Quake by Richard Laymon

favorites.'
        'Were you on your way home from school when you got hit?'
        'Yeah. We were supposed to stay and wait in the yard, but I'm not all that big on waiting around, so made myself scarce. '
        'You ditched?'
        'Well, it's not like I'll be missing any lessons. figured Mom might worry about me, and it's not all that long a walk to get home. Why should stick around school, you know?'
        Clint wondered if Barbara had seen things that way, too. The high school wasn't much more than a mile from their home. She could walk it easily. No, Barbara wouldn't. Not right away, anyhow.
        She would know enough to wait at school.
         You just stay put, Clint had told her when discussing what to do in case of a major quake. One of us will come and pick you up. You're not to walk home under any circumstances.
         What if you can't pick me up? she had asked.
         Stay at school.
        They had never allowed Barbara to walk anywhere by herself. Too many perverts cruising around. Every day, the news brought stories of kids who disappeared a block or two from their homes, of frantic parents, of futile searches, of bodies being located. The bodies were almost always found naked, with evidence of torture and sexual abuse. Boys and girls both. Girls more often than boys, though.
        Clint and Sheila had no intention of ever letting such a thing happen to their daughter. So they walked with her, or drove her, anywhere she needed to go. Over-protective. That's what some people called them. Right. No such thing as being over-protective in L.A. Whatever it takes to keep your kid alive.
        A cute kid like Em was lucky she had lasted this long. Breaks the most basic rules: walks alone, gets in a car with strangers. ought to have a talk with her mother, Clint thought. Yeah, and she'll probably tell me to mind my own business. She's obviously some sort of radical feminist. She'll really appreciate a man telling her how to raise her daughter. Forget the mother.
        'All this walking around, Em, aren't you afraid you might run into the wrong sort of person?'
        'You mean like a mugger?'
        'Or worse.'
        'He means like a psycho,' Mary explained. 'One of those guys who grabs girls like you and rapes them and cuts them into pieces.'
        'Hey,' Clint said. 'That isn't necessary.'
        'Isn't that what you were getting at?' Mary asked. 'I mean, if you've got an urge to warn her, warn her, don't pussyfoot. Just lay it out straight, tell her about all those guys out there who'd like nothing better than to get their hands on such a cute young thing - and how lucky she is that she was picked up by you, who's a gentleman and a father, not to mention a Knight of the Fucking Round table.'
        Clint gazed at Mary, astonished. 'What's the matter?' he asked.
        'Nothing. Not a thing.'
        Em, very calmly, said, 'This is Laurel You'll want to turn left.' Then she patted Mary's 'A couple more minutes and I'll be outta here. Then have Clint all to yourself, and everything will be again.'
        

***
        
        While shutting off Sheila's gas, Stanley had wondered about the gas at Mother's house. His house, now. If only he'd taken care of the gas before coming over to look for Sheila! He hadn't thought of it, though. That was the problem. Stupid. He could lose everything. Even though much of the house had collapsed, Stanley figured that he would be able to salvage plenty from the mess. If it didn't all go up in smoke first. From the top of the cinderblock wall, he could see that his house was fine. He grinned and shook his head. Hardly fine. More like half a house, at this point. And no garage at all. But at least there was no trace of fire. Instead of leaping, he lowered himself down from the wall. At the bottom, he turned sideways to slip through the rose bushes. A thorn scratched his bare chest while another nicked his rump through the thin