Light Up L.A., Mr. Hinkley

The five of them left the shopping center together. Four men carried heavy lengths of hose and one---Richard---brandished a gun he wasn't sure he could use.

A breeze had started up, not the dry, dusty Santa Ana type desert wind, but a stirring of moisture-rich air from the Pacific. Mixed with it was the harsh smell of burning and something new, a sickeningly sweet smell. It was especially strong when they passed a body.

If the winds had shifted, Richard immediately thought, then the fallout cloud would be drifting back over Los Angeles. Was it already dropping its poisonous particles? Was that why he felt so tired now, as if he had gone without rest for days? Was that why he ached everywhere, why his legs trembled, and a nagging hunger-nausea plagued his stomach? Would all this effort be pointless in the end because water would only keep alive those who would soon die of radiation?

He dragged along behind the men, trying to appear alert, fighting an almost intense desire to fall down, cry, and sleep.

The men carrying the hoses noted the wind shift, too. They glanced back at Richard frequently, as if hoping to catch him off-guard. About a block from the plaza one of them dropped his load and would have slid off into the darkness if Richard hadn't instantly rushed to his side, gun leveled.

The others stopped, too, waiting.

"Pick those up," Richard ordered. His voice was high, but he kept direct eye contact with the man.

"Like hell! Kill me if you want, what difference does it make? Look." He began to walk off. Immediately the others dropped their loads and followed.

"Shoot!" Huey Macchio cried. "Richard, shoot 'em!"

Richard shakily raised the gun, then shook his head and lowered it. He couldn't. He wasn't a killer. He heard the men crashing over obstacles in their rush to get away in the dark, and he didn't care. "Here," he said, holding the gun by its barrel and handing it back to Macchio. "I'm sorry.'

"Now how do we get all these hoses up the hill? Damn you, kid! You could've at least fired over their heads!"

Richard began stacking hoses, trying to figure how he could carry ten at once. "I'll carry half," he said.

Macchio laughed bitterly. "You?"

"You got a better idea?" Richard cried, hurt by the inference.

"All right, kid. Give it a try." Macchio bent to pick up one of the fallen hoses. "We'll get them up to Scarlolfo one way or another."

The refugee trail had not let up, though it was now dark. Richard trudged along, carrying half his weight in hoses, thinking of happier times. It was a trick he'd often used when he ran, to keep himself from feeling pain.

Stacey's bright face came to mind. He pictured the way her almond-shaped eyes opened in amusement when he said something funny. He thought for the hundredth time of the day he'd nearly kissed her. He'd walked her home from school and told her about the song he was writing. Her eyes had turned gentle, and he wanted then to hold her close, to feel what it was like having a girl's body against his, and then to kiss her. But as he was speaking, heat rising to his face as these thoughts intruded, he worried. How should he do it? Should he just put his arm around her waist, then turn her towards him? What if she pulled back, was repulsed by his boldness? What if his breath was so bad or his nose got in his way? So many things could go wrong. And then the moment was lost.

If he had kissed her then, he'd often thought, would she still have become Washington's girlfriend?

The dog announced their final approach with hysterical barks. Back to reality, he again felt the ache in his shoulders, the cramp in his left leg, and the burning in his chest. By force of will he propelled himself the last few yards and dumped the hoses in a heap near Mr. Scarlolfo. Then he fell to his haunches and took deep, gulping breaths. He angrily wiped away the tears that slid down his cheeks.

"Any problems?" Dan Scarlolfo asked of Mr. Macchio, who was straightening up with obvious pain.

"None whatever."

"Good. I've got the pump going. Found some gas that didn't blow up, stuff we kept for the mower. Don't know how long it'll work, but let's give it whirl."

Richard rose, blinked his eyes, and came forward, picking up two hoses as he moved. Macchio began stripping the carboard wrappers from the hoses, and Mr. Scarlolfo was busily attaching the first two hoses to the pump.

In the quiet, Richard heard more helicopter activity nearby. A long beam of light pierced the oppressive darkness, focusing on the only building with power, the hospital. It had been several hours since he'd left his mother. He worried that she might be neglected in the crush of other victims. He agonized that he'd made the wrong decision to leave her, even with the nurse's promises.

"They've started landing," Scarlolfo said, as if he could read Richard's mind. He nodded in the direction of the helicopter pad at the hospital. "Maybe they'll be airlifting the burn victims out. Now let's get this hose in the water, deep enough so it'll bypass the crud, then we'll turn it on and hope."

A few moments later the 3 of them stood grinning at each other as the first droops of water trickled, then flowed from the hose onto the ground. The water appeared to be clear. Most of the ash and other debris had settled to the pool bottom or stayed floating at the top.

For the next few minutes, they ripped off the new hose wrappings and connected the first long lengths together as the dog barked for attention nearby. Richard took a moment to release the dog, who jumped up on him, wildly wagging his tattered tail and giving slobbery kisses. Richard laughingly shooed him off as he worked with Mr. Scarlolfo. Together they unwound coils of hose and connected them end to end, making their way down the slope and across a no-man's land of still-smoking house frames. With each 50-foot length they drew closer to the hospital.

The hospital parking lot was lit by fires and lanterns. Richard could see them reflected in the whites of eyes. Unfortunately, the scene had not changed since he had been there last. Children cried. Adults stood, laid down, sat down, died. Chaos!

There was a horde of wounded refugees, double the number from earlier today, crowding around the main entrance, all agitated, some psychotic. A volunteer wearing an air-filter "riot" mask held up his hands, indicating "slow down," "no more." Some of the wounded pushed the volunteers and doctors aside and swarmed through the reception area. Fistfights were breaking out.

The sound of choppers moving in the darkness gave him hope that his mother might already be gone. Voices, hammering, and other sounds of life, filtered up to the hill where they worked.

"You run ahead and see where they want this water delivered," Macchio said as he coupled one of the last hoses. "I'll finish up here----can't see too well, anyway. I'll keep the mutt for you." Richard started to uncoil the long hose and work it downhill.

"Go on, Richard. You did a good job. Your folks ought to be very proud. When our boy's born, I just hope he becomes half the man you are."

Richard flushed in the darkness and took the lantern. It was to be used as a signal to Mr. Scarlolfo to start the pump. As he moved off in the darkness, jumping and sliding down the rocky slope, he found himself savoring Macchio's words. Man, he'd been called. He couldn't remember anyone ever making him feel so good.331Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6Cv2RMyQwK
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Richard tapped the arm of the first person who appeared to be in authority at the parking lot. A doctor, he assumed by the man's bloodstained white coat.

"Excuse me, sir. I've brought pool water down from up there." He motioned to the dark housing project in the hills nearby. "We've hooked up hoses and as soon as we know where to deliver it, we'll turn on the pump."

The doctor glanced at him, then returned to the patient he was tending, a gaunt, bearded, dirty, stringy-haired man who must've been at least 40 years old. He pocketed a stethoscope and reached for the patient's wrist. "Get away from me."

Get away from him? Does he think I'm making this up, that I'm crazy? Richard wondered in dismay. Just because I don't have muscles or whiskers and a deep voice that makes people listen, he doesn't believe me!

Richard tugged at the doctor's arm again, angry now. "Doctor! You've got to listen to me. I'm not kidding!"

"Get in there and bring me some D5W if they've got any! Otherwise......"

"But the water!" Richard looked behind him at the small light moving on the slope where Mr. Macchio was descending. "Look---up there!" He pulled harder on the doctor's smock.

Instead of looking at the slope, unfortunately, the doctor looked down at Richard. His face turned almost white hot with anger. "I need help here!"

A nurse nearby scurried over.

"Take this kid by the ear and throw him out! We don't have time to listen to his crap!"

"Richard!" the nurse cried, recognizing him. "What's going on?"

"He a friend of yours, or something?"

"In a way, yes! He was a great help here most of the day. We sent him to find a DWP engineer." She turned to Richard. "You look so tired! What happened?"

Richard explained about finding Mr. Garlolfo and about how they had arranged to pump water down to the hospital. "We can keep moving the pump to other pools, except some of the water is likely pretty contaminated."

"You did it, you really did it!" the nurse cried. "Well, let's not just stand here. We need that water! I'll get the maintenance guys to help. We've got a storage tank on the roof. Don't fret about contamination. We know what to for that!"

"My mom? How is she?" Richard asked, trailing the nurse.

But the nurse only answered, "Oh, my! What a relief to have water coming at last!" and began barking out orders.

20 minutes he stood beside Mr. Macchio in the crowded hospital lot looking up at the dark, invisible hill where Mr. Scarlolfo would be waiting. The last hose had been connected to a roof tank. A maintenance man had called down that they were ready to receive.

Richard swung the lantern to and fro 3 times, paused, then swung it again. Somewhere in that darkness Mr. Scarlolfo was watching. He would go to the pump and begin the flow. If all went well the water would soon be sucked up through the hose in the pool and begin running through the long stretch of hoses to the hospital. For what seemed a horribly long time Richard stared into the darkness, and then to the rooftop, waiting for word. Finally, an excited cry rang out. "It's coming!"

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"Mom...." he whispered, leaning over his mother. "Mom...."

His mother didn't answer. He felt her clammy skin and weak pulse, and a wave of fear swept through him. He grabbed at the nurse who had assured him of her care. "Why hasn't she been airlifted? You've had helicopters landing for the last hour! Why hasn't my mother been taken out?

The nurse cried out and dropped the pitcher she was holding. The plastic clattered noisily to the floor, and its dark contents spilled out in all directions. She began to scream and stuffed a fist against her lips. Then a loud, piercing wail came from her throat.

Richard grabbed her arms. "Cut that out! Cut it out! What about my mother? She looks awful! Will she be all right?"

One of the maintenance men rushed up and pulled the nurse away. Leave her alone. Can't you see she's exhausted? She's been on duty more than 24 hours! She doesn't even know what she's doing anymore."

"My mother! She promised...." He shut his mouth. There was no use blaming anyone. The emergency rooms smelled of blood, vomit, poop and even death; they were more crowded than when he'd left. Even with more people helping---maybe people flown in---there weren't enough.

He went back to his mother. He shouldn't have left her. Where was Washington? Why wasn't he here? What could he do?

He tried offering water, but the drops slid down her swollen lips to her neck. He rushed from room to room searching for something, for someone to help. But it was like an old movie where the film is speeded up and the sound comes out garbled.

He stopped suddenly and pressed a hand to his forehead to block out all except his own thoughts. It was idiotic running around so pointlessly. He had to have a plan. He had to do something constructive, or his mother would die!

He ran out to the parking lot and reached out to catch the doctor he had first approached. "Doctor! Please! Will you look at my mother and tell me what to do? Please, come inside!"

The doctor shook him off. "God....you again! Get someone inside to check her; I've got my hands full out here!"

"There isn't anybody, anybody! Please! You owe me!" He started to cry, sobbing shamelessly, like a small, frightened child. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, ashamed to be bartering for his mother's life.

"Oh, all right! Now, just calm down, son. Where is she?" The doctor ran beside Richard into the building, ignoring pleas for help from those he passed.

Richard watched, fist jammed against his mouth, as the doctor bent over his mother. At last, he straightened up and turned thoughtfully to Richard. "She's not doing well. I'll order another IV, but she needs to go to a burn center."

He could hardly get the words out. "Is she gonna live?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I really don't know."

Richard lowered his head, not wanting to cry again. Then he crouched beside his mother, searching for a flicker of an eye, some movement that would indicate life. "Mom...." he whispered. "Don't die! I love you.... We need you." He swallowed hard and stood up.

He didn't care how many people were lined up to be flown out. One way or another he'd get his mother on the next helicopter headed for a burn center.

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Light Up L.A., Mr. Hinkley

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