Mad Utopia

Rene Nicolas was playing football, or soccer as the opposing American team called it, when the quake struck. The action on the field faltered, rather than stopping abruptly, as each player came to the realization that something catastrophic was developing beneath their feet. His friend, Luc, let an easy save roll right past him.

They ran back to the dorms in a panic, in the misguided hope of finding friends and the comfort of an orderly administration of the crisis. Instead they found a mass of rubble – floor after floor pancaked on top of each other. An odd spire rose from the ruins, five flights of stairs leading to nowhere, held up by a fragment of wall which, for some reason, refused to fall. It was impossible to tell where one’s room once stood. All familiar frames of reference were gone. Nearby dorms faired no better.

The two football teams fell in together, in sudden cooperation, in a desperate attempt to pull rubble off the ruined heap, hoping to find survivors. Mostly they found bodies, many of whom they recognized. Rene vomited when he uncovered the battered remains of a girl he knew but by sight. They would nod and smile to each other, passing in the hall. Jesus Christ, what was her name?

“I got someone over here!” Jonas Boubert called out. They rushed to the site, and began hefting cinder blocks, broken lumber, decimated plasterboard. They wore their fingers raw, but were rewarded by uncovering a young man none of them recognized. He was in agony – but alive. It took the better part of an hour to free him. They laid him near the curb, calling for medical help that was not to be found. Rene draped his warm-up jacket on the fellow and returned to the search.

Jonas worked his way back toward a larger pile of rubble, yelling for anyone buried who might hear him. He carried a pipe, and struck large pieces of masonry – TAP, TAP, TAP as he went. TAP. TAP. TAP, and listen. TAP. TAP. TAP. Then the first aftershock hit. Rene watched in horror as the partial wall Jonas stood near collapsed full on him. Jonas never stood a chance.

They all backed off after that.

Word reached them an aid station had been set up near Duval Field House. After some discussion they decided Rene, Luc, and two Americans would transport the injured student at the curb down for treatment. The rest would continue to search for more survivors. They fashioned a litter of sorts by feeding two pieces of salvaged lumber through opposite sleeves of many jackets – crude, but effective.

The half hour walk to the field house was interrupted once by another powerful aftershock. They stuck to the middle of the streets to avoid falling debris. When they reached the field house they found it in ruins and no aid station, just a gathering crowd of badly injured people.

“What do we do now?” one of the Americans asked. For starters, they found a relatively clear area to set the man down.

“What’s your name, mate?” Rene asked.

“David. David Hanson.” He tried to smile, but it was really a wince.

“Well, Davy, we’re going to leave you here for a while. Looks like this is some sort of rally point, so I expect help will come round shortly. We need to get back up to the dormitory to lend a hand. You good with that?”

Davy nodded, but the disappointment in his eyes belied him. Rene gave him a gentle pat and the four headed back.

The wailing of a woman near the remains of an apartment complex caught their attention. “My baby! My baby!” She beat on a slab of disembodied brick and mortar with her balled and bloodied hands. Rene could hear a baby crying. The four students exchanged glances and rushed to the woman’s side.

They worked frantically, improvising levers to shift rubble too heavy to lift. More men came to pitch in. Slowly, steadily, the pile of rubble coving the wailing child diminished. They pulled a few last pieces away to reveal a gaping crevasse large enough for a small man to wiggle through. Luc, being the smallest, wedged himself into it.

“I see the baby!”

“Can you reach him?” Rene asked.

“Just about.” He wiggled in a bit further. Then the next aftershock hit.

Somehow Luc survived. He was fairly crushed, and firmly wedged, but conscious and aware. He called out that the baby was still in sight, and alive. They redoubled their efforts in a mad attempt to free them.

A man knelt next to Rene and began clearing away rubble with a pick. It took a moment for him to realize it was a professional rescue worker. Another man, with a pry bar moved in, and firmly but gently moved Rene aside.

The man with the pick shouted for a tourniquet. A third rescue worker dropped to his knees, and began to work on Luc’s legs. First he applied two tourniquets. Then he began with the hack saw.

Rene backed away, shaking uncontrollably.

They rushed Luc back to the aid station, now set up near Duval Field House. Rene helped bear the litter. They laid him down near the head of the triage line. Rene knelt by his friend and held his hand.

Luc’s eyes fluttered open.

“The baby. Did you get the baby out?”

Rene nodded his head.

Luc gave a weak smile and closed his eyes. Rene laid his head on his mate’s silent chest, and wept.
—
©2010 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.

If you would like to help the victims of the recent earthquake in Haiti, please make a donation to a reputable relief organization.

• The American Red Cross
• Doctors Without Borders
• InterAction cross-list of agencies responding to the earthquake in Haiti