Josh covered his mouth with his left hand. The knuckles on this hand were scraped raw, just like his right. Veins stood out from his skin in harsh relief, snaking toward a point at the middle of his wrist. His eyes watered with the emotion he was trying to hold inside.
Helena knew he was worried about his sister. She supposed it would be more polite to look away and give him a moment of peace. Humans also needed privacy, and most men didn’t like to show weakness. She could relate to that.
But instead of lowering her gaze, she held it steady. His tears didn’t strike her as a sign of weakness. When they spilled over his hand, he wiped them away impatiently.
“She drives across that bridge with Emma every morning,” he said.
Oh, God. Not the little girl, too. Helena couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child. She didn’t know what to say.
He stared across the ravaged expanse, silent. The entire bay area was burning. His sister and niece might have survived the quake, the bridge collapse, the explosions and the raging fires. But they might not have. Helena couldn’t bring herself to offer him any platitudes. She hated it when people lied and said everything would be fine.
After a long moment, he glanced at her. “Do you think I’d feel it if they were gone?”
“I don’t know,” she said, surprised by the question.
“Because I don’t feel it.”
She thought back to her childhood, remembering all of the times her father had performed in the air show. He’d done hundreds of daredevil stunts. She’d watched from the crowd, frozen with the certainty that he would fall from the sky. He never had.
Feelings were unreliable.
Josh picked up his radio to give Louis and Trent an update on the explosions. He stayed composed until he mentioned the bridge collapse. Then his voice sounded thin, as if he’d taken a hit off a joint and was holding in the smoke. Trent had to sign off because Louis needed help with one of the pythons. Josh returned the radio to his belt, clearing his throat.
“Can you check the perimeter?” she asked. “I would do it myself, but looking down makes me dizzy.”
“Sure.”
He examined the trees and structures below. He was thorough and deliberate, unbothered by their gut-churning distance from the ground.
While he searched the area, she contemplated the sunny yellow tram cars, dangling on heavy cables about ten feet away. They carried happy families over the park every single day. Mothers loaded squirming babies into those deathtraps all the time. She couldn’t fathom it.
“I can’t see all of the fence line,” he said. “Most of it looks okay.”
“Any sign of the lions or Greg?”
He shook his head. “What do you want to do?”
“Continue to the enclosure.”
His jaw flexed in disapproval.
She knew that approaching the scene without Louis and Trent as backup would be dangerous, but she couldn’t wait any longer. Greg might still be alive. The clock was ticking. “Do you have a better idea?”
Apparently not, because he started down the ladder. She turned and flattened her belly against the rungs to make more room for him. His body aligned with hers for a brief moment. The position felt unbearably intimate, like lovers entwined.
When his forearms touched her rib cage, she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, pausing.
“No. I’m fine.”
He seemed puzzled by her reaction, but he continued his descent. He had to skirt around her hips, which were wider than the ladder. She closed her eyes, aware that his face was inches from her bottom, his strong arms framing her thighs.
A pulse throbbed between her legs where she’d squeezed them together. She had to force herself not to squirm as he passed by. One false move could dislodge him.
This was an odd response to fear. It almost felt like arousal. Maybe her physical side had taken over because she was overwhelmed, mentally and emotionally. Or perhaps the traumatic experience had stripped away her natural defenses, leaving her more vulnerable to human contact.
Swallowing hard, she followed him down the ladder. The descent was even more harrowing than the climb. After about twenty rungs, she didn’t have to worry about inappropriate tingles. She felt nothing but anxiety and cold sweat. It wasn’t possible to move lower without looking down, over and over again.
Josh wasn’t oblivious to her struggle. He went slow and murmured words of encouragement. It seemed to take forever. She was thirsty and tired, even though she was accustomed to strenuous activity.
“We’re almost there,” he said, his voice reassuring.
She wondered if he was suffering any ill effects from the blow to the temple. His knuckles had probably gotten scraped during the first quake. The impact must have knocked him off his feet, too.
As they reached the lower edge of the guard, Helena heard a subtle, ominous sound. It was the almost indiscernible whisper of padded footsteps. The vague impression of shifting molecules and stealthy motion; the soft
snick
of a single twig.
“Wait!” she cried out to Josh, just before the lion pounced.
CHAPTER SIX
C
HLOE HELD HER
daughter to her chest and wept for several moments.
It felt odd to have an emotional breakdown with a stranger sitting next to her. Mateo made no move to comfort her. When the moment passed, she rubbed her runny nose against her shoulder and took a deep breath. Emma stared up at her in concern, sucking the first two fingers on her right hand. She was a beautiful child. Golden-haired and brown-eyed, like Chloe, but with Lyle’s signature features. His cruel mouth was a perfect cupid’s bow on Emma. His winged brows gave her an elfish, Tinker Bell look.
Emma’s angelic face fooled everyone. She was a handful. Her favorite word was
no
.
Chloe glanced at Mateo. He was staring out at the water, not at them. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. The swim had exhausted them both, and he’d done all the work. Her blood was starting to cool. Soon she’d be shivering in her wet clothes.
It occurred to her that there were worse things than witnessing and surviving a disaster of this proportion. Dozens of people had just fallen to their deaths, and that was horrific, but she didn’t know any of them. The same might not be true for Mateo. Had he lost a close friend or family member?
“Were you with someone?” she asked, sniffling.
He looked at her in confusion.
“Your family?”
“Mi familia?”
“Yes,” she said. “Are they…out there?”
He followed her gaze to the bay.
“No familia. Solo mi equipo. Todos mis compañeros.”
She didn’t follow.
“No family here,” he said in stilted English. “Panamá.”
He pronounced it with a heavy emphasis on the last syllable. She’d never heard it said that way before. Did his family live in Panama? It was a place in Latin America, if she remembered correctly. They had a canal.
“Y tú?”
he asked.
“Me?”
“Tu familia,”
he said with patience.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My parents and my brother—” She broke off, uneasy. She didn’t know where her parents were, or if Josh was okay. “I wasn’t with them.”
Emma took her fingers out of her mouth. “Unco Josh.”
Chloe was about to tell her daughter that they couldn’t visit Uncle Josh yet when sirens started blaring. The sound was unfamiliar, and chilling. Not an ambulance or a police car, but short bleats at regular intervals.
Emma wailed in distress. “Mommy!”
“Tsunami,” Chloe said, her heart in her throat. It was a tsunami warning.
Mateo needed no translation for this word. He leaped to his feet, studying the bay with trepidation. Some of the boats in the harbor had broken loose from their moorings. Other than that, the water was deserted.
So was the sky. They were less than a mile from the airport, so she imagined that flights had been canceled and planes grounded. But why were there no helicopters over the bridge? This was major news.
In the time it had taken Chloe and Mateo to swim to land, all of San Diego had fled. The embarcadero, a popular tourist destination, was deserted. They were alone on the grassy plateau. Normally there were joggers on the paths and people in the nearby park. Shops and restaurants lined Seaside Village, which was located on the other side of the peninsula. It was too far away to see much, but she imagined total devastation. The earthquake had been off the charts. If the Coronado Bridge had failed, the entire city must be in shambles. Smoke clouds obscured the tall buildings in the downtown area.
“Ya,”
Mateo said, offering her his hand.
“Vámanos.”
Chloe stood, with his help. Then she picked up Emma and propped her on one hip. Mateo put his arm around her. She grasped his slippery side and leaned on him heavily as they hobbled away from the shore, toward the concrete bike path.
Their progress was slow. They were both barefoot. Sharp pebbles dug into the soles of her feet and her thigh ached with every step. She couldn’t run to save her life. Or her child’s.
It was hopeless.
Mateo did his best to keep them moving. Although he was strong and well-built, he wasn’t a big man, maybe five-ten to her five-eight. She didn’t think he could carry her. There was no way he could carry them both. Emma could walk, of course, but Chloe was reluctant to let her go. In the event of an aftershock or killer waves, she wanted a firm grip on her daughter.
The sirens continued to blare. Emma clung to Chloe’s neck and cried. Mateo’s skin was slick and clammy beneath her fingertips, his hand hot on her waist. When he paused to rest, Chloe studied his face. He was breathing hard from exertion, his mouth grim.
It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him not to leave them. She didn’t know why he hadn’t run away already. Instead of sacrificing his life for two strangers, he could abandon them and save himself. With a sinking heart, she realized what she had to do. It was the same choice she’d made in the water. Agonizing, but necessary.
“Take Emma,” she choked out. “Take her and get to high ground.”
“Ay, mamita,”
he said, his voice chiding.
“No digas eso.”
“Please.”
Ignoring her plea, he dragged them about twenty more yards down the path. The only business at this end of the peninsula was a tiny, half-destroyed gift shop called Surf Diego. Shards of glass littered the ground. The windows were broken and part of the roof had caved in.
Mateo released her near the entrance. He said something in Spanish. Goodbye, perhaps.
“Take Emma with you,” she begged.
Emma shrieked in protest. “No, Mommy!”
He gestured toward the bay, which appeared calm.
“No hay olas. Estamos bien.”
She didn’t understand.
Holding out his palm like a stop sign, he repeated what he’d said before. Then he pointed at the gift shop. She guessed that he wanted her to stay here with Emma while he went inside. He’d left her once before, in the water. And he’d come back for her. She nodded her acceptance, her pulse pounding.
He must have lost his shoes during the swim, just as she had. He put his bare foot next to hers, as if measuring the length. Then he adjusted his shin guards to cover his feet. Strapping them on like snowshoes, he entered the ravaged building.
While she waited, Chloe set Emma down on the sidewalk to check her over. Emma was wearing a red ladybug top with black leggings and her favorite red shoes. It was a miracle that the shoes had stayed on. They were wet and squishy, but still functional. Her diaper was saturated with seawater, however.
Chloe removed the diaper and tugged Emma’s leggings back into place. Emma had started toilet training a few months ago. She wasn't perfect, but hopefully she wouldn't have an accident. Chloe wrapped Mateo’s jersey around Emma like a cape and lifted her up again.
Although the bay was calm, the warning sirens hadn’t let up, and her nerves were on edge. The air was heavy with smoke and gasoline and something that reminded her of Christmas. One year her dad had tossed some bows and gift paper into the fireplace. It made an awful, burning-chemical odor.
Mateo came out of the rubble with a beach bag. He was wearing a blue surf shirt and a pair of dockside loafers. There was another pair for her inside the bag. Not the right size, but close enough. She slipped them on, hoping they wouldn’t be arrested for looting.
Properly shod, they prepared to leave again. Mateo put his right arm around Chloe, urging her forward. There was a park and a bike path at this end of the peninsula. Seaside Village, a shopping area, was on the other side. They needed to move past the shops to reach the mainland. It wasn’t a long way, but their progress was slow.
Chloe struggled against a wave of despair. She wasn’t sure they’d be able to reach safety or find help along the way. A bridge had collapsed. People were trapped in buildings. Neighborhoods were on fire.
Tsunami or no tsunami, they might not be able to escape this hellhole.
What if the embarcadero was safer than downtown? Maybe they should stay put and pray for rescue.
Mateo didn’t appear to be suffering from any indecision. For a stranger in a strange land, he seemed rather confident. He stuck to his plan, whatever it was. They established a rhythm, loping across the park together. Without him, she couldn’t have limped more than a hundred feet. He moved like a well-oiled machine, tireless and smooth. Sweat gathered on his forehead and snaked down his jaw. She wondered how old he was. He had the hard muscles of a man, but so did some teenagers.
The earth rumbled beneath them, threatening to break apart. Chloe pictured a huge rift opening up and swallowing them whole. She dropped to the grass with Emma, making a shield with her body. Mateo got down on his knees and threw his arms around them both.
Oh, God. This was the end.
It seemed too cruel to imagine they would survive the bridge, the submerged vehicle and the near drowning, only to get crushed by a falling tree or swept away in a tidal wave.