"One."
Jenna poured five back in the bottle, and then held out her hand. She watched Seely get hold of the pill and slip it under her tongue. Then she screwed the lid back on, put the bottle back in the purse and waited. In a little while, the older woman's color started to return and her breathing eased. Still Jenna quietly waited until Seely opened her eyes. "The elevator doors won't open."
Seely forced a comforting smile, and then struggled to spit out her words, "Jenna, you must not…get in the elevators. It's better to take the stairs."
"Okay. We'll go down the stairs then."
"...too soon. Let's rest, okay?"
"But Seely, we're going to fall. Besides, my Mom and sisters are down there. I have to get home."
Seely paused to breathe several more times before she spoke, "I know, my family…is down there too." To her relief, the pain in her chest was beginning to ease.
Jenna stared into Seely's haunting eyes for a long moment, and then she slumped against the opposite wall, "Don't die Seely? If you die, I'll be all alone."
"I don't think I'm gonna die. Not yet."
*
At KMPR, Collin was still braced in the doorway. He watched Max get up, scoot rubbish off the top landing and test the railing. It held. Next, Max eased his weight down on the first stair step. It too held. Meticulously, he tested another, and then another until he stood on the landing outside Collin's apartment.
He glanced up at Collin, and then turned the knob and pushed the door open. Cautiously, he eased inside. All the windows were gone. Cast iron I-beams stood in each corner of the living room, minus most of their concrete reinforcement. Beth's china hutch lay face down with chips of broken dishes scattered across the floor. Globs of broken cement and plaster, mixed with glass lampshades, pieces of knickknacks and broken light bulbs littered the carpet. Most of the furniture was completely overturned. The ceiling light dangled by one wire and rafters showed.
Easing his right foot inside, Max felt the sturdiness of the floor. It was safe. "Where is it?" he shouted.
"What?"
"The medical kit you bought the other day?"
"In the closet. Why?"
Max stuck his head back out the door and looked up. "You're bleeding man."
Only then did Collin notice the three inch cut on his right arm and the blood dripping off his fingertips. He covered half his face with his other hand and shook his head. "I've never been so scared in my life. Now I see why guys wet their pants." Suddenly, he uncovered his eye and looked down. His blue jeans were dry. Collin puffed his cheeks, let out a long breath and started to chuckle.
"What's so funny?" Max shouted. But by the time he grabbed the medical kit and started up the steps, Collin had disappeared. When he reached the attic, he paused to look around the demolished studio. Months of hard work lay in ruins and Collin stood in the carnage, less than two feet from the pane-less window.
Collin inched a little closer and strained to look down. The small park was deserted. Across the street, the four-story apartment building looked less than ten feet high with its black tar roof broken in odd chunks on top. Already, three men and a woman were furiously digging in the rubble. Another man ran down the street screaming the names of his wife and child. Still more people poured out of the identical apartment building next door and Collin could bear no more. He sharply turned and started for the stairs.
Max quickly grabbed his uninjured arm, "Wait!" Collin's furious eyes bore into his, but Max ignored it, "Let me fix your arm first."
"To hell with my arm, there are people dying down there."
"There are people dying all over the city. They need you here, Collin. They need both of us to stay right here."
"Why? What good does it do to stay here?"
Max set the medical kit on the rubble, glanced around until he spotted a newspaper, and then quickly swooped down and picked it up. Shaking the dust off, he rolled it up leaving a hollow center, and then he stepped through the carnage to the window. Pointing the newspaper toward the men below, he raised it to his mouth and yelled, "Turn off the gas!"
The confused men stopped to look his direction. "Turn off the gas," Max repeated. Finally, one of the men waved and started down the street, yelling at others as he went.
Collin listened to the man's fading voice, and then headed for the medical kit. He knelt on the floor, unhooked the latch and flipped the lid up. "We've gotta get on the air!" Reaching inside the kit, he grabbed a roll of gauze and began wrapping his injured arm.
*
In the earth, newly crushed rock settled, and allowed the shelves to slip half a centimeter more, sending forth another aftershock. This time, the ground rumbled instead of exploding and the sound of the rumble carried less than a mile.
Spreading from the fault line, the first roll took only a second to reach what was left of Sam's golf course. Holding fast to the trunk of the pine, his body tilted back and forth with the movement of the tree, until the waves tapered into gentle rolls and stopped.
*
In the studio, both Collin and Max were back in the doorway. In the rapid shaking, more plaster fell and the room again filled with dust. But the shock wave lasted a brief ten seconds and both men soon breathed easier.
*
This time, the Winningham Blue didn't sway at all. Just the same, Seely's heart raced and her body trembled long after it stopped. With Jenna right beside her, she listened to the last groans of strained metal, tinkling glass and falling plaster and she waited, but the sound of crashing waves never came. At length, the tiny pill relieved more of her pain and her breathing grew less strained, "Good," she whispered.
Abruptly furious again, Jenna's eyes turned wild and the muscles in her jaw tightened, "Good? How can you say that?"
"Calm down, Sugar. I was talking about the pain. It's better."
"Oh."
"And, I think the worst is over," Seely said.
"But the ground keeps moving. What if we fall?"
"I don't think we'll fall. I think this building is going to hold."
"You do?"
Seely didn't answer. Instead she closed her eyes and prayed for the rest of her pain to stop. Her face was smudged with dirt and blood, and the hair on top of her head held a thick layer of plaster dust. It seemed like an eternity but the pain finally let up a little more and her breathing returned to near normal. "I think we're going to survive this, like it or not. Best we get to work."
But Jenna didn't move, "What sort of work?"
This time Seely's eyes held a hint of mischief when she answered, "First, we have to see if anyone else is still up here. Then we need to go get the earthquake kit."
Her whole demeanor rapidly changed and Jenna began to giggle, "You mean the one you and Paul had that awful fight over?"
"Uh huh."
"You bought it anyway?"
"I did. It's not the big one, but it will do." Cautiously, Seely began moving her legs to check for broken bones. They hurt, but they moved and her chest pain didn't come back. "I ended up buying most of it myself." Playfully, she put one hand on her hip, "I hope that old tight wad is alive somewhere and hasn't got a drop of water to drink. And when this is over, I'm going to kick him in the shins."
"Me too," Jenna giggled.
Seely brushed the debris off her lap and straightened her blood stained, white blouse. "We have to get to the earthquake kit before dark. We’ve got flashlights, food, medical supplies, and water." She waited for Jenna to get up, and then tried to get to her knees. Every bone in her body signaled its bruised and battered state and her chest hurt again. Instinctively, she sat back down.
Jenna's face filled with concern, "I can do it by myself. You rest."
"Maybe you're right." Seely eased into a more comfortable sitting position and rested her head against the wall.
"I know, you could lay down on the door." Jenna grabbed the side of the fallen door, groaned as she lifted it, and then leaned it against the wall. Next, she began scooting rubbish out of the way with her feet so she could lay it down flat.
Just then, the muffled sound of a man's voice filled the hallway, "Help! Is anybody there? Help me!"
Seely's mouth dropped, "Timmy? I thought he went home."
In the hallway, loose cables dangled through holes left by missing tiles in the ceiling, broken tiles cluttered the floor and three metal filing cabinets with spilled drawers completely blocked the pathway back to the kitchenette and the large room.
As the crow flies, sixteen-year-old James McClurg lived 140 miles southwest of Seattle, in the small town of Yakima, Washington. Between the farmlands of Yakima and the bustling city, lay the Cascade Mountain range and the dormant volcano, Mt. Rainier. He lived with his parents and fourteen-year old sister in a modest, three-bedroom home surrounded by four acres of land. An array of large trees and well-kept gardens gracefully surrounded the house and lined the two-lane driveway.
Seated in a well-worn easy chair and engrossed in a magazine, James was startled by both the first and the second Seattle earthquake. It was little more than a hard jolt each time, but the foundation of the house creaked and his cat dashed under his bed. With light brown hair and blue eyes, James cautiously got up, walked to his bedroom window and looked toward Mt. Rainier. He saw no rising smoke and no ash filling the hot summer sky. Whatever happened, Mt. Rainier had not erupted -- not yet anyway. He sat back down and returned to his reading.
His was a typically-cluttered teenage boy's room with a life-sized poster of Michael Jordan on the wall, dirty dishes on shelves, scattered clothing, an unmade bed, a baseball on the floor, a basketball next to his chair, an exercise bike, and a CD player. Suddenly, his bedroom door flew open and his sister, Heather, burst in, "Seattle had an earthquake. It's on the news."
James grabbed the remote off his bed, turned the television on and flipped to a national news service. The announcer looked solemn and the words "breaking news" flashed across the screen. "I repeat, the USGS in Golden, Colorado is reporting a major earthquake in Seattle. The quake hit just a few minutes ago and tentatively measured 9.1 on the Richter scale. The Seattle Quake is the biggest quake to hit the United States since the 1964 Alaska quake. We have no reports of damage or injuries yet, but we'll keep you posted. Meanwhile…"
James turned the television off and tossed the remote back on his bed. Thoughtfully, he ran his hands through his short, brown hair, and then turned to stare at the High Frequency, Amateur Radio on his desk. It was off. He walked to the desk, pulled a chair out and sat down. With Heather watching his every move, he flipped the switch and began turning the large dial. Briefly, he listened to a conversation between two women discussing a recent trip to Hawaii. He dismissed them, turned the dial to the left and increased the volume. His lips parted and a single word escaped, "Max."
The same brown hair and eyes as her brother, Heather plopped down on the bed and crossed her long, skinny legs. "Who's Max?"
"A guy I know. He's got a radio station in Seattle. He'll know what's happening." James turned the dial, found the desired frequency and leaned closer to his mike. "W7LGF, this is KB7HDX." He waited, but Max didn't answer. "W7LGF, this is KB7HDX. Max, can you hear me? Over." Still nothing. "Maybe the repeaters are down."
Wearing blue summer shorts and a matching shirt, Heather uncrossed her legs, put her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands. "What's a repeater?"
"Heather, I’ve explained all this a hundred times. Haven't you been listening?"
"Yes, but I never really cared before. What's a repeater again?"
"It's an electronic device with antennas on high mountains or tall buildings. Repeaters receive weak transmissions, amplify them, and then re-transmit." Once more, he began inching the dial toward emergency frequency 145.33. Suddenly, his room filled with the voice of a man.
"K7LQ emergency."
No one answered.
"K7LQ emergency. We've had an earthquake. Anybody there? ...Net Control?"
Again, no one answered.
Heather wrinkled her nose and blinked her eyes. "So what's Net Control?"
James huffed and turned a glaring eye on his little sister, "Heather, I'm trying to listen."
"I wanna listen too. Just tell me what Net Control is."
"Okay." James thought for a moment. "Groups of guys get together and form a network of Hams. There's maybe thirty or forty in a net, all living in the same area and most owning a hand-held. That's a hand-held Amateur Radio. Usually Hams go to fires or help find people who are lost, but once a year we practice in case there's a major disaster. After a disaster, each guy or lady, checks out his assigned area and reports damage or injuries to Net Control. See, Net Control is the one who decides who gets to talk when. Okay? Now leave me alone." With that, he ignored Heather's indignant stare and turned his attention back to the radio. Two men were talking.
"K7LQ, this is AB7JSJ. Where are you Ed? Are you okay? Over."
"K7LQ, I'm at home…what's left of it. I've never seen anything like this. My house is totaled, Carl, totaled. But we're okay. Listen, can you take Net Control? I can't raise Gary and I'm at least a mile from his house. Over."
"LQ, will do if I can steady my nerves. Okay, this is Net Control, let me have reports of injuries first, over." A single bleep sounded as Net Control released the push-to-talk button on his Ham Radio. But after that, the airwaves remained quiet. "LQ you still there?"
"K7LQ roger, I'm still here. You got any damage? Over."
"I don't have anything left that isn't damaged. The china hutch fell on me before I got out the door. I think my arm is broken, but I'll live. The floors are buckled and power is out. My earthquake gas valve must have worked, I don't smell anything. I've got water in the basement though. Don't know where it's coming from. This is AB7JSJ, over."
Suddenly, a woman screamed into her hand-held, "Help us, oh God, help us!"
"This is Net Control, give us your call sign please. Is that you Mattie? Over."
"WJ7V. The Cleveland Department store fell. Help us! Over."
"Mattie, how many inside? Over." He waited, but she didn't answer. "Mattie, how many inside? Over."
"Hundreds! Today's Opening Day. It's a four-story building that's only about half that high now. People are starting to crawl out of the top floors and some are hurt bad. We need help now! Over."
"Okay WJ7V. This is Net Control, has anybody got phone service? Over?" When no one answered, Carl tried again, "Do we have any Hams at a police or fire station? Over." Again, no reply.
"K7LQ."
"LQ, go ahead."
"K7LQ, it's too soon Carl. It's just too soon."
Before Carl could answer, another man's voice interrupted, "NJ7RBG emergency."
"RBG, go ahead."
The man sounded nearly out of breath and his voice was quivering, "NJ7RBG, we've got two heaves in the I-5 freeway with a section missing. Several cars and a truck went off the end. Three seriously injured and one fatality. What hit us? Was it a bomb? It looks like..."
A mechanical voice curtly superseded him, "Time out. Wait." After that, there was complete silence.
Heather scooted forward on the bed with her huge eyes glued to the radio, "What's that? And where are they?"
"It's an automatic timer used to limit how long people can talk at one interval. And how should I know where they are?"
Finally, the mechanical voice came back on, "Repeater time out."
Net control instantly began to talk again, "Okay, RBG, give us a cross street, over."
"NJ7RBG, I'm at 228th street SW in Mount Lake Terrace, over."
Still seated at his desk, James turned to his sister. "There's a map of Seattle in the glove compartment of the truck. Go get it will you?"
Instantly, Heather flew out of the room. A short second later, a screen door slammed.
*
In Boise, Idaho, Glen Brown listened to the same frantic exchange over the emergency frequency. He reached in his desk drawer, pulled out an unused notebook and opened it to the first page. Next, he withdrew a sharpened pencil; poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, changed frequencies on his Amateur Radio, and began alerting the Hams on his net.
In San Francisco, Ham Operator and earthquake survivor John Meting bowed his head for a moment, and then pulled a checkbook out of his pocket. He entered a $1,000.00 amount, reached for an envelope and sealed the check inside. On the front he wrote the words – Salvation Army.
The only thing Ham Operator Belinda Case ever survived was two sets of twins, the youngest of which was finally and happily out of diapers. Without a second thought, Belinda went to a closet, opened the door and removed two full bags of disposables. Next, she located several spare blankets, and then began rummaging through her kitchen cupboards for extra canned food. Less than half an hour later, she made the first of many trips carrying generous donations from friends and family to Spokane's Red Cross collection center.
*
Soon reports over the Ham Radio began to come in more frequently and James listened intently to each new transmission.
"AC7UP."
"UP, go ahead."
"AC7UP. We just had a gas station blow up on the corner of Greenwood Avenue North and 92nd. We have heavy…make that severe damage to several homes on 92nd. Roads are impassable. We have broken water mains and injured people lying in the streets. I count seven dead so far, over."
*
KMPR's back-up generators should have kicked on automatically, but nothing on either console had power. Confused and still in shock, Max stood in the middle of the broadcast studio and scratched the back of his head. Half the room remained shaded by the still intact southern half of the roof, but a hot sun beat down on the other half. At length, he turned to Collin, "Well, the best place to start is the control room...I guess. In the closet by the front door, there's a snow shovel. Get it will you? We need to clear this mess out. And be careful on the stairs, go slow."
Collin was already halfway out the door when he answered, "Will do."
Cautiously, Max made his way through the rubble and started into the control room. "I can't believe this." He paused for a moment and scratched the back of his head again, "I can't believe we
lived
through this." He pushed on the broken door until it came free, and then leaned it against the wall. Next, he bent down, grabbed hold of the broken light fixture and dumped the plaster out. He leaned it against the wall as well, and soon, he disappeared inside.
Just as Max had done, Collin carefully tested each step, scooting plaster aside as he went. Remarkably, the reinforced steps felt solid. When he reached the closet, he easily found the shovel and hurried back upstairs. First, he picked up the larger chunks in the studio, carried them to the window and dropped them into the lush Seattle vines below. But each time he went to the window, he intentionally avoided looking across the street. Next, he used the shovel to start clearing a path. His injured arm had begun to ache, but he ignored it. Bruises on his head grew darker but none were serious. When Max was ready, Collin went into the control room, helped lift the fallen transmitter, and then listened as loose parts fell to the bottom.
"Don't worry, it'll work," Max said. He scooted more debris out of his way, and then got down on his knees. The summer sun beat hot on his skin, but Max didn't seem to notice.
Collin watched him get a wrench out of his toolbox and start removing screws from the front panel of the transmitter. "I know we need to get on the air, but I'm worried. Maybe we should try to go get them. Beth is pregnant, she can't walk fifteen miles."
Max kept working, beads of sweat beginning to glisten on his brow, "Let's hope they don't try. Go look out your front window, man. What's left of Seattle is, or soon will be, on fire."
Instantly Collin spun around and rushed out the door. He hurried down the stairs, charged into his living room and abruptly stopped. The sofa lay face down and twisted, the coffee table was on its side and his chair sat beneath the china hutch. But all these things he ignored. Cautiously, he made his way around the furniture until he stood only four feet from the open-air windows. In the distance, the bay looked calm, but oddly void of ships and summer sailboats. On the Olympic Peninsula, multiple columns of smoke rose from Bremerton and outlying areas.
He picked up a toppled wooden chair in his way, set it upright, and then moved farther forward. The fire was nearer than he imagined. The Space Needle was still there, although it slanted westward and one of its outside elevators, with people still inside, precariously hung by cables. Key Arena's newly built dome sat closer to the ground than it had before. The Opera house was gone as was the aging Center House and now he could see the Ferris wheel. Just behind it, billowing black smoke drifted straight up. The fire had completely engulfed at least two city blocks – the same blocks where three of Seattle's major television and radio stations were. On the roof of a building, orange and yellow flames grew in intensity, licking at a parked News chopper. Abruptly, the chopper exploded, adding fifty-foot flames to the smoke. Transfixed, Collin stared at the spreading fire for a long time before he looked away. Behind the smoke, what he could see of the city loomed dark and broken against the bright sky.
More columns of smoke drifted from structures on Capitol Hill. Beyond that, still more fires burned out of control, spreading their brown, white and black clouds of smoke into the windless air. Farther south, an even larger blaze was beginning -- a great wall of fire would soon burst forth from broken gas mains in the ground.