The Survivor Chronicles: Book 1, The Upheaval Read Free Page B

again. Tumbling out of control, she ricocheted down the stairs and off the wall before crashing into the back of the couch.
     
    She moaned, her body aching and throbbing as she tried to right herself. From somewhere deep in the house a loud crash reverberated. She suspected the bookcase that Larry had complained about had just toppled over. At least now the top of it would be easier to dust, she thought to herself. Somewhere closer, another crash and shattering glass. For the first time since it began, she didn’t feel just confusion, but actual fear. She realized that she had to get moving, that she’d die in this place if she didn’t.
     
    Her hand continued to leave a trail of blood as she ran, one she was dimly aware Larry would later berate her for. The glass in the grandfather clock in the corner shattered, blowing outward with a force that seemed entirely out of place for an earthquake. Stumbling and staggering, she made her way to the front door and flung it open.
     
    People were emerging outside. Some were screaming as they fled the deathtrap their houses had suddenly become. Others had fallen to the ground, seemingly astounded and lost as they stared at their tumultuous surroundings. Mary Ellen tripped down the outside stairs, fell to her knees, and forced herself back to her feet. Her heart hammered, she could barely get air into her lungs as her body became coated in a thin sheen of sweat. It seemed as if the shaking had been going on for hours, like it was never going to stop.
     
    Something broke, or at least that’s what it felt like to her. A cracking, like an eggshell against a bowl, seemed to slash through the air. She stood, frazzled, stunned; unable to move as she somehow sensed a rending deep within her soul. A long, sad breath escaped her, and for some inexplicable reason tears suddenly sprang to her eyes.
     
    And then, finally – thankfully – it was over. The enshrouding silence that ensued was almost as overwhelming as the quake had been. Then car alarms began to blare, dogs barked riotously, and an anguished scream pierced the still air. Mary Ellen fought the urge to cover her ears as that scream caused her bones to tremble.
     
    She couldn’t breathe as she stumbled down the last few steps onto the sidewalk. Her neighbor, Mr. Shandling, was just emerging from his house. In his seventies, he was a kind old man, with smiling blue eyes, and a quirky sense of humor that Mary Ellen adored. She didn’t get to talk with him much, as he had worked mostly the same hours as Larry. And seventy or not, Larry didn’t like her talking to any man. But Mr. Shandling had retired from his job last month, and at least three times a week now she found herself drifting over to his garden to share coffee and chitchat, as he pulled weeds and admired his tomatoes.
     
    He looked disorientated now as he blinked at her from behind the lenses of his glasses. Blood was trickling from a cut in his forehead; it had turned some strands of gray hair pink and ran in a perfect line down his nose. “Mr. Shandling!” Mary Ellen called out, terrified for him and his safety.
     
    Gathering her scattered wits, Mary Ellen forced her trembling legs to work properly as she ran toward him. He turned to her, seeming dazed and disoriented as he blinked at her. “Mary Ellen?”
     
    “Yes.” She arrived at his side. “Are you okay, Mr. Shandling?”
     
    His hand went gingerly to his forehead. He seemed amazed as he pulled it back to examine the blood coating his fingers. “I think so,” he muttered.
     
    It wasn’t the best of responses, but at least it was a response. She needed a towel, or something to wipe the blood away so that she could see the wound better. She was grabbing hold of his arm to steer him back inside when the barking that filled the air stopped. Bewildered by the sudden reprieve, she lifted her head to warily take in her surroundings. It was still loud, still unbelievably chaotic as people cried,