surrounded Callie like the sound of bees buzzing, and she longed to know what was happening. When she heard General Wilson’s voice boom out, everyone stopped moving and talking. The room seemed to freeze, every officer’s breathing suspended in anticipation of what he might say.
“At ease,” Wilson commanded in his deep, rolling tone. He gazed across the crowded room, his brow wrinkling deeply. “I’ve just gotten off sat com—satellite communications—with the Pentagon. According to the experts, we have just been hit with a massive earthquake here in Southern California—8.9 on the Richter scale. According to the experts, they’re calling it the Big One.” Grimly, he continued in a rasp, “It has knocked out all electricity, all water and all amenities—pretty much all modern conveniences that civilian communities from central Los Angeles, southward to San Juan Capistrano and west as far as Redlands. The San Andreas Fault has moved six feet in an easterly direction.” He rubbed his brow. “Ladies and gentlemen, for whatever reasons, Camp Reed has been relatively untouched, spared by this killer earthquake. As I understand it from my discussion with experts, a minor fault runs in a north-south direction under us. It saved us from major damage as a result. The Los Angeles International Airport is inoperable. All their runways have been destroyed. Nearly every airport, minor or major around it, has also been destroyed. According to the Pentagon, Camp Reed’s ten-thousand-foot runways are the only ones available to start bringing in cargo planes with supplies and help. We’re still receiving information via cell phone and battery-operated radios from local police and fire departments, but it looks like the entire southern Los Angeles area has been left without any way to get help to its citizens. We are sitting on top of a disaster of untold proportions.
“Luckily, the Marine Corps has worked with the Disaster Preparedness Center, an extension of FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, whose function is to restore order during just such an event.” Wilson held up a thick blue book. “Our S.O.P.—standard operating procedure—is clear. If we are operable, and we are, then what it boils down to in this worst-case scenario is that Camp Reed becomes the only entrance-exit point for medical, fuel, water and food resources for this region.”
Callie gasped, as did several others. The magnitude of the general’s comments sent a cold chill through her. Camp Reed would become the focus point for all relief and emergency help.
“General,” one officer called, raising his hand, “sir, what about the highways? The freeways? Can we—”
Wilson shook his head tiredly. “Captain, every major road has been destroyed. Every freeway. Every bridge has buckled. There is no way for any vehicle to go very far. As soon as dawn arrives, we’re looking at going up in Huey helicopters to start assessing the damage. Right now, what I want to do is to break everyone into teams. Colonel Gray, here, has the disaster preparedness plan. Colonel?”
Callie waited as the silver-haired colonel came up to the podium. The urgency of the situation, the shock and terror of the picture being painted, washed like a tidal wave through the room. She stood there knowing that her team of quake rescue dogs would be on the front lines of the military’s efforts.
“First off, is there anyone here from our General Rescue?” the colonel asked, craning his neck and looking over the assemblage.
Callie raised her hand. No one could see it because she was five foot five inches tall and surrounded by mostly male marines much taller than she was. Squeezing between the tightly packed officers, Callie called, “Here, sir! I’m here!”
Colonel Gray’s eyes narrowed across the crowded room. “Who is here?” he boomed. “I hear a voice. Let her through, gentlemen.”
Callie moved forward, twisting and slithering between officers who stepped aside to create a path for her. She approached the podium. “Lieutenant Callie Evans, sir. I’m the X.O. of the dog rescue unit. How can I help?”
Gray smiled thinly. “Lieutenant, I want you to work with Lieutenant Wes James here.” He pointed to the man in civilian attire directly to the right of him. “He’s a trained civil engineer. We’re getting calls for help from fire and police departments all over the L.A. basin. He’s in charge of blocking off specific areas into grid coordinates. In each of these areas, I want one of your dogs and a handler. We’re going to be putting you on the front lines, Lieutenant Evans. Your people know how to find victims buried in rubble. You go with Lieutenant James now, and create a workable plan. We’ll then fly you and your teams out by helicopter to specific trouble zones to hunt for survivors. Any questions?”
Callie gulped. Lieutenant James was the man she was drawn to earlier. Focusing back on the general, she shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Good, get going—and be careful out there. Our people are a precious resource and there’s no way to replace any one of you if we lose you in this unmitigated disaster….”
“Yes, sir.” Callie turned and looked up into the narrowed green eyes of the officer, Wes James. He stood at least six foot tall, and was wearing a pair of black jeans, plus a white shirt that was streaked with grass stains. His black hair was short and uncombed and his face smudged with dirt. She saw the darkness beneath his eyes. As her gaze dropped to his mouth, Callie realized it was set in a thin line against a lot of emotions he was trying to hold back.
She offered him a slight smile of welcome. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant James. Just call me Callie.”
Wes nodded. He hitched a thumb across his shoulder. “Thanks for being here, Callie. Let’s go into this side room. I’ve got my engineers and blueprints set up in there. I’m going to need your help in understanding just what you can do for us.”
Despite the urgency of the situation, Wes found himself staring at Callie Evans. She was tiny, built like a bird. She was wearing the standard camouflage, desert-colored cammos, a cap over her short, sandy-colored hair. Her eyes were beautiful, large and intelligent looking. She didn’t miss much, Wes guessed as he created a path through the crowd and led her toward his makeshift office. Callie followed him, almost tripping on his heels. She was too small in this sea of men, he thought. A delicate flower among a bunch of tall redwood trees.
Once they got into the smaller room, Callie saw at least ten other officers standing around a huge square table covered with blueprint maps. Most were dressed in civilian clothes, and it was obvious they had gone out to party the night away—until the earthquake occurred. They all stopped talking when Wes reentered the room. He looked around to find her.
“I’m right behind you,” Callie assured him in an amused tone. She knew she was short and could easily get lost. He managed a slight smile as he looked down at her, his green eyes growing warm as they perused her. And then Callie saw them become stern and professional once again. For that brief moment, though, she’d felt the warmth flow straight to her heart, which pounded briefly in response. What was going on? A wild giddiness thrummed through Callie, catching her completely off guard.
“Good, Lieutenant. Stand over there,” he ordered, pointing to one end of the table.
Callie nodded a silent hello to the other officers, who gave her a deferential nod back. Everyone looked grim, and the stress was palpable in the room. Her gaze shifted to Wes James, the officer in charge. As he spread a roll of maps on the table with his large, square hands, she found herself liking him even more than when she’d seen him at the colonel’s side. There was a brisk efficiency to his motions; and she liked his low-key approach to this situation. He wasn’t a drama king like some of the officers she’d seen out in the main room. No, he was quiet, all-business, and had that eaglelike look in his eyes that told her he was capable of handling this assignment. And he was handsome with his oval face, strong chin, and full mouth. When she noticed the laughter lines at
