Quake by Richard Laymon Read Free Book Online

'You're totally worthless, do you know that? You've got no balls at all. Your father was a complete pervert and a moron, but at least he had balls. But not you. I've never seen such a worthless excuse for a man.'
        Remembering, Stanley smiled. Had the balls to bust your head in, Bitch. As he thought that, he heard a voice again. This time, it seemed to find its way through a gap in the tumult of noise. A woman's voice. It called out, 'Hey!' From somewhere in front of Stanley. From somewhere in the rubble. He felt an explosion of wild hope. He shouted, 'Hello!’
        'Help!' the voice called back.
        'Helllllp!'
        He stepped to the very border of the debris. Off to the side a portion of the chimney rose out of the mess. The mantel itself was buried, but a seascape still hung on a wall above the mantel. The painting looked only a crooked. No other artwork was visible. Nor could Stanley spot any piece of furniture, any book or garment, utensil or knick-knack. Except for the lone painting, the only signs that the house had been inhabited were the refrigerator and oven that still stood upright in what must have been the kitchen - near the right front corner. Every other possession of Sheila and her family was apparently entombed beneath the fallen walls and ceiling and roof. The scatter of mounds and slopes, he supposed, showed where there might be hidden sofas, beds, dressers, counters. Under one of the piles might be Sheila herself.
        'Where are you?' Stanley yelled.
        'Down here!'
        The sound seemed to come from an area somewhere ahead and to his right - near the oven? At the time of the quake, he had pictured her taking a bath or shower, but maybe she had been in the kitchen.
        'I'm on my way,' Stanley called. He reached out and planted his foot atop of a tilted slab of stucco, wondered for moment if it would hold him, then stepped aboard. The stucco wobbled, but he kept his footing. From there, he surveyed the area ahead. The tumbled remains of the house bristled with shards window glass, with rows of nails. The thin leather soles of moccasins might save his feet from cuts, but… Just don't step on a nail, he warned himself as he risk another stride. And for God's sake don't fall. He spread his arms for balance. He picked his route carefully and moved slowly, trying to avoid slabs or chunks or boards that didn't look stable. Some broke apart anyway. Many teetered. A few flipped and dropped him ankle-deep into laths or plaster.
        'Are you there?' the voice called.
        It had to be Sheila's voice. Though it sounded louder, more distinct than before, it was still battered by conflicting noises. Besides, he'd only heard her speak a few times. He couldn't be sure this was Sheila.
        Must be, he thought, it's her house. Who else could it be? 'I'm coming,' he answered. 'Are you hurt?'
        'I think I'm okay. But I'm trapped. can't move.'
        Her voice didn't actually seem to be coming from the kitchen area - from that general direction, but not from that distance. Sheila was not so far away. Maybe ten or fifteen feet this side of the oven. He couldn't see her, though. Between Stanley and the place where Sheila seemed to be, there stood hills of rubble and the low remains of a few interior walls. Heading that way, he called, 'Was anybody else in the house?'
        'No. Just me.'
        'What's your name?'
        'Sheila. Sheila Banner?'
        'Yes!'
        'I'm Stanley Banks. live in the house behind you.'
        'Sure am glad you showed up, Stanley.'
        'I was checking around the neighborhood and saw the condition of your house.'
        'You mean they didn't all go down?'
        'Nope. From what I've seen so far, maybe one out of three or four got leveled.'
        'My God!'
        'Could've been a lot worse.'
        'I just hope to God the school's okay.'
        Careful, Stanley thought. 'Do you have a