At least the skinny part isn’t true anymore. You made sure of that once college rolled around.
His phone rang a few minutes before noon, as Kit had known it would. He had his lunch routine down to a science. Hitting the answer button, he held the phone up to his ear. “This is Kit.”
“Hey, Kit. I have your food.”
It was Pat on the other end. Kit recognized his pitchy, late-puberty voice well.
Usually, Kit took all ten flights of stairs down to retrieve his lunch, but today, he wasn’t in the mood. Perhaps he’d spent all his energy brooding. “Will you please take the elevator up to the eleventh floor? I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He’d tip extra for making the poor guy come to him.
Pat agreed and hung up. Kit left his phone on the desk and exited his office. It was freezing in the hallway for some reason. This building’s idea of climate control was to cycle through every kind of climate several times a day. Right now, it was set to tundra.
Kit strolled down the hall, and—after briefly pausing by Chance’s desk to ogle him and coo at Marci’s girls—made his way to the lobby. There, he slid his hands into his pockets and watched the lights above the elevator change, indicating what floor it was on. He nodded at a few colleagues who walked past him as he waited, and a minute later, the elevator doors parted.
Pat disembarked and smiled when he saw him, greasy hair falling over his eyes. “Hey, Kit. How’s your day going?”
“Pretty good. Another day in paradise. How’s the weather looking out there?”
“Unseasonably hot.” Pat fanned himself before holding up a brown paper bag.
Kit took it in both hands. “I’ll trade you. You can be here in the air-conditioning, and I’ll go for a drive with the windows down.”
“Deal.” Pat pulled a pen out of his pocket.
Kit signed the receipt—leaving a generous tip, true to his word—and handed it and the pen back. “Have a good day. Stay cool.”
“You too.” Pat hit the button for the elevator, and the doors opened right away. He moved to step inside.
“One second.” Kit had opened the bag and was pawing through it. “Did I remember to order the sauce on the side? I thought I did.”
Kit wouldn’t know this until much later, but by asking that question, he’d saved Pat’s life.
Pat turned back, letting the elevator doors close behind him. “That’s what it says on the receipt. If it’s wrong, I can get you another one.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to be that guy who causes a fuss over sauce. I’ll survive.”
Pat laughed. “I wish all my customers were like you. Have a nice day.”
Before either of them could turn away once more, it happened.
No warning. No build up. No chance to prepare.
The ground beneath Kit’s feet—the stable, dependable ground that had never once failed him—suddenly became a wave. A rolling, unstable vibration seemed to push at him even as he remained still. Kit froze, stomach churning as the sensation shook his very bones.
Panic erupted within him. It felt instinctive, like a prehistoric reaction that he hadn’t realized was hardwired into his brain. Fear clawed its way into his skull and overran his every thought.
The whole world seemed to shake. Pictures fell off the walls, furniture skittered across the tile, and ceiling tiles crashed around them.
For what felt like years, Kit was too shocked to think. Then a word floated into his head as if drifting through thick fog. He’d lived in California all his life. He knew what this was.
“Earthquake.”
Kit felt his lips move, but he couldn’t hear himself over the din. People were starting to wake up from their stupor, same as him. Someone screamed, and from the distance came the sound of shattering glass. With an ugly, crunching sound unlike anything Kit had ever heard, a crack appeared in the wall next to him, spider-webbing all the way to the hall.
The crack broke whatever spell had frozen Kit in place. He grabbed Pat’s hand and yanked him away from the elevator just as it made a horrifying creaking noise. He hadn’t known metal could creak like wood, but there was no other way to describe it.
“Get down!” he shouted as he fell to his knees, pulling Pat with him. The old earthquake safety slogan repeated in his head. Stop, cover, hold. Stop, cover, hold.
Pat’s eyes were huge behind his curtain of hair. Kit wasn’t sure if Pat had allowed himself to be dragged down or if he was too stunned to resist. Either way, they hit the ground as the ceiling spat plaster and wood fragments at them.
“Cover your head!” Kit ordered, throwing his own arms up. He had no idea if anyone could hear him. He blinked through the dust and tried to make out what everyone else was doing.
Between the blinding panic coursing through him and the overhead lights blinking out one by one, he couldn’t see much. It didn’t help that the quake seemed to rattle his brain, shaking up his thoughts so badly he couldn’t set them straight.
Another scream, and then the sound of footsteps told Kit that people were stampeding for the stairs.
This was mayhem. Kit couldn’t remember all the shit he’d learned in school about what to do during a quake, but he knew to get down and stay down, not run like a frightened herd of animals. Someone was going to get trampled for sure.
As he thought that, part of the ceiling caved in. The air filled with powdered cement and debris. Something hit him right at the base of his skull, and he shut his eyes on reflex. When he opened them again, the lobby was dark.
People were screaming in earnest now, shoving their way to the exits. Not just the stairs, either. A few of them had gotten the elevator doors open and were climbing inside. In their desperation, they must not have cared that it wasn’t safe.
People are going to get hurt, Kit thought, brain sluggish with fear. People could die. Someone has to do something.
But what?
Kit covered his nose with his sleeve and took a deep breath. If there was ever a time to prove he wasn’t a coward, this was it.
12:03 p.m., Monday, August 13th
The sound of cracking stone and panicked voices was deafening. Chance didn’t dare peek out from beneath his desk to see what was happening. He had one of its legs in a death grip while his free arm was wrapped around Shana. It had only been a few seconds since they’d felt the first tremor, but it seemed like hours.
Marci was huddled under the desk next to him, her whole body wrapped around Ranelle’s tiny frame. Before the lights had cut out, Chance had caught her eye, and the fear there had said it all: this was bad.
The building around them was heaving, coughing up detritus like phlegm. Window after window blew out. Each one sounded like a miniature explosion and showered the ground in glass. Ranelle was screaming at the top of her infant lungs, and Chance wanted to join her.
The noise that worried him the most, however, came from above and below. He swore he could hear the foundation of the building shifting, could feel it in his teeth. The ceiling was caving in even as the floor threatened to buckle. He could only pray the concrete between the levels held, or it would crush them all.
Shana’s little fingers were digging into his arm like paring knives, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from her. Instead, he held her closer and whispered against her hair. Nonsense and reassurances. He wasn’t fully certain what he was saying himself, or if she could hear him. He tried to get his message across anyway: It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.
And then, it was over as quickly as it had begun.
The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds, and yet Chance felt like a year of his life had flashed by. There was still a faint groaning in the air—perhaps the building hadn’t finished settling yet—but the disconcerting pulsations had stopped.
Chance drew a breath that fought him all the way down. His lungs burned, and his eyes stung with tears. He was numb, and yet his body seemed to think he was experiencing every emotion at on
ce. His limbs shook, wetness rolled down his cheeks, and when he exhaled again, it sputtered like a dying car engine.
Next to him, Marci’s form shifted in the dim light. “Is it over?”
“I think so.” Chance stuck his head out to survey the scene. He promptly whacked himself on a stray piece of wood that had clattered onto his desk. He bit back a curse and tried again, more carefully.
In a cruel display of irony, the light above Chance’s desk flickered on long enough for him to get a glimpse. What he saw stilled the air in his lungs.
It looked like something out of a movie. Everything was destroyed. The rubble spilling over the ground would have made for a decent obstacle course. But what struck him the most was how unreal it seemed. He’d experienced it firsthand, and still he found himself wondering if this was actually happening.
There was no one in sight, but he could hear raised voices coming from every direction. The others must have fled for the stairs. A stale, artificial smell filled the air: dry wall and metal and something like lightning. Electricity? God, he hoped there weren’t any live wires dangling around, or they were in big trouble.
“That felt like it was bad, Chance.” Marci was looking around with wild eyes, like she expected something to attack her.
“Yeah. It looks like it was.”
They were on the eleventh floor. For them to have felt the shaking this clearly, it had to have been a hell of an earthquake. He could only imagine what the people on the ground floor had felt, assuming they weren’t rattled right out of their skin.
“What should we do?”
“I don’t know.” He swallowed. His throat was dry from his labored breathing, or dust, or both. He forced himself to think, but his brain was full of static. “I guess . . . we should get to an exit. The stairs, or maybe the fire escape.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
Neither of them moved.
Chance’s legs might as well have been superglued to the ground. Maybe the vibrating had locked his muscles, or maybe the fear had. He’d never thought there would come a time when the idea of being crammed under his desk was more appealing than being anywhere else. He needed to pull himself together.
A small sound reached his ears: Shana was whimpering.
He looked down. She had her little fist balled in his shirt, eyes clenched shut. She was shaking so badly, she might not have even realized the quake was over.
It was like getting ice water dumped over his head. “Shana, are you all right? Does anything hurt?”
She sniffled and shook her head without opening her eyes.
Marci shuffled closer and stroked her daughter’s hair. “You’re going to be fine, baby. The bad part is over. If you give Chance your hand, we can all get out from under this desk.”
One finger at a time, she released Chance’s shirt and held out a small hand. He took it and, summoning up all the strength he had, scooched his way out from under the desk. He glanced to the right and saw Marci doing the same, though she had to move with one arm occupied by a squalling infant.
As soon as they were free of their impromptu shelter, a wave of fear descended on Chance. It was so dark. How were they ever going to find their way out of here?
Your eyes are already adjusting. Don’t panic. Panicking is the worst thing you can do right now.
He breathed through it—reminding himself that the worst had already happened—and immediately coughed.
From her pocket, Marci produced a pack of tissues and handed one to Shana. “Put this over your mouth, baby, so you don’t breathe in the dust.” She offered one to Chance, but he pulled his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose. She used her free hand to shield Ranelle’s mouth and went without herself. “Which way do you think we should go?”
Chance took an experimental breath through the fabric, and this time, he got more air than plaster. “We should try for the stairs in the lobby. I think that’s where everyone is. Once we get out of the building, everything will be fine.”
That last bit was for his own benefit as much as anyone else’s. Every second they were inside this building, they were in danger. They’d all had one piece of information drilled into their heads when they were kids. Earthquakes couldn’t kill you on their own. They couldn’t split the ground open and gobble you up. But they could topple buildings, and if you got crushed, or buried alive . . .
Chance shuffled out of their cubicle and peered down the hall. “There’s no light in either direction. What should we do?”
“Use the flashlight app on your phone, and I’ll lead the way.”
“You are brilliant.” Chance pulled his phone out of his pocket and shined it down the hall.
Marci picked her way carefully through the rubble. Chance scooped up Shana and trailed after her. The tile floor was only visible in patches, and what they could see was jutting up like crooked teeth. Chance changed his mind. This was way worse than any movie he’d ever seen, because this was real and right before his eyes.
They followed the sound of raised voices to the lobby. When they rounded the corner, they walked into pandemonium.
A grand total of three bulbs were still working in the patchwork ceiling, and they were flickering like strobes at a hellish disco. The way to the exit was blocked by people three deep. They roiled like an overturned anthill. The staircase was stuffed full as far down as Chance could see, lit by emergency floodlights. And everyone was trying to shove their way in all at once.
On the far side of the lobby, a familiar face stood out from the murk. Kit Gibbons had positioned himself in front of the elevator with both arms outstretched. Half a dozen people were pushing at him too, trying to get into the elevator, even though it had clearly shut off. The dented doors were half open, and the indicators above it were dark.
“You can’t use it!” Kit was bellowing above their cries. “Elevators aren’t safe after an earthquake. The cables could snap for all we know.”
“Let us through,” a red-faced man argued. He pressed forward.
Kit shouldered him back. “It’s not working anyway!”
“We can still try!”
“Wait to use the stairs like everyone else. You want to plummet eleven floors? The impact could bring the whole building down. You’d kill us all.”
At the mention of death, the crowd came to a boil. Angry voices rose up in the wake of Kit’s declaration. He was bigger than any of them, but he was outnumbered by a lot. Pretty soon, someone would try to shove him out of the way in earnest, and then a fight would break out.
Chance chewed on his lip. Everyone’s so panicked, they’re acting without thinking. Who knows what they’ll do if they get scared enough.
He looked between Kit and the packed stairs. The line wasn’t going anywhere. He had to help.
He set Shana down next to her mother. “I’ll be right back. If there’s a break in the line, forget about me, and run for it.”
Marci nodded, though her gaze was fixed on the stagnant sea of people trying to get out. He could see gears turning behind her eyes. In his head, her voice said what he’d been trying not to think: we’re never going to get out of here.
He picked his way over the minefield of debris and through the crowd. As soon as they realized where he was going, people tried to jostle him back. But thanks to determination and skinniness, he made it to the elevator.
“Kit.” Now that he was closer, Chance could see blood trickling down the side of Kit’s handsome face. “You all right?”
“Chance! Man, am I glad to see you.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “I’m fine. Trying to keep everyone from freaking out. You can see how well that’s going.”
Chance pointed at the stairs. “Why can’t anyone get out?”
“A wall caved in between the third and fourth floors, from what I hear. They’re trying to clear it.”
“They? Are there firefighters here? Police? Anyone?”
Kit shook his head. “Just the people in the bui
lding. A few others have tried calling 911, but there’s no service. No doubt, everyone in the city is out there doing the same thing. They’re probably in as bad of shape as we are.”
“Damn. What’s the plan?”
“Right now, everyone wants to get the hell out of here. And I mean everyone. Every floor in this building is trying to evacuate at the same time.”
“Oh God.” Chance wiped his mouth. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“Yeah. There are hundreds of people here on any given day. Everyone below us poured into the staircase at the same time, along with the floor above us. We wouldn’t have gotten out quickly even if the way was clear.”
“Yeah, like when you’re seated in the back of an airplane, and you have to wait for everyone ahead of you before you can leave.”
“Exactly. The way things look right now, it could take an hour or longer to evacuate.”
The crowd seemed to have heard them, because they renewed their jostling for the elevator.
Chance was pushed back against Kit’s broad, solid chest. He couldn’t even be happy about it, frantic as their situation was. They needed to think of something, fast.
He happened to glance toward the hallway. He could see shadows shifting. Figures moving in the dark. They were heading for the other side of the building. They must be going for the side staircase, or maybe the fire escape. Were those ways as packed as this one?
“Everyone!” To his surprise, his voice carried easily over the crowd. “There are two more ways out of the building that don’t involve waiting here or climbing into a broken elevator! In an orderly fashion, head for the other exits!”
“We already tried that,” called a woman’s voice. “They’re blocked off too. People are trying to free the way, but it’s slow going.”
“Is it slow going because you’re not helping them?”
His question was met with telling silence.
“You have two choices. You can wait here, like everyone else is doing, and get nowhere fast, or you can help clear the other exits and probably get out of here sooner.”
There was some grumbling, but a few people toward the back broke off and hurried away. At first, it seemed like Chance’s speech hadn’t had much of an effect, but once those few left, more followed. Soon, dozens of figures were rushing off, including all the ones who’d been fighting for the elevator.
On Solid Ground Page 3