Shaky Ground

¹ "Wow! I can't believe I'm actually here! The World Series: Battle of the Bay, game 3! This is so cool! How'd you get tickets?" Heather dashes down the steps of Candlestick Park; her dad juggles their sodas and nachos from one arm to the other.

"Chief Payson from the station sold them to me yesterday. I heard he couldn't make the game tonight so I offered to take tonight's tickets off his hands." Heather stops quickly, checks her ticket, steps down another row and starts to scoot toward her seat.

"I bet that cost a lot." She starts down the row saying 'excuse me' to everyone who's already sitting. One lady in a Giants t-shirt tucks her legs to the side as Heather passes.

"Money's no object when it comes to you honey." Heather smiles then rolls her eyes. Her dad's been saying that a lot since he moved across the bay to San Francisco. He's been buying her stuff, calling her every night, and making sure that he's spending every single second with her that he can. She's glad her Mom switched weekends with her Dad. Being in Candlestick Park for the series with him felt almost normal: like it did before the divorce. She'd even been okay with her dad taking her out of school early so they could get there in time for warm-ups.

Heather pauses to look out over the stadium. Thousands of people have crowded into the park today to cheer for The Giants and the A's. With a deep breath, Heather plops down in her seat about nine rows behind third base. She adjusts her Giants cap and stares out over the stadium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen please rise for the singing of our national anthem." comes over the loud speaker. The sound in the stadium halts and goes quiet just before the music and singing start. As the last note of the anthem is sung an eerie quiet fills the stadium. Heather glances at the clock just as everyone in the stadium takes their seat. 5:04.

The moment the rumbling starts Heather knows exactly what it is: an earthquake! It's stronger than any she's ever felt. A jolt shakes Candlestick Park and the power goes out. Heather can feel the ground shaking beneath her feet. The whole stadium rocks on its foundation. People in the stand begin screaming; a little boy in front of them jumps over his row and ducks behind his seat. After what feels like an eternity the shaking stops. The quake lasts fifteen seconds. "Heather, are you all right?"

She nods, looking around. Some people are standing in shock while others are laughing nervously. One man in the row behind them says, "That's the first time a stadium did the wave!" People around him chuckle nervously. Players are rushing into the stands as family and friends pour out of the dugouts onto the field. Suddenly stadium staff and police equipped with walkie-talkies appear all over the field. Some of the players are pointing to the upper deck where sections of concrete have broken off.

A lot of the fans around had wanted to stay in case the power came back on, but the game was cancelled and every single disappointed fan files out of Candlestick Park and heads for their car. On the way out one couple is carrying chunks of concrete that fell from the right centerfield upper deck.

Heather expects the car ride to be deathly quiet. Instead her dad keeps the radio on loud switching from one radio station to the next listening to the different news reports coming in. Heather can only catch glimpses of what is being said. The CB is also on as her dad waits for a station call to tell him to report in. As they approach I-880 toward Oakland things quickly become worse.

Police, Fire and paramedics are already on the scene. The car crawls to a stop. Heather's Dad reaches into the glove compartment in front of her and pulls out something that looks like a wallet. He dashes out of the car. Heather quickly undoes her seatbelt and rushes after him. A police officer raises both his hands before they reach him. "Stop right there! This area's restricted." Her dad holds out the wallet to the officer.

"I'm a paramedic. Is there anything I can do?" The officer points behind him.

"Some people are already on the scene. You can check in over there." Heather and her dad cross the line. "Hold up! No kids allowed."

"She's my daughter."

"I'm sorry sir, but she has to wait here. It's too dangerous."

"But--"

"She can wait with the officers over there." The officer points to his left. Heather's dad

hesitates. "I'll only be a few minutes sweetheart. Just come with me to meet the officers, okay? I promise I'll be right back." Her dad takes her over and introduces himself to the officers, explaining the situation. The two officers agree to keep an eye on Heather. The entrance to the expressway is cluttered with traffic cones; abandoned cars with drivers standing to the side fill the overpass as they look out over the side. She joins the crowd. A huge gasp escapes Heather's lips.

She and all the other onlookers are staring at a collapsed section of the overpass. The

Section snapped off and slammed down onto another. A part of the Cypress Street section slants on an angle from the highest section diagonally to the one below. "Dad, please be safe." Heather whispers to herself.

Heather and the other motorists stare transfixed at the slanting section of the bridge. Despite the distance Heather is certain she can hear screaming voices--is it from the rescue workers searching for survivors, or people trapped in their cars? Her lip starts to quiver; she feels her eyes welling up with tears. Heather turns away from the crowd looking out over the bridge and heads back to the police officers.

As she gets closer she notices a woman with short brown hair and a suit coat sitting with another woman who is lying on the ground. The woman in the suit is a paramedic like her dad. She recognizes the woman as someone her dad knows, but Heather can't remember her name. From the bandage across the head and the bruises and cuts on the arms of the woman lying down it's obvious she's a victim of the freeway collapse. "Is she alright?" The woman in the suit is holding the hand of the victim. She looks up at Heather.

"Yes, I think so." She turns to the victim. "Will you be alright for a moment?" The woman nods. The counselor woman rises to her feet. To Heather: "Is your family stuck in this traffic?" Heather shakes her head.

"No. My dad and I were at the ball game when the 'quake hit. He's a paramedic--he went to see if he could help."

"Any injuries at the game?"

"I don't think so. Everyone just seemed a little rattled is all." Heather followed the counselor around for a bit as the woman speaks with several people both victims and rescue workers. Sometimes she wanders off further than where the police told Heather to stay so Heather would wanders back toward her dad's car.

After what feels like hours her dad comes back to the car. His face is pale and he looks tired. Heather gets out of the car and comes over to him. "Hey sweetie: are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm okay. How about you?" Her dad smiles weakly then takes a deep breath.

"All part of the job." Behind her dad Heather sees a police officer running toward them.

"Excuse me!" Her dad turns around. The police officer slows his pace to a jog then a stop. "The station just called in. A fire broke out and they need paramedics on scene. Could you go?" Without a moment's hesitation Heather's dad nods.

"Where at?"

"The Marina District."

Heather rides white knuckled from I-880 all the way to the Marina District. Over the radio the reports come in with phrases like 'five-alarm fire' and 'broken gas main' that echo over and over in her ears. She tries to think about something else, anything else, other than the fate of her mother. Her dad stops the car as they approach a police barricade. Heather takes her eyes off her dad and looks at the people around her. She sees the same freaked out look that she saw at the ball game, and at the bridge, only this time it seems more intense. Fire trucks, lights flashing, are all around. People are screaming and crying. Heather rolls down her window then jerks her head back, feeling like she's been slapped in the face. The heat she feels pouring into the car is bad enough, but there's something else. "Ugh! What's that smell?" Her dad takes a small whiff of the air.

"It's...gas!" He opens the door hurriedly. A crowd of people stand near the barricade. "Stay in the car."

"Dad, don't go!" He places his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm just going to talk to the policeman. I'll be right back." Heather sighs. She reaches into the glove compartment and hands him his paramedic ID. Her dad gives her a comforting smile and steps out of the car as she rolls up her window. The crowd of people--she can't look away. Many of them are covered in grime: soot and ashes from the fire, muck from a rupturing gas main that is spewing mud into the air. From behind the passenger window Heather searches the crowd of people, every single one of them in total shock.

As soon as the car door opens the heat and smell of gas leaking becomes more intense. "Why hasn't the city shut that gas main off yet?" she hears a woman say. Half the crowd is talking in fearful tones around Heather; the other half has been struck silent by the carnage going around them. Heather moves through the crowd checking every face. She keeps moving through the crowd until she finds herself right behind the barricade. Her eyes turn from the stunned faces.

The fiery inferno ravages several houses down the street. The damage done by the earthquake has collapsed many of the houses, leaving others on a slant. Tears form in Heather's eyes as a single thought crosses her mind. How could anyone survive this?

She's so wrapped up in her thoughts she doesn't hear someone calling her name. A younger boy pushes past her to get deeper into the crowd. Heather startles from her daze and her ears focus on her father's voice. She moves away from the police barricade and finds her dad, his face red.

"Where did you go? I told you to stay in the car!"

"I'm sorry. I was looking at the--" She feels the words catch in her throat. It moves up to her eyes and pours out as tears. Her dad's face softens; he grabs hold of her, hugging her so tight she feels like nothing could break his grip.

The battle against the fire lasts well into the night. Heather and her dad stay in the Marina District all night long. She follows him around, too afraid to venture off: not because of the carnage around them, but afraid that if she loses sight of him he'll suddenly be gone. Stop it!, she yells at herself. He's fine--we're fine. We've got to help these people who've lost so much so quickly. Heather repeats this to herself every half hour. The rest of the night is a blur of damage control, rushing from person to person, people are helping each other, and putting out the different fires. By morning the fires are out, but the destruction caused by the earthquake and the fires make the Marina District look like a warzone. The residents are cleared out as rescue teams search the rubble for survival. Some of the residents were missing, but most of the residents were accounted for, sleeping in various places, many in tents in or sleeping bags outside of a park near the Marina District. Deep in her heart, as Heather looks out over the mess that used to be the Marina District she knew that nothing would ever be the same. Yet, having seen how strangers quickly became friends, and neighbors became family, she also knew that the people surrounding her would forever be there for each other.

1 This is a good story with tons of potential, but Heather isn't helping anyone do anything! She's a middle school kid in the midst of a dangerous situation, but she needs to find a way to help: either her dad, someone nearby--she needs to be a protagonist hero, not just a protagonist bystander. Who can she help? Guidelines: "Historical fiction, a mainstay of CRICKET, should recreate a world accurately but with a primary focus on an energetic plot and robust characters. While modern kids no longer attend one-room schoolhouses, plow fields, or resist Roman invasions, your story should transport them across the historical divide to identify with timeless challenges of growing up and taking on responsibilities.