ALLUSIVE AFTERSHOCK (9 page)

“We’re gonna head north
up toward Spanish Rock,” Roy said. “I figure it’s better to head northwest,
since the quakes originated from the south and the east. Maybe we’ll get lucky
and find a shelter with food and water. They should have a radio or something
so we can find out how bad this thing is. You’re welcome to come along with
us.”

“We need to get home.
We live on the other side of the ridge.” Max pointed toward the mountain beyond
the trees.

Roy swiped at the sweat
on his brow. “I don’t think that’s wise, son. You’d be better off staying with
us. A group has better odds of surviving in the wilderness than the two of you
alone.”

“We’ll be okay. I’ve
walked it before—it’s only about four more miles from here. Besides, our parents
are probably worried about us,” Max said with confidence.

“If that’s what you
really want, then I s’pose there’s nothing we can do to change your minds.
Thanks for your help with the beam and good luck to you. Let’s go, gang.” He
picked up the little girl and they all walked away.

I wished that we could
have stayed with the group. The support of some grownups felt good for the
short while we had it, but I knew we needed to get home.

“Good luck!” I shouted
over my shoulder and waved. The fire across the way took hold of the brush
where Max and I had been sitting only moments ago, engulfing the entire area in
flames as we hurried away toward the mountain.

At the sight of all the
destruction, I slowed to a jog. I wanted to get home as quickly as possible,
but the damage was devastating and shocking. No doubt my dad would be too drunk
to figure out what happened. I began running again, hoping he’d been sober
enough to take cover when the earthquake struck. My nostrils filled with the
stench of smoke and burnt rubber and I slowed down as a man staggered toward me.
Blood marred his face and his eyes darted around in confusion.

“Are you okay?”

The man stopped and gave
me a dazed and distant stare. “Uh, yeah. I ah … wouldn’t go that way if I were
you.” He pointed in the direction behind him. “Fire up the entire street. No
way to get through.”

I studied the road behind
him. Smoke polluted the sky, changing it into a thick, black mass. “Thanks.” No
point in trying to go that way. I headed in the opposite direction, taking off
toward the woods. This way was faster anyway. I ran as quickly as I could, not
stopping until I got to my driveway and froze. My breath caught in my throat as
I watched flames engulf my entire home. Fear swept through me and I prayed my
dad wasn’t inside.

I ran closer to the
inferno, shouting, “Dad, Dad! Where are you?” The roar of the fire was
deafening and muted my shouts. I stepped back unable to stand the intensity of
the heat, and then sprinted to the rear of the house. “Dad, please, Dad! Where
are you?”

I had no choice but to
watch as flames devoured my house, my things, everything I possessed in this
life. Was my dad inside? God. “Dad, where are you?” I shouted over and over
again until my throat felt like sandpaper, until no more sound escaped.
Dad
… please answer. Don’t leave me
.

He was all I had, even
though he spent most days in the company of a bottle of Jack, not really
noticing whether I was around or not. I couldn’t lose him like I lost my mom.
She died when I was ten. A freak patch of black ice covered the road and she
lost control of the car as it spun a one-eighty and slammed head-on into a
tree. They said she didn’t suffer. I don’t know for sure. Life was never the
same after that.

Some measure of hope
told me my dad must be inside, trapped under something, and passed out. He
might still be alive. I ran toward the door but the heat blasted me, so I hurried
to one of the side windows and touched the glass, singeing my fingers. I yanked
them back and shook my hand while searching the area for something to break the
window. I picked up the planter we always hid the spare key under and threw the
whole damn thing, geraniums and all, at the window, shattering the glass.
Flames darted out, almost scorching my face, making me jump back. I sank to the
ground on my knees and buried my face in my sweatshirt. It still smelled like Shiloh’s
blood.

For the second time
that day, I wept.

With tears still
soaking my cheeks I stared up at the sky. Why do the clouds always seem so
tranquil, so majestic as if they hold the answers to the entire universe? I could
picture the Great White Spirit of my mother’s ancestors sitting among the
scatters of fluffy white clouds looking down at me. Now my dad would be joining
them. He wasn’t a Miwok, but I knew he loved my mom. The proof of that was in
the bottle he sat with every day. She would welcome him and take good care of
him.

I sat huddled, hugging my
knees to my chest, and watched my home burn until there was nothing left but
smoldering ashes.

Why is this world so
cruel to me?

My mom was gone. My dad
was gone. Shiloh was gone. They were never coming back. My dad would never yell
at me for hiding his booze, Shiloh would never follow me to school again. The
clouds moved on. “Why? Why do you hate me?” I yelled at the sky. “Why do you
take everything I love away? What did I do to make you so angry? Please, please
tell me or forgive me, because I can’t take it anymore. Please stop taking
everyone from me.”

Even Adela.

Max took her from me
years ago, but hope lingered in my heart because she was still alive, the only
person left in the world I loved.
Adela
. I couldn’t let anything happen
to her. If she died, I would want to die too.

I had to find Adela,
protect her, and make sure nothing happened to her.

Wiping my cheeks with
the back of my hands, I stood, staring at the muck for a minute before stepping
onto the still smoldering debris, looking for anything that might have
survived. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something sparkling and I walked
toward the shimmer. A corner piece of metal stuck out from under charred wood.
I bent down to grab the edge, nearly singeing my fingers again. Wrapping my
hand in my sweatshirt, I picked up the small silver picture frame.

I blew on the glass to
remove some of the dust and wiped off the soot with the sleeve of my jacket. My
mother’s and father’s faces smiled back at me from the picture my dad kept on
our fireplace mantle since the day my mother died eight years ago. The silver
frame, a little tarnished, still gleamed in most places, in near perfect
condition without a single scorch mark. I clutched the picture to my chest and
glanced up at the clouds when all of a sudden my brain registered intense pain.
I looked down to see fire engulfing my right pants leg. I bent over, hitting
the flames with my sweatshirt and the cuff of my shirt ignited, burning the
back of my hand down to the knuckles of my fingers. I staggered backwards as I
tried to pound out the flames from my hand. Something cracked as my foot sank
down between a broken and splintered board and my ankle twisted in the opposite
direction from where I tried to go, which was anywhere away from the smoldering
pieces of my house. I pulled my leg out. Pain shot up from my ankle to my leg where
flames still danced against my pants, searing the skin on my calf. But that burn
was nothing compared to the sharp pain emanating from my ankle. I tried to take
a step but the slightest bit of pressure applied to my ankle was excruciating. I
finally put the flames out on my hand but it hurt like hell. I couldn’t walk,
let alone run, so I got on my hands and knees, crawled my way from the rubble
that was once my house, dragged myself along the ground, and then rolled all
the way to the end of the driveway. The flames on my leg became puffs of smoke,
yet my leg and wrist continued to burn as though they were still on fire. I lay
on the side of the road, unable to move, clutching the picture to my heart.

~~
Adela
~~

Max and I trudged
through the woods toward my house. At first glance, no one would even know
anything was wrong. Trees still stood tall, sheltering us from the sun, and
leaves still rustled under our feet. The only difference was the thick smell of
fire in the air, the distant sounds of screams and an occasional explosion. Would
my house still be standing? Would Big Blue and Misty still be in their stalls?
Would the stalls still be left for them to be in?

I stopped walking. “Max.”

“What,” he said with a
tinge of annoyance, without even slowing down or looking at me. He just kept
walking.

“Max!” I yelled again
and stood stiff, my hands fisted at my sides. He turned toward me without
saying a word and just stared at me, waiting for me to say something else.

I relaxed my hands. “What
if they’re …” I choked on “they’re” and couldn’t finish, fearing the simple
utterance of the words would make them come true.

“Don’t, Adela. Don’t go
there. We don’t know anything yet. Just keep walking. We’re almost there.”

I swallowed to quench
the dryness in my throat.

“You know, your mom and
dad are probably in your kitchen right now, giving the twins a snack and
talking about you. Wondering where you are.”

The thought brought a
glimmer of hope and for the first time since this morning’s quake hit, my lips
began to twitch involuntarily. “Yeah, and your mom and dad are probably having
a glass of wine thinking about you. Maybe they’re toasting the idea that they
might not have to feed you anymore.”

“Thanks. That’s a
comforting thought.”

“Well, you eat enough
to feed half the starving kids in Africa. At least that’s what your mom says.”

We continued toward
home, falling back into silence. I had to concentrate on my feet, placing one
in front of the other. That was all I could manage to do.

I glanced up and saw
the clearing up ahead, its golden field shimmering through the trees.

“Max, come on!” I shouted
and we took off in a sprint toward my home just on the other side. When we
reached the meadow, my heart lurched in my chest as the sight of the backside
of my house came into view. I ran, laughing, excited that my house was there. “Come
on Max, it’s still here. Hurry.” My legs were moving so fast, they almost gave out
from under me as I shouted, “Mom, Dad, I’m home! Ambrosia, Aaron, are you guys
here?”

I stopped short when I
reached the side of the house. The back wall stood propped up by the fireplace—the
only other part still standing—while the rest of the house lay in piles of dust
and debris, just like the school.

No kitchen. No
bedrooms. No living room. No china hutch where my mother’s dishes formerly
resided, nothing but piles of brick and cement and wood. The front part of the
roof lay crumbled among broken furniture.

Max came up beside me
and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sure they got out. They’re
probably over at my house waiting for us to come there.”

I nodded, wanting to
believe that. I looked over at the demolished stable. We walked over toward the
broken building parts, hay peeking out from one of the fallen walls.

“No sign of any horses,”
Max said.

“Blue? Mystique?” I
called out. “Pretty Boy Blue, where are you?” I sang, hoping Blue would come
trotting from the woods toward me. Every time I’d called him singing those
words he’d come up and nuzzle my head, but this time, no big black horse
appeared. None of the horses were anywhere in sight.

I sprinted back to the
house and looked at the broken pieces of furniture. I couldn’t even spot my
bed.

“So much damage.” I shook
my head at the magnitude of destruction around me. Where were my mom and dad?
Then it hit me. “Max, my dad went to Sacramento today. He was meeting a man who
was interested in boarding his horse.”

“Why would your dad go
to Sac? Why wouldn’t the guy come here to examine the property and get a view
of how the horses are kept?”

“No, my dad said the
guy didn’t have a trailer and he would pay to use ours. So maybe he’s okay.
Maybe the quake didn’t hit that area as hard. But where’s my mom and the
horses?”

“The horses were
probably out grazing when the quake hit. They probably got spooked and ran off.
Didn’t you tell me they were really scared after the quake last week?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I mumbled,
thinking they should be back by now.

“Okay, and your mom, I’m
sure she’s okay. She probably went with your dad.”

“Yeah, maybe she did.
He would have needed her help.”

“Right.” Max turned to
look at the house and then back at me. Deep in his eyes was something I feared.
Doubt.

“Max?” I shook my head.
“Please tell me she went with him. Please tell me they’re okay. Please.”

“Adela, they are okay.
I know they—”   At that second, he stopped talking and his eyes fixed on
something in the debris.

“What?”

I followed his gaze to see
what made him stop talking and I recognized the peach Angora wool sweater my
mom always wore. She was wearing it that morning when I left for school. At
first, it was hard to make out among the pile of broken cement and drywall
because shattered pieces of wood shielded it from view, but it was most
definitely her sweater. For several heart-stopping moments, I ceased breathing.

“No!”

I ran toward the
rubble. The tip of my right shoe caught on a piece of splintered wood and I went
down, falling right on top of what used to be my front door. My hand landed in
shards of glass, making several small cuts in my palm. My brain not even
registering the blood oozing or any pain, I pushed up and fought my way through
piles of brick, pieces of drywall, and broken furniture to find my mother’s
body, which had to be buried under what was left of our kitchen table.