right.
'Where are you going?' Mary had asked.
'Laurel Canyon. hope. You wouldn't happen to know how we might get there from here?'
'We need to get onto the Golden State, and…'
'Not today.'
South on the Golden State Freeway was Clint's usual route home. The Golden State south, then west on the Ventura Freeway to the Laurel Canyon Boulevard offramp - about a ten-minute drive on the freeways. Ten minutes to cover ten miles through smoothly moving traffic in the early afternoon. But the quake had struck at eight-twenty when the commuter rush was at its peak. Even without an earthquake, every freeway in the Los Angeles area was usually crowded at that time of the morning with bumper to bumper traffic that barely moved at all. The quake had probably turned the freeways into parking lots. Clint knew enough to stay clear of them. But he wasn't sure at all about which surface streets to take, so he'd picked his route at random - trying to avoid areas where the traffic appeared heavy, trying to keep a course that carried them south and west. Some of his choices worked fine. Others didn't.
After swinging into a road that dead-ended, he turned the car around and asked, 'You aren't at all familiar with the streets around here?'
'Not really,' she admitted. 'Do you have a map?' She shook her head. 'Are you sure?'
What kind of person doesn't have a map! 'It's just that… don't normally go places when don't know where they are. I'm sorry.'
'It's all right.'
'Do you have maps?' she asked.
'Sure, but they're in my car.' Where they belong, he thought. 'Do you think we should maybe go back and get them?' Clint shook his head.
How long had he been driving? About ten minutes? It would take at least that long to return for the maps - if he could even manage to find the office building.
'I don't think could find my way back if wanted to,' he said. 'Besides, it'd take too much time. Every minute…, no.'
The minutes lost by backtracking might be the minutes that mattered, that delayed them just enough to make all the difference. For want of a minute… Clint had to get home. He had to be with Sheila, with Barbara. He had to see them with his own eyes, know they were all right, hold them in his arms. Any delay could mean arriving at an intersection after it'd jammed. They'd all be jammed soon. Most of them, anyway. Because the traffic signals were dead. People who believed in the rules would take turns crossing, but the few who were out for themselves would mess it up, trying to cross when they shouldn't. Every intersection that didn't have a cop directing traffic would soon be clogged, impassable. It had to be happening already. Five, ten more minutes, Clint thought. That's probably all we've got before the roads'll be totally screwed up. We've got to put some miles behind us while we can. As long as we're heading in the right general direction, that's the main thing. If we can just make it over the hills as far as Sunset… we could walk from there., maybe four miles, five at most. Easy. We could cover that in an hour or so. Mary'll still be a long way from home, but.,. Rounding a comer, he found the street ahead blocked by police cars and fire trucks. He braked to a halt. Halfway down the block, an enormous, two-story apartment complex was ablaze. Forty or fifty people stood around, watching: few men, mostly women and small kids. Many were dressed in nightgowns or robes. One man, hair still slicked down from a bath or shower, wore nothing except a blue towel wrapped around his waist.
'Can you get around it?' Mary asked.
'Doubt it.'
Besides, a police officer was waving them off. Clint shoved the gearshift into reverse. He started to back away, then noticed the woman. She was calling to someone as she hurried into the street. Calling to us? Her arms were busy hugging a baby to her chest. Her hair
'Where are you going?' Mary had asked.
'Laurel Canyon. hope. You wouldn't happen to know how we might get there from here?'
'We need to get onto the Golden State, and…'
'Not today.'
South on the Golden State Freeway was Clint's usual route home. The Golden State south, then west on the Ventura Freeway to the Laurel Canyon Boulevard offramp - about a ten-minute drive on the freeways. Ten minutes to cover ten miles through smoothly moving traffic in the early afternoon. But the quake had struck at eight-twenty when the commuter rush was at its peak. Even without an earthquake, every freeway in the Los Angeles area was usually crowded at that time of the morning with bumper to bumper traffic that barely moved at all. The quake had probably turned the freeways into parking lots. Clint knew enough to stay clear of them. But he wasn't sure at all about which surface streets to take, so he'd picked his route at random - trying to avoid areas where the traffic appeared heavy, trying to keep a course that carried them south and west. Some of his choices worked fine. Others didn't.
After swinging into a road that dead-ended, he turned the car around and asked, 'You aren't at all familiar with the streets around here?'
'Not really,' she admitted. 'Do you have a map?' She shook her head. 'Are you sure?'
What kind of person doesn't have a map! 'It's just that… don't normally go places when don't know where they are. I'm sorry.'
'It's all right.'
'Do you have maps?' she asked.
'Sure, but they're in my car.' Where they belong, he thought. 'Do you think we should maybe go back and get them?' Clint shook his head.
How long had he been driving? About ten minutes? It would take at least that long to return for the maps - if he could even manage to find the office building.
'I don't think could find my way back if wanted to,' he said. 'Besides, it'd take too much time. Every minute…, no.'
The minutes lost by backtracking might be the minutes that mattered, that delayed them just enough to make all the difference. For want of a minute… Clint had to get home. He had to be with Sheila, with Barbara. He had to see them with his own eyes, know they were all right, hold them in his arms. Any delay could mean arriving at an intersection after it'd jammed. They'd all be jammed soon. Most of them, anyway. Because the traffic signals were dead. People who believed in the rules would take turns crossing, but the few who were out for themselves would mess it up, trying to cross when they shouldn't. Every intersection that didn't have a cop directing traffic would soon be clogged, impassable. It had to be happening already. Five, ten more minutes, Clint thought. That's probably all we've got before the roads'll be totally screwed up. We've got to put some miles behind us while we can. As long as we're heading in the right general direction, that's the main thing. If we can just make it over the hills as far as Sunset… we could walk from there., maybe four miles, five at most. Easy. We could cover that in an hour or so. Mary'll still be a long way from home, but.,. Rounding a comer, he found the street ahead blocked by police cars and fire trucks. He braked to a halt. Halfway down the block, an enormous, two-story apartment complex was ablaze. Forty or fifty people stood around, watching: few men, mostly women and small kids. Many were dressed in nightgowns or robes. One man, hair still slicked down from a bath or shower, wore nothing except a blue towel wrapped around his waist.
'Can you get around it?' Mary asked.
'Doubt it.'
Besides, a police officer was waving them off. Clint shoved the gearshift into reverse. He started to back away, then noticed the woman. She was calling to someone as she hurried into the street. Calling to us? Her arms were busy hugging a baby to her chest. Her hair
Similar Books
