Unlike I-5 with its glorious open lane, the two-ten offered only patches of clearing, and River was forced once again to bushwhack a path for the X-car.
“Wasn’t it you back there who reminded me of this car’s limited off-road capability?” River said. “Crossing the San Gabriel Mountains sounds about as off-road as you can get.”
“We’ll use roads,” Christina replied as she scanned the map. “I see a couple that go all the way to the other side.”
“Those aren’t roads, they’re mountain bike trails.”
“No, some are roads. This one, Little Tujunga Canyon, is the one we want. If we take it all the way, it’ll let us bypass the blockade on the five.”
“You don’t think they’ll be monitoring these roads?”
“I doubt it, they’re too remote. And technically they’re inside the quarantine zone. If a car carrying the petroplague tried to get out this way, it would either break down in the mountains or be trapped at the next ring.”
“That map doesn’t look very detailed. Are you sure we’ll be able to find our way?”
Christina crumpled the map into her lap with irritation. “No, I’m not sure. But do you have any better ideas?”
“Let me see the map,” River said, stopping the Mini in a surreal background of motionless cars all facing the opposite direction. “It’s going to take us forever to get through this section of the freeway, just to reach the exit for Tujunga Canyon. It adds miles to our route, miles we’ll have to backtrack through the mountains once we get there. We’ll burn so much fuel and time, we’d do just as well ditching the car with G.I. Joe at that roadblock and walking the rest of the way on the freeway.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I say we take this one,” River said, touching a finger to a spot on the map.
Christina squinted at the small print. “May Canyon Truck Trail?”
“Yep. It ends up in the same place as the road you picked, but will save us at least twenty miles.”
“But it’s a truck trail. What the hell is a truck trail?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like a road to me.”
Christina considered their options. River was right about Little Tujunga Canyon Road. According to the map, it was a huge detour. This truck trail was much more direct. If it wasn’t too extreme for the X-car, it might shorten their eventual hike time by a day.
“All right, let’s check it out,” she said. “If it looks like the Mini can’t handle it, we’ll continue on to Tujunga.”
They left the freeway and wound their way toward the mountains, which rose over three thousand feet above them, seemingly straight up. When they found it, the May Canyon Truck Trail started innocently enough as an ordinary paved road skirting the edge of a county park. As it ascended, it narrowed but still looked passable for the X-car.
They paused in front of a sign declaring “Angeles National Forest.” River looked at Christina expectantly.
“Let’s go for it,” Christina said.
River reached to shift into drive but the car began to shake. She left it in park and took her hands off the steering wheel as if it were hot.
“Earthquake.”
The previous quakes Christina had experienced displayed a certain musical pacing, starting softly and crescendoing to their peak before resolving. This earthquake lacked any such subtlety. Its tremors leapt from slight to severe in a single bound. Had Christina been standing, the motion would’ve knocked her down. An ancient valley oak leaned over the car, threatening to topple, but the shaking was so strong River was powerless to operate the car and move them to safety.
River ducked and put her arms over her head. Rocks tumbled down the mountainside, cracking and rumbling like lightning and thunder. Christina clung to her door and recited a Hail Mary prayer out loud. She was into the third recitation when the violent quake ended.
For a moment, the young women sat motionless, as if their actions might upset some delicate balance and trigger another quake. Strangely, Christina noticed that the noises continued: cracking, crashing, and now a low-pitched roar. The mysterious roar was growing louder.
“What is that?” River said tentatively.
“I—“
“Water,” River said.
A shallow but broad stream of water suddenly filled the park and streamed over the road where they sat. The level was rising swiftly. Christina wondered if a water main had broken. Must be a really big pipe, she thought.
“Watch out!”
The water reached the car. It was flowing fast and getting deeper. The Mini didn’t have much clearance from the ground, and at the rate things were going, in a minute or two the floor of the car would be underwater. River tapped the accelerator.
The wheels splashed water onto the windows and Christina heard the distinctive sound of water spraying the undercarriage. Hang in there, little car!
Because the truck trail rose sharply into the mountains, within a few yards they were on dry land again. They stopped and stared in amazement at the county park below them.
The park had become a pool.
“That can’t be good,” River said.
Even as they watched, Christina saw landmarks disappearing: picnic table benches, then the table tops. Trash cans, small trees, then taller and taller objects were swamped by the torrent which poured in from the east side of the park. Muddy, roiling water spilled in all directions. River inched the car forward to keep it above the ever-rising water line.
“That’s no water main,” Christina said, pressing the map against her knees to smooth the creases. She pointed at a blue splotch in their area. “It’s this.”
“Pacoima Reservoir,” River read. “The dam failed.”