river, the freeway, and the gas pipeline. Dear God almighty, there’s going to be some damage.”
“But where’s the vibrator?”
“What’s that on the hillside?”
Judy followed his pointing finger. Above the town, close to the freeway, she saw a small cluster of buildings: a fast-food restaurant of some kind, a glass-walled office building, and a small wooden structure, probably a chapel. On the road near the restaurant were a mud-colored coupe that looked like an old muscle car from the early seventies, a police cruiser pulling up behind it, and a large truck painted all over with dragons in livid red and acid yellow. She made out the words “The Dragon’s Mouth.” “It’s a carnival ride,” she said.
“Or a disguise,” he suggested. “That’s about the right size for a seismic vibrator.”
“My God, I bet you’re right!” she said. “Charlie, are you listening?”
Charlie Marsh was sitting beside the pilot. Six members of his SWAT team were seated behind Judy and Michael, armed with stubby MP-5 submachine guns. The rest of the team were hurtling down the freeway in an armored truck, their mobile tactical operations center. “I’m listening,” Charlie said. “Pilot, can you put us down near that carnival truck on the hill?”
“It’s awkward,” the pilot replied. “The hillside slopes steeply, and the road forms a narrow ledge. I’d rather come down in the parking lot of that restaurant.”
“Do it,” Charlie said.
“There isn’t going to be an earthquake, is there?” the pilot said.
Nobody answered him.
As the chopper came down, a figure jumped out of the truck. Judy peered at it. She saw a tall, thin man with long dark hair, and she felt immediately that this had to be her enemy. He stared up at the chopper, and it seemed as if his eyes were on her. She was too far away to see his features clearly, but she felt sure he was Granger.
The helicopter hovered over the parking lot and began to descend.
Judy realized that she and everyone with her could die in the next few seconds.
As the helicopter touched the ground, there was a noise like the crack of doom.
The bang was a thunderclap so loud, it drowned the roar of the seismic vibrator and the thrash of the helicopter rotors.
The ground seemed to rise up and hit Priest like a fist. He was watching the chopper land in the Big Ribs parking lot, thinking that the vibrator was pounding away in vain, his scheme had failed, and he would now be arrested and thrown in jail. The next moment he was flat on his face, feeling as if he had been punched out by Mike Tyson.
He rolled over, gasping for breath, and saw the trees all around him bending and twisting as if a hurricane were blowing.
A moment later he came to his senses and realized — it had worked! He had caused an earthquake.
And he was in the middle of it.
Then he was afraid for his life.
The air rang with a terrifying rumbling sound like rocks being shaken in a giant pail. He scrambled to his knees, but the ground would not stay still, and in trying to stand up, he fell over again.
He rolled over and managed to sit upright.
He heard a sound like a hundred windows breaking. Looking over to his right, he saw that was exactly what was happening. The glass walls of the office building were all shattering at the same time. A million shards of glass flowed like a waterfall off the building.
The Baptist chapel farther down the road seemed to fall over sideways. It was a flimsy wooden building, and its thin walls went down in a cloud of dust and lay flat on the ground, leaving a massive carved-oak lectern standing in the middle of the wreckage.
The windows of Big Ribs smashed, and the screams of terrified children pierced the air. One corner of the roof sagged, then dropped on a group of five or six teenagers, crushing them and their table and their rib dinners. The other patrons rose in a wave and surged toward the now-glassless windows as the rest of the roof started to come down on them.
The air was full of the pungent smell of gasoline. The tremor had ruptured the tanks at the filling station, Priest thought. He looked across and saw a sea of fuel spilling over the forecourt. An out-of-control motorcycle came off the road, weaving from side to side, until the rider fell off and the machine slid across the concrete, striking sparks. The spilling gas caught a light with a
The fire was frighteningly close to the ’Cuda. He could see the car rocking up and down, and the terrified face of Oaktree behind the wheel.
He had never seen Oaktree scared.
The horses from the field next to the restaurant burst through the broken fence and galloped full-tilt along the road toward Priest, eyes staring, mouths open, terrified. Priest had no time to get out of the way. He covered his head with his hands. They raced by either side of him.
Down in the town, the church bell was ringing madly.
The helicopter lifted again a second after it had touched down. Judy saw the ground beneath her shimmer like a block of Jell-O. Then it fell away fast as the chopper gained height. She gasped to see the glass walls of the little office building turn to something that looked like surf and fall in a great wave to the ground. She saw a motorcyclist crash into the filling station, and she cried out in grief as the gasoline caught on fire and the flames engulfed the fallen rider.
The helicopter swung around, and her view changed. Now she saw across the flat plain. In the distance, a freight train was crossing the fields. At first she thought it had escaped damage, then she realized it was slowing harshly. It had come off the rails, and as she watched, horrified, the locomotive plowed into the field alongside the track. The loaded wagons began to snake as they piled into the back of the engine. Then the chopper swung around again, still rising.
Now Judy could see the town. It was a shocking sight. Desperate, panicky people were running into the street, mouths open in screams of terror that she could not hear, trying to escape as their houses collapsed, walls cracking open and windows exploding and roofs lurching terrifyingly sideways and falling into neat gardens and crushing cars in driveways. Main Street seemed to be on fire and flooded with water at the same time. Cars had crashed in the streets. There was a flash like lightning, then another, and Judy guessed power lines were snapping.
As the helicopter gained height, the freeway came into view, and Judy’s hands flew to her mouth in horror as she saw that one of the giant arches supporting the viaduct had twisted and snapped. The roadbed had cracked, and a tongue of road now stuck out into midair. At least ten cars had piled up on either side of the break, and several were on fire. And the carnage was not over. Even as she watched, a big old Chevrolet with fins hurtled toward the precipice, skidding sideways as the driver tried in vain to stop. Judy heard herself scream as the car flew off the edge. She could see the terrified face of the driver, a young man, as he realized he was about to die. The car tumbled over and over in the air, with ghastly slowness, and finally crashed on the roof of a house below, bursting into flames and setting the building on fire.
Judy buried her face in her hands. It was too dreadful to watch. But then she remembered she was an FBI agent. She forced herself to look again. Cars on the freeway were now slowing early enough to stop before crashing, she saw. But Highway Patrol vehicles and the SWAT truck that was on its way would not be able to reach Felicitas from the freeway.
A sudden wind blew away the cloud of black smoke over the filling station, and Judy saw the man she thought was Ricky Granger.
