Escaping the Giant Wave (4 page)

“Can I watch
Money Talk
at seven o'clock?” BeeBee asked. She looked at me since she knows I don't like that program.

“Sure,” I said. “I'll write my postcards to Gary and Grandpa and Grandma while you watch it.”

“We'll have the cell phone with us,” Mom said, “but I don't know if there's reception on the ship. Probably not.”

“Kyle is not going to call us and interrupt the Salesman of the Year program,” Dad said. “We'll be clear out on the ocean, anyway. If there's a problem, he can call the front desk.”

“We'll be fine,” I said. “It's no different than when we stay at home, so don't worry about us.”

Mom gave me a hug. “Thanks,” she said.

“Have a good time,” I said. After they left I put the chain on the door in case Daren decided to pay us an unannounced visit.

BeeBee and I played gin rummy for awhile. Then we read the room service menu and chose what kind of pizza we wanted. Even though it was only five o'clock, we decided to eat. “Let's order milkshakes too,” BeeBee said. “I want vanilla.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I had never ordered anything from room service but it was easy. “Charge it to Room 303,” I said, as if I charged things every day of my life.

“While we wait for the food to come,” BeeBee said, “let's buy candy bars from the machine. They can be our dessert.”

“We ordered milkshakes,” I said. “I don't want a candy bar too.”

“I do. I'll eat it later while I watch
Money Talk.”

“We're supposed to stay in the room.”

“Mom and Dad let me use the candy machine last night. It's down the hall, just past the elevator.”

I decided a trip to the candy machine wasn't the same as wandering around alone, so I said yes. I let her go by herself in case Mom called. She often calls when BeeBee and I are alone, and I knew she would freak out completely if she called the room and nobody answered.

“Go straight to the candy machine and come right back,” I said.

“You sound like Dad,” BeeBee said. She scooped three quarters from the pile of change Dad had left on the dresser top, picked up Bill, and skipped down the hall.

I stood in the doorway and watched her pass the elevator and turn the corner to the alcove where the candy machine was located.

Before she came back, the phone rang.

“Hi, honey,” Mom said. “We're getting ready to board the ship and wanted to be sure everything's okay with you guys.”

“We're fine,” I said. “We ordered pizza and milkshakes, and we're waiting for them to be delivered.”

“Oh, good. We'll see you later then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung up and went back to the doorway. BeeBee should have been back by now.

The hallway was empty.

“BeeBee?”

No reply.

I put the room key in my pocket, closed the door, and headed for the candy machine. A sign taped to the front of it said, “Out of order. Use machine on second floor.”

I frowned, annoyed at my sister. She knew she shouldn't go downstairs by herself. I walked back to the elevator and looked up at the arrow. It was partway between two and three; she must be on her way back up. When the doors didn't open, I looked again. The arrow still pointed between floors.

Oh, great! BeeBee was stuck in the elevator. I waited a minute, hoping the elevator would start again by itself, the way it had when Daren got stuck, but the arrow didn't budge.

I returned to the room and called the front desk. “The elevator is stuck again,” I told the clerk.

“Is anyone on it?”

“Yes. At least, I think so; I'm not positive.”

The clerk sighed loudly into the receiver. “We have to pay the repair service double time after five o'clock,” he said. “Unless we know there's someone stuck between floors, we'll wait until tomorrow morning to call them.”

“I'll make sure my sister isn't on the stairs,” I said.

I raced down the hall to the stairway, galloped down to the second floor, and checked the candy machine there. No BeeBee. I ran back upstairs. I glanced at the elevator arrow before I returned to the room; it was exactly where it had been the last time I looked at it.

I unlocked our room and called the front desk again.

“The elevator's still stuck,” I said, “and my sister's on it.”
She had better be,
I thought,
because if she isn't, where is she?

I stood in the doorway where I could see the elevator and still hear the phone if it rang. I knew my parents wouldn't call again, but the man at the desk might call to tell me when the repairman would arrive.

I'm in charge,
I thought. I should never have let her out of my sight. I should have gone with her. If nobody had answered the phone when Mom called, she would have called again in a few minutes.

My stomach felt knotted up like a pretzel. I was almost certain BeeBee was stuck on the elevator, but I remembered news stories about kidnapped children. One minute a child was with his parents in a shopping mall or a bowling alley or some other public place, and the next minute the child had vanished. Many times I had seen TV clips of weeping parents pleading with whoever had taken their son or daughter to bring that child back. I knew how Mom and Dad would react if they got back to the hotel tonight and learned that BeeBee had disappeared.

No. I pushed the shocking scene out of my mind, refusing to let my imagination take that path. She's on the elevator, I told myself. She has to be!

I wiped the palms of my hands on my jeans and wondered how long it usually took for the repair service to arrive. I wouldn't let myself think about what would happen if the elevator got fixed but BeeBee wasn't on it.

The stairway door opened. A man carrying a cardboard pizza box and a white paper bag came down the hall. The man's face was red; beads of sweat dotted his brow.

“You ordered a pizza?” he asked. The words came out in wispy puffs as the man tried to catch his breath.

“Yes. Thanks.” I took the box and the bag and set them on the table in the room.

The man followed me into the room. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead with it. “It's bad enough we have to deliver clear over here from the Frontier Lodge kitchen,” he said, “but I had to walk all the way up to the third floor. The elevator's broken.”

“I know. Thanks for bringing our order.” I handed the man the five-dollar bill.

He looked less grumpy as he tucked the bill in his pocket. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

BeeBee appeared in the doorway.

Relief and anger mixed in my mind like two colors of paint swirling together. “You're in big trouble,” I said.

“The elevator got stuck, but it's working again,” BeeBee said as she came into the room. She didn't look at me, but directed her words to the pizza man.

“I needed it more coming up,” he said. He left, closing the door behind him.

“What were you thinking?” I demanded.

“The candy machine on this floor didn't work.”

“You knew you shouldn't go downstairs alone. You should have come and told me, and I would have gone with you.”

At least she had the sense to look guilty. “I did come back to get you,” she said, “and I heard the phone ring. I knew you were talking to Mom and I thought I could go get my candy bar and be back before you hung up. I would have made it too, if the elevator hadn't stopped.”

“You scared me half to death. I didn't know if you were on the elevator or if some nutcase had abducted you.”

BeeBee hung her head.

“It happens, you know,” I said. “Practically every week there's a report on the news about some kid who disappears.”

“I didn't think about that,” BeeBee said.

“You didn't think, period. You could have been chopped in pieces and stuffed in the Dumpster.”

BeeBee's lower lip quivered, a sure sign that tears would soon flow. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“Maybe.” I knew I wouldn't tell them because I was somewhat to blame for what had happened. I should have gone with her to the candy machine instead of letting her go alone. But I didn't tell BeeBee that. I wanted her to worry about her possible punishment for awhile. That way, she wouldn't pull a stupid stunt like this again.

“Where's your candy bar?” I asked. “Don't tell me the other machine was broken too.”

“I ate it while I sat in the elevator.” She grinned at me. “Dessert first,” she said.

“Let's eat our pizza before it gets cold,” I said. I opened the box. The pizza smelled delicious. Pineapple, tomatoes, and extra cheese—my favorite kind. I handed BeeBee a napkin.

“Thank you, sir,” BeeBee said, sounding exactly like the delivery man.

I smiled. It was hard to stay mad now that everything had turned out okay.

“How does it feel to be a big spender?” BeeBee asked.

I took a bite and ignored her. As I set my slice of pizza down, the table tilted. One side lifted up while the other side went down. The carton of pizza slid off the edge, flipped, and landed cheese-side down on the floor. The milkshakes would have gone too, if we hadn't grabbed them.

At the same time, the chairs we were sitting on seemed to sink and then come up again, like one of the rides at the county fair.

“Whoa!” BeeBee said. “Did you feel that?”

A lamp toppled off the bedside table.

We let go of the milkshakes and clung to the arms of the chairs as they dipped down again.

“It's an earthquake!” I said, my heart thudding like a bass drum. I felt frozen in place, my shocked brain incapable of thought.

“My milkshake spilled,” BeeBee said. “It's all over the rug.”

The whole room swayed from side to side; pieces of the bathroom ceiling crashed to the tile floor.

Everything that was on top of the dresser tumbled off. Sunglasses, Mom's hairbrush, the postcards I'd bought, the envelope with our tickets for the flight back to Kansas City, and Dad's pile of change all landed in a heap.

BeeBee leaned down to look under the table. “The pizza's wrecked,” she said. “It's all dirty.” She started to pick it up. As she did, her chair moved again, causing her to bump her head on the table. “Ouch!” she yelped.

Somehow her cry brought me to my senses. I needed to keep us from getting hurt, if I could.

“Get on the floor,” I said, “and cover your head with your hands.” I hoped I didn't sound as scared as I felt.

We crouched with our foreheads on the floor and our arms over our heads. The old green shag carpet smelled musty and I saw stains that I hadn't noticed before. Two peanuts, dropped by a former occupant of the room, hid under the desk.

I heard a crackling sound, like static on the radio, followed by a “Poof!” that seemed to come from the roof. The lights went out.

Enough daylight came through the window that I could see around the room. Everything moved. It was as if the entire building had been placed in a large box and now a giant was shaking the box. The drapes swung back and forth; BeeBee's bucket of stones tipped over, dumping the contents; Dad's shaving kit slid off the bathroom counter and crashed to the floor on top of the broken pieces of ceiling.

Beside me, the bed creaked as if someone was bouncing on it.

Bang! A loud noise exploded outside, behind the hotel.

“Was that a gun?” BeeBee asked.

“I don't think so. Maybe a big tree fell down.”

We had hunched side by side with our hands on our heads for only a minute or two, but it seemed like hours. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the shaking stopped. BeeBee put her hands down and began crawling toward her spilled stones.

“Don't get up yet,” I said. “There may be aftershocks.”

“The rug stinks. I don't like putting my face by it.”

“Sit up then, but keep your hands over your head in case any more of the ceiling comes down.”

We remained on the floor for a few minutes more but nothing else happened.

“I guess it's over,” I said.

I got up, stepped over the milkshake puddle, and walked to the window. BeeBee stood beside me. Everything outside looked exactly as it had before. Down on the beach the waves licked against the shore, and far out on the water a large yacht was silhouetted against the sky. I wondered if it was the
Elegant Empress.
Had Mom and Dad felt the earthquake out on the ocean? Or was the water so deep that it cushioned the jolts that came from the earth far below?

“Wow!” BeeBee said. “That was exciting! Wait till Mom and Dad hear we had an earthquake while they were gone.” She began picking up her stones and putting them back in the bucket. “Can we order another pizza and more milkshakes?” she asked. “Maybe the hotel won't charge us to replace them since it wasn't our fault they spilled.”

I didn't reply. All I could think about was the sign we'd seen at the beach that morning. I couldn't remember exactly how it was worded, but I did remember that as soon as an earthquake ended we were supposed to run away from the water and go as far inland and as high uphill as we could go.

Mom and Dad had told us to stay in the hotel while they were gone—but this morning Dad had made sure we understood the warning sign's instructions.

So, should BeeBee and I stay where we were, or leave the hotel and hike up the hill?

If everyone was supposed to leave the hotel and go to higher ground, wouldn't an alarm go off? Maybe not inside an old hotel like this, but outside somewhere? There must be some sort of warning signal to let people know.

Back home, whenever a tornado approaches, sirens sound all over town. When we hear the tornado sirens, we all head for the nearest building and go down to the basement until the “all clear” signal sounds.