Quake by Jack Douglas Page A

closer. “Why do you want to help us escape?”
    â€œI don’t,” Nick said. “I just want to get uptown and find my daughter. And watching you six get yourselves shot and killed over some dirty water dogs and an iced tea isn’t going to get me there any faster.”

10
    The aluminum can of Nestlé iced tea was empty but Nick kept it upturned and to his lips to ensure he got every last drop. Then he dropped the can on the ground and flattened it under his foot.
    He turned to Mendoza, who had just polished off a can of Sprite. “Ready, Frank?”
    â€œAs ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
    The Sabrett hot dog vendor had given each of them a beverage in gratitude, but he’d had no food that wasn’t covered in the thick dust that hung everywhere around them. Nick felt a grumble in his stomach but ignored it. The sun was hanging high in the sky and there was no breeze, but the dense brown fog kept them from feeling the worst of the heat as they crossed the plaza toward Chambers Street station.
    As they skirted the edge of the municipal building on Centre Street, Nick realized he no longer heard the sirens. The sirens had been replaced by an eerie silence and he was almost thankful for the incessant ringing in his ears. He couldn’t help but wonder what the silence meant. Whether the ambulances and fire and police vehicles had headed uptown or simply given up for the time being trying get through to lower Manhattan.
    When they reached Centre Street, they stopped and watched thick black smoke billowing into the sky just a few blocks away.
    â€œThat’s coming from City Hall,” Nick said.
    A few minutes later, they stood directly in front of the municipal building, which had stood up fairly well to the tremors. The same couldn’t be said for Chambers Street. Chambers Street was ripped apart as far as the eye could see. Bodies lay scattered, vehicles crushed under rubble.
    In the distance Nick could see a pair of people scrambling along the edge of the crevasse in the direction of Church Street. He turned toward the entrance to the Chambers Street subway station and took a few steps toward it before turning around.
    Mendoza stood frozen, gazing at the stairwell leading underground. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” he said.
    â€œWe have no choice, Frank. I’d like nothing more than to take a nice, leisurely stroll north along the Hudson River all the way uptown. But look around. Every street is blocked by fallen buildings.”
    When Mendoza spoke again there was a sharp edge to his voice. “And what do you expect us to find down there, counselor? For all we know the subway system is flooded. Below us there may be trains cracked up and on fire. If another quake hits, the street may cave in and bury us alive.”
    â€œIf you don’t want to come with me,” Nick said, “I understand. But this is a chance I have to take.” He pointed into the darkness. “If this tunnel’s clear, we can take it all the way to West 59th to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt. You can find your wife and I can continue all the way to 116th Street to find my daughter. Quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line. That’s pretty much what’s waiting for us down there.”
    â€œThat may not be all that’s waiting for us down there,” Mendoza said. “Roaches? Rats? Crazy people looking to a take a brick to someone’s skull? A gas leak waiting to ignite and turn the tunnel into an inferno.”
    Mendoza’s last words caught in Nick’s mind like a pushpin. But it wasn’t a gas leak that suddenly terrified him. The Indian Point Energy Center, a nuclear power plant station, stood on the east bank of the Hudson River, just thirty-eight miles north of New York City. In the decades since it opened, particularly in the years since 9/11, there had been much highly publicized debate over whether to allow