Our street—Forestview Drive—was where I learned to pedal a two-wheeler, where I attempted a few almost completely unsuccessful lemonade stands. (It’s hard to sell lemonade, even for a quarter, when there are no passersby. One time I was saved when a group of people on a bike tour stopped and took pity on me.) I knew each of its gentle curves, alongside of which thin white fencing separated the shoulder from the grass and evergreens. I’m pretty sure that even blindfolded, I would be able to walk the length of Forestview without trouble.
After the quake, I didn’t recognize it.
The asphalt had broken up like pan of peppermint bark after it’s cooled—a once smooth, unbroken (minus a few potholes) surface splintered into uneven chunks and crumbles. In some places there was just a small fissure between the pieces; in others, a big crevasse had formed. Below the layer of blacktop, sandy soil like a graham-cracker crust was visible. The speed limit signpost across from the end of the Matlocks’ driveway had slumped so far toward a rising chunk of road that the sign almost kissed the pavement. The normally neat, clearly defined shoulder was a jumble of rocks, dirt, and grass. Fallen trees were splayed across the road, their big branches tickling into the cracks.
It was eerily quiet all around us. Even the breeze was missing. In the stillness we stood, gaping at the path we had to take, the obstacles we were going to have to cross. The sky above was the color of Earl Grey tea. The clouds hung heavy with impending rain. For a moment, I thought about turning around, heading straight back to the tent. I tried to rationalize staying put: What if one of our parents makes it back to the Matlocks’ house and somehow misses us on the way? And our note has blown away, so they don’t know where we are…Well, then they would keep looking for us. That wasn’t going to happen, anyway. Forestview Drive is the only road into the preserve and past our houses. We would be on it till we got to my house. Then, once we were inside, one of us could keep watch on the road through the picture window in the living room. We could also stick up a few emergency cones, which my dad has stacked in the garage, and put a sign in the street. Then nobody would miss us.
We cannot stay here. No matter how scary it was to leave. I reminded myself of all we needed: More supplies. A place where my phone might work, while it still had a charge. A way to get help from a doctor.
And then there was Mr. Bear, who might come back again in the night. Or in the daytime, if he (or she, I really didn’t know) was as desperate as we’d become for food. Maybe the bear was in a similar predicament. Its house in the forest could have been destroyed too. Sympathy didn’t make me less scared of it, though.
I looked at the cracked road, then over at Zoe. “I don’t think you can scoot through this, Zoe. Maybe it’s best to leave that here.” I pointed to her scooter. She nodded and lowered it to the grass. “I’ll walk in front of the wagon to pull—you can watch the back, make sure nothing falls off.”
We moved slowly. Every time we crossed onto a new chunk of asphalt, I tensed, hoping that this one would be as stable as the last, and that the wagon wouldn’t get stuck in a crack. Up close, some of the gaps were even larger than I’d expected. These slots in the earth were deep and wide enough that someone Oscar’s size could get stuck in them. Not to mention Jupiter. If we suddenly tilted and his box went flying… He’d be lost forever.
I found a rhythm as we walked, a few quick steps followed by a tug to get the wagon onto the next piece of road, then a moment to pause while I calculated our next move and caught my breath. My chest ached so badly. I wanted to lie down for just a minute, try to stop wheezing.
Keep going. You’re almost halfway there. Your inhaler is going to fix this. It’s waiting for you at home.
I pictured my kitchen. The phone on the countertop, next to the coffee canisters. I imagined lifting the handset off the base and pressing the button, hearing a miraculous dial tone. They could’ve restored the landlines by now, right? Then I pictured opening the cupboards, pulling out toaster pastries and peanut butter and fresh, clean bottles of water. Soon we’d be sitting in the living room, with plenty to eat, watching out the window for the arrival of the help we’d been able to call.
If I kept picturing the scene, embellishing the details with each step, it felt easier to keep going.
Next, I imagined my parents pulling up in the car, not even bothering to turn off the engine before they jumped out on either side, racing for the door, ecstatic smiles of relief stretching their tired faces…
“Stop,” I called, flinging my arm back in case Zoe hadn’t heard me or was zoning out or just being obstinate again. She skidded to a halt next to me. We were exactly half the distance between our two driveways. Ahead, a downed utility pole, or what was left of it, stretched across the road. Standing up, those things never look especially tall or heavy, but this pole was big, and it completely blocked our path. Strands of black power lines, like long thick hair, spread out across the road.
Never, ever go near a downed power cable, my dad always said. Except we had no choice. “We’re gonna have to figure out a way around that,” I said, grimacing. The downed pole was cutting us off from the rest of the neighborhood, the island, and the world. Leaving the Matlocks’ is definitely the right choice. No one who wasn’t already looking for us was going to venture past it to where we’d been waiting.
The power lines had all landed onto the asphalt—on the grassy shoulder was only the cracked, splintery pole. One low-hanging cable dipped above, but it was high enough that we could slip underneath. We would simply need to move quickly in case it came swinging down.
The ground was too crumbly and uneven for me to pull the wagon on the shoulder. “Do you think you can help me lift the wagon?” I asked Zoe.
She nodded and, without instructions, moved to the back end, positioning her fingers below the metal edge. Oscar watched us with wide, pain-glazed eyes.
“I can get out. I’ll try to walk.” His weak voice cracked with an ache.
“Absolutely not. You can help us by holding Jupiter very steady. Maybe close the top of his box, for this part.” So he doesn’t catapult into a crack, I thought but didn’t dare say out loud.
When the box was secured in his hands, I bent down and positioned mine at the front of the wagon, pressing my fingertips into the rusted metal lip for a good grip. It made them feel even colder. “Ready? One, two, three.”
Zoe and I lifted up. The wagon was unbelievably heavy. We could only raise it a foot or so off the ground. My arms ached from the strain. Zoe gasped, then pursed her lips with determination. “Step really carefully,” I warned her. “I’ll lead.”
Please, please, please, please don’t let us drop the wagon and Oscar.
We moved painfully slowly until, after four or five steps, Zoe suddenly cried out. The wagon wavered. The flashlight, resting by Oscar’s feet, tumbled out and rolled along the asphalt as we watched helplessly. Seconds later, we heard the thud as it hit the bottom of a crack in the road. Zoe groaned.
“The flashlight doesn’t matter, just keep the wagon steady!” I yelled.
“My arm!” she wailed back.
“Lower the wagon for a break!” I counted to three out loud to coordinate the movement. As soon as the wheels touched the road, Zoe sank back onto her heels, cradling her injured arm against her chest.
Oscar stared up at me from the wagon, still afraid to move. He clutched Jupiter’s box so tightly, his fingertips and knuckles appeared bloodless. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice a croak. “We’ll get to the other side.”
After a few minutes of rest, we heaved the wagon up and began to creep forward. Parallel with the end of the pole, the ground shifted below my foot, crumbling and making me slide along with it. I screamed, wobbling and struggling to catch myself, because I couldn’t let go of the wagon to flap my arms for balance. “Careful!” After a few tense seconds, I found my footing.
Zoe gritted her teeth and stepped around my mini landslide while I paused, gasping and waiting for the adrenaline to stop flooding my system.
I longed to set the wagon down, even for a second, but it wasn’t safe on such uneven ground, near frayed power lines. I was also afraid that if we took another break, we’d never have the strength to pick it back up again.
“Your breathing sounds really weird,” Zoe said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just…winded,” I said. As much to convince myself as her that I wasn’t sounding—and feeling—much worse than the days before.
Finally, we made it off the shoulder and back onto the road, the utility pole behind us. It was the only one between our houses. Now we were in the home stretch, literally. Zoe and I eased the wagon to the pavement. Releasing the weight felt sublime. My muscles were like noodles. Zoe cradled her injured forearm.
“You’re really tough,” I said.
She nodded in thanks. “So are you.”
It had been a long time since I felt like that could be true.
The road was still damaged on the other side of the pole, but without any huge gaps between us and my drive. Based on how hard I was wheezing, I knew I should take it slow the rest of the way. Bumps were hard on Oscar, but I couldn’t wait for my house to come into view. To see it standing safe and secure, a refuge in this bizarre, challenging new landscape. I tugged the wagon onward, walking twice as fast as before. Up ahead was our mailbox, robin’s-egg blue, still perched at the edge of the driveway. Almost there. I sped up even more.
Until my sneaker caught on the uneven pavement. I crumpled down, dropping the wagon handle with a clatter. Pain shot through my right leg. “Ow!” I pressed my hand to my thigh. Even though I was wearing thick leggings, the fabric had shredded up the side I’d landed on, my reddening skin peeking through. The palms of my hands stung. I held them out and studied the scrapes covering them, budding with blood.
It’s funny how now that blood didn’t bother me in the slightest. I’d dealt with so much worse. I scrambled back to standing.
“Are you okay?” Zoe asked. “Do you need to rest?”
“I’m fine,” I reassured. “Just keep moving.” I tugged the wagon forward, only a touch slower. Zoe kept pace behind me. When we finally reached my blue mailbox, I had an urge to wrap my arms around it in a hug.
“We did it.” I raised my hand for a high five from Zoe. Only when her palm met mine did I remember the scrapes, and I winced. But we made it home. Everything’s going to be okay. A huge smile spread across my face.
I turned to gaze up the driveway. My smile froze in a grimace.
All of me froze. Zoe, panting, came up next to me. “What…” she started to say, and then she had no other words.