Hot Storage (22 page)

   It took a while for him to get the path cleared. A few times he passed me a box and I put it behind us so we could keep going forward. We finally reached the short hallway which was intact and paused.

   “You sure you’re okay?” He asked when we cleared the kitchen.

   “Yeah, but I wish someone would shut off that alarm.”

   He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a key ring and pressed a fob. The alarm went silent. “Must have been my truck.”

   “Glad it wasn’t mine,” I said. “My keys are upstairs.”

   “Come on, let’s see if we still have stairs.” He led the way through the office. Being empty it was easy to see the crack that ran across the ceiling and down both walls it touched. A bright strip of sunlight gleamed through the ceiling, the drop cloths on the floor were covered in dust and plaster bits.

   “Watch your step,” he said still leading the way. The front door was still open although the framing was higher on one side than the other. The front wall looked solid without cracks.

   A whole section of the roof had fallen forward missing his truck by a foot. Coated in dust and plaster it stood where he parked it. The Mustang had not fared so well – the entire hood was beneath the roof, the wind shield shattered. Dust still floated in the air above it. Roof tiles covered the back seat.

   Patrick took my arm and helped me through the debris till we could get clear. Around us the asphalt had split in places and buckled in others. One long crack ran across the driveway, one side of it higher than the other. A geyser of water shot ten feet in the air and splashed down into the crack.

   Patrick went along the side of the office. “Where’s the shut off?”

   “Somewhere there. It was between the windows.”

   The windows were there, the glass wasn’t. Shards glittered in the flower bed beneath the empty frames. The night blooming jasmine had fallen away from the wall and lay in the flower bed, the broken trellis holding it down.

   “Can’t find it,” he said, straightening up and carefully stepping back to where I stood. “Where’s the main?”

   “Street,” I said and pointed.

   With a nod he made his way across the uneven ground of the parking lot. I saw him kneel and shortly the fountain of water dwindled and died. He stood up again and wiped his hands along his thighs.

   I looked at the stairs to my apartment. An advantage to that covered space where the two halves of the building joined– they appeared undamaged. I started for them and Patrick called out. “Leave it for now. Don’t know how sound they are. We’ll check later. We have to check the lot. Was anyone inside?”

   “I don’t know,” I said, joining him. Several more cracks broke the asphalt, none of them as deep as the one in front.

   One side of the gate had fallen flat while the other stood on its track.

   “You have a cell phone?”

   I nodded and patted my pocket.

   “Come on, let’s see if anyone is hurt.”

   “Should I call 911?”

   Patrick chuckled. “You and every other person in Jade.”

   I felt my skin flush. Of course we weren’t the only ones with damage. I looked at the garage and saw one side of the door had let go while the other side still held. There was a gap between the heavy door and its frame but it looked solid.

   Patrick caught my hand and tugged. “Come on, Marlena, there may be someone stuck out here. You take this aisle and watch your step. Stay in the center of the aisle, away from the walls. I’m going down that one. We’ll meet in the back. Remember, stay in the middle.”

   When we were through the gate we stopped and looked down the aisle. Buildings One, Two and Four looked okay from here, no visible damage.

   The asphalt here was buckled in places, a few cracks running down the driveways. Some of the doors on the units had popped free and lay in front of the gap they had previously covered.

   The entire front wall of Building Three had fallen straight out, like it was sliced off with a giant knife. The whole end of that building now exposed was the one occupied by Mrs. Murphy. The roof had dropped on to those rows of cartons we had just stacked there. The cartons held the roof off the ground. The ones on the bottom were squashed down, the sides bowed out. Bending I could see the paths between the rows looked like little tunnels. Roof tiles, pieces of wood and chunks of pink insulation fanned out from the foundation.

   “How’s it look?” Patrick called from the far corner where he had made his way to Building Eight. “Seven is okay, Eight has damage. Cracks all along the wall and some doors down.”

   “Three is a loss,” I called back. “Whole end of it is down. The others look okay.”

   We were yelling back and forth when the aftershock hit. I sat down, right where I was, Indian style, crossed my ankles and dropped straight down on my butt. I wasn’t close enough to a building to get hit with anything. A grumble filled the air, the ground shook and lifted again. Then it was silent. Not even the car alarms went off.

   “You okay?”

   I got to my feet and waved to Patrick who was making his way back to where I stood. “I’m good,” I called and waited for him to join me. “This is bad,” I said when he reached me.

   “It is that,” he agreed, looking around. “Gonna take more than a couple of tarps to cover this. We’ll have to get a building inspector down here before we let anyone in. Don’t want someone to get killed.”

   “Insurance?” I asked.

   He nodded. “Not sure it’s gonna cover this. Act of God clause, like flooding.” He turned and pointed to the row of vehicles that appeared unscathed. “At least the vehicles and boats survived. I don’t see any damage to them. Good thing they’re out here in the clear.”

   “The owners can get them out,” I said. “We can throw some plywood over that bad crack by the gate.”

   “To go where? This was a big one. We’re not the only ones to suffer damage. Owners may just want to leave them.”

   I looked at Space 29. “Looks like your motor home is okay. So is Burke’s. That boat trailer has flat tires, otherwise looks good.” We wandered along the row and found no damage to the outside storage other than a couple of flat tires.

  I pointed to the end of Building Three. “That’s the biggest damage, your mom’s big unit, the one without the walls.”

   Patrick laughed. “Good. Maybe she’ll get rid of all that stuff.”

   We turned and made our way back towards the exposed end of the building. Carefully climbing around the fallen wall we got close enough to see the tunnels between rows of cartons and boxes that held the roof off the ground.

   “We can’t take the cartons out,” Patrick said, bending to look under the roof. He went to one knee. “Those cartons are supporting the roof. If we try to move them out, it’s gonna fall. Need someone to check it out, see if we can jack it up. I told her fifty times to let me put those walls up. Might not have fallen if they were there for support.” He got to his feet and dusted his hands against his legs.

   “There is one bright spot,” he said. “I hadn’t started painting yet.”

   I laughed in spite of myself and he joined in.

   “All right, let’s go see those stairs.”

   “I have to get home. I have nowhere else to go and my car is under the roof of the office.”

   Patrick stopped and looked at me. “Hang on a second. Stay right there.”

   He turned and jogged back to his motor home and disappeared around the side. I waited, looking at the collapsed end of Building Three.

   The ground heaved again, up and down, another aftershock. I crossed my ankles and sat again. Temblers were common after a quake. Sometimes the aftershocks last for days, making the residents jumpy as squirrels on a broken branch. No one would be sleeping well tonight without a chemical blanket.

   I stood up again and watched Patrick jog back to me.

   He was smiling. “Motor home is good,” he said. “Didn’t even spill the salt.”

  I returned his smile. “Good for you!”

   “No, good for you. You have a place to stay till we get the apartment checked out.”

   “I can’t do that,” I said. “I’m sure everything is all right upstairs.”

   “You are not going up those stairs till someone checks them out. The way the office cracked and fell, no way. You can stay in the motor home.” He pulled out his keys and twisted one off. “Here you go. Batteries are all charged the water tank is full so you’re good for a few days. Should even be some canned food in the galley.”

   I tucked the key in the watch pocket of my jeans with no intention of staying in his motor home. He went to the edge of the collapsed roof and dropped again to one knee. He caught the edge of the gutter and gave it a shake. Something inside fell with a thunk and a rattle.

   “Pat! Get away from it,” I yelled, taking a couple of steps towards him. “I can’t pull that off you.”

   He stood and dusted his hands together, still looking.

   I went to him and tugged on his arm. “Come on, man. Another shock could bring it right out here.” I caught the back of his belt and pulled. “Get back.”

   To my relief he backed up beside me. “I think we can get some jacks under here and raise it. Get her stuff out.”

   “I thought you wanted her to get rid of it.”

   He turned and grinned at me. “I do. And she knows it. Have to make every effort before I call in the heavy equipment and have it scraped to the ground.” He was smiling, his eyes bright. “Dump that whole mess into a dumpster and call it done. All right, we’ve seen enough. Let’s check the rest of the place.” He led the way to the back.

   While there were cracks in the buildings none had sustained the damages of Building Three. It was always possible interior walls had sustained damage but for the moment it wasn’t apparent. People’s belongings were another matter. How they had stacked and stored would be the key to how well their things survived. No one had been in the lot at the time. That was a blessing. Had someone been inside at the time they could have been killed.

   Patrick and I walked the perimeter, staying in the middle of the aisle, not getting close to either side, just to be safe. He rattled a few doors and kicked at a corner to assure himself it wasn’t going to cave in with the next aftershock.

   It took us hours to check it all. During that time we heard numerous sirens flare and go in different directions. Back at the office two customers waited at the broken gate looking like those dead eyed people you see on the evening news after a disaster.

   Patrick left them to me while he went to the foot of the stairs.

   The three of us huddled in the early evening chill like refugees, exchanging stories. After I had assured them several times that they couldn’t get back to their units they left together, on foot. The street had a foot deep crack down the center and one side was at least a foot higher than the other. At the very end of the street another geyser of water shot high in the air.

   When they left I went around the corner to find Patrick. He was leaning on the back fender of my Mustang. Tears flooded my eyes when I really looked at it. The entire front of the car was flattened including both front tires. The back half didn’t look bad, the trunk undamaged.

   Patrick heard me coming. “Sorry, Marlena, this is totaled. Hope you have good insurance.”

   “I do,” I said. “Unless this is going to another one of those Act of God things. I hope it’s covered.”

   “It will be a while before you know. The phone lines may be down. There’s no cell service. Those stairs aren’t safe. I got up the first few and then they got bouncy, like walking on a trampoline. You’re not going to be able to get up there till I get them checked by the building inspector.”

   The tears fell then, hot streaks down my cheeks.

   Patrick came to me and wrapped me in a warm hug. He made little pats on my back and murmured those senseless things we all do to someone hurt. I leaned on him for a little bit and let him comfort me. Then my father’s blood coursed through my veins and I stood straight.

   “Your truck seems to be okay. Go see if you can help someone else. I’ll watch the gates.”

   “Call your cop buddy. See if he can come over.”

   “He’s probably buried in calls. Go. I’ll be fine.”

   Patrick looked at me. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll check back later.”

   “Whatever. Go.”

   “I’m going to go check on my folks. I want you to promise me you won’t try those stairs. They are dangerous. There’s nothing up there worth dying for. Got it?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Your word,” he said. “Promise?”

   “Promise.”

   “Use the motor home. Another shake and the whole place may come down. You’re safe there. It’s clear of buildings, nothing is going to fall on it.”

   I nodded.

   “I mean it, Marlena. I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

   I nodded again. “Go.”

   With a last look he turned around and unlocked his truck. I watched him leave, the big truck bouncing over the cracks and ruts. When he was out of sight I took another turn around the lot, watching my step. The last thing I needed was to turn an ankle or bust my butt in a fall.