North Vancouver
The neighbours knew Tony was the crazy survivalist guy because he was always telling them that they should be prepared for a disaster or a state of emergency. Last year he got the email addresses of everyone on the entire street and sent them all a link to a website that told them how to calculate emergency food rations. He stuck a copy of it on his kitchen bulletin board so that Michael and I could read it. Tony sent the email, not because he cared about people, but because he didn’t want freeloaders showing up on his doorstep when the big one hit. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was building his own food reserves. I bet everyone thought we were sitting on a gold mine. I wondered how the gang members found out but with the whole neighbourhood living free-range now, people were probably gossiping like crazy about Tony and his stash.
Michael trotted down the stairs, loose-limbed and casual. He walked to the gate. “Lose something?”
A tall dude with a scar from the side of his mouth to his ear steamrolled forward. The sun shimmered on his shaved head and showed all the flaws. It looked like an orange from the bottom of the bag, flat in some places, bulging in others. “We heard you’ve got a safe house. And supplies.” He gestured to the rest of the gang and then to the neighbours setting up camps on their front lawns. “We need food and water and a kind of community gathering place. We figured your house would do just fine.” His tone was sickly sweet, as if he was only thinking of others, but his real intent simmered beneath the surface. He wanted what we had and sharing with the needy wasn’t part of his plan.
“Sorry, no room at the inn.” Michael folded his arms.
“It’s a big house.” Scarface scowled at us.
“Yeah. It is. And it’s full. Your friend may want to hop off the fence, we’re about to turn on the electricity.” Michael looked back at me and signalled yes.
The ferals edged back a bit. They talked between themselves, glared at Michael and then at me. Red hung on like he didn’t believe Michael. I stepped into the house and flipped the power switch. Red’s scream reached me inside Tony’s office. When I went out again he was waving his hands. “You prick. You’re a dead man.”
He turned his hate-filled face my way and jabbed a finger at me. “And when I get hold of you, you’re going to wish you was dead.” Acid filled my mouth and my breathing fell shallow and low. He spat into his hands and flapped them as if he had third degree burns. I made contempt replace my fear. When Tony set up the fence, he got both Michael and me to feel the shock so we’d be willing to use it if necessary. It gave short, sharp pulses of electricity, meant to scare people, not hurt them.
I was glad that Red was such a wimp. It made me less afraid of him, like I’d seen him naked or something. He and his gang rumbled away, cursing and throwing dirty looks back at us. Everyone else wandered off. For the moment.
“You were warned,” Michael shouted after them. “Go to the community centre or one of the schools. That’s where the shelters are.”
“That was lucky,” I said when he came up the stairs.
He gasped a bit. “That wasn’t luck. That was Tony’s good planning.”
The guys walked down the street and we heard their boiling over anger. Two houses away the Redgraves, Don and Cindy, talked with their heads close together. When they glowered at us, I waved and smiled. I guessed that they weren’t talking about what outstanding citizens we were. Michael stayed silent.
Plan: fight fear with action. Stay busy. I ran my fingers through my tangled, muddy hair. “I’m going to grab a shower. Then maybe the laundry fairy will get us all some clean clothes.”
Michael nodded and his worried face loosened just a little. I walked to the basement on rubbery legs. Laundry. As if it was a normal day. What was Tony thinking? But maybe if I kept doing ordinary things in ordinary ways, our old life would slowly come back to us. I could pick beans and make dinner like it was an ordinary Wednesday. Perhaps then the power would come on again and the sirens would stop and our neighbours would get food at the supermarket again.
Then I thought about the houses outside the compound. About all the broken glass and shattered windows. How many houses and apartments were there in Vancouver? How many broken windows? How much glass would it take to fix that one small part of the damage? Nothing was going to get back to normal soon. A shiver ran down my arms as I realized it just might get a whole lot worse before it got better.
As I undressed, I found the owl feather I’d picked up in the park, and smoothed it flat. I tacked it to my pin board and whispered a prayer for Mom and Oliver. Tears burned my throat when I thought of Oliver, mauled by a bear or drowning in a creek. Then I pinched myself hard and thought of other things, specifically the Kurtz’s cat. Michael would understand about Misty. He loved animals too, and he wouldn’t let one suffer if he could help it.
After showering I found my favourite T-shirt, a Christmas special with the word peace written across it in sloping letters, under the image of a dove. It was a present from Lexy, my best friend. Putting it on made me feel closer to her. She and her family were in Europe. Had she heard of the Vancouver earthquake in the south of France? I missed the sound of her bubbly laugh. She was two inches taller than me and almost thirty pounds heavier. The big T-shirt slid over my shoulders and hung to my hips. Lexy bought me clothes in her size because that way if I didn’t like them, she could have them back. This T-shirt would have looked great on her, but I told her it looked better on me. I wished she were here now so we could joke about that like we always did. She felt as far away as the stars.
I sorted laundry and started the washer and thought about Mom. I told myself that she’d be okay because she wouldn’t be alone. Not that I knew that for sure but Mom had about a kajillion friends and was always surrounded by them. She was the people-person in the family. She had planned to hike the West Coast Trail again this month, between work trips into the mountains. Only I couldn’t remember exactly what day. Was she on the trail when the quake hit? Had she been swept away by a tsunami? As soon as the thought fluttered into my head, I wished I could delete it. Please, please, please let her be safe.
What about Oliver, where was he? Every time I turned around I half expected to see him behind me. Wiggling his eyebrows. Tilting his head in hope of a game, a hug, or a treat. He couldn’t be hurt. He just couldn’t. I conjured him at my feet, shadowing me like he had since the first day I got him. I imagined the popcorn smell of his paws. I could hear the funny way he whimpered when he dreamed. I pushed away all worries of him injured or worse. Oliver, come home.
I found Michael lounged across the sofa in the TV room. His lip had stopped bleeding. Wet hair draped around his ears and the smell of his ginseng shampoo hung in a cloud around him. He wore only Hurley board shorts, leftovers from one of Tony’s Hawaiian vacations. With his tanned six-pack he could have been an ad for a gym. He was reading A Feast for Crows and chewing an apple down to its stem.
“I thought I might go back to the forest. Try and find Oliver,” I said.
He slammed his book shut. “No way. If I let you do that, Tony’d kill me.”
“But Oliver could be hurt or hungry. I can’t just leave him out there.”
“Yeah, you can. You have to. Don’t fight me on this. You’re not going to win. I’m not letting you out that gate twice. Pirates’ Code and all that.”
I nodded. I had only caught one of Michael’s secrets. That only allowed me only one favour. I couldn’t argue with the code because I wrote it. But I could try reason. “C’mon, Michael, we’ve got to get Oliver back.”
“Why? He’s a smart little dog. Even if he’s hurt, he’ll find his way home. He’s probably just resting somewhere, getting over the shock of the earthquake. Like you and I should be doing before Tony gets back with more jobs.” His voice quavered and worry drifted across his face. He was more rattled than I realized.
Michael looked over my shoulder as Jake stepped out of the bedroom. He wore jeans and a black Moxy Früvous T-shirt. He didn’t say anything, just stood and listened, like a ghost.
I turned back to Michael. “I have to go and feed Misty.”
“You don’t have to feed Misty.”
“Yes I do. She’ll starve if I don’t go.”
“Let her catch mice for a day or two. You can’t leave the compound for a freaking cat. Case closed.” He stood, put his hands on his hips, and started doing trunk twists.
“She’s locked in the Kurtzes’ garage. There aren’t any mice there. She probably doesn’t have any water. I’ll bring her back here and then I won’t have to go out again, okay?” I didn’t say that if I could help Misty then cosmic goodness would get Oliver back to me safe. If I went on a mission of mercy, I might find Oliver on the short walk from our house to Misty’s. I imagined him running down the street, nose to the ground, and tail wagging. I didn’t say any of that to Michael because he didn’t believe in cosmic forces. He was studying to be an engineer, which meant he was learning to measure everything.
“What if the gang members come back or the neighbours try to rush the place?” He rotated left, then right.
“Jake could sit look out.”
“And if Tony comes home?”
“He’s been gone, how long? An hour? He won’t be back for a while yet. Plenty of time to get down the street and back.”
Michael dropped his hands to his sides and stood still. He was starting to cave so I said, “Besides, if you promised to take care of someone or something, wouldn’t you do your very best to keep that promise?”
“Fine.” Michael sighed. “But I’m not letting you go by yourself. And she stays in your room until the Kurtzes get back.”
“I’m allergic to cats,” Jake said.
I whirled around and smoked him with my eyes. “Well stay out of my bedroom then.”
Jake’s body sagged. Once again I hated myself. Being a Good Samaritan was a hard act to sustain.
When Michael and I were sure that the gang was gone, we slipped out and walked quickly down the street. Cracks big enough to swallow small animals split the road and the smell of burning wood clogged the air. I pretended not to see the worried glances from the neighbours. An announcer’s voice reached me from someone’s tinny radio. “All hospitals are operational with only superficial damage. However emergency facilities are overflowing. Triage is being done to determine the most severe injuries at this time.”
The words blackened my thoughts. I realized a lot of what Tony predicted had already started to come true. How long would it be before more stressed, hungry people were knocking on our door for help? How much help could we offer? What would Tony’s rules be then?
I watched the entrance to the cul-de-sac. For all my brave talk in front of Jake, I seriously did not want to fight with the old man. I planned my defence. Misty was my responsibility this week and Morgans honour their commitments. Therefore I was on a mission of honour, at the very least, a duty mission. Satisfied that my logic would stand up in the Supreme Court of Tony, I looked closer at the Kurtz house.
The aftershocks had knocked more bricks out of the front wall. Only the new double garage seemed sound. I unlocked the door and peered into the empty cavern. A trail of bloody paw prints led through the broken glass from the windows to outside and I straightened my shoulders. I couldn’t let Michael see me worried. “Let’s take all the cat food, in case they don’t get back this weekend.”
“You think that’s a possibility, do you?” Worry scraped the edge of Michael’s voice.
“Mikey, we’re going to be okay I just know we are. And I know that Mom’s okay too. I bet they’ll bring the army in and get things fixed up in no time,” I said with false confidence and used his childhood nickname to be extra comforting. When he smiled slightly, it filled me with fresh confidence in our ability to get through this together.
I picked up the cat carrier and he loaded cat supplies into a canvas bag. “I hope so, Row, I really do. But I don’t know what’s going on…”
A weak meow bleated in the yard. Michael pointed to the flowers beside the patio and stood statue-still. I crept outside slowly and sat down on a cracked paving stone. Flat smudges of blood led to the flowerbed. I reminded myself that Misty didn’t like to be picked up. If she was hurt, she’d be more nervous than ever. With my softest voice I repeated her name a few times and ended with, “C’mon, puss.”
I waited and waited. Just when I was ready to give up she shook herself free of the flowers and limped over to me. I ignored her and she lay down on the warm concrete beside me and curled into the letter S. As I reached to touch her, an aftershock vibrated the ground. She jumped to her feet but I was too fast; I pinned her by her neck.
As I pushed Misty into the carrier, she fought back, claws bared. With a protesting yowl, she raked my hand. The pain was sharp and immediate. Four parallel tracks oozed blood.
“That’s it,” I swore as I licked the wound. “I’m not helping anyone else.”