Shock Wave. Dana Mentink
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to a spot where the light from above was less obstructed and he could see enough to know she didn’t have any open wounds that he could detect, except for a series of cuts on her face and hands. At his touch she flinched and tensed, so he stopped and smiled. “Just going to make sure there’s nothing broken, okay?”
He tried again and this time she did not pull away so he moved his hands along her legs and arms, until he was satisfied that there were no bones massively out of place. It was impossible to discern if she’d sustained any internal injury or head trauma. He’d just have to pray she’d escaped those, too. By the time he was done with his makeshift medical exam, her breathing had normalized. She drew her knees up to her chest. His heart skipped a beat at how very young she looked, how very small and delicate against the yawning mass behind her.
“It was a big one.”
“Yes. The Big One, I’d say.” He could imagine the frenzy taking place on the city streets—fire crews, police and every available city employee working to salvage life and property. San Francisco was a modern city in every sense of the word, and it had the reinforced steel skyscrapers to show for it, but he’d seen enough of the old buildings during his morning runs to know that there would be plenty of destruction to deal with.
“We’ve got to get out,” she said with only a slight tremble in her voice. “Will someone come to help us?”
“I think we’d be better off taking care of our own rescue,” he said, seating himself on a chunk of broken bricks.
“Do you think Antonia fell, too? And Fred?”
“I haven’t seen anyone but the two of us.” No sign of whoever had pushed the boxes down on them. He looked up at the stage floor some twenty feet above them. What had probably been a set of two ladders leading up from under the stage area had been ripped away during the quake until only a few rungs were left clinging to the walls. All around them were piles of boxes, but most were smashed too badly to be of use helping them climb out.
Sage’s breathing was steadier now. She patted her pockets and produced a cell phone, groaning as she peered at the cracked screen. “No signal here. It’s completely useless. What about yours?”
“I don’t carry a cell phone.”
Her mouth fell open. “What kind of person doesn’t carry a cell phone in this day and age?”
He shrugged. “The kind that doesn’t want to be connected, I guess.” He sighed. “In a war everyone has to be accounted for every moment, for their safety. I just...” He shook his head, wondering why in the world he was telling her this. “I wanted to disconnect, to sort of vanish for a while and remember who I used to be. Does that make sense?”
Her eyes shimmered and she gave a tiny nod. He wanted to cup her cheek just then, to make her understand that war had changed both of them, but the bite of anger stilled his hands. Her trauma had been totally avoidable. “Cell phone probably wouldn’t help anyway, since we’re basically underground, and even if we could call, the networks are probably jammed. Texting might be about the only option.”
“I’ll text Antonia now.” She waited for a moment with no response.
“So this is going to be a do-it-yourself rescue,” Trey said. “I’m going to poke around and see if there’s an exit down here.”
She got to her feet. “Me, too.”
He was about to tell her she should remain seated, the memory of her earlier reaction haunting him, but something told him she did not want to be alone, even though it would kill her to say so. So be it. Her PTSD would be the unspoken elephant in the room. At least for now. He offered a hand and she took it, rising in a cloud of dust that made them both cough.
It was hard to access the perimeter of the room, blocked as it was by the ruins, but he found one section of brick that gave him a starting point. “We’ll work our way around as best we can, and if there are no exits, we’ll go to plan B.” He began feeling his way along the rough brick.
“What’s plan B?” Sage said, shuffling behind him.
“I don’t know. I haven’t come up with that yet.”
She sighed and pressed closer to his back. He tried to ignore the way her presence made his breath tick up a notch as they climbed over boards and scraps of what looked like ancient theater backdrops.
“What’s that?” Sage said, moving away from him. For a moment he lost track of her.
“Where are you?”
“Here,” she said, flicking on a light that illuminated her smile. “I found the flashlight and it still works.”
He couldn’t help but return that smile. “That’s one blessing working in our favor,” he said.
Her smile dimmed. “No blessing. Just a happy coincidence.”
He decided not to argue the point, but deep down he knew the truth. Both of us just survived a massive earthquake and God tossed in a flashlight to boot. Now it was up to Trey to get them both out of there.
“Let’s move.” He straightened his shoulders and pressed on.
* * *
Sage had to force her fingers to relax their death grip on the flashlight. Deep breaths. Anything to press away the fear she’d felt when she’d woken up buried, smothered and in darkness. She busied herself flicking the beam of light over the piles, assisting, being productive, not the helpless child she’d been a moment before. Not here. Not in front of him.
The thought shivered through her mind. They were both alive and intact, but Antonia might not have been so lucky. Sage had seen her enter the theater and head through the lobby, but where had she disappeared to? By the time Sage parked her car, Antonia was nowhere to be found and the woman had not responded to a single text or call. Maybe she’d departed again, decided against talking to Sage.
Sage was aggravated by the trembling in her knees. Part of her wished she was alone, without a witness to her struggles. The other part, a tiny part deep down in her soul, was grateful that Trey was with her to keep the darkness at bay. He did not deserve to be trapped in there with her, but she was glad not to be alone.
Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice that Trey had stopped until she plowed into him from behind, her cheekbone meeting his shoulder blade.
“What is it?” she asked, rubbing the feeling of him off her cheek.
“A door, I think, but it’s covered by these broken beams. We’re going to have to shift some things.” He started to hurl some of the smaller pieces aside. She tried to help without losing her grip on the flashlight.
“Ouch,” he said as she smacked him with the end of a beam.
“Sorry.”
“Just hold the flashlight for a minute.”
“And stay out of the way?” she snapped. “Don’t order me around.”
“I’m not ordering...” he began, an edge in his voice. “I’m asking you to please hold the flashlight while I work. If you want, we can take turns and you can haul wood and I’ll hold the flashlight after a while.”
She didn’t answer, but she determined that no matter how messed up she was inside, she would not let Trey see her as weak. Holding the flashlight like a sword, she bit back the sassy remarks that circled in her brain.
Trey cleared enough that they could see the outline of the door fully now. It was wooden, partially decayed and splintering in some places. He grabbed the handle and yanked. It ripped away from the door, sending him stumbling back.
She kept her smile under wraps. “Here. Maybe we can pry it open with this.” She passed him a thin metal rod, clammy with moisture.
He shoved it in the crack under the threshold and threw his weight against the iron bar. A section of wood crumbled. Tossing the bar aside,