes and I pulled it closer. The next step would be the most critical part of my wine rack escape. I gathered all my strength, got the crate into position, and said a prayer to God, asking for his help. I shoved as hard as I could. It was working. I moved the oak rack higher than ever before. With extreme precision, I held the rack with one hand and slammed the crate into a space just barely big enough for it to fit with the other. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see it next to my shoulders.

  “A huge load had been lifted off my chest, but I still couldn’t breathe easily. The incredible weight of the oak rack was only being held by one tiny milk crate and I saw it begin to bend under the heavy load. Anticipation and adrenaline took control of my emotions. Even though my legs were still pinned, I knew I would be free soon.

  “The next step was not nearly as critical but even more physically straining. I devised a process of pushing up enough on the rack that I could keep sliding the crate further and further toward my legs. Then the crate, straining and bending under the pressure, finally reached the middle of the rack. Working the rack like a teeter-totter I rocked it back, so it rested on my chest and I slowly bent my stiffened legs up. Honestly, I was amazed my left leg moved and more importantly, it meant that despite the throbbing pain emanating from it the bone was not broken. After my legs were curled up into a ball, I rocked the rack back and wormed my way out. I was free!

  “I tried to stand immediately, my exuberance overcoming all pain, but I quickly fell back to the frigid cement. My legs were too stiff from days of being pinned to support the weight of my body. I laid there for a moment, gathering my strength. Then I tried to stand again, but slower this time. Straightening my back out, I smelt a horrible stink. In the dark I couldn’t tell where the smell was coming from or how bad my body was hurt.

  “I stumbled over to the table in the center of the room and found my purse on a shelf nearby. Pulling out a lighter, I found a candle that was left on the table and lit it. Looking down at myself it was obvious why there was such a horrible smell in the air. My clothes were completely stained with wine. My favorite white blouse, that I always took such good care of, so it wouldn’t get stained, was now wrecked. Even my black pants looked brown because they absorbed so much wine off the floor. I checked my body over closely. Nothing was broken or too abnormal looking, but I had a deep laceration down my left leg and my left arm was very bruised and sore. The cut was scabbed and looked good. Appreciating the fact that I was just sore and not badly wounded, I sat back, lit up a smoke, and puffed deeply. Halfway through the smoke, I kicked myself. I should have been trying to get the hell out of there.

  “I sprang to my feet, but moved a little more cautiously when the pain reminded me that I was pretty beat up. I gingerly climbed the stairs to the landing at the top. This area was shaped like a square and featured the big metal door that I hated. Everything around me seemed so cold and dark and I couldn’t wait to bust through the heavy door into the brightly lit kitchen. As I reached for the door, I had a sickening feeling that it was not going to budge. When my suspicions proved correct, I lost it. I threw myself on the floor and cried so hard I didn’t know if I would ever stop. My struggle had not ended by freeing myself from the wine rack, it had just begun. Crying wasn’t going to get me anywhere and determination took over again. I slammed into the door as hard as I could. Unmoved but clearly dented from my frantic efforts, the door stood quietly, unyielding.

  “Not knowing what to do next, I wondered why no one heard me banging. I cursed them for not opening the door for me. I tried to turn on the lights, but nothing happened. Frustrated, I flipped the switch over and over, hoping for a different result, but the light never came.

  “It was one thing after another. I thought I would never escape the nightmare. Then I remembered my cell phone. I figured I could call Vince and he could make sure I got help. I knew he must be worried sick about me anyway.

  “In my excitement, I launched down the stairs despite the throbbing in my leg. I scrambled back to my purse. As I turned it on, I sighed with relief, happy I remembered to charge it. I dialed the numbers and waited for the phone to start ringing. It dialed but then there was nothing but silence. I checked to see how many bars I had and make sure I really did charge it. Everything appeared to be okay, but it was still searching for service. Panicking, I shook the phone, like that was going to help. The phone always worked from in there before. There was power, but the signal wouldn’t connect. I cursed the air, wondering why this was happening to me. I knew I needed to stay calm; freaking out wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Relighting my smoke, I figured I would wait for it to find a signal. I sat and puffed, looking at the phone, willing it to find a signal, but it never did. I dialed over and over, hoping for different results, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. I tried to hit the emergency button to summon someone, anyone, but there was nothing except more eerie silence. The silence crept into every corner of my brain and I yelled out just to break it apart.

  “I figured I had no other choice but to wait until someone found me. I couldn’t just sit there, though; my mind needed something to think about besides getting the heck out of that hole. I looked at my stained clothes and realized I was hungry and thirsty too. More than that, I wondered how long I had been there already.

  “The weirdest thing of all is, when I checked my cell phone it was still on the same time and day when the earthquake happened. I couldn’t explain it. I don’t wear a watch anymore because I got so used to having my cell phone on me all the time. I was at a loss, looking at a stack of purses on the shelf.

  “Racked with indecision over whether I should look in them or not, I thought I would just look for a working cell phone and try not to look at anything else. I rummaged through the purses, trying not to be rude. Not one purse had a watch. All the cell phones I found had the same date and time and could not find service. I wasn’t even surprised by that, nothing had been going my way.

  “I figured if I was going to be there for a while, I needed to get myself cleaned up, my cuts tended to, and I was starving. There were clean uniforms in the cabinets, water in the jugs, and dry foods and fruits stored in the cupboards. If I had to wait for help, at least I would be clean and fed.

  “Excited to have something to do besides worry, I pulled a water jug over to a corner by the stairs. There was a drain there and I needed to test it to make sure it worked. I didn’t want the water left on the floor. It was in good working order. The first thing I did when I started scoping out the cupboards was eat. I started with a peach and crackers. Best darn peach I’ve ever eaten. After I was done I grabbed a new pair of pants and a t-shirt, a couple bowls, and some soap that they used in the hand pumps in the bathroom. I also found a first-aid kit that came in handy m
ore than once. The pants have that lovely jungle scene on them, but it was the only option. I didn’t have a new pair of socks, but I figured I could wash the ones I had on and hang them on the shelf to dry.

  “Having all the things I needed to give myself a makeshift cleaning, I went back to the drain and poured some of the water out of the jug into a big bowl. It looked cold and when I started to undress, I remembered that I forgot a towel. There were no full-sized towels, so I had to make do with the dish towels. Anyway, I’m standing there naked from the waist up, and all I could think of was this is when the rescue was going to come and find me naked in the bomb shelter giving myself a cat bath.” Erika blushed, thinking she should have skipped that part of the story.

  “I worked quickly to get the job done. I dipped the little bowl into the big bowl and poured it over me. The first time I did it, I almost went through the ceiling. It was so cold, but I kept going until I was drenched. I hate cold showers so much. Even when it’s one hundred degrees outside, I make the shower just as hot. But I didn’t have any hot water and I was gross. The cuts I sustained needed to get cleaned. I washed my hair with that hand soap too. I knew it was going to be a snarly mess, but at least it would smell better than sour wine. The cold water was almost unbearable when I washed off again, but I was clean.

  “My body was shaking so bad that I just threw on the clothes, not even bothering with undergarments. The uniform pants were baggy, and the pant leg rolled far enough up my leg to expose the cut on the left one. I splashed some hydrogen peroxide on the gash and it bubbled like crazy. I did it again and then wrapped it up in some gauze. It’s healed pretty well now,” Erika commented.

  Carol and Henry sat enraptured by her story. Carol replied, “I noticed it when we were pulling your melted clothes off that area,” but she seemed irritated with the delay, so Erika continued.

  “I washed my clothes and socks, but I immediately regretted taking the time to wash my socks. They were the only ones I had, and that floor was freezing. I couldn’t wait for my socks to dry; I had to get something on my feet. You know, oven mitts make pretty good slippers,” Erika chuckled with Carol and Henry.

  “I was still starving so I grabbed some nuts and fruit from the cupboard. I could have really gone for a nice juicy steak, but the freezer wasn’t in the shelter. I did have a loaf of bread that the employees had stashed down there, though. There were cups down there and nice new knives, still in their cardboard casings. I took everything over to the table and went to fill my cup with water. Once I began drinking, I gulped down glass after glass. I was so dehydrated. I took a glass of water over to the table and ate. When I was done, I had nothing else to do besides smoke and think.

  “Smoking made the shelter really stuffy and I only had a pack left so I started conserving them and only taking a couple of puffs each time I lit one. I knew there were more in the purses, but I still thought someone might come find me and they would know that I went through their things. However, I really doubt that they would have cared. I decided to leave them for now and cross that bridge later if I needed to. It was difficult to pass time away in that hole by yourself. Plus, I didn’t even know day from night. It was enough to make a person go crazy. I’m not usually a drinking person but at that time I needed one. I went and checked through the remnants of the wine rack debacle and found half a dozen full ones. Of course, the restaurant had extra corkscrews stored up, so I was in business. The first bottle I drank was a bottle of Merlot. Ironically, it was the same bottle that I came to get in the first place, the bottle that had started this whole fiasco. Filling my glass, I sat back to think.

  “I couldn’t imagine what kind of damage the quake caused and why my rescue was taking so long. Living in California, you get used to little tremors, but this was entirely different. I thought a lot about the earth, rotating on its course outlined in the depths of space and what a precious miracle of life it is. The planet has provided for generations of countless species, but humans are different. I’ve always wondered if the way we take the Earth’s materials and rearrange them on the continental plates causes different stress over time. I mean, when you put too much water behind a dam in an area that hasn’t had that much water in it before, there is a chance for a reservoir-induced earthquake. I just think there is no way that all our mining, reshaping, and building probably didn’t help the planet’s natural process. But that’s neither here nor there.

  “I started buzzing from the wine, and I couldn’t quit thinking of my husband. He would have been calling me a ‘cheap date’ because I was always such a lightweight when it came to drinking. I thought about my son and how he would be asking for me. The more I drank, the more my thoughts dwelled on my family and how much I missed being with them. Seldom am I alone and I don’t really like it when I am.

  “Tired and half drunken, I looked for a place to rest, but the bunker was concrete, and the sleeping platform was removed a long time ago. All I could find in the cabinets to make a bed out of were cloth napkins and a few tablecloths. At least it was something to separate me from the cold floor. I made a pile of napkins on the floor. Then I covered them with two of the tablecloths. To top it all off, I stacked a bundle of cook’s shirts on top. Polishing off the last of the wine in the bottle, I snuggled in between the tablecloths.

  “I dreamt about my family. I was in my little house, cooking dinner. Dexter was running all over the house and I began scolding him for getting into the cupboards. I told him to go and play with his toys. As he rounded the corner and left my sight, Vince rounded the corner and came into it. My eyes soaked in every detail of his figure. I ran over to him, holding him in an embrace that left me glowing with his love. He stepped back from me and stared directly into my soul with his hazel eyes that have these yellow stars outlining his pupils. He said in a low rumble, ‘Come home to me. I will always be here waiting for you. I will never leave without you. I love you and I know you will come home to me.’

  “I woke up overwhelmed with the reality of the dream. I knew he was okay and out there looking for me. I was so hungover, though. I vowed I would never drink again,” Erika chuckled.

  “Getting up stiff and sore, my head was throbbing. I was going to take some Tylenol but decided I would suffer through it. I didn’t know how long I would be there and how badly I might need it later. Instead, I drank a lot of water and ate fruit. The fruit was already starting to go bad, so I figured I might as well eat it. Usually the fruit baskets were replenished every week, but it did not appear that the new supplies would not be coming any time soon.

  “There was no sense of time down there in that hole. I felt like I had been asleep in my little nest for a week and my mind was groggy and slow. It started messing with my mind, big time. I had no idea how long I was under the wine rack, no idea how long I was awake or asleep. I assumed that days had to be passing out there. I would rummage through the cabinets for food when I was hungry and sleep whenever I was tired. There were some books that my boss stored in the cabinets, and I read them all to pass the time while I was waiting to be rescued.

  “My thoughts always seemed to go back to how I was going to escape. I tried and tried but I could not get that door open. Watching my food stocks deplete, I knew I would have to figure out something soon.

  “My mind was going crazy. I talked to myself just to break the silence. I’m claustrophobic and I was getting more and more irritated with the confinement. I asked God what I had done to deserve such punishment, but there was no answer. I wanted to see the sun so badly. I love to be outside and all I wanted was to see a forest again. When my thoughts overwhelmed me, I would cry and yell at the door that seemed to taunt me. Then I would think of my family, Vince and Dexter: I was determined to see them again. I think my focus on them was the only thing that stopped me from going absolutely crazy down there.

  “In that concrete cell, there was nothing to do but think. I stared endlessly at the space in front of the heavy metal door. It didn’t appear that big. I s
tarted thinking about when I was young. My brother, Bob, used to lock me out of the bathroom. I would wedge myself between the door and the hallway wall and push as hard as I could. My back would create pressure against the door and my feet, pushing against the drywall, would give me more power. The lock barely held in its metal casing, so the door would fly open giving me access to the bathroom. At least thinking about the past would make me smile. It was times like these that I would allow myself to indulge in my depleting supply of cigarettes.

  “One day, I woke up with a new determination. I was now rather certain that no one was ever going to come to rescue me. I felt like I had been locked down there for years and if I didn’t escape soon, I was going to lose my mind for good. I knew either I had to get out of there or die trying. I figured once I got myself out the concrete cell, I would be home free. I would get in my car and put an end to the nightmare. It would all be so easy. All I had to do was get through that door.

  “I decided to splurge and light more candles so that I could illuminate the upper landing as well as the bottom area of the shelter. Then I stared at the door so hard, thinking maybe it would melt under the intensity of my stare. Figuring out I wasn’t a superhero, I tried pushing again as I had done so many times before, but it was useless. I needed more force. I kept thinking of the story of my brother and how I would get into the bathroom. I sat down in the position similar to the one I used when I was young. I just barely filled the space in front of the door, but I couldn’t reach the door handle and use all my strength to push at the same time. The door handle was not a round one but one that jutted out from the door in an “L” shape. I figured that if I could hook a string to it I could pull on the string, it would turn the door handle, while I was pushing from a sitting position.