by Pamela Davis
On their way back to California, they had stopped in Cape Fair to have lunch at a diner and had been enchanted with the old-fashioned feel of the place. When the real estate agent showed them the stone house, mountain rising behind it, Jessica and John knew this was a place to call home. It was a large house, too big for them, really, but it had everything they could want now and in the future. A beautiful kitchen that Jessica loved for its big bay window as much as the abundance of great appliances. A study for John, a large den with a stone fireplace and one wall of windows--and land, plenty of land.
John was a ruggedly handsome man, alternately perceived as an intellectual, college professor-type or as a field hand. Not many of their Cape Fair neighbors knew he was a successful science fiction writer, or if they did, they were too polite to comment on such an odd profession. John found that manual labor, such as digging post holes for the new fence, provided a necessary path to getting his creative juices flowing. He took his laptop computer into the fields in case a story idea came to him. Jessica often had to send Harry out looking for him at dinnertime. Harry was now used to the sight of John running dirt-covered hands through his dark brown, wavy hair, brown eyes looking slightly dazed and unfocused as he worked out an idea.
Jessica was a computer programmer/systems analyst who liked to say she'd escaped from cyberspace right before her brain turned into a circuit board. The pace and stress of life within the high-tech world led her to suggest to John that they buy some land and live out in the country. Born and raised in San Francisco, Jessica was exhausted from big city life and was also certain that California was not the safest place to live.
Baking bread, canning vegetables from her own garden, and raising a child brought Jessica more joy than she'd thought possible. Harry liked to watch her kneading the wheat bread dough that was her specialty. Inevitably, flour covered her naturally blond hair and five-foot, four-inch frame. Jessica was a fantastic cook, but her masterpieces seemed to require a kitchen that looked like Hannibal and his troops had marched through and engaged in some kind of bizarre food war. With the latest in communications technology installed, she was able to work from her computer as a consultant, rarely needing to leave home. Jessica felt she had the best of all worlds and was content for the first time in her life.
Until Samantha became ill and the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. Their sturdy little brown-eyed, blonde, inquisitive child became listless and pale, and then the fevers started. "FUO," the doctor had said, "fever of unknown origin." Rashes were the next stage, appearing and then vanishing. Jessica and John took Samantha to every expert they were referred to without success. Finally, Mrs. Philpott, their closest neighbor, came by with her famous chocolate chip cookies. "I think what you are looking at here is an environmental cause," she told Jessica. As she settled Samantha down on the couch with a glass of milk and the cookies, Jessica tried to think of a way to gracefully accept Mrs. Philpott's advice and get her out of the house. The white-haired older woman was known throughout the valley as an expert on baking and raising roses--a nice old lady spouting medical advice was not what Jessica needed.
"Before you get too busy to listen to an old lady's ravings, I should tell you I worked for the EPA for ten years before my retirement. I know what I'm talking about, Jessica, and you need to listen," said Mrs. Philpott firmly.
Listening intensely, Harry sat next to Mrs. Philpott. He didn't know what the EPA was, but he liked the sound of Mrs. Philpott's voice, like very definite music, music that knew where it was going. He knew Samantha was sick even before Jessica did, through the way the little girl smelled. It sounded like Mrs. Philpott knew what was wrong with Sam, something about things called pesticides. Maybe what he had smelled were the pesticides. As Mrs. Philpott talked, Harry watched Sam's mom get more and more upset.
"What are you telling me? That the government knows these chemicals aren't safe and still lets people use them? This is nuts! Our trees are sprayed with the same pesticide as everyone else in this valley. We were told it was ecologically safe!" Jessica said in tones of disbelief.
"It may pass certain standards, but Jessica, we are talking about chemicals here. Unnatural substances that we add to the earth, to the water, to the air. Do you remember back, oh, quite a few years ago, when the condors were becoming extinct? It was due to the thinning of the egg shells--thinning that was caused by a pesticide. Didn't you ever read any Rachel Carson in college? We have seen animals affected for years by numerous chemicals that are produced and used in the U.S. and other countries. Yet, we never seem to make the connection that we are animals, too! What affects other animals will also affect the human animal." Mrs. Philpott sighed. "Some scientists like myself have tried for years to make changes and raise public awareness. That was the main reason I took the position at the EPA. It took ten years for me to realize that bureaucracy and politics will never do much to stop all this."
"But...what...I don't even know how to react to this," Jessica said softly. The world didn't seem like a very real place to her at that moment.
Mrs. Philpott sat in the oak rocking chair that had belonged to Jessica's grandmother. As she rocked slowly back and forth, she looked over the tops of her gold-framed wire glasses to this woman she barely knew. She hoped she had judged Jessica's strength and intelligence correctly. Mrs. Philpott knew that for Jessica it was like she had brought a case of dynamite into the house instead of cookies. Watching the expressions fly across Jessica's face, seeing shock turn to anger and then to determination, she knew her information network had not failed her. Mrs. Philpott found that discussing gardening with people in town gave her access to all the local gossip. Over the years, she often used this gossip network to keep her informed about anyone new to the area. She wasn't a busybody--she was just an information junkie.
"What do you think I should do for Samantha? John and I have taken her to every specialist we could find," Jessica said.
Mrs. Philpott stood up and took Jessica's hand. "I know someone who is well-versed in the field of environmental diseases. He knows pesticide poisoning better than anyone else in the country. Try not to worry, dear. I think he may be able to help your Samantha."
Harry watched as Jessica hugged Mrs. Philpott and then wrote down the name and number of the doctor. He had known Mrs. Philpott was nice--she always gave him a treat when he went running out by her house. He wished one of the women would say what EPA stood for--extra pesticide area maybe? Just then Mrs. Philpott leaned over and looked him in the eye. "Now, Harry," she said, "you look after little Samantha here. Don't forget to come visit me." Harry wagged his tail. Mrs. Philpott smiled and walked to the back door. Opening it, she turned and said to Jessica, "You know, this is only the first step for you. Once Sam is well, I plan to spend more time with you and John. I think it's time you learned more about what we have done to the earth." That said she shut the door, leaving Jessica staring intently after her, curiosity replacing fear.
Kalahari Desert, Africa
"So, what she is saying is that she heard a message from the center of the earth telling them to leave?" Alex asked in disbelief.
"Basically, yes," Nathan replied. Both could speak the language of the Kung, but Nathan was more proficient at the nuances of the language.
Alex faced the old woman and asked, "Then why are you angry at us?"
Tiknay said slowly, "The danger comes from your people, the ones not of The People. They have caused the earth to hurt. They will not be allowed to do this anymore. You are of the people who hurt the earth. You will bring danger to us if you stay with the tribe."
Alex knew many other indigenous populations considered their tribe or race to be the one People, all others were the outsiders. The Elder Brothers, who lived high above the rainforests in South America, considered all other people to be their children and that they were the true people. She was not aware that the Kung had ever stated such an opinion before, and she knew that no tribe of Kung had ever refused to continue communication with
white researchers once the relationship had been established.
"You," said Tiknay, stabbing a finger toward Alex's chest, "you do not hear the music of the earth? You do not hear the cries of pain and sorrow?"
"Well, uh, no, I don't hear it," said Alex.
"Go back to your home, your land. The danger has already come there. You must be with your own people in the danger times ahead."
"Wait...what danger has come there?" asked Nathan.
Tiknay eyed him carefully, and then responded, "The ground shakes and moves, many die."
"An earthquake?" he asked, surprised. "There have been earthquakes before. We're used to that sort of thing happening."
"No! Not like now. No earth-shaking ever came like this. It is the beginning."
"Look, Alex and I need to talk--" Nathan began.
"You talk, then go," Tiknay replied. "We travel now."
"Hold on a minute--maybe--what if we want to come with you?" he asked.
"You cannot come with us. We will not feed you. You will starve and die. Go now, go back to your people," Tiknay said with finality, turning away.
Alex called out to her and watched helplessly as the tribe quickly moved away. Stunned, she turned back to Nathan, saying, "What now?"
Nathan tilted his head back to check on the position of the sun, and then said briskly, "How much gas do we have?"
"What? I don't know," Alex said dejectedly.
Nathan stood in front of her and grasped her shoulders. "Alex, come on, we need to make some decisions quickly here. Something strange is happening."
Alex interrupted him hotly. "You bet something strange is happening. We are the first team of anthropologists to fail so miserably in the history of the university. Don't you get it? Our careers just went down the toilet when they walked away. Who is going to fund us now?"
"Alex," Nathan said patiently, "this is bigger than funding. Think about what she said. Nobody has ever reported anything like this before. I think that old woman is on to something. Something unusual. You know these people are closer to nature, to the land, than we are. This behavior is totally atypical. It must be happening for a reason. I think we need to get back to civilization, to a phone, as quickly as possible. We need to check out her story."
Alex gazed at him, opening and closing her mouth for several seconds, trying to find the right words to annihilate his argument. "You're telling me you believe her--about the 'big earth-shaking'--"
"Yes!" Nathan said adamantly. "Yes, I do. And even if I'm wrong and she's wrong, don't you think we need to contact someone with more experience to see if this has ever happened before? Look, if we find out there have been no major earthquakes reported, then we can always find a way to track them down again. But following them without the proper supplies is crazy. The supply run was scheduled for next week. We don't have what we need to go after them and survive without their help. Come on, Alex," he finished in a wheedling tone.
"I hate this! But, okay, we'll do it your way. I don't know what else we can do. I think we have enough gas to get to Gaborone," Alex stated, capitulating. "But I want you to know, I have a bad feeling about this."
"Then, for once, that makes two of us," Nathan replied cheerily.
Climbing into the jeep, Alex said, "Well, don't just stand there, get in! I'll drive."
Nathan groaned.
Somewhere over the Western U.S.
As the C-130 aircraft lumbered through the night sky, Zack busied himself, checking the video equipment while surreptitiously watching Maria. He'd never seen such tension on her face before, features frozen into a mask of fear. Even in Bosnia, when sniper fire hit the camera, Maria had kept her cool. Zack knew part of her reason for staying in the business was the same as his--love of action and the next thrill, the next challenge. The exhilaration of almost dying meant you were alive.
Zack didn't want to lose that feeling. He remembered what it was like to feel dead inside. For two years after Karen died, Zack felt like he died with her. High school sweethearts, he and Karen married right after graduation, and then attended NYU together. She was going to be a nurse and he was studying geology. Then in their junior year, their lives were irrevocably altered by a man with a gun who pumped four bullets into Karen's body, all to steal a purse that held $21.36. Karen died instantly, but Zack seemed to die gradually from the grief and guilt. He was late picking her up that night, studying blind thrust faults in the library, so caught up in the subject that time got away from him. He arrived on the scene a few minutes after the police and would never forget the sight of Karen's body covered in blood. After that, nothing much mattered to him anymore. He bought a gun and spent hours on the practice range perfecting his aim as he visualized the killer's face on the target. He lost interest in school and dropped out. Amazingly, Karen's killer had been caught, tried and convicted, but even that couldn't assuage Zack's rage.
After six months of therapy, he decided to return to college, but couldn't face studying anything from the time that reminded him of Karen. A change in major led ultimately to video journalism and an internship at SNN as a cameraman. Zack found that the adrenaline rush of live reporting, filming the action as it happened, gave him a sense of being real again. Somehow, seeing the world's events through the lens of a camera gave him the distance to finally heal.
He wondered how Maria would react if her parents had been injured or killed in the earthquake. Zack could not recall ever hearing of an earthquake this large before, and the likelihood was that Maria's parents were going to be among many dead and wounded. He looked across his cameras to Maria and realized that along with the fear written across the delicate features of her face was the strength and courage he had come to recognize as an integral part of her personality. No, he thought, she won't crack, won't come apart, no matter what we find in Los Angeles.
Gaborone, Africa
"It can't be," said Alex, shaking her head in denial. "There's got to be some mistake."
They had made it to the town and, by a minor miracle, Nathan had gotten through to his folks on the telephone. His parents relayed the astounding and horrifying information that an earthquake had indeed hit the U.S., right under their University from the sound of it, an epicenter in Los Angeles.
"I can't believe it, either," Nathan said, his pale blue eyes bleak, thinking of their friends back home. "But Mom said the reports on SNN were that it was huge quake. They're supposed to have pictures soon. TV networks are sending people, cameras out there now. They're not sure how hard it will be to even get into the city, Alex. It sounds bad, really bad."
"What--what do we do now?" Alex asked, shaken, sounding lost for the first time since Nathan had known her.
Nathan didn't know anything about Alex's family; she never spoke of them. He decided now was not the time to ask. Instead, he said, "My parents suggested we come back to the states. Re-group there and figure out where to go and what to do next. We're welcome to stay with them. Let's just try not to think about L.A. too much and focus instead on getting ourselves on the series of airplanes it's going to take to get home."
Alex took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "You're right. We can't help them from here. And our work with the tribe is at a standstill, if not finished forever. Let's go." And with that they headed out to the jeep to the small local airport to negotiate their first leg of a long journey home.
Los Angeles suburb, California
"No," she whispered. "Please, God, don't let them be in there."
Maria climbed gingerly over cracked asphalt and tree trunks, scrambling to reach her parents' house a hundred yards in the distance. The house resembled a crumpled piece of twisted modern art. Rescue workers were not even close to the suburb, and Maria told the network she had to find her parents before she would go on the air. Zack had hijacked a network van and drove to within a mile of the house. It took an hour to clamber through the devastated neighborhood.
"Maria, slow down!" Zack shouted. Throwing aside branches
from the downed trees, he muttered to himself, "She is going to break her neck and then who will they blame? Me. We're supposed to broadcast now, dammit. Oh, hell, if it were my parents, I wouldn't listen to the network, either."
The house was almost flattened. Zack caught up to Maria, who was standing stock-still in front of what used to be the garage. Tears slid down her face as she pointed straight ahead. Zack followed her gaze and saw the back end of a red Toyota. The garage had caved in on most of the car.
"They were home. That's their car, Zack. You know, I kept thinking they might have gone out of town or something. Maybe they were on one of those fishing trips Dad loves to take. But they were home."
No one stirred on the street, not a sound was heard as Maria silently sobbed. Zack looked at the massive destruction surrounding them, thinking it resembled a bad horror movie after Godzilla, using houses as stepping stones, had stomped his way down the street.
"Come on," she said, grabbing his arm. "I have to find them, have to know for sure. They would have been asleep, and their bedroom is over there on the left side of the house...under that big cypress tree that's down."
"You don't want to wait for the rescue people or police. No, I can see that you don't," Zack said after looking intently into brown eyes turned almost black with emotion. "Okay, then, let's do it."
A narrow passageway supported by wood beams shaped like a pyramid gave them access to the demolished bedroom.
"Look out--broken glass there, must be from the window."
"I see it."
"Almost there. I think I can see something. Oh."
"What can you see? Are they in there? Mama? Dad?"
Zack rocked back on his heels. "Umm...Maria, I don't think you should go in there. It's...well, oh, man, it's not good."
She stared at him, at the sudden furrowed brow, the tightening of skin around his mouth, beads of sweat popping out above his upper lip. Gray-blue eyes returned her gaze, and she remembered the look--the same way he'd looked after going inside the bombed out orphanage in Bosnia.