32

Angelina shot to her feet, forcing her office chair to thud against the back wall. It couldn’t be! The ear-splitting crack and the escalating rumbling convinced her that it could be… and it was. Born and raised in a country where earthquakes were a common phenomenon, she recognized exactly what was happening.

But how? This is Victoria, for heaven’s sake. But the earthquake didn’t seem to care.

Frantic, she scanned the various files scattered over her desk and began scooping them together. Commitment overpowered her fright. Just this morning, her dreams had come true. Her most important client to date had brought over his business and hired her to be his company’s accountant.

However, old-fashioned, the guy didn’t live in the twenty-first century. He still believed in hard copies, and it was up to her to protect his property. Since Angelina’s life now operated on a timetable, in two months, the sentimental old fool’s business would realize her goals.

The disruption escalated, lights flickered and the noise intensified. By this time Angelina had tossed the files into a heap, then begun awkwardly stuffing them into the nearest metal cabinet. Suddenly, she remembered the disk in the computer. Her trembling fingers pushed the button. The wait felt interminable. Who knew seconds were so hellishly long when terror controlled the time clock? Finally the CD popped out. She grabbed it. Threw it with the files. And slammed the drawer shut.

Shock whitening her face, Coralee, Angelina’s assistant, turned back. Screams for her boss to hurry sounded like a shrieking alarm and further galvanized everyone else. People were scrambling to and fro, vying with each other to get to the doorway and down the stairs to safety.

“Dammit! Run, Coralee. Get out.” Since Angelina occupied the farthest office from the outer doorway, she understood her chances were slim that she’d make it. It was possible for the rest of them. Not for her.

Barely functioning, Angelina gripped her desk. Shaking feverishly, a piece of advice slammed into her consciousness. Get near an outside wall, find a big piece of heavy furniture and curl up beside it.

Panic clawing at her senses, she grabbed her cellphone and crouched down on the floor, snuggling as close to the side of her large old wooden desk as she could get. She pushed her cheek against the coolness of the solid wood, and covered her head. She made it just in time.

Walls and ceilings began crumbling and ripping apart, while furniture either tipped over or rocked wildly. Stunned, she kept her head down and prayed.

Brass-bottomed desk lamps plunged and broke into shards of glass and clanking metal. The horrible sounds of her property’s destruction forced her to peek. Paralyzed, she watched as computer screens crashed onto chairs, plummeting to join the debris below. Filing cabinets shifted, battering into walls, while desks pitched back and forth on undulating floors. She heard a crash overhead and felt the air sucked from her space. The closest filing cabinet fell sideways to land on the edge of the desk, covering her like a roof, missing her by inches.

The worst hazard was the glass from the shattered windows: small deadly needles flew willy-nilly, stabbing and slicing, cutting unprotected skin.

High-pitched sounds like those in an action movie reached a crescendo, and she felt a deep throbbing throughout her body. Oh God… is that gas? A stench filtered through the surrounding plaster dust and added another dimension of dread.

Sweat pooling, barely able to breathe; she sobbed her fury to the one presence she’d believed was in her corner. “Why now, Dios? How could you wait until after I’d signed all the papers and started renovations? Just to destroy everything in an earthquake? I’ve worked so hard…”

As she ranted her disillusionment, tears and saliva mixed together and dripped from her chin. Swiping at her face, anger stiffened her backbone and buried the dread. Fury helped. It made her stronger.

Suddenly, she sensed a change. The noise lessened and the shaking slowed. She breathed a sigh of relief, until she became aware of her personal circumstances. Trapped, stuck in a very small, dark, suffocating space, her claustrophobia kicked in with a vengeance.

It was nearly impossible to move from side to side, and moans accompanied her every breath. Very carefully, she stirred, but there were only inches to spare. Biting down hard on the soft skin of her lower lip helped her marshal her willpower. After all, panicking could be fatal and shift the ceiling of rubble suspended over her cave.

No! Please!

The action started up again. Angelina’s heartbeat tripled, and jolted her fear into pure unadulterated terror. Used to earthquakes, Chilean citizens were well aware that aftershocks could be worse than the initial trembler.

Sweat dripped from her neck down into her cleavage. Her hands hid and protected her face. Crazy as it seemed, by covering her eyes, she shut out the evil.

Due to the tension in her crunched muscles, agony sprouted in her spinal column. Her jaw clenched so tightly that her face shook from the force of keeping her screams inside.

Finally, the aftershock waned and eventually came to a shuddering stop. Black loneliness clawed at her nerves. She sensed the pandemonium holding, like a call waiting. As the sounds of the monster dissipated, she heard the hoarse cries of another hostage

“Coralee, is that you? I can hear you. Are you hurt?” Angelina waited, taking deep breaths. Calm down, be cool…

“Yeah, it’s me, boss. I’m kinda injured and totally pinned down. Are you okay?” Coralee’s shaky voice sounded near.

“What do you mean, kinda injured, how kinda?” A sobbing chuckle broke loose when Angelina replayed the words to herself.

“Something clonked me on the head. I feel a bit wonky.”

“Coralee, por favor. Speak English. What does wonky mean?” Coralee’s habit of making up words normally amused Angelina, but not today. When Angelina had first met her, she’d believed that Coralee was getting back at her for her own frequent lapses into Spanish. But over time, she’d had to accept that it was Coralee’s way, and all part of the ditzy redhead’s charm.

“Don’t pick on me. I have a headache. There’s a bit of blood. What about you?”

“How much blood?”

“Some—not too much, don’t worry. You haven’t answered me. What about you? Are you hurt?”

“I can’t move and my heart’s beating so fast it feels like it’ll shoot right out of my chest.” Her voice wobbled and she cleared her throat, pretending that dryness, and not fear, was the culprit.

“Hang in there, sweetie. I can’t move either or I’d come to you. But I’m right here, so don’t lose it.”

Angelina could tell by Coralee’s remarks that she remembered her boss suffered from claustrophobia. Not long ago, she’d seen her panic in a small elevator.

“Someone will come soon.” Coralee soothed.

“As long as I’m not alone, I’ll be okay.”

Just then, debris shifted and gave way. A horrendous crash split the quiet of the room. Angelina screamed and again hid her face. Every bone in her body stiffened in resentment at this further torture. She wheezed in a breath, held on and then groaned in a continuous melody of defiance.

It stopped! The monster was teasing.

Seconds later, she called out. “Coralee, that sounded like it came from your direction.”

She waited; her ears primed for any sounds…anything at all.

“Coralee?” This time she yelled.

Silence.

A feeling of hopelessness washed over her. Curling into herself, sniffles and hiccups were the only sounds she made. Please, please let Coralee survive! She couldn’t have persevered over the last two years without her best friend’s help. Coralee worked almost as hard as Angelina toward her dream of owning her accounting firm. How could she manage without her?

“Coralee? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Sick and tired of feeling like a victim, Angelina took stock of her situation. Knees shaking, she unlocked her fingers and rubbed knuckles that were sore from being twisted and squeezed. The voice of reason gave her hell. Do something!

She wiggled around carefully, and realized that the huge old desk had sheltered and saved her. Rather than crawling under something that could have collapsed on top of her, it had been smart to crouch beside a strong piece of furniture.

In the darkness, she blindly extended her hands to the smooth feel of the overturned filing cabinet that had imprisoned her. It had formed a slanted roof from the desk to the floor. Thankfully, purchasing the strongest type of steel-lined cabinets, she’d chosen strength and fire safety over frugality.

Trying to shift her legs from the sideways position they’d slid into, her hands reached out again and felt her slender naked thighs. Wetness from blood spotted her legs and the cuts burned. Her skirt, a good portion which had somehow wrapped itself around her waist, wouldn’t come loose.

Frightened to shift anything, it still seemed important she cover herself. Whimpering, she tried gently yanking and tugging. Her hands encountered a solid object near her left knee. Oh God… my cell phone!

Suddenly, wailing sirens pierced the deadly silence, bringing instant relief. So did the light when she opened her small pink phone and frantically pushed the numbers.

“Nine-one-one! State your emergency.”

“Hello! Thank God! Listen, my name is Angelina Serrano—”

“Could you speak louder, Angelina?”

Swallowing the dryness, she raised her voice. “We’re trapped on the third floor of my building at 7211 Fort Street.”

“Who’s we? Do you know who else is with you?”

“Yes. My assistant, Coralee Becker, is here. There could be others confined below that I don’t know about. Please! My friend is hurt. Since the last aftershock she hasn’t spoken. We need help! I heard the sirens outside. Can you send in someone to get us out?”

“Yes, the emergency crews will be with you shortly. Are you injured?”

“No… no. I suffer from claustrophobia and being trapped is killing me. But I’m mostly just scared.”

“Don’t be, we’ll be getting to you as soon as possible. I want you to stay on the line. Okay? Don’t hang up.”

“I’ll try, but my battery is low. I don’t know how long it has left.” Her voice broke. Pressure from smothering her sobs and exasperation at her oversight of not plugging in her phone made talking almost impossible.

“Okay. Don’t worry. Someone will be in contact as soon as they’re ready to come in for you. I have your number. I want you to hang up and stay calm. Try calling to your friend periodically to wake her up.”

Just then, the blood-chilling horror started again. She screamed, “I will. Hurry!” Swallowing, she gathered whatever moisture her parched mouth could find, at least enough to lick her lips. Then she counted the seconds.

And she waited.

Startling her, the Macarena – her dial tone – rang into the stillness. The racket buoyed up Angelina’s spirits like nothing else could have.

Manipulating her talk button, she heard a soft-spoken male voice. “Hello. Miss Serrano? Angelina Serrano? It’s Dr. Joe Davidson. I’m with Search and Rescue.” The man spoke soothingly, and his calmness beguiled her into uncharacteristic chattiness.

“Dr. Davidson, can you come and get us? Hurry! Please! Everything here is unstable. It could all come crashing down any moment, and my friend Coralee is hurt. She needs medical attention.” A sobbing gasp escaped. Connecting with another person had filled her with hope.

“We’re coming, Angelina. I understand you have a low battery so hang up now, and we’ll call you right back as soon as we’re set up to come into the building.”

Hang up? Dios, not again! Slowly, she ended the call. Darkness surrounded her once more.

Praying for an answer, Angelina took a deep breath and cried out, “Coralee, can you hear me. They’re coming for us.”

“I hear you, Angelina. What happened?”

“You’re back? Thank God! An aftershock is what happened. You stopped talking, and I came close to losing it. Where exactly are you?”

“In hell,” answered Coralee.

“Okay then, where in the hell are you?” The wisecrack made her grin, and from out of the darkness the answering chuckle cheered her as nothing else could have.

“I’m under Johnnie’s desk and seriously trapped.” Coralee coughed harshly.

“They’re on their way, cara. The sexy voice of a Dr. Joe Davidson promised me they’re working on it.”

Coralee groaned. “Well, Dr. Joe needs to work faster.” Another bout of coughing ensued. Then she croaked. “I need the ladies’ room!”