slowed as they approached the vehicle. “I know,” he told her worriedly. “Being a civil engineer, I’ve worked in a lot of rough environments, and the one thing that strikes me more than any other with this quake is that the people of this basin are not going to have enough water to sustain them.”
“Right,” Callie murmured unhappily. “Within the week, water is going to be the number one factor in who lives and who dies here. If we can’t get enough water in, people are going to start dropping like flies. It will be babies and the elderly first.”
“You’ve seen situations like this before, haven’t you?” Wes found himself fascinated with Callie. She seemed easygoing, soft-spoken and very responsible. That told him of the steely emotional strength she must have within her heart. And it drew him. She was a woman of incredible compassion and substance, and he’d never met anyone quite like her in his life.
“Yes,” Callie admitted haltingly. “In Turkey, in the major cities we’ve been in to help locate survivors, the pipes carrying water from the reservoirs were all broken up. At first, we saw people working together to collect water and food. But later they began to steal from one another. The fabric of society comes undone real fast in a life-and-death situation like that, Wes, and we’re going to have the same thing happen here. I hope you’re prepared for it. People will turn on one another. They’ll steal, lie and cheat to get water. And if that doesn’t do the trick, then they’ll resort to any means to take what they want.” Her mouth quirked as they stopped at the vehicle. “Later, they’ll start killing for it. That’s when the situation turns ugly and dangerous.”
“You carry food and water on you when you search. Were you a target then, too?” Wes turned and studied her saddened face. For a moment, her eyes glimmered with what he was sure were tears. But she forced them back.
“Oh, yes…we had to have Turkish troops, armed to the teeth, accompany us over the search areas to make sure we didn’t get robbed of the canteen we carried…or the food we had in the pockets of our cammies. We didn’t have much, but when parents see their children dying of dehydration or lack of food, they’ll do anything they have to do to save them.” She saw his eyes flicker with surprise. “Earthquakes bring out the best and worst of humanity, Wes. Sometimes you find that, if you scratch the surface of most human beings caught in such a situation, they’re savages underneath.”
Tilting her head, she added, “And then, when you think humans really are mere savages who have no regard for law, order or society, you’ll run into a man or woman who is positively saintly. I’ve seen miracles happen…and it restores my belief in humanity. I’m sure we’ll see it here, too.”
“Well, whatever happens, this rescue is not something I’m looking forward to.” With a grimace, he added, “I usually work with concrete and steel and it’s pretty unemotional.”
“Yeah…” Callie answered, seeing the pain in his eyes. “Now you’ll be dealing with flesh and blood. A whole ’nother ball game.”
Wes wanted to talk more, but their mission was desperately urgent. Every person buried in the Hoyt Hotel rubble must have a mother, father, brother or sister—some relative frantic with worry. His conscience ate at him. What if someone he loved was buried in that heap of debris behind them? How would he be feeling? Pretty awful, especially if he couldn’t determine if that person was dead or alive. All lines of communication were down, with the exception of battery-operated radios and cell phones. And cell phones were only as good as their batteries. There was no electricity to recharge any batteries once they died.
Wes scanned the area, noting a number of people sitting on the edge of the chewed-up boulevard near the Hoyt. They had to be survivors from the hotel. One man was up on the heap of rubble, calling a name repeatedly and looking for someone. “This is bad. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. I just hope I can do a good job of leading this detachment. Do the right thing at the right time, with all the limitations we face.”
Hearing the edge in his deep voice, Callie gave him a compassionate look. His eyes were alive with feelings as he surveyed the Hoyt. “Yes, it’s terrible. But I know in my heart you can do this, Wes. I think you’re perfect for it. You’re calm, cool and collected.”
Chuckling dryly, he said, “Bane of the engineer breed, you know? We’re numbers and figures people, not very glamorous, exciting or dazzling on a scale of one to ten.”
“You’re all those things in my eyes,” Callie declared, then stopped abruptly, shocked at what she’d just said. Where had that come from? Feeling heat crawl into her face, she stammered, “I—I believe in you. You’re a Marine Corps officer and we get the best training in the world, especially for difficult and changing situational operations.” She saw his eyes glimmer at her praise, and it made her feel good.
They continued toward the hotel, and silence fell between them as they surveyed the devastation. Dozens of palm trees lay scattered all around them. The once beautiful Spanish-tile entrance to the Hoyt was gone; there was nothing more than concrete, shattered glass and twisted steel visible now. Though neither of them said it, Callie knew many lives had been lost here. Because the Hoyt was a landmark building, once a gathering place for Hollywood stars, it was always filled to capacity, especially on New Year’s Eve. The Hoyt threw one of the grandest, most publicized New Year’s parties in California. Anyone who was famous was here for it. Callie stopped herself from thinking any further than that.
When Wes reached the blue, dusty SUV, he used the arm of his coat to wipe off the hood. Dust and rubble flew in all directions. He laid the maps down and unrolled them. Dawn was upon them and the growing light made it easier to read the blueprints.
Looking around him, Wes picked up small pieces of asphalt and placed them on the corners of his maps to keep them flat on the hood of the vehicle. Only then did he notice that Callie was too short to read them.
“Hop up on the bumper here,” he said to her, half in jest, “so you can draw your grid. This is the blueprint of the hotel. It doesn’t look like it used to, but you can still work out the parameters so you can begin your search.” He handed her a black felt-tip pen.
“Okay, hold on. Let me get my safety gear on.” She gave Dusty a hand gesture and the dog sat down. Then she placed a bright-red vest that said RESCUE in bold yellow letters on the front and back. It was actually a flak jacket. If she fell on sharpened objects in the rubble, the jacket would protect her from being pierced and possibly killed. The familiar chafing and weight actually felt good to her as she used the Velcro tabs to close it snugly around her torso.
The bright-orange helmet that hung from a hook on her olive-green web belt was next. She settled it over her camouflage-colored utility cover, which was shaped like a baseball cap, and strapped it into place beneath her chin. Last came the hard leather knee protectors in case she fell in the rubble or had to get down and crawl into tight places. Her knees would take a beating, and the leather absorbed the shock that would be guaranteed if she started poking around between slabs of concrete.
She’d already placed a bright-red cotton garment over Dusty. It held four large pockets, two on each side, holding small bottles of water, as well as human and dog food. Dusty carried roughly ten pounds in the specially made Marine Corps vest. His uniform was edged in bright yellow, with RESCUE DOG printed in large letters on each side. A leather harness was then fitted over it. Callie had also placed thick, soft leather “booties” on his feet held on by Velcro. Dusty was just as susceptible to cuts, gouges and scratches on the sensitive pads of his feet as she was.
Taking off her thick leather gloves, Callie took the pen Wes held out to her. When their fingers met, she felt a brief flash of warmth. Wes was amazingly
