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62.
For tens of thousands of desperate people on the move with children and what belongings they could carry, the thing they seemed to have in common was blue or white surgical masks. Jack Simon was on the cell phone with Linsey. "Where are you?"
"I'm stuck in the East County. The roads are jammed and I'm trying to hitch a ride in on a police chopper, but they're all busy."
"At least you're safe. I'm here in Linda Vista with the Waleskys. Ernie showed up and mushroomed the lady next door. Ernie himself is a fungus."
"What about Nellie and the kids?"
"I'm going to try and evacuate them to NAS North Island as persons of interest in a police case. I have Louise's permission. In fact she wants Jimmy where Federal investigators can go over his story with a fine toothed comb."
"Keep in touch. Love you."
"Love you. Hope we can be back together soon."
The streets were in chaos, since the entire area of San Diego west of Highway 163 was being evacuated, and Louise had hinted further evacuations might take the perimeter all the way out to I-805. Something like a quarter to half a million people were on the move. It was late spring, but evenings were chilly for San Diego, sometimes with fog and drizzle along the coast, and mornings were generally heavily overcast with May Gray and June Gloom, as the marine layer effect was known.
Thousands of people were on the move, carrying clothing, radios, toys, furniture, children, even old people. Amid all that chaos, police and National Guard and ad hoc volunteers moved gently keeping order. So far, everyone was well fed and had plenty of fresh water—regional grocery chains and retailers were rushing all manner of supplies to the area. Doctors and nurses from all over Southern California were setting up clinics at major intersections, where refugees might be passing.
Even so, Jack had difficulty organizing an air lift for Jimmy Mendez. He had to keep it quiet, or more persons might demand to be flown out—even though the destination was across the water a few miles rather than east where the exodus was heading. Jimmy demanded that Aunt Nellie and Maribel go along, but the one chopper Louise managed to send through could only hold either one adult or, pressing it, two children. Jack volunteered to drive Nellie down to a checkpoint near Pacific Highway at Washington Street by the old Marine Corps Recruit Depot, where they would be ferried across by a Navy chopper that was shuttling back and forth with important persons, medicines, and the like. Thus, around noon, Jack stood with Nellie and the children atop an old two-story brick building with a hot, tarry roof. Down below, a river of humanity flowed past in the streets and sidewalks. In his heart, Jack wasn't sure he'd even be able to get his car out of here. On cue, a chopper borrowed from the U.S. Marshals Service swooped down on the roof top. A whirlpool of hot air and grit blew up. Jack's neck and face stung. On board was only the pilot. As Nellie and Jack secured the children in their seat belts and shoulder harnesses, they heard an outcry from below. A mob was beating doors in to reach the chopper. Totally irrational, Jack thought, dangerous, scared, mob mentality. The chopper lifted, turned, speeded westward.
Simultaneously, with several lunging roars, a group of men in gang-like clothing (khaki shorts, white tank tops) broke the door down and surged onto the rooftop. A few fell down and lay bruised and dazed on the hot tarry gravel. Others shouted and cursed and waved fists after the chopper. Then they turned toward Jack and Nellie in their rage, thinking they were somehow complicit in whatever hallucination the mob was having. Seeing only a heavy, middle-aged grandma type and a hatless, disheveled balding man who had not shaved in days, they relented and resumed their trek downstairs and eastward.
"Urban living," Nellie said. "With Ernie gone, I'm moving to a town of not more than 200 people somewhere in Kansas."
"At least the kids are safe." Jack took her by the arm and led her down dark, narrow stairway.
"Thank God," Nellie said, wiping a tear away. "I want my Maribel back as soon as possible."
A pharmacy on the first floor had been partially looted and now three policemen stood guard with M-16s held before their chests. Jack guided her across the street. It was like swimming upstream in a raging river. They found an alley running crosswise to that current, and followed a narrow path through a small wood to the next street down. They were in a landlocked neighborhood, climbing down through back yards and paths to get to Friars Road, which would be a madhouse also. Jack tried calling Louise again to see if there were another chopper out, but he did not expect that he and Nellie would merit such help, and in any case Louise didn't return his calls for now.
Nellie was having trouble breathing, and they had to rest more and more often. "Are you on any medications?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I should be for my blood pressure, but can't afford it." She fanned herself with a pudgy hand. "I need to live for Maribel. I have to go slow, Mr. Simon. Maybe you should leave me here. You have important things to do."
He sat down beside her. "So do you, Nellie. You know what? I don't care about the story that much anymore. I wish none of this had happened. Linsey and I have been putting off having kids for years because of our careers. Our damned ambitions. You have something far more important to do—get to your daughter. I'm going to help you do that."
Nellie looked shocked and ready to cry. "You are very kind," she gasped.
"It's the right thing to do," he said. "When you're ready, we'll go another block. Maybe we'll find a store and buy some water."
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