Quake Read Free Page A

'exactly Hondo.' She hadn't been able to find a mug with Hondo on however, so she'd settled for Cogburn. 'I know you like that,' she'd said, making a face. To which Clint responded, trying to mimic Duke's cadence and voice, 'give me a couple more years and an eye patch, little lady.' He yawned again.
        It was eight-nineteen on Friday morning. He had been up since four-thirty, his gimmick for beating the system. Get out of bed, dress in the bathroom so you don't wake anyone and hit the road by a quarter to five for a forty-minute through the dark. A drive that would take you twice as long if you slept to a reasonable hour like six. Arriving early meant you had the offices to yourself for a few hours. That was nice. And you got to leave before two, ahead of during the afternoon rush. Plenty of advantages.
        Took a lot out of you, though. Another yawn, then Clint picked up his empty mug, slid back his chair, and sidestepped clear of his desk. He planned to get a refill. But he only took one step.
        He had time to wonder what that roar was. Then in an instant he knew what it was. Not an eighteen- Wheeler heading toward the building. Not a Boeing 747 about to take down the wall. The roar came out of nowhere and before Clint could quite have time to wonder what it might be he knew it was a quake as it hit. It sounded like a quake. It felt like a quake. This was California, land of quakes, so it probably wasn't a truck crashing into the building. It wasn't a tornado inside the office with him. It wasn't the shock wave from a comet nuclear warhead striking ground zero a mile away; it might feel and sound a lot like this, but this was an earthquake.
        First it roared. Then it hurled a body block against Clint. He staggered sideways, but kept his feet. It had never hit him so hard before. A good one, he thought. A really good one. Maybe a six-Maybe bigger.
        Time for it to fade away now. It didn't fade. It grew. It shook the window blinds so hard they clattered and splintered windows. It killed the fluorescent lights. It wobbled the walls. It clawed acoustical tiles off the ceiling. It filled the air with the flying debris of papers, case files, Rolodexes, staplers. Drawers of desks and file cabinets fell open. Computer keyboards and monitors slid and fell on the floor. Chairs on wheels raced across the wild floor. Clint thought, My God, it's the Big One. This is it.
        He wondered if this was his day to die. Just stand your ground, he told himself. It'll go away. Standing his ground was not easy. The office and jumped. The carpet had waves in it - combers two feet high that raced for the wall. Impossible, he thought. He was seeing it, though - floor surf. Clint pranced and stayed up. And thought, It's a race. Which calls it quits first, the quake or the building?
        If the quake wins, I'm dead meat. He began his dash for the stairway. Knees pumping, arms overhead. Dodging, jumping. Get the fuck outa here!
        As he ran, he recalled his years of glib wisdom. His cracks. 'When your number's up,' pause for effect, 'it's eight-point-five.' A little Richter scale humor. Or his favourite bit: 'No call to be afraid of earthquakes. A quake is completely harmless, never hurt anyone.' Pause for effect. 'It's the sky that falls on your head that'll kill you!'
        Or taking a dive down the stairway, he suddenly thought. At the top of the stairs, he reached for the handrail and missed. He reached again. This time, he caught the wooden rail. But it was jerked out of his grip. No holding on. The stairwell looked like a narrow tunnel. A steep one. funhouse slide into a pit. It juddered and twitched down to where the light from above faded. The landing and door were somewhere below in the darkness. Don't try it, Clint told himself. Wait till the shaking stops. Sure thing. He bounded down the stairs, leaping, taking two at a time, Slapping the walls to help his balance. Like sprinting down a