It occurred to her that there were worse things than witnessing and surviving a disaster of this proportion. Dozens of people had just fallen to their deaths, and that was horrific, but she didn’t know any of them. The same might not be true for Mateo. Had he lost a close friend or family member?
“Were you with someone?” she asked, sniffling.
He looked at her in confusion.
“Your family?”
“Mi familia?”
“Yes,” she said. “Are they…out there?”
He followed her gaze to the bay. “No familia. Solo mi equipo. Todos mis compañeros.”
She didn’t follow.
“No family here,” he said in stilted English. “Panamá.”
He pronounced it with a heavy emphasis on the last syllable. She’d never heard it said that way before. Did his family live in Panama? It was a place in Latin America, if she remembered correctly. They had a canal.
“Y tú?” he asked.
“Me?”
“Tu familia,” he said with patience.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My parents and my brother—” She broke off, uneasy. She didn’t know where her parents were, or if Josh was okay. “I wasn’t with them.”
Emma took her fingers out of her mouth. “Unco Josh.”
Chloe was about to tell her daughter that they couldn’t visit Uncle Josh yet when sirens started blaring. The sound was unfamiliar, and chilling. Not an ambulance or a police car, but short bleats at regular intervals.
Emma wailed in distress. “Mommy!”
“Tsunami,” Chloe said, her heart in her throat. It was a tsunami warning.
Mateo needed no translation for this word. He leaped to his feet, studying the bay with trepidation. Some of the boats in the harbor had broken loose from their moorings. Other than that, the water was deserted.
So was the sky. They were less than a mile from the airport, so she imagined that flights had been canceled and planes grounded. But why were there no helicopters over the bridge? This was major news.
In the time it had taken Chloe and Mateo to swim to land, all of San Diego had fled. The embarcadero, a popular tourist destination, was deserted. They were alone on the grassy plateau. Normally there were joggers on the paths and people in the nearby park. Shops and restaurants lined Seaside Village, which was located on the other side of the peninsula. It was too far away to see much, but she imagined total devastation. The earthquake had been off the charts. If the Coronado Bridge had failed, the entire city must be in shambles. Smoke clouds obscured the tall buildings in the downtown area.
“Ya,” Mateo said, offering her his hand. “Vámanos.”
Chloe stood, with his help. Then she picked up Emma and propped her on one hip. Mateo put his arm around her. She grasped his slippery side and leaned on him heavily as they hobbled away from the shore, toward the concrete bike path.
Their progress was slow. They were both barefoot. Sharp pebbles dug into the soles of her feet and her thigh ached with every step. She couldn’t run to save her life. Or her child’s.
It was hopeless.
Mateo did his best to keep them moving. Although he was strong and well-built, he wasn’t a big man, maybe five-ten to her five-eight. She didn’t think he could carry her. There was no way he could carry them both. Emma could walk, of course, but Chloe was reluctant to let her go. In the event of an aftershock or killer waves, she wanted a firm grip on her daughter.
The sirens continued to blare. Emma clung to Chloe’s neck and cried. Mateo’s skin was slick and clammy beneath her fingertips, his hand hot on her waist. When he paused to rest, Chloe studied his face. He was breathing hard from exertion, his mouth grim.
It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him not to leave them. She didn’t know why he hadn’t run away already. Instead of sacrificing his life for two strangers, he could abandon them and save himself. With a sinking heart, she realized what she had to do. It was the same choice she’d made in the water. Agonizing, but necessary.
“Take Emma,” she choked out. “Take her and get to high ground.”
“Ay, mamita,” he said, his voice chiding. “No digas eso.”
“Please.”
Ignoring her plea, he dragged them about twenty more yards down the path. The only business at this end of the peninsula was a tiny, half-destroyed gift shop called Surf Diego. Shards of glass littered the ground. The windows were broken and part of the roof had caved in.
Mateo released her near the entrance. He said something in Spanish. Goodbye, perhaps.
“Take Emma with you,” she begged.
Emma shrieked in protest. “No, Mommy!”
He gestured toward the bay, which appeared calm. “No hay olas. Estamos bien.”
She didn’t understand.
Holding out his palm like a stop sign, he repeated what he’d said before. Then he pointed at the gift shop. She guessed that he wanted her to stay here with Emma while he went inside. He’d left her once before, in the water. And he’d come back for her. She nodded her acceptance, her pulse pounding.
He must have lost his shoes during the swim, just as she had. He put his bare foot next to hers, as if measuring the length. Then he adjusted his shin guards to cover his feet. Strapping them on like snowshoes, he entered the ravaged building.
While she waited, Chloe set Emma down on the sidewalk to check her over. Emma was wearing a red ladybug top with black leggings and her favorite red shoes. It was a miracle that the shoes had stayed on. They were wet and squishy, but still functional. Her diaper was saturated with seawater, however.
Chloe removed the diaper and tugged Emma’s leggings back into place. Emma had started toilet training a few months ago. She wasn't perfect, but hopefully she wouldn't have an accident. Chloe wrapped Mateo’s jersey around Emma like a cape and lifted her up again.
Although the bay was calm, the warning sirens hadn’t let up, and her nerves were on edge. The air was heavy with smoke and gasoline and something that reminded her of Christmas. One year her dad had tossed some bows and gift paper into the fireplace. It made an awful, burning-chemical odor.
Mateo came out of the rubble with a beach bag. He was wearing a blue surf shirt and a pair of dockside loafers. There was another pair for her inside the bag. Not the right size, but close enough. She slipped them on, hoping they wouldn’t be arrested for looting.
Properly shod, they prepared to leave again. Mateo put his right arm around Chloe, urging her forward. There was a park and a bike path at this end of the peninsula. Seaside Village, a shopping area, was on the other side. They needed to move past the shops to reach the mainland. It wasn’t a long way, but their progress was slow.
Chloe struggled against a wave of despair. She wasn’t sure they’d be able to reach safety or find help along the way. A bridge had collapsed. People were trapped in buildings. Neighborhoods were on fire.
Tsunami or no tsunami, they might not be able to escape this hellhole.
What if the embarcadero was safer than downtown? Maybe they should stay put and pray for rescue.
Mateo didn’t appear to be suffering from any indecision. For a stranger in a strange land, he seemed rather confident. He stuck to his plan, whatever it was. They established a rhythm, loping across the park together. Without him, she couldn’t have limped more than a hundred feet. He moved like a well-oiled machine, tireless and smooth. Sweat gathered on his forehead and snaked down his jaw. She wondered how old he was. He had the hard muscles of a man, but so did some teenagers.
The earth rumbled beneath them, threatening to break apart. Chloe pictured a huge rift opening up and swallowing them whole. She dropped to the grass with Emma, making a shield with her body. Mateo got down on his knees and threw his arms around them both.
Oh, God. This was the end.
It seemed too cruel to imagine they would survive the bridge, the submerged vehicle and the near drowning, only to get crushed by a falling tree or swept away in a tidal wave
.
When the shaking subsided, Chloe lifted her head. Mateo stared at her, breathing hard. They were still alive. There was no tsunami. He stood, studying their surroundings. This quake hadn’t felt as strong as the others.
“We’re okay,” she said, hugging Emma to her chest. “We’re okay.”
They kept moving away from the coast. Chloe’s thigh ached. She was becoming numb to the pain. Instead of being alert and focused, she felt drowsy. Her mind couldn’t handle sharp acuity. Her body wanted to quit.
Mateo stopped for a short rest, sharing a bottle of water that he must have picked up at the gift shop. Then he dug into his supplies for a little bag of magic: gummy bears. Emma accepted a handful with delight. Mateo was her new favorite person. The candy was a real lifesaver. He offered a few gummy bears to Chloe, who popped them into her mouth. The instant sugar rush lifted her spirits.
She could do this. She could keep going.
They continued their staggering journey toward the park at the end of the peninsula. Emma walked beside Chloe, holding her hand. The little girl was tired of being carried, and the extra weight on Chloe’s injured side was uncomfortable. She hoped the tsunami warning was a false alarm.
Embarcadero Park was a grassy area interspersed with picnic tables and domed pavilions. It was on higher ground, so that was good. But also bad, because climbing would be difficult for Chloe.
Whoosh-boom.
Air sucked out and pressure slammed in as something exploded in the distance. It sounded as if a pile of fireworks had gone off, or the guys on the naval base had decided to test everything in their artillery at once.
She swooped up Emma and looked over her shoulder in dismay. The bay was on fire. The water in the bay was on fire.
Chloe was no science expert, but she understood the basics. Water didn’t burn. So there was something on the surface, a type of fuel or chemical. More explosions followed the first. Huge clouds of fire burst on the shore like atomic bombs. There had been a major malfunction at the military base. Maybe the airport.
It didn’t really matter. The important part was that a lot of stuff was on fire. Everywhere. Flaming debris was flying through the air, catching the branches of nearby trees. The earthquake had probably caused some pipelines to break, because the downtown area was going off like bottle rockets.
Forget the tsunami—they needed to escape the fire.
Mateo pulled her toward the only shelter available. It was some kind of heavy-duty storage shed made of concrete blocks. The roof might be flammable, but they didn’t have much choice. They’d get incinerated if they stayed out in the open. The pavilions were already burning. Orange cinders were dancing on the wind and floating across the sky, like monarch butterflies. Her nostrils stung from chemical fumes.
The door must have been damaged in the quake, because it came right off the hinges. They scrambled inside, coughing. She squinted at the strange interior. There were fat blue pipes, wider than her waist in circumference, imbedded in the concrete floor.
“Are these gas pipes?” she gasped, horrified.
“Agua,” Mateo said.
That meant water. Blue pipes. It made sense. She tried to shush a distraught Emma by pressing her lips to the little girl’s forehead. To Chloe’s left, there was a set of aluminum steps leading down to a second floor. Chloe was worried about the pipes exploding, but she was more worried about being able to breathe, and the main room was filling with smoke. They went down the steps, moving carefully. The lower section was similar to the upper, with blue pipes. It was dark and cramped, but the air was clean. For the time being, they were safe.
Her knees almost buckled with relief.
Mateo helped her sit down in the corner. When their eyes adjusted to the meager light, he supplied Emma with more gummy bears, chatting in a cheerful voice. Chloe could have kissed him. But she was tired, and suddenly cold. Her T-shirt and jeans were still damp. She touched the wet sock around her thigh, hoping the bleeding had slowed.
Mateo removed a hooded sweatshirt from his beach bag.
“Thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice, putting it on.
He also had a child’s T-shirt for Emma. Chloe took off her ladybug top first. She tucked the fabric under her bottom like a diaper, figuring any barrier was better than none. Then she helped Emma don the dry shirt.
“Flower,” Emma said, touching the hibiscus decal on the front.
The firestorm raged on outside. Chloe could hear trees falling and wind blowing. Again, she wondered if the world was ending. It was a maudlin thought, but her mind often traveled that direction. She’d suffered from depression after Emma was born. Before, as well, although her parents had called it “teen angst.” Getting involved with Lyle had fed her self-destructive tendencies. Breaking up with him sent her into a downward spiral.
Why was she alive?
She hadn’t wanted to be, for months at a time. Her mother had taken care of Emma while Chloe slept all day. She hadn’t gone to school or work. She hadn’t even left the house. She’d done nothing but lay in bed.
It was difficult for her to believe she deserved to be here. Someone who’d tried to take her own life had been spared above others. For what? To witness the real end? Maybe this was the ultimate punishment for her carelessness and self-harm. Watching her child suffer and witnessing a fiery apocalypse.
She began to tremble, overwhelmed with emotion. They’d just survived another incredibly traumatic event. She didn’t know if they’d make it out of this temporary hideaway. The city was burning down around them. People who’d been trapped inside their homes, who hadn’t been able to escape fast enough, were now dying.
Chloe wasn’t equipped to take this in stride. She didn’t have the temperament to stay strong during a catastrophe. She couldn’t handle seeing Emma in pain or in danger. Shrugging off death and destruction was beyond her.
Mateo gave Emma a keychain with a red penlight. She pointed it at the wall, making red dots dance across the surface.
Chloe kept shivering.
Mateo sat down beside her. After a short hesitation, he put his arm around her. He thought she was cold, and she was. The warmth of his body felt pleasant, but it was the basic human contact that soothed her. The same way his support had kept her going, and the candy revived her spirits, his touch lifted her up.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HELENA’S WARNING CAME a second too late.
She watched in horror as Josh froze on the ladder, midstep. The lower half of his body was beneath the safety guard, about four feet off the ground. He couldn’t avoid Zuma’s stealth attack. The lioness rushed from the shadows and leaped into the air, pouncing on Josh’s dangling foot.
Helena swallowed a scream, expecting to see sharp teeth, gore and bits of flesh attached to a shinbone. Instead the lioness let out a playful growl and held his boot between her paws as if she’d just caught a mouse.
Josh made the high-pitched yelp of a man who’d been goosed. He jerked his foot back and forth, trying to shake loose from the big cat’s paws. Zuma didn’t put up much of a fight; she was just toying with him. He broke free and high-tailed it back up the ladder so fast Helena didn’t have time to move to make room for him.
“Fuck,” he said, crowding in behind her.
Directly below them, Zuma sniffed at the weapons and rubbed her cheek against the lowest ladder rungs. After circling the pole a few times, she batted a pile of leaves on the ground. Then she rolled in them.
Helena wasn’t fooled; this was not a cute kitty.
Lions were social animals, even in captivity. Some were friendly with their handlers, docile at all times. Not Zuma. She was an aggressive member of the species, difficult to work with and picky about food. She could be gentle one minute and nasty the next. Her jowls were stained red with Greg’s blood.
Helena pressed her forehead against the cool metal rung, her heart pounding. She pictured Josh kicking wildly and shooting up the ladder. His panicked whoop echoed in her ears.
The scene played over and over in her mind like a Three Stooges reel. She imagined it set to a slapstick soundtrack, with a lively piano riff as he raced along the rungs.
There was nothing the least bit funny about a lion attack, or anything else they’d experienced today. But Josh’s freak-out struck her as hilarious, and her attempts to smother the giggles didn’t work. Maybe it was the stress of the situation. Maybe she was having a mental breakdown. She couldn’t seem to get a grip on herself, so she just surrendered to the moment and laughed like a madwoman.
Josh seemed baffled by her outburst. He glanced down at Zuma, who was stretched out in the shade. Then he shifted his position on the ladder so he could examine Helena’s face. It was probably red and splotchy. She was almost crying.
“Are you laughing?”
She nodded and laughed some more. Ugly laughing. Her nose was running.
“You’re laughing at me. Witnessing my near-death amuses you.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, trying to get a hold of herself. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt. I almost pissed my pants, but I’m not hurt.”
That set her off again. She giggled until she was out of breath. Then she sagged against the ladder, belly aching.
“Are you done?”
She blotted her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“You must think I’m crazy.”
“No.”
“Weird, then.”
“Not at all. I’m just glad we found your sense of humor. It went missing for a few years.”
“Ha-ha,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You should laugh more often. It looks good on you.”
She sobered at this statement, said in a warm tone. His gaze was admiring, even eager. He’d clearly enjoyed her loss of control, and not just because it broke the tension between them. There was a sexual element to his reaction. He liked seeing her flushed with pleasure.
She’d learned to be wary of male coworkers at her first job as a stable hand. Brusque tomboys weren’t immune to crude advances. It was an unpleasant life lesson she’d never forgotten.
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