Aftershock. Jill Sorenson

falling through the looking glass. What was up went down and what was down went up. The world seemed to be hurtling toward a steep precipice. Rather than regaining equilibrium, it toppled end over end, into chaos.

      A massive wall of concrete crashed down, halving the ambulance violently. Joe, and the entire cab, was gone. Crushed.

      Had Lauren stayed in her seat, she’d have been obliterated. Like Joe.

      The quake ended a moment later, but she couldn’t control the trembling of her own body. Back-to-back near-death experiences were more than she could handle. She curled up in the fetal position and covered her head with her arms, waiting to die.

      The blow she was expecting didn’t come. No more chunks of debris hit the ambulance. Against all odds, she was alive.

      And...she wasn’t alone.

      A man shouted in the distance. “Hello! Can anyone hear me?”

      Lauren tore the oxygen mask off her face and sat up, her pulse racing. Was she imagining things?

      He spoke again. “Does anyone need help?”

      To her amazement, he sounded strong. Good lung capacity. Instead of asking for assistance, he was offering it.

      This man was unharmed.

      Lauren took another quick breath from the oxygen tank and scrambled to her feet. The back door of the ambulance had an emergency hand release. She pulled the lever and climbed out onto the uneven pavement.

      Through the haze of ash and debris, she studied her surroundings. It was worse than she’d imagined. Twisted metal, chunks of concrete and pieces of cars were scattered across the dark cavern. Several of the vehicles had no front ends, like the ambulance. Others had been bisected lengthwise. Some were upside down, wheels still spinning.

      The man called out again.

      “Here,” she yelled, framing her mouth with her hands and turning toward his voice. “Over here!”

      He walked out of the smoke like an apparition. Lauren had never been so relieved to see another human being in her life. Not only did he sound healthy, he looked it. His dusty T-shirt clung to a broad, well-muscled chest. He was wearing dark jeans and scuffed work boots. As he got closer, she assessed his height at six feet and his weight at two hundred. Even with ashes in his hair and dirt on his face, he was handsome.

      “You’re an EMT,” he said, seeming amazed to see her in one piece.

      “Paramedic.”

      “Even better.” His gaze moved past her, to the contents of the overturned ambulance. Perhaps he knew that emergency personnel usually traveled in teams, but he didn’t ask where her partner was.

      “I’m Lauren.”

      “Garrett,” he replied, returning his attention to her. He gave her body a detached study. “Are you hurt?”

      Although her head ached, she said no. She was afraid he’d think her useless, despite her medical training. The navy-blue uniform she was wearing couldn’t disguise her slender frame. Men had often underestimated her on the job.

      He coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to clear his lungs.

      She handed him the oxygen mask, which he accepted without question. While he took a few deep breaths, she grabbed her supplies. “Anyone alive that way?” she asked, indicating the path he’d taken.

      His eyes watered, either from smoke irritation or the sights he’d seen. “I don’t know. It’s almost impassable.”

      They donned respirators and hard hats from the ambulance, making a tacit agreement to go the opposite direction. She adjusted her backpack. He picked up a heavy-duty flashlight. Together, they headed into the mayhem.

      “Stay close,” he said. “Step where I step.”

      Lauren let him take the lead. She wouldn’t be much good to anyone if she broke her leg in the rubble. At the nearest car, Garrett bent down to check the interior. He straightened, shaking his head to indicate there were no survivors.

      As they moved forward, they found more bodies. Some were trapped inside vehicles; others had been thrown clear.

      Stomach churning with anxiety, she trailed behind Garrett, letting his big body guide her through the debris. He was built like a football player, wide-shouldered and fit. She felt safer with him than inside the ambulance, although she didn’t trust the collapsed structure. Large, frequent aftershocks were likely.

      More concrete slabs might fall and crush them yet.

      They skirted around a tall pile of rubble. On the other side, a silver sedan rested upside down, its engine running. Gasoline gushed from a ruptured tank. It traveled in rivulets along the ground and trickled down into the open windows of the vehicle.

      The driver appeared dead or unconscious. Her dark hair clung to her bloody forehead and her eyes were closed. Any moment, the car could go up in flames.

      “Help!” a voice cried from inside.

      Garrett shoved the flashlight at Lauren. “Stay back,” he said, rushing toward the vehicle. He had to turn off the ignition before they could execute a safe rescue. Dropping to his belly, he reached into the closest window, which was on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, the slumped-over woman was blocking his access. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and raced around the rear of the vehicle.

      Lauren went with him, holding the light steady but keeping her distance in case the engine blew up. When she saw a woman trying to squeeze through the passenger window, her jaw dropped.

      “Help me,” the woman panted, her hair wet with gasoline.

      She was just a teenager, Lauren realized. She was also pregnant, near full-term. Her protruding belly wouldn’t fit through the narrow space.

      Showing no concern for his own life, Garrett got down on the ground and reached past her, through the passenger window. He turned off the ignition, but that didn’t secure the scene. Lauren watched in horror as liquid fuel streamed toward another burning vehicle.

      If she didn’t act fast, everything would blow sky-high.

      She pulled the fire extinguisher out of her backpack. Jogging forward, she pointed the nozzle at the burning car and pulled the pin, spraying white foam over the interior. The vehicle’s single inhabitant didn’t complain. He was charred beyond recognition, hands melted to the steering wheel.

      Dousing one fire was a temporary fix. There were several more in the recesses of the collapsed structure. She couldn’t get to all of them, and they didn’t have another extinguisher. Eventually the gasoline trail would ignite.

      Trying to stay calm, she returned her attention to Garrett and the girl. Although the air was thick with smoke, and visibility was low, her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Garrett tried to wrench open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Motioning for the girl to stay back, he picked up a softball-size piece of concrete and hammered it against the front windshield. When the safety glass shattered, he knocked most of it loose with his fist.

      Lauren winced, aware that the small shards would leave shallow lacerations all over his knuckles.

      In her panicked state, the teenager wouldn’t listen to Garrett’s instructions. Either she didn’t understand him, or she was frozen with fear. He went in for her with no hesitation, intent on physically pulling her out of the car. About halfway through, she came to her senses and worked with him instead of against him.

      He was gentle with her, taking care that she didn’t scrape her belly or come into direct contact with broken glass.

      At last, they made it through the front window. Lauren released the breath she’d been holding, her knees almost buckling with relief. Yanking a safety blanket from her pack, she rushed forward and wrapped the girl in it. Her eyes were unfocused and her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical attention.

      “Get