California Has Fallen: Book One

By Mark Lages and Tom Rossi

California is suddenly rocked from top to bottom by two catastrophic earthquakes that bring the state to its knees. These are the gripping stories of a handful of struggling survivors and their life and death experiences. You’ll be spellbound on the edge of your seat every step of the way. Situations include people trapped in a dangling Palm Springs tram car, a collapsed Disneyland roller coaster ride, and deadly wild fires raging out of control and burning everything in their path. Streets are buckled and impassable, and vital utilities all shut down indefinitely. Untold numbers of people are trapped in the rubble of toppled buildings. Families are separated and later reunited. Fortunes are made while others such as generations of real estate holdings are wiped out. The cast of colorful characters includes an eccentric attorney and his terrified trophy wife, a doctor sadly widowed by the earthquake, a pair of young newlyweds who suffer a tragic death, a family on vacation thrust into the struggle of their lives, a devious bank teller turned bank thief, a high school hockey team turned heroes and saviors, and many more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546260455

Mark Lages

No ATA

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

What the Heck Was That?

Thirty-nine million people live in California, and this story could be written about any one of them. But let’s start with Julie Richards, born and raised in the Golden State. She’s a Southern California housewife and mother. She is forty-two years old and lives on a nice street, in a nice house, in the nice city of Beverly Hills. She is devoted to her faithful husband, Rich Richards. Rich is a forty-four-year-old attorney with a practice in downtown Los Angeles that specializes in contract law. It is not a particularly ambitious practice, but it is a lucrative one. The Richardses have an eighteen-year-old daughter, Tanya, who recently graduated from high school and is now in college at the University of California at Berkeley.

Julie’s story starts on a fine spring afternoon, the sort of magical spring afternoon that makes Californians click their heels and say, God, I’m so glad I live in this state. The skies today are pale blue and cloudless. The temperature is warm and comfortable, and there is an invigorating breeze blowing from the east that makes the palm trees glisten and boat sails in the Santa Monica Harbor flutter.

So what is our girl up to on this afternoon? Well, nothing unusual. She just finished her afternoon jog through the neighborhood. She’s brought a cup of coffee and her cell phone upstairs to her master bathroom. She’s ready to take a refreshing shower, and she’s hoping the coffee will perk her up. Her batteries often run a little low in the afternoons. Julie is dressed in white jogging shorts and a yellow tank top. Her blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail. You should know she’s not wearing any shoes. Her shoes are downstairs near the front door, where they belong. Shoes are not allowed in the Richards’s house. That’s the rule. The rule keeps the carpets clean, and God forbid the carpets ever get dirty. In real estate terms, the interior of the Richards’s house always shows very well.

Julie sets her coffee and cell phone down and looks at herself in the mirror. She unties her ponytail and shakes her hair loose so that it falls over her tan shoulders. Then she removes her tank top and bra. She likes what she sees.

Julie, she says to herself, you’re not half bad. Not bad at all for a forty-two-year-old wife and mother. There are some miles on you, for sure. But you’d never know.

She smiles at her image, and she admires her smile. People often tell her what a nice smile she has, and she would like to believe them. Her dentist probably made five years’ worth of car payments on his Porsche just from the money she spent on her mouth.

Julie walks to the shower. She reaches in and turns on the water. Then she closes the shower door and goes back to the vanity to finish undressing. As she takes a sip of coffee, her cell phone rings. She picks up the phone, looking at it. It is her husband, Rich, and she takes the call. Hello, lover.

Well, Rich says, you’re in a good mood.

You’re calling again? This is the second time Rich has called today.

I’m bored.

Where are you now?

In my hotel room.

You should’ve booked an earlier flight.

What are you doing?

I just got back from a jog. Now I’m taking a shower. Well, I was about to jump in, but I’m talking to you instead.

I wish I was there to help. I could wash your back.

Julie laughs. I bet you could.

I’m an excellent back washer. And backs are not my only specialty.

How did lunch go with Tanya? How’s she doing?

She’s doing well. She really looks great. She’s taking good care of herself.

That’s good to hear.

She doesn’t seem overwhelmed like she did last month.

It takes a while to get the hang of college.

There is a moment of silence as both Rich and Julie are thinking. Then Rich says, I’m thinking of getting out of here now and going to the airport early. This hotel room is depressing. At least I can buy something to eat at the airport, and I can get something to read.

What time is it?

It’s almost three.

Your flight doesn’t leave until seven. That’s a long time to spend in an airport.

It is, Rich agrees.

I told you last week to book an earlier flight. You should’ve listened to me.

I should’ve. But I didn’t.

The couple stops talking again. Rich realizes there really isn’t much to say since he just called Julie a few hours ago. I guess I’ll let you take your shower.

That would be nice. So I’ll see you at the airport tonight?

Yeah, I guess you will.

That is the extent of the phone call. They each say, I love you, and end their call. Julie sets her phone on the vanity and removes her socks. The socks are warm and still damp with perspiration from her afternoon jog. She drops them into the wicker hamper and takes off her shorts and panties, dropping them in the hamper too. She goes to the shower and opens the enclosure door, sticking her hand into the water. She plays with the valve until she gets the water at the perfect temperature.

At first, she just stands under the water. It feels good to let the water splash over her head and shoulders and run down her body. She closes her eyes and sticks her face into the water for a moment. She pretends she’s in a tropical rainstorm. Then she reaches for her bottle of shampoo. Squirting a generous amount into her hand, she massages it into her golden hair.

At this moment, Julie’s coffee cup and saucer begin to rattle. At first, they rattle gently, almost imperceptibly. But after several seconds, the rattling grows more pronounced. Julie notices none of this while she’s in the shower, the rush of the water masking the noise. Then there is a sharp and violent jolt. Coffee splashes out of the cup. This time, Julie feels the jolt. What the heck was that? Her heart jumps a bit.

There are several more substantial jolts, and Julie is now aware of what’s happening. It’s an earthquake. It has to be. What else could be causing so much shaking? She puts her hands against the wet tile walls, trying to keep her balance, but she is at a disadvantage. The shampoo suds run down her face, and she doesn’t want to open her eyes. Then there is a series of new shakes, even more violent than the previous ones, and Julie’s feet slide out from under her. Damn it! she says as she falls to the tile floor with a thud, landing on her butt. She struggles to get back on her feet, but the quake is too powerful. Julie decides she must get out of the shower, so on her hands and knees, and with water splashing against her back, she pushes open the shower door and crawls out. There is a horrible pair of sounds. First is a very loud creak and then a deafening crash as the glass shower enclosure shatters into a thousand pieces. Tiny chucks of tempered glass are sprinkled all over her back and on the tile bathroom floor.

Oh my God! Julie exclaims. No, no. Let me out of here!

This is nothing like the other earthquakes Julie has experienced. This is far worse. It’s like something out of a crazy disaster movie, except it’s very real. She can hear the master bedroom ceiling creak, break apart, and then collapse onto the floor! Julie is terrified and screams. Then the floor under her drops as the walls of the first floor buckle under the stress. The floor groans like a large animal being tortured and drops down several more feet.

Stop, stop! Julie yells. She scrambles on her hands and knees to the vanity so that she can hold the edge of the counter. Her knees and the palms of her hands are now bloody from crawling over the broken glass, and the floor is now slanted. Suddenly, the far wall splits open like it’s made of balsa wood and tissue paper. Sunlight comes pouring in. The lights over the vanity flicker on and off, and then they’re off completely. There are no windows in the bathroom, so the light coming in through the crack in the wall is now the only light there is. Second by second, the shaking grows worse, and there’s nothing Julie can do. She is wet, naked, and bleeding on the bathroom floor, holding onto the edge of the vanity. She begins to sob and shiver, and her breathing is labored. Tears roll down her cheeks. Surely, the earthquake should’ve stopped by now, but there is no end in sight. She tries to look around at her surroundings, but her eyes sting from shampoo, and she has hair in her face.

God, get me out of this place. Get me out! Then there is an explosive sound, like a bad automobile crash, and the bathroom ceiling begins to cave in. No! Julie screams.

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Six hours earlier, Julie finished her morning tennis match at the Cascade Tennis Club in Beverly Hills. It is one of the more exclusive clubs in town. There are lots of people from the movie industry: movie stars, producers, and directors. And there are many Beverly Hills doctors, lawyers, and businesspeople. This morning, Julie was up against her good friend, Carol Baker, and they are now walking toward the club lounge. It is a warm morning, and the club is busy.

I thought I had you in that last set, Julie says.

I thought you had me too, Carol replies.

I can’t believe I blew a forty-love lead.

And I can’t believe I won.

Don’t tell Randy, Julie says.

Randy who?

My tennis instructor.

Oh, Randy. I never even talk to him. I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me.

I’d never hear the end of it.

Some of the instructors around here take themselves a little too seriously.

You have time for some coffee? Julie asks.

I have time, Carol says.

Let’s see if we can get Archie to make us a fresh pot.

The women enter the lounge, and they take a seat at one of the tables. They place their bags and racquets on an empty chair, and Archie Pope immediately comes to them. Archie is a fixture at the club. He’s been working there since the club first opened. He is fifty-three, tall, and reasonably good-looking. He is always well groomed and neatly dressed, and he has a smile that delights most of the women.

Well, hello ladies, he says. Can I get something for you?

Some coffee would be nice, Carol says.

And can you make a fresh pot for us? Julie asks.

For you two, I’d do anything.

This makes the women smile. You’re a dear, Julie says.

I’ll be right back, Archie says.

Archie walks off, and the women watch him walk away. They are quiet for a moment, checking their cell phones for messages. Then Carol breaks the silence.

What do you have planned for the day? she asks.

After this, I’m going to drive home and change, Julie says. Then I’m going to work in the yard. I love doing yard work. We have a gardener, of course, but I like doing a lot of the planting myself. I’m going to plant the flowers that I bought at the nursery yesterday. It’ll take me a few hours. I bought a ton of them. They were having a sale at the nursery, and you know how I am about sales. A penny saved is a penny earned, right? After I plant all my flowers, I’ll probably go for an afternoon jog through the neighborhood. Then I’ll come home and hop in the shower. After that, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll read a little. I haven’t read for a while.

I’m going clothes shopping for Carl, Carol says. I can never get him to go shopping. It’s like pulling teeth. And he looks awful. He looks like he got all his clothes from the Salvation Army thrift store. That’s no way for a doctor to dress.

Rich doesn’t like to shop for clothes either, Julie says.

Carol then changes the subject. She asks, How is Tanya doing up at Berkeley?

She’s doing great. She loves the school. Rich is having lunch with her today.

He’s in Berkeley?

He’s giving one of his talks.

About his earthquakes?

Yes, about his earthquakes, Julie says. You know how it goes. Some men play golf in their spare time, and some men play tennis. Some men work on cars. Some like to putter around the house. I wish Rich liked to putter around the house, but for him it’s all about his earthquakes. He’s probably on stage right now, putting ideas into the heads of a roomful of wide-eyed college kids. I told him to call me when he’s done with the lecture, to let me know how it went.

Has Tanya picked a major?

Not yet. She’s still testing the waters.

She’s only eighteen, right?

She turned eighteen last month.

She has plenty of time. I didn’t pick a major until I was a junior.

Archie appears at the table, and he sets down two cups of coffee for the women. You ladies will like this, he says. I used a special blend of Columbian coffee beans I picked up yesterday. And I used a French press. Do either of you take cream or sugar?

I’ll take some cream, Carol says.

Cream and sweetener for me, Julie says.

I’ll be right back, Archie says, and he walks away. Julie smells her coffee.

I love the smell of coffee, she says. It’s so rich and healthy.

It is, Carol says.

Have you ever used a French press?

I don’t even know how a french press works. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never used one.

Archie returns with the cream and sweetener, and he places them on the table. Anything else I can get for you ladies?

That’s it for me, Carol says.

Same here, Julie says. Thanks, Archie.

Archie smiles and walks away. The women add the cream and sweetener to their coffee. Julie continues their conversation.

I told you how Tanya was doing. So how about your kids? How are they doing?

Not much has changed since the last time we spoke. Chris is still at Arizona State, and Jen is working at a retail clothing store in LA. Chris should be done with school next year, knock on wood. Jen is focused on her music. I have a lot of respect for her. I admire the way she’s committed to paying her own way. She refuses to take any money from us. But Chris? Well, our kids are like night and day. Chris is costing us a fortune. He’s like a cut on your finger that won’t stop bleeding. There’s no end to it. Gasoline, car payments, insurance, room, board, tuition, textbooks, and school supplies. I can’t wait for him to graduate and get a job. Carol stops talking and sips her coffee. This is good, she says. This is really good.

Julie sips her coffee. Then she smiles at Carol. We live good lives, Carol. We really do. We live such charmed lives.

Yes, we do.

Julie holds up her cup, as if to make a toast. She says, Cheers.

Carol clinks her cup against Julie’s. Here’s to the good life.

May nothing ever come along to upset it.

I can drink to that.

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The Cal campus is bustling with activity. The sun is out, and Sproul Plaza is filled with people. In the center of the plaza, on the steps, is a man who has come to be known to both students and teachers as Holy Harry. He’s there almost every day, preaching the gospel and reading from his old Bible. His clothes are always worn and tattered, and his sandy hair is long and unkempt. He’s probably younger than he looks. He looks like he’s in his fifties. When he talks, his eyes roll around in their sockets like he’s on drugs. In his left hand he holds his old Bible, and he swings his right hand around to express himself. His voice is loud and gravelly, and you’d have to be deaf not to be aware of him.

This morning there’s a group of students encircled around him. The kids are amused by him. He slaps his Bible and delivers his sermon. It’s all here, he says. It’s printed in black and white, written in the king’s English. You can forget the rest of what you read. Forget about your textbooks, paperbacks, and periodicals. They are written by the hand of Satan. Forget your charts, graphs, essays, and term papers. No, it’s all right here. How many of you have taken the time to open the Bible? Oh, sure, some of you went to church when you were kids, and you probably tagged along with your parents dressed in your Sunday best. But I’m not asking you to tag along. I’m asking you to open your eyes and read! Pick up this book and dive into its glory and wisdom like it’s the last book you will ever lay eyes upon. There isn’t much time. The day of reckoning is around the corner. Yes, it’s coming, and we’re all going to pay the piper. Each and every one of us. And we’re going to pay dearly.

Tanya Richards is in the crowd with her friend, watching Holy Harry. Her friend’s name is Keri Millstone, and they met while doing a group project in a geography class. Tanya turns to Keri and says, It’s amazing how Holy Harry never runs out of things to say.

Well, Keri says, he never runs out of things to say because he keeps saying the same things over and over.

The day of reckoning …

Blah, blah, blah.

Have you ever seen him stop for lunch? I don’t think he even stops to eat lunch.

Maybe he eats a big breakfast, Keri says.

If the world is coming to an end, why bother to eat at all?

Keri laughs. Yes, why bother?

To the right of the girls there are two boys who are also watching Holy Harry. They are obviously gay lovers, and they are holding hands. Harry steps up to them, and he is breathing fire.

Here’s what I’m talking about, Holy Harry shouts. Look at these two boys. This is exactly what I mean.

The boys seem a little embarrassed, but they stay where they are. Holy Harry then opens his Bible to a specific page, and he holds the Bible open with one hand. He uses the other hand to shake his fist above his head as he reads.

You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. Did you hear that? An abomination! Then turning to another page, he continues to read. If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be surely put to death; their blood is upon them!

Several kids in the crowd boo, like they’re at a sporting event.

You can boo all you want, Holy Harry says. Sure, you can mock me, but I’m reading right out of the Bible. Do you even own a Bible? If you don’t, you ought to get one. Go home tonight and open it.

Ignoring Holy Harry, Keri asks Tanya, Is your father still coming today?

He’ll be here this morning, Tanya says. In fact, he’s probably here now.

Aren’t you going to go to his lecture?

No, I’ve heard it before. I know much more about earthquakes than I really care to know.

Which class is his lecture in?

It’s in Professor Angel’s sociology class.

How come the science department never asks your dad to lecture?

They think he’s crazy, Tanya says.

Crazy?

You know what those eggheads call him? They call him Dr. Doom. I think it’s mean and childish to resort to names, but that’s what they call him. I guess they think it’s funny.

Does it bother your dad to be called names?

I don’t know if it does or not. If it does, he never shows it. He likes to point out that the history of science is built upon the backs of men and women who the world called crazy.

What do you think? Keri asks.

What do I think about what?

Your dad. Do you think he’s right?

I have no idea, Tanya says. I’m not any kind of scientist. I don’t even think science is interesting. But don’t you think all things are possible?

I suppose they are.

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Professor Angel’s office is just a short walk from the auditorium. The place is a shrine to the gods of clutter and disorganization. Books and papers are stacked on every surface, and the shelves are overflowing. Printouts and handwritten notes are tacked all over the walls. The man keeps his window closed at all times, because one good breeze could wipe out decades of work. How the man is able to function in this office is a mystery to everyone. The professor is seated at his desk, and Rich is seated in a chair in front of the desk. The professor is speaking. He says, We advertised your lecture in the school paper this semester. We’re hoping for a good turnout.

That would be nice, Rich says. It would be nice to see more students take an interest.

Have you hooked up with your daughter yet?

Not yet. We’re meeting for lunch. It will be great to see her. I enjoy talking to her. She’s a great kid.

The professor looks at his wristwatch. Well, shall we go? It’s about time.

I’ll let you lead the way.

The two men step out of the office, and the professor locks the door. They walk down the hall until they reach the door to the auditorium stage. The professor pushes the door open, and Rich steps into the room. There are many rows of seats in this auditorium, but only a few of the seats are filled with live bodies. Most of the seats are empty. This doesn’t appear to come as a shock to Rich, and he steps up to the podium ignoring the poor turnout, and he speaks like he’s addressing a large crowd.

Rich says, For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Rich Richards. There’s a small smattering of polite applause. I’m glad you all came. I’m going to talk this morning about this wonderful state we live in. Yes, I’m talking, of course, about California. Good old liberal and free-spirited California. The fifth largest economy in the world. Home to all those glamorous movie stars. Home to Silicon Valley. Surfing, sunshine, fast cars, and lots of overpriced real estate. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to move to California?

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Wanda Smith and her seventeen-year-old son, Joey, live in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in a modest pueblo-style home with a front yard full of rocks and cacti. They are standing in the dark living room, and a suitcase and bag full of hockey gear are sitting in the middle of the room. The curtains are all drawn to keep the house cool. On top of the hockey gear is a pair of hockey sticks. Joey is ready to go.

Three days in California, Wanda says. I suppose there’s no way I can talk you out of this?

No, Mom, Joeys says. Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me.

I still don’t have a good feeling about it.

I’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. It’s not like this is the first tournament we’ve gone to.

The others were different, Wanda says.

How were they different?

They weren’t in California.

I don’t know what it is you have against California, Joey says. It’s just another state.

Things happen there.

Like what?

Are you kidding me? Things happen there all the time.

Things happen everywhere, Joey says.

Wanda suddenly remembers something. It is something she almost forgot to give Joey. I’ll be right back, she says. I packed something for the plane. Wanda goes to the kitchen and returns with a paper bag. She hands it to Joey. "Here are a few things to eat. And I packed plenty of beef jerky.

Joey takes the bag. Thanks, Mom, he says.

The doorbell rings, and Joey goes to answer it. It’s one of the kids from his hockey team—a boy named Terry Miller. His mom is waiting in the driveway with a minivan full of excited boys.

Hi, Mrs. Smith, Terry says.

Hello, Terry.

We’re here to pick Joey up.

I know.

I’m leaving now, Mom, Joey says. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?

I’ll be fine. It’s you that I’m worried about. Why California? Why not somewhere here in New Mexico? Or Colorado? Or Arizona? Or even Texas? Why all the way out there in that ridiculous state?

He’ll be fine, Mrs. Miller, Terry says.

Yeah, I’ll be fine, Joey agrees.

We’ll all keep an eye on him, Terry says. The coach says if we get there on time, we’re all going to Disneyland this afternoon.

See, Mom? We’re all going to Disneyland. What could be safer?

I suppose that’s okay.

And the tournament is only about fifteen minutes from the park, Terry says.

Will you call me when you get there?

I will.

Is your cell phone charged?

Of course it is. You worry too much.

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