“Do you think,” Newcombe said to Abidan, “that this cataclysm will be like a gentle push of a raft away from a riverbank? Try to imagine the strength of forces that can level and raise mountains as easily as you turn your eye on. Do you realize that Los Angeles stands zero chance of surviving as the Elysian Park Fault fissures up the whole city, dropping entire blocks miles down into the ground, never to be seen again? California is going to be ripped asunder. There will be a conflagration the likes of which hasn’t been seen on this planet in millions of years. Is it really important that you die in California, at this time?”
Abidan gulped and shook his head, the cam-eye not moving with his head. “Good,” Newcombe said. “ ’Cause I want you to let us finish our say, then I want you to get on your horse and get the hell out of here. You’ve got some good years ahead of you. Try and stay alive for them. Don’t be like those idiots on the streets.”
“T-thank you,” Abidan whispered.
“I’m surprised,” Crane said to Newcombe. “You’ve learned how to use power.”
“And you’ve learned to keep your mouth shut occasionally,” Newcombe replied. “We’ve both changed.”
“Oh, boy,” Hill said, rolling his eyes. “Here we go.”
Crane leaned toward the cam, pointing to Newcombe. “This man dogged me from the day I hired him in ’23. This man never went along willingly with me on anything in his damned life.”
“It’s because you were a dictator.” Newcombe laughed. “And you had a hidden agenda.”
Crane threw his hands in the air. “I guess today we can see why I kept it hidden.”
“Neither one of you would have done anything without me to keep you off each other’s throats.” Hill said. “It’s me you ought to be thankin’.”
“Thanks, Burt,” they said in unison.
“You’re welcome. I didn’t have nothin’ else to do anyway.”
Crane turned back to the cam. Abidan was shaking visibly, his real eye opened wide in near panic as a small foreshock rumbled through, shaking the set and causing a bank of lights to crash to the floor. The three of them laughed as Abidan hit the deck.
“Not going to be safe here for long,” Hill said.
“Let me do this.” Crane got out of his chair and walked over to Abidan, who was lying in a fetal position on the floor, covering his head.
“Roll over and look at me, son,” Crane said.
Abidan unwrapped himself slowly and rolled onto his back. The red light on his cam-eye stared up at Crane. “I want to get out of here,” Abidan said.
“I’ve got a helo waiting in the parking lot,”
Crane said. “I’ve saved a seat for you. Just let me say my piece first.” He looked straight at Abidan’s cam-eye. “Ladies and gentlemen, the things we are saying are not exaggerations. If you live west of the San Andreas Faultline, you are in deadly peril. Don’t take for granted that you will be safe anywhere.”
Crane took a deep breath, preparing to launch into the familiar litany and hoping against hope that there were people out there listening to him who would heed his advice.
“If you can’t get east of the line in the next hour or so, do not go into your homes. They are deathtraps. Avoid large trees. Get to as much open ground as you can find. This advice will save some of you, some it won’t. I’ve personally witnessed five dozen quakes in my lifetime and been on site at hundreds more. Believe me. Los Angeles: gone. San Francisco: gone. Santa Barbara, San Bernardino, San Diego, Tijuana, any large city from Baja to San Francisco is probably going to die today. If you don’t want to die with it, listen to me. You can’t control this with your mind or your rationalizations. It’s going to happen and it’s going to happen to you unless you do something now! Now!”
Crane stood back. “That’s it. Cut it off. Let those people go.”
He helped Abidan to his feet. “The helo’s in the parking lot,” he said. “Get in it.”
Abidan ran.
“We need to talk,” Newcombe said, joining Crane in the front of the set.
“You have a helo waiting?”
The man shook his head. “Interesting,” Crane said. “You’re welcome to mine.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on,” Hill said. “Let’s put some miles between us and this damned place.”
He led them out into the parking lot, Abidan already strapped in and holding tight in one of the ten passenger seats. Hill climbed in and reached for Crane.
“You go ahead,” Crane said, shaking his head.
“You ain’t comin’,” Hill said in sad resignation. “I knew something was up.” He looked at Newcombe.
“Me either.” He smiled.
Hill’s face went slack, and he searched for words.
“You’ve helped me say the final farewells to two wives, Burt,” Crane said, moving to the loading bay to embrace him, without tears, without remorse. They had both done as well as they could have and there was no sadness in that. “You helped me through the death of a son. You helped me when I was so down I thought I’d never laugh again. You’ve saved my life a thousand times in a thousand ways. Thank you.”
“I-I can’t come with you on this trip.” Hill sniffed. Pulling away, he hacked, then spit. He looked from Crane to Newcombe and back. “I’m not ready for it yet.”
“I didn’t expect you to be,” Crane said. “Besides, I’ve got to learn to do something for myself. Sit down, Burt. You understand I have to close the circle?”
Hill nodded, then sat. “I’m gonna miss you, Doc.”
Crane nodded, smiling, then slapped the side of the machine, pointing up with his thumb for the pilot, who took to the air immediately.
They had about an hour.
“Care to take a walk?” Crane asked Newcombe.
“Sounds good.” He leaned close to Crane and whispered, “You know, what I’d really like is a drink.”
“It’s not Islamic.”
Newcombe smiled wide. “I think Allah will understand, given the circumstances.”
“Good. Let’s find a rooftop restaurant somewhere, a really tall one where we can feel the whiplash.”
They walked into the guts of the city, destruction and anarchy reigning all around them. So much had changed in Crane’s time on Earth; so much had stayed the same. There were the looters, the Rockers, who were now called Seismos, the suicides, and the Cosmies dressed in white robes with the Third Eye emblazoned in red on their chests. Today Crane was one of them and maybe he’d always been. Part of the city was burning. Looters helping the EQ. Thoughtful.
They moved along unmolested. The suicides always had the look about them, and people automatically granted them privacy for their demise.
After several blocks of brilliant sunshine and a warm wind in the city of angels, they found a shaky-looking tower of steel and lots of glass on Wilshire that had a working elevator up to its rooftop restaurant. It was whiplash material if Crane had ever seen it.
The restaurant had a marvelous view of the city in all directions. They smashed through the glass door to get inside, then chose a table with a view to the west. Crane went behind the bar to grab a bottle of good Scotch. The sky was full of hovering helos, thick, like swarming flies—curiosity-seekers there to watch one world die and another come painfully into being.
“Why are you doing this?” Crane asked as he found a couple of clean glasses. He hadn’t had a drink in nearly fifteen years.