suit of clothes from the wardrobe department, and then sit the disaster out in safety, sipping a mineral water and snacking on fresh fruit. He wouldn’t have to walk any more, to turn his face away from the injured and the dead. They would be on the other side of the walls.
With Beth.
Maybe injured. Maybe dead.
He turned away from the water tower and faced north, where the Hollywood sign, or more accurately, the three crooked letters that remained of it, was visible through the smoke and dust that hung above the canted palm trees and listing office towers.
That was where he had to go.
Marty pushed on, heading up the gradual slope of Gower Street towards Sunset Boulevard, the Hollywood Hills, and the valley beyond. A few blocks ahead of him, he could see smoke rising from vehicles piled up on the Hollywood Freeway over-crossing. He wouldn’t risk going under the concrete span, he’d cross west on Franklin instead, then follow Highland north alongside the freeway through the Cahuenga Pass until the avenue dropped into the valley and transformed into Ventura Boulevard.
“When we get to my place, if it’s still standing, I got to show you my bathroom,” Buck came up beside Marty. “I wallpapered it with cocktail napkins I collected from bars all over the country. Babes love it.”
Marty looked at him incredulously. “Really?”
“All it takes is a stapler and some varnish and you’re in fuck city.”
“When this is all over, instead of rebuilding the Hollywood sign, maybe that’s what they should write on those hills,” Marty swept his hand in front of him, laying the words out boldly across the sky. “Fuck City.”
“I got a note on that,” Buck said. “It’s gotta say Fucked City.”
That was a note Marty couldn’t argue with.
CHAPTER EIGHT
6:47 p.m. Tuesday
In the movie Earthquake, the Capitol Records building was one of the first to collapse, toppling like the stack of LPs it was designed to represent. But there it was, still standing, two blocks up from where Marty and Buck were, in the intersection of Sunset and Vine. One more thing the movies got wrong.
Uprooted palm trees were tipped at crazy angles or lay broken across the Sunset Boulevard, cars piled up against them or crushed underneath. The Cinerama Dome theatre, to Marty’s left, was riddled with cracks and resembled half of a discarded eggshell. To his right, the Quantum Insurance office tower rose from a courtyard of broken glass, which the setting sun transformed into a field of glittering diamonds. It was almost beautiful. But Marty kept a wary eye on the tower, afraid it might topple at any moment.
Buck tipped his head towards the Cinerama Dome. “I live over there, on Yucca. Just a few blocks over.”
“It’s out of my way,” Marty motioned towards the Capitol Records building. “I’m heading north.”
“What about my bathroom?”
“I really want to get home. My wife is waiting for me.”
Buck nodded. “Yeah, well, Thor is probably anxious to see me, too.”
“Thor?”
“Yeah, Thor. My fucking dog,” Buck looked genuinely hurt. “Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve told you?”
Was this guy for real? Marty thought. Did Buck really think he was hanging on his every word?
“Forgive me, I’ve been a bit distracted. You know, with the earthquake, hanging from overpasses, that kind of thing.”
“Right, whatever.” Buck pulled out his gun and, for an instant, Marty was afraid he was going to get shot again.
“You want it?” Buck offered him the gun. “Strictly as a loaner.”
“What would I do with a gun?”
“Shoot people, dipshit. It’s only gonna get worse out here.”
“No thanks,” Marty replied. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the opportunity to pick off a few more looters.”
“I got plenty of guns at home.”
“I’m sure you do. But really, I don’t need it.”
“You’re making a fatal mistake,” Buck shoved the gun back into his holster and held out his hand to Marty. “If you survive, we’ll do lunch.”
Marty shook it, not out of any sort of friendship, but in an effort to speed Buck on his way. He never wanted to see this man again. “Sure, that would be great.”
Buck nodded and strode off down the street. Marty watched him go until he lost him in the crowd. He wanted to make sure Buck wasn’t going to follow him any more.
Satisfied that he was truly on his own, Marty continued on up the street, a new determination in his stride. This was a turning point in his journey, and a positive one at that.
When Marty set out on his trek that morning, he didn’t anticipate Molly, Buck, Franklin, the bum, or the old lady with vinyl skin. There were no explosions or rescues, toxic clouds, or uncontrollable bowels in his scenario. But despite all that, Marty was where he wanted to be, roughly on schedule. The worst of his ordeal was behind him.
Martin Slack was finally on top of the situation, a man in charge of his destiny. And he enjoyed that terrific feeling, in all of its richness, for a full fifteen seconds.
And then came the aftershock.
His first thought, in the instant he both heard and felt the massive subterranean thunderclap, was that he’d become a joke in a cruel, celestial sitcom. He would never dare think he was in control of his life again.
Marty stood in place, trying to maintain his balance as the ground undulated beneath his feet, the terrified screams of the people scrambling around him muffled by the heavy, sonorous rumble of destruction. Buildings seemed to melt into the ground. Huge fissures moved up the street, ripping the asphalt open like zippers. Glass splashed like raindrops onto the rippling sidewalks.
But just as the shaking began to ebb, he heard a tremendous roar, something so deep and so sustained it overwhelmed the earth’s rumble in sound and in motion, growing in intensity and resonance as it came closer.
Yes, closer.
That was Marty’s first, intuitive warning that this was something different. It wasn’t like the quake, which he felt all over, all at once. This was coming, strong and ferocious, from the hills.
And then he saw it, and for the longest second of his life, was so awe-struck by its horrific magnitude that he couldn’t move.
A gigantic wave of water, roiling with mud, trees, cars, power lines, and entire houses, surged over the Hollywood Freeway and smashed into the Columbia Records building, absorbing the rubble in its ferocious maelstrom.
Marty ran screaming in terror, knowing there was no escape, no higher ground, that in seconds he would be buried under a liquid avalanche of rubble, muck, and corpses.
The Quantum Insurance building loomed in front of him, and he rushed into it because it was there, because he could hear the roar of the water and feel its muddy spray as it gained on him. Only then, as he ran across the lobby, and saw the open door to the stairwell, did he have an idea of how he might save himself.
He dashed into the stairwell and scaled the metal steps as fast as he could. The wave pounded into the building, rocking it like a boat, jolting Marty off his feet. He grabbed hold of the rail and kept climbing as water burst into the stairwell from the lobby, a swirling, dark mass rising up for him.
Marty scurried frantically up the stairs, barely ahead of the surging waters. The building continued to shudder as the water, and the enormous chunks of debris, continued to slam against it.
