Autumn in the City of Angels by Kirby Howell Page A

saw only a plastic bus bench.  I dove under it and looked back for Ben.  He was running toward an eighteen-wheeler sitting in the middle of the road, half-hidden by grass growing up around it.  He ducked out of sight beneath it as the ground shuddered violently.
    I clutched the leg of the bench and felt the earth rolling under me.  I was sick with fear, my stomach churning.  When would it stop?
    I heard Ben yell distantly but was distracted by a sudden shower of sparks that rained down on my bus bench.  I peeked out and saw the telephone poll wobbling, straining against the power lines holding it up.  It leaned toward me for a moment, then loomed closer.
    With the earth still dancing under my feet, I scrambled out from under the bench and ran out of the path of the telephone pole.  And not a moment too soon.  The power lines broke with loud, static-charged pops, and then the heavy brown pole fell, snapping the plastic bus bench into a million shards.
    Not watching where I was going, I tripped on the curb and fell.  Electricity buzzed in the air around me.  And then it was quiet and still again.  I stood up, checking my hands and knees.  No bleeding, that’s good.
    I turned to look for Ben, and heard a distant shout from further down the street.
    “Ben!”  I yelled.  His shout sounded like one filled with terror.  Stricken with fear, I ran to the truck he’d taken cover under but found it empty.  I ran around it and came face to face with the same heavily muscled man I’d seen from my terrace that first week after The Plague.  I jumped back, startled.  He didn’t have the giant gun slung across his back like before, but he was still wearing the camo pants and black tank top.  He was huge.  He looked down at me, and I took a step back.
    “You look familiar,” he said as he scanned me up and down.  I didn’t answer.  I glanced around.  Where was Ben?  He couldn’t have gone far.
    “You okay?”  The man asked in a gentle tone I didn’t trust.  “That earthquake was something, wasn’t it?  Had tuh’ve been at least a sixer.  My name’s Hart.  Who’re you?”  He tried to smile, but it looked more like a sneer.
    “Uh,” I said, stalling.  “Have you seen anyone else?  My friend, he was right here a second ago.”  Ben, where are you, I thought.  I edged back a step.
    “I haven’t seen anyone except you.  Why don’t you come with me?  You look like you could use some help. Let me carry your bag.”  He reached for my backpack, but I ducked away.
    “Hey, now, there’s no reason to be jumpy.  I ain’t gonna hurt you.  I’m just trying to help.”  His voice was sad and cruel, and the way his eyes roamed over me made me feel like I was wearing much less than my jeans, t-shirt and jacket.
    “No, thank you.  I should be going.  I need to find my friend.”  I turned away from him, heart thumping, and walked quickly around the side of the eighteen-wheeler.  When I was out of his line of sight, I began to run.

CHAPTER NINE
    I heard Hart’s pounding feet on the pavement behind me, but didn’t turn to look.  He was probably a faster runner than me.  I looked about wildly for Ben.  We had to make it back to Rissi.  I couldn’t imagine what would happen if we didn’t. 
    I ducked through a gas station on the corner, hoping this station’s tanks had been emptied and the lids carelessly left off.  Maybe my pursuer wouldn’t notice.  But as I threw a glance over my shoulder, I saw him jump over one of the gaping holes without looking down.  A fresh surge of fear ripped through me, and a new realization dawned on me.  He was going to catch me.
    In desperation, I grabbed at a newspaper stand as I flew by and flung it to the ground behind me.  I chanced another look back just in time to see the top-heavy stand smash to the ground, the bottom of it flying up in the air and catching his leg.  He crashed to the ground with a grunt.  A knife skidded across the