Married in Haste. Roz Fox Denny

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СКАЧАТЬ year, I do remember her having problems with arthritis. Well, it seems your mom’s new schedule came at a good time. Excuse me, girls. I need to go chat with those boys. In case I don’t get back to you, have a great day.”

      Abby had taken maybe five steps toward the disruptive boys when, without warning, the cafeteria floor shifted under her feet and sent her reeling. Simultaneously her stomach tightened, then dropped. She lurched sideways, right, then left, as if she’d stepped on a carnival ride. A Tilt-A-Whirl. Abby grabbed for a chair only to have it bob crazily away. As she tried righting herself, another jolt threw her to her knees. All around her, kids began to scream and cry.

      For a moment, an unnamed panic seized Abby. Her heart raced as she crawled across the bucking floor. She forced herself to climb to her feet.

      Food trays flew off nearby tables. Chairs toppled. Kids scrambled over one another. Automatically, Abby clutched a whistle swinging from a cord around her neck. She blew two sharp blasts. Stretching out her arms, she caught a bunch of kids who hurtled past her. “It’s an earthquake,” she shouted, realizing what was happening. “Remember our drills! Jason Bingham, stop in your tracks. All of you! Listen to me.”

      This wasn’t the first quake in Abby’s career. Oddly, it was the noisiest and seemed to last longer than most. Her attempts to achieve order went unheeded.

      The cook and cashier exploded out from their stations. Abby’s counterpart, a fourth-grade teacher, began herding older kids out the back exit while yelling something Abby couldn’t distinguish. A third shrill blast of her whistle failed to cut through a horrendous rumble.

      As sheer pandemonium erupted and inanimate objects bounced past her, Abby’s training kicked in. Two facts struck her—the rumble had turned into a roar, and the shaking, which had always faded quickly in past earthquakes, was splitting wide cracks in the tile floor. Tables slid in one direction, then the other. Some toppled. Dust billowed from the cracks, making everyone cough and choke.

      “Children, line up by twos,” Abby said between gagging. “We’re going outside just like we’ve practiced. Leaders, head for the middle of the playground, away from anything that might fall from the building. Stop screaming! I know you’re scared. You older kids, hold hands with someone younger.” She had to shout to be heard. And her own stomach pitched as fear tried to take hold. She spat out grit.

      When she lined up the children closest to her, more converged from all corners of the room. Their copious tears, frightened eyes and ashen faces added to Abby’s mounting urgency. Off to her right, a row of pots fitted in a special warming table buckled, split, overturned and spread hot oatmeal, dollar pancakes and boiling syrup across the floor.

      Hustling the first of her brood over the front threshold, Abby flinched and ducked to avoid wildly swinging light fixtures overhead. Any moment, she feared, one or all might crash down on the rows of students. Until right now, she’d never thought about how many kids ate breakfast at school. She began counting heads as sobbing, shivering groups exited the building.

      “There’s safety in being orderly,” she hollered above the deafening roar. “I want everyone to get a buddy. Walk fast, but don’t run. If you run, you may fall. Once you’re outside, move away from the walls but not toward the street or parking lot.” As she spoke, two windows on the north side of the cafeteria ruptured. The front bumper of a blue Ford that must have been parked beside the cafeteria had obviously jumped the curb. Slivers of glass rained everywhere like glittering icicles.

      Ms. Fielding, another teacher, dodged a ceiling tile as she led her group of children toward an exit. Abby scooped two of the smallest kids into her arms. She set them outside, out of harms’ way, and in so doing took a direct hit from the heavy door that suddenly swung shut. Terrified, she watched the metal casing crumple as if made of paper. The door splintered, sending a new wave of fear through the kids trapped inside. Bawling, they trampled over those near the front of the line.

      Abby forcefully shoved them away from falling debris. “About face, everyone!” she commanded. “We’ll use the side emergency exit.” Herding the remaining few, ranging in age from six to twelve, the length of the cracking, groaning building was no easy feat. Inside her head a hollow voice chanted. Why doesn’t the shaking stop? Lord, please, it can’t go on much longer.

      It felt as if an eternity had passed before she reached the side exit, and wrenched it open. Abby knew they’d lost power when the door sprang open without emitting the piercing squeal that told the world she’d breached security. She doubted anyone else noticed or cared. Outside, the air was filled with wailing sirens, ringing church bells, barking dogs and earsplitting car alarms. The sky was brown with floating debris.

      Keening, shaking children fell to their knees, all trying to make sense of the disorder. There was confusion everywhere. Bricks tumbled from the second story, splitting the walkway circling their newly constructed gymnasium. Asphalt beneath the playground equipment seemed alive as it puckered and broke apart. A river of water zigzagged between buildings. “Kids, stay away from that water,” Abby shouted, veering her last charges to higher ground. “We don’t know if a water main inside the building broke, or if that’s sewage from the bathrooms.”

      Teachers and students, all looking shell-shocked, attempted to band together in the center of the playground. Abby began collecting her nephews and Ben’s nieces. She checked each child for injuries before she allowed herself a deep, calming breath.

      “Where’s the sun gone?” Erin asked in a frightened voice. Until then, Abby hadn’t noticed that an ugly ecru sky had replaced the earlier blue. A thick layer of smoke or dust or both thickened the now still air. Blessedly, the horrid rumble had begun to recede, and the shaking was slowly subsiding. Disaster sirens didn’t let up their howling.

      Glancing at her watch, Abby couldn’t believe that minutes, not hours, had passed. She tapped her watch to see if it’d stopped. But it was seven-fifteen the last time she’d looked, just before crossing the cafeteria to greet Erin and Mollie. Now her watch said twenty-three minutes after the hour. All this chaos occurred in less than ten minutes?

      Mr. Conrad, the school principal, a slightly stoop-shouldered man who’d announced his plans to retire at the end of this school year, worked his way among his scattered staff. Usually impeccable, he looked thoroughly disheveled.

      Abby had to peel Brad, Reed and Mollie away from her so she could go have a word with her boss.

      “It’s not good news,” he said in a hushed voice. “The university seismology lab is saying this quake was 8.0 on the Richter scale. The West Seattle Bridge and parts of the viaduct along the waterfront have collapsed. No telling how many of these kids who were dropped off early have parents buried in that rubble.”

      Abby’s heart did a double flip. Bile rose to gag her. Practically anyone headed downtown after leaving the school crossed that bridge. “What about the floating bridge into the city?” she asked, unclenching her teeth to speak.

      Conrad hiked a shoulder. “I only got sketchy reports before I had to evacuate the main building. Our job, Abigail, is to calm the students until we get specific information on the whereabouts of their families.” He sighed. “It might be a selfish reaction, but why couldn’t this have waited until next week when school’s out for spring break? Then parents would’ve had the responsibility that’s fallen to us.”

      Abby thought about her plans for spring break, and a shiver rushed up her spine. Had her selfish decision brought God’s wrath?

      Don’t be ridiculous!

      She shrugged off the childish thought as fast as it popped into СКАЧАТЬ