“Mama!”
The rear of the car shifted and her heart jumped into her throat. She already had her foot on the brake. On instinct, she jerked up the emergency brake and twisted around, reaching out to Emma in the backseat. They grasped hands, as if that would prevent them from falling into the empty space behind the car. The section of the bridge they’d been about to pass over was gone. Inches from her bumper, there was a gaping abyss.
Chloe stared at Emma and held her breath.
Then the world stopped shaking. Chloe finally realized they hadn’t been bombed or struck by an airplane.
“Earthquake,” she gasped. “It was an earthquake.”
Emma wasn’t screaming anymore. She looked too terrified to cry. Chloe could relate. They might have survived the quake, but they were hardly in the clear. Her compact car was teetering on the edge of a broken section of bridge. She was afraid to move. If she leaned forward to retrieve Emma from her seat, they might plummet to their deaths.
There was a reason people jumped from this height: the fall was not survivable.
“You’re okay,” Chloe said to Emma. “Mama’s got you.”
Emma didn’t know what an earthquake was. Chloe had grown up in San Luis Obispo, a coastal town north of L.A., so she’d felt small tremors before. Nothing like this. Pressure built behind her eyes as she thought of her parents and Josh. Her best friend, Marcy. Emma’s father, Lyle, whom Chloe had wished destruction on a thousand times.
She hadn’t meant it, apparently.
Smothering a sob, she glanced around with caution. Most of the bridge was still intact, but the section behind them appeared to have crumbled. She didn’t want to upset the balance inside the car by craning her neck to look over her shoulder. Vehicles that hadn’t careened into the bay were dispersing in the opposite direction. Waves churned beneath the bridge and smoke rose in the distance. She didn’t see any people in her peripheral vision. If someone was getting out of their car and coming to rescue them, she couldn’t tell. Chloe realized that they might be stuck here, frozen in place, for a long time.
That fear didn’t materialize, however. Something worse did.
The shaking began anew, swelling like a monster under the water. Violent motion rocked the bridge’s foundations and rattled the VW. Then the slab beneath them dropped in a stomach-curling jolt.
Chloe let go of Emma and faced forward, horrified. The broken section of bridge tilted at a sharp angle. Now they were perched at the top of a steep ramp, with the nose of the car pointed down. The few remaining vehicles tumbled off the far end. Her passenger side got hung up on the guardrail, but only for a moment. They began a sickening, near-vertical slide. Chloe released the emergency brake in a panicked attempt to avoid a rollover. The VW hurled toward the edge. At the last second, she pulled the emergency brake again and cranked the wheel to the left, desperate to slow their descent.
It didn’t work. Or, it didn’t stop them.
After a dizzying 360-degree turn, the car crashed into the opposite guardrail, which was the last remaining obstacle. Then it flipped over the side of the wrecked bridge and sailed into the bay.
They were only airborne for a second or two. Maybe the slab had fallen most of the distance to the water, or a rogue wave had swelled up to meet them. The details weren’t important. Although she’d studied the laws of physics, she didn’t have the wherewithal to calculate terminal velocity at the moment of death. She closed her eyes and prayed for a painless trip to heaven with Emma.
Once again, her expectations were thwarted. They landed with a hard splash. Her seat belt yanked tight and she knocked her head against the steering wheel. The impact stunned her, but it didn’t kill her.
Black spots drifted across the front windshield like virtual checker pieces moving on a game board. She blinked at the fuzzy shapes, disoriented.
Emma was crying again. Water poured in through the engine, soaking the floorboards. The usually calm bay had transformed into a raging tumult. Although many cars had fallen, Chloe didn’t see any of them on the surface.
They were sinking.
When the water reached her thighs, she snapped out of her stupor. It was freaking
cold
. Time to go.
First, Emma.
She turned to reach for her daughter but was impeded by the seat belt. Wincing, she fumbled for the release button with numb fingers. They came away wet. The water level was rising faster than she could function.
Shit!
Chloe shifted into high gear. She removed Emma from her car seat and pulled her into the front of the vehicle. Water swirled around Chloe’s chest, robbing her breath. The car was getting sucked into a current, spinning as the bay swallowed them whole. Emma shrieked in terror. Her little arms clung to Chloe’s neck, trembling. Another problem presented itself: the window was only halfway down. She didn’t think she could open the door, and she couldn’t fit through the space with Emma.
They were going to die in here.
No, her mind balked. Not like this.
She grabbed the handle and rolled down the window, grateful for all things manual. Her VW might be the oldest heap in San Diego. It didn’t have air bags, power steering or air conditioning, but at least they could escape without breaking the glass. In theory. Water rushed through the opening at an alarming rate. She had to wait for the car to submerge.
“Can you blow bubbles for Mama?”
Emma’s face crumpled. She was blonde and brown-eyed, like Chloe, with round cheeks and soft curls. Her cherub’s countenance masked a stubborn disposition. Emma’s temper tantrums were legendary.
Right now, that was a plus. Chloe needed her to be strong. To fight.
Chloe held her breath as the cold flood overcame them. Keeping one arm around Emma, she used the other to grip the jamb and push through the window. She kicked both legs and dog-paddled the short distance to the surface. It was shockingly difficult. Emma dragged her down and the chill robbed her breath. Her wet clothes hampered her movements. She broke through the surface and gasped for air, desperate to stay afloat.
Emma sputtered and screamed.
Jesus, God. Please help me.
Chloe should have taken off her shoes and sweater before exiting the vehicle. The price for that oversight might be their lives. Her skinny jeans, basic cardigan and canvas sneakers felt so heavy.
Emma only weighed twenty-five pounds, but it might as well have been two hundred.
Chloe couldn’t swim like this. Not with one arm, fully clothed, in these conditions. She didn’t have the upper body strength.
Emma’s arms created a noose around Chloe’s neck that added to her sense of doom. Pumping her legs furiously, she fought to stay above the surface. Her energy was already sapped. She looked around for something to grab hold of. They weren’t directly under the bridge or anywhere near the shore. The bay stretched far and wide between downtown San Diego and Coronado Island. A powerful current threatened to sweep them out to sea.
It was hopeless.
“Help!” she yelled, to no one. “Help me!”
Then, as if conjured by her hoarse cry, a head popped up in the choppy waves. A dark-haired man was swimming toward them. He looked young and strong, though it was hard to tell with the glare on the water. Sunlight sluiced off his arms with every stroke, like the shining wings of a guardian angel.
When he reached her, Chloe realized that his sudden appearance was only half a miracle. He couldn’t save them both.
“Dámela,”
he said, gesturing for Emma.
Emma clung to Chloe’s neck, shivering. Her teeth were chattering, her lips blue. Chloe didn’t understand what the man had said, but she knew what she had to do.
“Dame la niña,”
he panted. Then, in careful English, he said, “The baby.”
Up close, the man resembled a warrior more than an angel. His hair was cropped short on the sides with a longer strip on top, Mohawk-style. Chloe assumed the language he spoke was Spanish, not some ancient Aztec tongue.
Sobbing, she gave up her daughter.
Emma howled a protest, stretching her arms out to Chloe. The man ignored Emma’s frightened cries.
“Regreso por ti,”
he said, and took off. Unlike Chloe, he had no trouble swimming with a toddler in tow. He headed toward the closest shore, which was about a half-mile away.
Chloe tried to follow, but her limbs were useless, numb from cold and constricted by wet clothing. Hot tears poured down her face as she struggled to keep sight of them. Emma was her life, her love, her beating heart.
Chloe sank into the icy depths, praying the man would make it to land. A sharp object stabbed her thigh, giving her a rude prod, and saltwater flooded her nostrils. She shrugged out of her cardigan and clawed her way back to the surface.
After some wild thrashing and coughing, it occurred to her that she could tread water. Without Emma’s extra weight and the cloying fabric on her arms, her range of movement was much improved. She could swim. Hope burst within her.
Paddling furiously, she attempted a basic crawl. Her shoes made it very difficult, almost impossible. She paused to take them off, her frozen fingers fumbling with the laces. Finally, she was free of them. Her skinny jeans were restrictive as hell, but there was no way she could remove them without drowning. It was hard enough to do it in her bedroom.
Chloe focused on Emma. Her pale curls clung to her sweet head. She kept screaming, bless her. The sound was music to Chloe’s ears, guiding her onward. Her little girl had the lungs of an opera singer. Maybe Emma was her guardian angel.
They’d been swept north of the bridge, toward the embarcadero. It was a small peninsula between the international airport and the harbor. The park-like tourist area was near Seaside Village, and just a few blocks from the city’s famous Gaslight District.
While Chloe paddled with grim determination, their foreign rescuer arrived at the shore with Emma. The embarcadero’s grassy plateau was lined with trees and protected by clusters of large rocks, like a jetty. There was no gentle beach or gradual slope. The man scrambled over the jagged boulders, with some difficulty, and set Emma on dry land. Despite her obvious fear of him, he had to peel her arms away from his neck.
Then he came for Chloe.
Although she’d covered half the distance on her own, she was exhausted, and might have drowned without his help.
When he reached her, he tucked his forearm under her chin and towed her to shore. She didn’t have the strength to pull herself onto the rocks once they arrived. He got out and grabbed her wrists, hauling her up like a dead fish. She let out a startled cry as her leg scraped along the uneven surface. Her jeans were ripped and bloody, exposing a gash on her upper thigh. The man released her arms and kneeled beside her, his brow furrowed in concern. Chloe could tell that the wound needed stitches.
“Mama!”
“Stay there,” she choked out, terrified Emma would try to climb down to them. Wincing, she rested her hip on a rock and closed her hand over the laceration. Watery blood seeped between her fingers, staining the denim.
“Te ayudo,”
the man said. He hooked her arm around his neck and lifted her up, supporting her on one side as they ascended the rocky embankment. With every step, pain radiated from her foot to her thigh. She ignored it, focusing on Emma. Finally, they were on the grass. The man set her down next to Emma. Chloe embraced her daughter with a strangled sob, forgetting her injury, disregarding the cold.
They were alive. Nothing else mattered.
After a long hug, she broke the contact to examine Emma’s tearstained face. “Are you okay, baby?” Chloe inspected Emma’s little arms and legs, her sturdy body. She was soaked and shivering, but unharmed.
“Thank God,” Chloe whispered, hugging Emma again. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”
The man who’d saved them stood nearby. He was wearing a soccer uniform. Tall black socks, white shorts and a white shirt with the number
17
on the back. He took off the jersey and handed it to her.
Chloe accepted the garment with gratitude. Although damp, it was made of moisture-resistant fabric and felt pleasantly warm. She wrapped the jersey around Emma like a blanket, and then rocked her gently.
The stranger sat down beside them, silent. He appeared to be in his early twenties, and he was very fit. Not bulky or muscle-bound, but clearly a dedicated athlete. Bronze skin stretched taut over a sleek, sculpted torso.
“Mama,” Emma said, patting her breast. “Milk.”
Chloe flushed at the request, unable to comply. Emma didn’t ask to nurse as often as she used to, but she still sought the comfort and closeness when she was upset. Weaning had been difficult for both of them.
The man waved his hand casually, gesturing for her to go ahead.
“I can’t,” Chloe said. “No more.”
He glanced at her chest. Her thin tank top couldn’t disguise her lack of…bounty. Making a noncommittal sound, he peeled off one of his long socks. There was a protective pad underneath that covered his shin. He wrapped the sock around her upper thigh with care. She made a sound of discomfort as he formed a snug knot.
“Lo siento.”
She didn’t know what that meant. “Thank you for saving us,” she said, her leg still tingling from his touch.
“Por nada,”
he replied, flashing a smile.
Something about him took her breath away. Either she’d developed a serious case of hero worship, or he was handsome. The body was a ten all by itself. His face wasn’t perfect, but it had character. She liked his dark eyes and white teeth, his fierce hair and hawkish nose. “Do you speak English?”
He shrugged, apologetic.
“I’m Chloe,” she said. “This is Emma.”
“Soy Mateo.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?”
“Mateo,” he said again, pointing at himself.
“Ma-tay-o,” she repeated.
He nodded.
She wanted to ask him more questions but the horror of their surroundings distracted her. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had they really just survived a bridge collapse? Had anyone else made it? She searched the bay, which was calmer now. There were no boats nearby, no floating cars. Behind them, the park was empty. The broken bridge loomed in the distance, massive and surreal. Traffic had dispersed on either side. The air was thick with smoke from dozens of small fires.