PART VIII
THE FOLLOWING DAY WAS GRIM. The weather had turned very cold, maybe daytime highs in the mid to lower 50’s, windy, and overcast. We’d had no food and were not moving particularly fast. We’d only covered a very few blocks when Irina pointed out a school a couple of blocks down a side street. We decided to make a detour and scout for resources. Many of the structures were partially collapsed or gutted by fire. We managed to make entry into a classroom and in a Teacher’s desk found a half-empty bottle of Peanut Butter and a partial bag of saltines. It was during this time we heard shouts from outside.
Peering through a window, we saw a group of young Latino men fighting with a Police Officer some 50 yards away on a fenced playground. They were obviously gang-banger types, wearing those Pendleton shirts, khaki trousers, and bandanna head wraps. The Officer had a baton and was attempting to defend himself from a gang of 7 gangsters. He was older, overweight, and swung the baton wildly, and it was obvious he was quickly wearing down. The gangsters taunted the Officer and finally judged the opportunity, moved in and swarmed him like a pack of wolves. He went down in a flurry of fists and vicious kicks to the head and ribs. He appeared to be unconscious and the gangsters danced with around him with glee. What I witnessed next would stay with me the rest of my life…
Dragging the unconscious Officer to a chain link fence, they removed his handcuffs from his belt pouch and stood him up, handcuffing his arms above his head to the fence. Next, they gathered pallets and wood from behind the cafeteria and stacked them beneath the Officer, and then as he regained his awareness, set them ablaze. It was horrific and medieval. They kept piling wood, building the flames up, and laughing and hurling insults…”Puto Policia” [Whore Cop]…and other expletives as he screamed for his life. It was not long before he went silent and slumped, apparently dead. Every so often one of the cowards would charge forward and brave the flames to take a swipe at his lifeless body with a knife.
One of the gang-bangers left and went behind a handball backboard. A few moments later he returned dragging the lifeless body of a female Officer. They unceremoniously cast her body onto the funeral pyre and stood back, laughing and admiring their evil handiwork. One of them advanced and dropped his trousers to urinate on her while the others laughed hysterically. I felt so helpless and tears of anger, shame, and frustration ran down my cheeks. Irina had turned away and was sobbing. Josef was silent and stoic as he witnessed the grisly event. I had to believe he had seen similar events in Serbia.
Josef told Irina and me that we must go quickly while they were occupied, so we would not be discovered. We retreated out the door we had entered through, but as we did so, my arm encountered a metal filing tray and knocked it to the floor. It made a loud crash in the empty classroom. I looked and saw that the gang-bangers had stopped and were looking this way. Then one of them, the leader I suppose, motioned one of them to go investigate. I told Josef and Irina to go, and I would catch up. I was scared to death, and it took everything I had to walk slowly away, intent on being a decoy.
I turned a corner into an open area between two buildings when I heard running footsteps coming up. I stopped and turned as the gang-banger entered the area. He appeared surprised, then smiled nervously, wolfish like. “Heeyy, Ese, what choo doing here? I was scared and fought not to shake, “N-nothing, I stammered.” He looked about the area, checking to see if anyone else was around. “Nudding eh? Joo see us out der? He asked. “No. No I didn’t see nothing…anything.”
He angled a little closer to me. “Nooo, I tink joo did see us. And dats no good…” He reached into his pocket and removed a folding knife, which he flicked open. He started to move toward me. I threw back my jacket and pulled the GERBER from its sheath. He smiled and said, “oooh, dats a beeg knife amigo. Joo know how to use it? You better.” I dropped a couple of steps back and got the knife out in front of me. “S-Stay BACK!” I tried to back away, but he kept advancing, and then lunged at me. I almost tripped backpedaling. Twice more he tried to lunge and stab me, but I was able to jump back.
Now he was aggravated…impatient…I could see it. I saw him shift the knife in his hand to an icepick hold and start to angle toward me slowly. “He’s going to stab down” I thought. I kept his gaze and carefully set my feet while feigning fear. “P-Please…I don’t want to get hurt.” I pleaded. He smiled, his lips curled back and eyes narrowed. He looked like a wolf, confident he had cornered a sheep. He moved closer, angling. Then, for just a second, I saw him tense and thought, here it comes. It was like slow motion. He raised the knife, his mouth dropped open, and he ran at me. The last thing he expected was me stepping forward right into him. It put me inside his arm and robbed him of the ability to stab downwards. At the same time, he ran full force into me, and I rammed the GERBER to the hilt in his gut. I felt warmness flowing onto my hand, He was shocked and looked down. Before he could act, I tripped him, withdrew the GERBER and then destroyed his throat, violently ice picking it with the GERBER. Blood flew every time I withdrew the blade to stab again and again. Finally I stopped and sat atop him, listening to the gurgling until it stops and his eyes fixed. I rolled off of him, nauseated, but I had nothing in me to permit regurgitation.
I stood and ran, catching up to Josef and Irina a few blocks away and quickly told them what happened. Josef looked me over, noting the blood on my clothing. We then walk-ran back to the marginal safety of the refugee parade, stopping off just long enough to share the crackers and peanut butter out of view behind a business where we’d stashed out belongings while foraging. The horrible events served to energize us to keep moving and get clear of Los Angeles, but of course, we had no way of knowing how far we’d have to travel to escape the destruction. How had thousand Oaks fared? Or Ventura? Clearly downtown L.A. was the epicenter or close to it, but how far did the destruction reach?
I had youth on my side, Josef was stoic and hid his pain, but Irina was clearly taking a beating. During a break I spoke to her and she seemed to not hear me and be drifting off. Josef urged her to hydrate, but she had little interest in water. I was worried, and if I was worried, I know Josef had to be panicking inside. We’d crossed the Hollywood Boulevard and walked a fair distance further when we noticed the blocks were getting less densely populated and larger, and realized we were beginning the ascent out of the L.A. basin….
PART IX
IT HAD BEEN 6 DAYS SINCE THE QUAKE and by now the Exodus numbered in the 10’s of thousands, strung out in a long line leading all the way back to Los Angeles. Men and women and children of all ages, utterly exhausted, dehydrated, starving, struggling to get clear of the destruction. It was literally a race between life and death, and there was no guarantee that emergency services or resources would be awaiting us. So far, we’d seen some helicopters but no resources.
That night, we slept on the shoulder of the 101 below the Hollywood Reservoir, along with thousands of others. Once again it was cold and more so because we’d had no meal for calories to burn to warm us. Day 7 broke, and we continued the climb up the Hollywood Freeway. It reminded me of photographs I had seen of the Alaskan Gold Rush and the miners ascending the infamous “Golden Stairs” of Chilkoot Pass, braving cold and altitude to reach the gold fields.
Part of the freeway had collapsed and a large impassable crevasse had opened up in a canyon below the road. This necessitated climbing above and traveling overland the crevasse to skirt around the damaged portion of roadway. By now my shoes were broken and little more than shredded leather on my feet. My feet were raw and blistered and every step was miserable. Irina stumbled and fell several times, and Josef and I each took an arm and helped her. Her head turned slowly and looked at me, and she whispered something unintelligible. Her face was quite red and strangely dry in appearance. I was sure she was badly dehydrated and tried to get her to drink water, but she was past that. Irina was a very quiet woman and rarely spoke, but this was well beyond that. Not good I thought…
We began the descent down to the Ventura Freeway, and could see a lot of activity and military vehicles below. Could it be some kind of disaster assistance? It had to be, and we quickened our step. We arrived, exhausted but overjoyed to find that a disaster relief center had been established in a park next to the Los Angeles River. A RALPH’S supermarket nearby by had been turned into a landing zone for helicopters and parking for transport vehicles and bulldozers. I saw vehicles marked with ARMY, MARINES and AIR FORCE. There were also some State of California Emergency Management Agency vehicles, as well as Red Cross and Salvation Army.
As we entered the center we passed a Detention Center manned by armed Military Police. Posts had been driven into the ground and concertina wire strung. The detainees stood idle inside the wire, and I chuckled when I noticed the Bat-man who had tried to rob us a few days earlier was present, hands bound with flex ties, scowling and exhibiting an obviously broken nose. I wondered if there was a reason the Detention Center was prominently located at the front of the facility…a warning not to misbehave perhaps?
We waited in line to be registered at a check in station, questioned regarding health and diseases, and then directed to a line and awaited our turn to receive a bottle of water and a military ration meal. We advised the check in staff of Irina’s condition, especially her apparent altered mental state, and they radioed the medical team. Moments later an Air Force Paramedic and 2 airmen with a stretcher arrived. The Paramedic did a quick evaluation and concluded at minimum, Irina was badly dehydrated and likely suffering from a concussion. He directed the Airmen to deliver her to the Medical Unit for advanced care. We followed along and they parked her in a cot and administered an I.V. while a Doctor and Nurse began an advanced evaluation of her condition. They told us to check in with them the next morning.
Josef and I found a place to sit and broke into the ration we’d been given. The meal, called an MRE, had a main entrée, mine being spaghetti and meatballs. It also had crackers, a cookie, and some other items like a drink mix. It had a heater unit, very simple to use, so I was able to heat the meal and enjoy something hot for the first time in five days. We watched Army and Marines helicopters constantly flying in and dropping pallets of supplies, then moving off without even touching down.
It had started to rain and Josef and I sought out a place to shelter, but there was no place that was not already taken. I concluded one of those disposable poncho’s would’ve been handy about now and vowed to add one to my travel bag in the future; hell, an entire survival kit for that matter. It was a miserable night and my filthy, soaking wet AMTRAK blanket offered little protection and no insulation from rain. Again I was never so glad as to see the daybreak, although bleak.
The following morning we returned to the ration line and received another meal and water. After finishing our meal we went to the USAF Medical Unit to inquire as to Irina’s condition and how long it might be before she could travel. The Nurse checked her name on the roster and asked us to wait a moment. Presently an Officer came out and met us. His name tag read “Major J.T. Sims, Flight Surgeon”. The look on his face was disturbing, but nothing like could’ve prepared us for what came next. He said he was sorry; that everything had been done that could be done, but that Irina had slipped away during the night.
Josef was shattered. His knees buckled and he fell against me. I barely managed to stay on my feet and prop him. He sobbed for a while and Major Sims had a folding chair brought out for Josef to sit in. I asked what had been the cause of death, stupid I suppose, as it was pretty obvious given the ordeal we’d just been through. Dr. Sims said they suspected a brain hemorrhage, but could not confirm without a proper autopsy, which there was no time fore He said her death certificate would read, “COMPLICATIONS FROM DEHYDRATION AND HEAD INJURY/SUSPECTED BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.”
After a time, Josef recovered somewhat and we inquired if we could see her. Major Sims called for an escort and we were led to the Mortuary Affairs unit’s tents which were being managed by an Air Force non-commissioned officer overseeing several Technicians at work. An Air Force worked at a computer terminal, and I figured he must be communicating via a military communications satellite, because I still wasn’t getting any signal on my phone or laptop. Irina’s body bag was located and the Sergeant allowed us privacy. Josef opened the bag with shaking hands and looked upon her. She looked serene, at peace at last, after a lifetime of struggle. Josef wept again and I found myself sobbing as well.
Josef removed a chain and medallion from his neck, and placed it around Irina’s neck. He clasped it onto an identical medallion about Irina’s neck and fitted the pieces together. I couldn’t know it at the time, but it was inscribed with a prayer, “The Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another”. He prayed over her, kissed her face, and then slowly zippered up the olive green body bag.
We left the tent, silently, much the same way as Irina had left this world.
PART X
JOSEF WAS GIVEN A COPY OF IRINA’S MILITARY DEATH CERTIFICATE by a mortuary affairs officer. He sat silent, staring at it, turning it over in his hands. The military had made an announcement that a refugee center had been established in Ventura and that everyone had to keep moving north. Mothers with infants and small children and the very elderly, of whom there were very few, were being loaded into large CHINOOK helicopters for transportation to the refugee center. It would be an arduous walk for us, a few minutes flight time for them. It didn’t seem fair, but I understood it.
I turned to Josef. “Josef, I know you are really hurting over Irina. I am too. But I believe she would want you to pick up and carry on…she would want you to live. When I was a kid my Aunt Marie was in the hospital dying of Cancer. I loved her very much, and I remember when I went to say goodbye. I was crying and even though she was weak and could barely whisper, she told me,”Don’t cry…this is just part of life…if you won’t forget me, I’ll never really die.” Josef, if we don’t forget Irina, she’ll never die, but live on, in us. I believe that Josef. I truly do.”
Josef looked up, looked at me, and managed a weak smile. “My friend, you are wise beyond your years. Thank you.” He stood, folded the certificate and packed it away. He grabbed his blanket, and began rolling it. 10 minutes later, we were back on the road.
As we left the Disaster Relief Center, everyone was handed a “Casualty Blanket”, kind of the military version of a Space Blanket. This proved to be a great item, as it was wind and waterproof, and reflected heat. Over the next couple of days, we used it every night and put our AMTRAK blanket inside it. It was much nicer than the polyester blanket alone.
The Military had organized hydration stations along the route every few miles, and had a big potable water tank on wheels parked with soldiers attending it. It’s amazing how far you can go without food if you have access to water. Josef and I had noticed our clothes fitting looser, and knew we were losing weight. . Already I had taken in my belt a couple of notches. The roadways were improving, not perfect, but not littered with debris and cracks, so much easier for us to walk. We were detoured around a few overpasses that were standing but severely cracked.
It took us a day and a half to reach Hidden Hills. There was nothing to eat, and we were too tired to gather wood and make a fire. My stomach was beyond hunger pangs. We just rolled up in our blankets and slept on the roadway along with the other thousands of refugees migrating north. During the night, an armored Military Humvee with a machine gun passed through the area, apparently patrolling to enforce martial law.
The following morning we awoke and got started walking. We saw 7 bodies along the way, one a young girl, maybe 11 or 12. She didn’t have any injuries and we supposed she died of exhaustion, exposure, all of the above. The bodies were being collected by a Military Ambulance. I imagine they anticipated this….the refugee march was like a “culling” of sorts…only the strong would survive. Josef and I decided it would be wise to exchange contact information including next-of-kin, just in case one of us didn’t pull through.
I took us the whole day to walk to the next hydration point and again we just flopped in our casualty blanket and raggedy AMTRAK blanket, rolled up and died. I didn’t even notice cold anymore. I was too numb with weakness to care. The following morning a military transport truck came along and the soldiers handed out MRE’s to us. I didn’t even bother to heat the contents…just devoured them and licked the wrappers clean...
PART XI
DAY 11 SAW US WALKING ONCE AGAIN. When we got to Thousand Oaks the Military and local Service Clubs and their CERT organization had set up a large Aid Station. We got a meal of fresh fruit from local farms and oatmeal and real coffee. Hot coffee! Josef and I were ecstatic! That was short lived, as the march to Ventura took another 2 days. We’d been existing on about 1,200 calories a day, and it was barely enough to keep us putting one foot in front of the other.
When we arrived in Ventura on day 13, we were directed in to a huge relief center that had been established. Supplies, shelter, and medical personnel were constantly pouring in from around the country to care for the refugees. The U.S. Air Force had taken over operation of the Ventura Airport for the relief effort and receiving air transports of supplies.
We later learned the USS AMERICA and USS MAKIN ISLAND, 2 huge amphibious assault ships with helicopters, and the hospital ship USNS MERCY from San Diego had dropped anchor off shore from Los Angeles and were helping emergency crews with search and recovery operations and casualty care. As well the USS BONHOMME RICHARD and USNS COMFORT were sailing to L.A. from Norfolk Virginia.
The power grid had been restored, and there was power in the Ventura area, but so many displaced people were attempting to access Internet and cell phone service that they kept collapsing due to overwhelmed circuits. Bus service was organized for those persons wishing to travel to other communities. Josef and I were placed on a waiting list and had to wait in the relief center’s refugee tent city. We were assigned to a huge MGPT military tent with a group of other men.
Just when I could see light at the end of the tunnel, bad luck struck. One of our tent mates was a white man with SS and Iron Cross tattoos on his neck. He kept to himself and spoke to no one. It was clear he was trouble…and troubled. Also in our tent was a Black man named “Royce” who was the polar opposite. Royce was friendly and gregarious, he laughed and joked and made our stay a lot more enjoyable.
One evening, Royce was regaling us with his stories and mentioned his white girlfriend. At this, the brooding white man stood up and berated Royce, saying he didn’t like the idea of any Black man putting his hands on a white woman. Royce showed a different side at this point, and went nose to nose with “whitey” and a terrible fistfight broke out between them. The commotion drew the attention of a roving Military Police patrol walking the compound and they attempted to break up the fight, which by this time, had gone down to the ground in an all-out scuffle.
Whitey went for a gun grab on one of the M.P.’s service pistol and they wrestled for control of the weapon. Us bystanders were fleeing the tent when the pistol discharged. I felt a hard punch followed by a sensation like a red hot poker stab through my leg, and fell down. Faced with a lethal force situation, and given the state of Martial Law, the second M.P. didn’t waste any time, but drew his pistol placed the muzzle in contact with Whitey’s head and pulled the trigger. Red mist filled the tent and Whitey dropped as if struck by lightning.
One of the M.P.’s applied a dressing to my leg while the second reported the shooting and requested a Medical Team. I was rushed to the relief center infirmary, prepped and rushed into surgery. Fortunately, the bullet had struck the muscular part of my upper leg and missed the femoral artery…a flesh wound essentially. The bullet was removed and I was parked in a hospital bed. In the meantime, Josef was called to catch his bus ride home and came to say goodbye. It was a happy moment, and sad too, as we’d been through so much together. We agreed to contact each other soon.
After about 5 days, the attending physician judged I was fit to travel and I was helped to the bus and transferred for the ride north. Arriving in Santa Barbara, I was finally able to reach my family by way of the Internet. It was a joyous moment to make contact and have them know I was alive and *reasonably* well. I arranged for them to drive down to San Luis Obispo and meet me as the bus arrived. I was never so happy in my life when the bus arrived to see them with Jen, my girlfriend, awaiting me. The ordeal was over…
I was weak and could barely manage food. My family took me to my personal physician and he determined I had lost 22 pounds over the 19 long days, that I was severely exhausted, anemic, and exhibiting some symptoms indicative of PTSD. He placed me on a special diet and 4 weeks bed rest, stress counseling, and then a very gradual regimen of fitness therapy for rehabilitating the bullet wound to my leg. I made a full physical recovery, mostly attributed to the resilience of youth. I was home. That was all that mattered.
PART XII
E P I L O G U E
5 years later, reconstruction of greater Los Angeles continues. The earthquake took in excess of 8,000 lives and 15,000 injured persons. The total economic loss is estimated to be around $220 billion as of this writing.
After I recovered, I contacted the Los Angeles Police Department and reported the murder I had witnessed…and the life I took. A Detective came to my home and took my statement. They were already investigating the murder of the 2 officers, and had identified the gang member found dead on the school grounds, and had some suspect’s in mind. Josef and I both made identifications of 2 of the actors. They later struck a plea deal in exchange for becoming state’s witnesses. The remaining 4 gang members were convicted of murder with special conditions of torture and are on death row. I was not charged by the Los Angeles District Attorney on grounds that I acted in self- defense.
Josef and I stay in touch. We talk on the phone a couple of times a year, and whenever I pass through Fresno, I drop in and visit him. He’s in his early 70’s now, retired but still living independently.
I never went to work for TSG. The Corporation went out of business after their L.A. headquarters was destroyed. Instead, I started my own business designing custom small business software.
Whenever I travel, I carry a small survival kit with some basic items I could use were I ever put in a similar situation, including a newly made GERBER Mark II. Dad’s GERBER knife is back where it belongs…next to his photo on the shelf above my computer desk at home. It is my belief that blade was meant for dark purposes and should be left retired.
About 6 months after my recovery, I wed my girlfriend Jen. If anything, the earthquake taught me how fragile life is, and that every single day is a blessing to be grateful for and I wasn’t going to waste any more time. A year later, Jen gave birth to our first child, a daughter.
We named her Irina Marie.
THE END
Copyright © Manny Silva, 2016. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
