Earthquake by Kathleen Duey Page A

your own.”
    Dai Yue met Brendan’s eyes. Her home had been in Chinatown, with her uncle, with her people. If she went with this Fon Kwei boy now, her ancestors would not forgive her. They would no longer watch over her bed at night, they would no longer protect her. How could she do such a thing? She sat down beside her uncle and closed her eyes.
    â—ŠÂ â—ŠÂ â—Š
    Brendan stood, astonished. The smoke was so heavy that a false dusk dimmed the streets. He looked longingly down Clay Street in the direction they had been headed. On the horizon there was a patch of blue sky. He took a few steps toward it, then stopped. He glanced back. People were stepping around Dai Yue and her uncle’s body, barely glancing down.
    Brendan forced himself to walk on. He knew what it felt like to have no one to depend on, no place to call home. It would be even worse for Dai Yue. Not only was her uncle dead, but her home was going to be nothing but ashes. Her people would be scattered andshe would be lost and afraid outside of Chinatown.
    Turning so quickly that he almost ran into a young couple, Brendan started back. It was hard to see in the smoky light. Coughing, he wove in and out of the mass of people clogging the street and jumped back up onto the sidewalk at the corner.
    â€œDai Yue!” She looked up at him, her eyes dull. Although there was fire all around them, Brendan could see no light in Dai Yue’s eyes. Looking past her Brendan saw that the smoke from Chinatown was darker now. Flames climbed the frame buildings. He reached down and took her hand. She got to her feet, her eyes still dull. But she followed when he led her to the far side of Clay Street. He didn’t want her to have to see her uncle’s body again.
    They walked for nearly a half mile before Brendan loosened his grip on Dai Yue’s hand. As they walked, the tall buildings lining Clay Street gave way to smaller businesses, then grand homes that sat in the center of wide lots. They were going uphill now. Brendan kept a careful eye on Dai Yue. She shuffled along, her eyes on the cobblestones.
    Brendan kept glancing over his shoulder. As they got farther from the flames, people calmed downa little. He could hear conversations on every side. People were trying to decide where to go.
    Brendan glanced at Dai Yue. “I wonder what will happen to everyone.” Dai Yue did not answer. Brendan waited, but she didn’t even look up at him. “I mean, I wonder if people will rebuild their houses and their shops or if they will just leave San Francisco now.”
    Dai Yue lifted her eyes. He was never sure how much of what he said she understood. She met his eyes for a moment, then looked aside.
    â€œThese were beautiful homes,” Brendan said. He gestured.
    This time Dai Yue nodded, a motion so slight that he wasn’t sure he had really seen it.
    As they came up the hill to Post Street they passed three or four palm trees on the right side of the road. An ornate iron fence topped with spikes marked the edge of some rich man’s domain.
    â€œI want a house like that someday,” Brendan said without thinking. Then he laughed. “Well, I’d prefer it to have more than one wall standing.” He looked at Dai Yue out of the corner of his eye. He thought he saw her smile.
    The chimneys were still standing upright.There were four. Brendan tried to imagine a house with even one hearth that grand. It was hard.
    â€œMy cousin was houseboy,” Dai Yue said suddenly. She pointed down a side street. “Before he die.”
    Brendan waited, hoping she would say more, but she did not. Still, a little light seemed to be coming back into her eyes. “Your cousin worked in one of these houses?”
    Dai Yue ducked her head in a quick nod. “Houseboy.”
    Brendan just wanted her to keep talking. Anything was better than her silence. He was trying to think of something else to say when explosions from Chinatown