Killer Z (5 page)
T
he earth shakes as pillars of fire curl
smoke into the sky. Fred peers through the smoke and hopes to see Jesus’ second
coming. No trumpets or angels herald the savior’s grand return.
“Oh sweet Jesus, where are you?” Fred
wails.
“Give it a rest, Dad. It’s just an
earthquake. Jesus isn’t going to save us, but your truck will.”
“Look Kyle, I know we have our
differences but screw the truck. The baby is our number one priority!”
“I know. But he’s at the hospital and we
are here. We need the damn truck!”
“Why is the baby at the hospital?”
“Calm down, Dad. He was having an
allergic reaction to a new medication.”
“Why’s he on medication?”
“It doesn’t matter, dad. We just need to
get there.”
A thunderous
crack
echoes
through the block. Independence Avenue splits in two. Terrified
pedestrians scramble to the sidewalks as asphalt disintegrates. Parked vehicles
are sucked into the widening hole. People scream for help as they tumble into
the unknown.
“How do you expect me to drive my truck
in this?” Fred asks and backpedals away from a crack appearing in the sidewalk.
Parking meters and trees tilt downwards
and disappear into the churning earth. Entire buildings disappear and leave
clouds of dust. Broken water lines spew fountains of water high into the air.
Kyle grabs his arm as a giant dust cloud obscures their vision.
Kyle leads them along the cracked and
empty Capitol Reflecting pool. Panicked people run in between the
buildings on Madison Drive. The Washington Monument slants like the Leaning
Tower of Pisa. Emergency sirens from ambulances and fire trucks screech in the distance
but are unable to reach the National Mall due to the quake destroyed roads.
Police and security personnel try
directing everyone to follow evacuation routes, but many of the streets are
impassable. Kyle shoves through the crowd and approaches the relatively still
intact National Museum of Natural History. Fred is relieved to see the truck
parked with numerous parking tickets. Kyle runs up the stairs of the
Smithsonian.
“Kyle, where the hell are you going?”
Kyle yells down the steps, “I have to get
something from my office.”
“Are you crazy? We need to get out of
here!”
Kyle disappears into the building. Fred’s
hands shake as he takes out a cigarette. Screams come from the Smithsonian Castle. Various explosions echo through the destroyed city. After a minute he
can’t wait and goes inside looking for Kyle. The security check point is
abandoned. Dozens of visitors stumble around the rotunda with stunned
expressions.
“Kyle?”
Broken fossils crunch under his feet as
he enters the Early Life exhibit. In the next room a forty foot tall
Tyrannosaurus Rex wobbles.
A muffled cry carries across the Fossil
Mammals exhibit, “Please help us! The door won’t open.”
Fred follows the voice to the bathrooms.
The women’s restroom door is jammed shut. He kicks at the door with heavy
steel-toe boots but it doesn’t budge.
“Stay calm lady! I’ll have you out in a
jiffy.”
“Please hurry! It’s dark in here!”
Fred runs into a hallway and finds a
snack shop. An employee limps out of the shop’s smoke filled doorway.
“A fire in the grilling station,” the guy
gasps.
“There’s folks trapped in the restroom.”
“Whatever. This place is going to blow,”
the man chokes and flees.
Fred enters the snack shop. A maintenance
worker is slumped on the floor, head half crushed. Around the dead man’s waist
is a utility belt which Fred reluctantly unfastens. He buckles the belt to his
waist and runs to the bathrooms.
“I’m back!”
“Thank God, Timmy isn’t breathing well,
please get us out of here.”
Fred examines the screws to see if the
door can be unhinged.
“I’m Fred. How many are with you?”
“Emily Rothschild, I’m here with my two
grandchildren.”
Fred removes two screws. The hallway
fills with smoke. His hands sweat and eyes burn.
“Emily, are you hurt?”
“No, but please hurry.”
“I most definitely am, ma’am.”
His breath comes in sharply as lungs
struggle for clean air. One of the two hinges pops free. Only three screws
remain.
“Fred, it’s getting hot.”
“There’s a fire. I’m almost there.”
Within thirty seconds the last screw pops
out. Fred slams the door with his left shoulder and it falls inwards revealing
an elderly woman and two young children.
“Oh! Thank you,” she says.
Emily directs the children to the rotunda
and Fred follows, finding Kyle near the exit.
“Dad, where were you?”
The boy looks strangely happy and Fred
eyes him suspiciously. Kyle adjusts the straps of a backpack on his shoulders.
“Helping folks, you ready?”
Kyle nods and they depart through the
exit.
“Dad, where’s your truck?”
Fred looks around franticly until he sees
underneath a crashed fire truck the dangling remains of his bumper and Minnesota license plate.
“Sweet Jesus, what happened to my truck?”
“Guess we’re walking after all, old man.”
M
ark and Irina race across the south lawn of the
Capitol building with Rebecca and Michael trailing.
“I need my keys!” Mark says.
The group follows Mark to the Jefferson Building. The asphalt of the intersection between First and Independence juts out
in all directions. Neptune’s Fountain, with its king and assortment of turtles,
frogs and serpents, is buried underneath the crumbling marble staircase leading
to the main entrance of the Library of Congress. Before the destroyed fountain
stands Susan Bishop with a microphone in hand.
“This is Susan Bishop,” she says
intently into the camera, not a hair on her head out of place. “I’m reporting
from the Capital where a devastating earthquake has destroyed the city. This
fountain was once King Neptune, the Roman god of the sea and brother of
Minerva. This is just a small sample of the devastation we are experiencing in
the nation’s capital today. There’s still no word on the status of the
President or the White House…”
Mark sprints up the remains of the
left staircase.
“You’re not supposed to use stairs
during an earthquake!” Rebecca yells.
“We need to reach the others
before they evacuate,” Mark shouts down.
“The others would have evacuated
already, Mark,” Michael yells.
“I’m following Mark,” Irina says
and climbs the stairs.
“Why did we have to take the
metro?” Michael whines and attempts the stairs with Rebecca.
Mark pulls on the door handle but
it doesn’t open. “We need to find another way in.”
“Why not try the researcher’s
entrance?” Irina asks.
A security guard appears on the
other side of the door glass.
“Brian, man, let us in!” Mark
yells.
“It’s not any better in here,”
Brian calls back through the thick glass.
Mark whips out his identification
card and presses it against the glass.
“You see this? I work here. You
know who I am, let me in.”
“Ok, ok, hold on,” Brian says and
opens the door.
The group rushes inside the
building. Out of habit Mark stops underneath the metal detector. He feels
stupid as the guard gives him a sour look. The click of the closing door echoes
through the empty lobby. No other security guards man the stations. The tremors
subside.
“This is the first time I’ve seen
this place without tour groups wandering around,” Irina says.
“Where did Brian go?” Mark asks.
The guard is nowhere to be seen.
“Nice to know our security guards
are keeping their posts,” Michael snorts.
“It’s an earthquake, we shouldn’t
be in here,” Rebecca retorts.
“Maybe he was stealing rare
books?” Irina says, jokingly.
“This is the Library of Congress.
People don’t do that here,” Mark says coolly and straightens his jacket.
“Ha!” Rebecca snaps. “Michael told
me people steal rare books by ripping off the book covers and walking out.”
Michael shoots Rebecca a dark
look. Their shoes echo on the marble as they walk briskly down a corridor
towards the Kluge Center. The Bob Hope exhibit is in good condition but the
Whittall Pavilion isn’t. A cloud of dust hangs over the broken drywall spilling
into the hallway.
“If we go to the main chamber on
the first floor we could use the side hallway,” Mark says.
They backtrack. Mark steps over
broken chunks of marble showing pieces of the statue Athena. The first floor
hallway is equally impassable, further frustrating Mark and the others.
“The only way left to try is the
Main Reading Room,” Michael says.
They walk up a marble staircase.
Mark glances over a balcony and sees the unbreakable cases containing the four
original Gutenberg Bibles and the Declaration of Independence. Sunlight streams
down through cracks in the breaking ceiling.
“This sucks,” Michael tells
Rebecca. “The beauty of the building is being destroyed! You see that over
there? It represents the different seasons. It was made by Frank Becket. You
see those sayings on that wall and ceiling? They came from the Librarian of the
Library.”
“You know what’s happening might
be no different then what happened in cities in Japan, New Zealand, Haiti, Chili, and even California in the last couple of years,” Mark says. “They
experienced epic natural disasters, but life went on.”
“I always liked Cervantes,” Irina
pipes. “My favorite is Sir Francis Bacon’s quote ‘knowledge is power.’ What are
we doing if we can’t get to the office, Mark?”
“We need to get to our families
somehow,” Michael says.
“My family is in Russia. How do I get home?” Irina asks.
“I can get you to the Russian
Embassy,” Mark says. “Or you can stay with me.”
Ahead, a streak of sunlight
illuminates a mosaic of the Roman goddess of learning and wisdom, Minerva. The
guardian of civilization holds a proclamation scroll. Mark stares at Minerva
and thinks of how quickly civilization can disintegrate; even this great
library which always reminded him of the fabled library of Alexandria.
“Do you think Sam will be ok?”
Rebecca asks.
“See the sun at the upper left
corner of the mural? The darkness recedes and the light creates balance,”
Michael answers.
“How does that relate to us?”
Rebecca asks.
“Light and goodness will prevail,”
Mark says. “Come on. We need to go through the Visitor’s Gallery.”
“Rebecca, the Light will watch
over our son,” Michael says, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry.”
The Visitor’s Gallery overlooks
the library’s main reading chamber. Michael whistles as he points to the
deteriorating grand ceiling over the balcony. Only two of the eight statues
overlooking the chamber remain. Irina gasps as she looks down. The floor of the
main chamber has imploded inwards. Heavy wooden chairs and desks bury a
multitude of writhing bodies. Low moans of agony lift from the ground floor.
“We have to do something for
them,” Rebecca says.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Mark
says and turns away.
They walk stiffly down the hallway
and turn the corner only to find the way blocked by more collapsed walls.
Distraught, the group finally backtracks to the main entrance.
Rebecca wrinkles her nose and
asks, “Do you smell that?”
“I might be able to crawl through
a window,” Irina’s says, her voice carrying a hysterical edge. She rushes down
the hallway and tries the door leading to the Graphic Arts Gallery.
“I smell something too. Irina,
wait…” Mark shouts.
Irina doesn’t listen and opens the
door. A blast of heat and flame shoots into the hallway. She screams and falls
to the floor as fire devours her. An aftershock ripples through the building
and they’re showered with dust, plaster and bits of mosaic. Mark runs across
the marble and reaches for her burning mass.
Michael grabs Mark before he
reaches Irina and drags the grieving man towards the stairway leading to the Capitol Building tunnel.
“You can’t help her! The fire is
spreading!” Michael yells.
Rebecca holds open the heavy
emergency door and slams it closed behind them. Mark slumps to the floor and
stares blindly at the tiles. Michael gathers Rebecca snugly in his arms and
closes his eyes.
“Let’s go,” Mark says after a
moment. His voice is low, rough and full of resolve.