Sink

  "Look at that Mark. The whole hotel just sank. I can't believe this. The whole thing is gone. Mark, what the hell can we do and what happened to all the people. Oh my God, this is terrible."

  "Come on Mike. We've got to do something. Let's see if we can find somebody to help. There has to be some people trapped somewhere in that hole. Wait, go back in the shed, and grab those ropes we have for closing off areas. I know they'll come in handy. I'll meet you in the driveway in front. It looks okay from here. Now hurry up and haul ass.”

  June 14, Saturday 12:43 p.m.

  Outside the lobby doors

  Sally Backlin and Beverly Forham were staring past the swimming pool at the maintenance shed wondering when the twins would come back when, they were knocked to the pavement by a tremendous jolt. The ground had buckled under their feet and an earthquake immediately came to both teenage girls' minds. Suffering little more than a scraped elbow, Beverly quickly set up and asked Sally if she was alright.

  "Yeah I'm fine Bev but, what the hell happened? My God, look behind you. The whole building is gone. Where is everybody? Where are our parents? They were right inside the doors, but I don't even see the doors anymore. What could have possibly happened?"

  "I don't know Sally but, we have to get some help. We have to find somebody. We just have to do something."

  "Oh look Beverly! Here comes one of those boys now. He'll know what to do. He has to"

  Mark Summers, ran up to the two girls and put both hands on his knees and bent over gulping in large breaths of air.

  "Are you girls alright?" He managed to squeeze out between breaths. "Have you seen anybody else?"

  "No!" Beverly sobbed. "We don't even know where our parents are. You have to help us find them."

  "Listen girls, as soon as my brother gets here we'll find your parents. He's bringing some rope and we'll see what's going on. Look at the size of the hole where the lobby was. I can barely see the roof, but it doesn't look like the top fell in. Don't worry your parents and everybody else will be safe. All we have to do is climb down the hole and help them back out. Everything will be fine."

  Mark's eyes slowly misted over as he walked toward the gaping hole where the resort had stood. Peering down into the hole he thought nobody could have lived through that tremendous jolt the buildings must have taken when they had rapidly sunk into the freshly opened earth. The second floor wing of the resort was about fifty yards away and was now at ground level.

  Just when Mike came running up with three bright yellow coils of nylon rope the screams began.

  "Help me. Please dear God, somebody help me."

  The female voice, shaking with fear, was soon joined by a chorus of others. Distinguished from the rest was the plaintiff wailing of a baby not unlike the cry of a newborn calf.

  The helpless cries ceased for a moment as the ground abruptly shook again and this time the roof line disappeared from sight. The pitiful pleas for help began drifting again towards the surface along with a tremendous cloud of earthy smelling dust. The screams for help, about a third of the number before the latest jolt, were filled with pure terror that made the twins and both young girls shiver with fright.

  Mark, shaking his fear off like a freshly washed dog, grabbed one of the ropes out of his brother's hand and ran towards the closest newly planted royal palm that was lining the driveway.

  "Come on Mike and you girls too. Let's tie the ropes to these trees and throw the other

  ends into the hole. We've got to try to get those people out before it caves in any more."

  June 14, Saturday 12:44 p.m.

  Room 234

  Steve Sidel, up since 5:15, fifteen minutes late of his normal waking time due to the overindulgence of too many drinks the night before, had just zipped the trousers of his charcoal colored suit when the floor fell away from his feet. Banging his head on the side of the nightstand when he fell, he managed to regain his feet rather groggily by pulling himself up on the now very slanted double bed. The room was in complete shambles, his still unpacked suitcases, now very unpacked, were stacked haphazardly along the doorway wall next to the self contained air-conditioning unit, its power source pulled away from the wall like a freshly severed umbilical cord. The bathroom door, hanging on one hinge, was still swaying with a slight creaking noise. The large double window, now shed of its thick earth tones drapery was at a sixty-degree angle from the frame but miraculously hung unbroken.

  Steve, reaching up with his left hand, felt his now throbbing forehead and could feel a gash about three inches long right across his left side hairline. Looking at his open palm and fingers when he brought it away from his face, he saw his hand was completed covered in scarlet. Staggering past the overturned day chair, he pulled himself into the bathroom and grabbed the extra roll of toilet tissue that had been on the back of the toilet but was now leaning against the white porcelain side of the motel tub. Ripping away the paper wrapper he tossed it uncaringly down on the tile floor and held the entire unwrapped roll against his forehead. The pain seemed to push inward and at least he could now try to think. The blood not yet in his eyes soaked quickly into the homemade bandage and he began to wonder what kind of bomb had gone off. He had not heard any loud bang but more of a muffled type explosion. He decided the next course of action was to find out what was going on so he headed toward the door of the room and whatever he would find outside.

  He tried to turn the doorknob but the handle was in a frozen position. Putting the now blood soaked tissue roll on the floor next to the door he grabbed the handle with both hands and tried to twist it open. It still wouldn't open so he stretched his right leg up on the air-conditioning unit and pulled himself into the now exposed window frame. Reaching out, he pushed the window the rest of the way out and it crashed noisily onto the concrete walkway in the front of his room. Jumping down to the walk, carefully avoiding the broken glass, he saw that the entire wing of the resort had sunk into the ground. His second floor walkway was now even with the carefully manicured courtyard and the ground floor had completely disappeared. Still not really realizing what had happened, Steve Sidel started making his way toward the now missing lobby.

  June 14, Saturday 12:45 p.m.

  Room 235

  The warm needle spray of the hotel shower soothed Kathy Santos's stiff shoulder muscles as she hummed a song she had not heard since her childhood days. The days in the penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue in New York City. Her black nanny had sung many songs to try to bring a little happiness in an otherwise lonely childhood. Her parents were big time socialites and they were away from home a lot more than they were there. Having no siblings, Kathy had invented imaginary playmates, girls with names like Sissy and Patty and sometimes little boys named Sammy or Billy. She managed to endure those lonely years without them having much effect on her blossoming teen years. She had been sent to a very prestigious finishing school after high school and had turned into a very lovely, very mature, young woman.

  She lathered her very tanned torso as she recalled the big turning point in her life. She had been working in her parents' business, Santos Cosmetics, as a sales representative, when her world collapsed. Her parents, on the way back from a convention in Puerto Rico, aboard their fifty six foot yacht, stopped to help a fellow boat that was flying a distress signal. The boat turned out to be modern day pirates and they had boarded her parents' boat and tied the crew and her parents up while they ransacked the entire boat. Not being satisfied with the abundant jewelry and cash that they found aboard, the pirates began executing the crew members one by one with a single shot in the back of the head. The pirates left Kathy's mother and the female cook for last and then brutally raped both women before firing the by now merciful shots in the back of their heads. This entire event was recorded on the video security cameras mounted on the boat and later sold to several sleazy tabloids around the world.

  Kathy shivered as she rec
alled that terrible moment when she had been awakened in her motel room in the middle of the night by the phone call from the executive vice president who informed her of her parents' deaths. She had been on a sales trip to Charleston, South Carolina and caught the first plane back to New York. She had started working in the company as a gopher and worked her way up to sales representative, by her hard work not her parents' position and therefore, knew the company from the ground up. When the board of directors met a week after her parents were laid to rest, they unanimously voted her president of the corporation, her being the sole heir, and having extensive knowledge of the workings of the entire company. She achieved not only a personal success as president but was now regarded as one of the top women executives in the country. She was at the resort to represent a new line of cosmetics that Tankinato wanted to start selling in Japan and she decided to stay a few extra days to take a little mini vacation that she was well entitled to.

  The roar of the shower drowned out the first cracking sounds the west wall made as it started tumbling down, not unlike the nursery rhyme about London Bridge. Kathy Santos did not realize anything was wrong until she shut off the water, slid the shower curtain back, and reached for her hotel issue white undersized towel. She was looking at a very panoramic view of the lake, which was quite all right since she was in the last room on that end of the motel. The big problem was she didn't have a window on that side of her room, especially in the bathroom. Trying to hide her nakedness behind the skimpy towel, she darted toward the main room of her suite when the room buckled like a roller coaster. Losing the towel, no big deal at this point she thought, she grabbed the bathroom door frame and rode out the sudden shaking of the room. Regaining her wits, which she had always been very good at, she crawled over to the open closet and grabbed a pair of Levis and tee shirt which piled together on the now quite littered floor. Pulling the shirt hastily over her head and squirming into the very tight fitting jeans, she regained

  her feet and headed toward the door determined to find out exactly what was going on.

  June 14, Saturday 12:50 p.m.

  The courtyard of the resort

  Steve Sidel was about twenty feet away from the central sidewalk that bisected the lavish green courtyard, when he heard the scream. Turning back toward his room he saw a very attractive lady outside the room next door to his. She had her right hand on her mouth as if suppressing the scream that had already escaped her lips. Her long brunette hair was dripping wet and plastered to her forehead giving her an exotic look, like she had just stepped from underneath a tropical waterfall. The very tight denim jeans and bright white tee shirt which also was plastered to her body gave him the feeling that this woman just won the Miss International Wet Tee Shirt Contest. She was looking down at something at the west side of what was left of the room she was in front of. The entire side wall of the room was laying in a pile of rubble and it was at the base of this that her attention was focused. He started to trot in the direction of the woman when she turned her back to the object she had been staring at and lost what must have been her breakfast. Rushing up to her side he placed his arm on her shoulder and led her a few feet away to a concrete bench which somehow was still standing.

  Once he had her seated on the bench, her shivering like being caught without a coat in a blizzard, he turned his attention back to what she had been staring at. At first he could not believe his eyes at what he was seeing but then reality sunk in. When the wall collapsed apparently, a man had been on the end of the building, doing what, he had no idea, but now the man would never have another idea. The man's face had been completely skinned, caught supposedly by the aluminum gutter that fallen off the roof above him and just his eyeballs, nostrils and an open hole representing his mouth were left. The skeletal look was bad enough but the worse part was the flag pole that had adorned the crest of the roof had came straight down through his mouth and out the back of his head still in a vertical position displaying the crest of the resort in a full color spectrum.

  June 14, Saturday 12:51 p.m.

  At the bar

  Patrick Ramsburger was a very competent bartender. He had been making drinks for his

  customers for over twenty two years and he was quite good at it. His customers, over the years had always relished the fact that as soon as their drink was low or their cigarette needed to be lit, Pat was there. He had an uncanny sense of when one of his customers needed something. It was almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head. He was mister efficient in the bar business.

  The corporation had heard of Patrick Ramsburger's reputation and had written several letters trying to entice him to come to work in their new resort. After several weeks of negotiation, they hit on the right amount of compensation and benefits and Pat packed his meager belongings and headed for the sunshine state. He was tired of the cold weather in New York and he decided he would like to lounge around by the pool on his days off soaking up the Florida sun. He had arrived four weeks before the grand opening and ordered all the necessary equipment and alcohol in order to stock the resort lounge for the big grand opening and a surplus to handle several weeks after. He was on an unlimited budget, due to his explicit reputation and he wanted to make sure everything ran smoothly.

  He hired two extra bartenders, one part time, and four cocktail waitresses to handle the expected cliental and the waiters and waitresses that worked for the restaurant would fill in the rush at the grand opening. He was prepared, as always, for any emergency that could arise, or so he thought. He had never heard of sinkholes in New York and now Patrick Ramsburger started to experience one first hand.

  It started pretty simple. The glasses behind the bar started to rattle. He was a little perplexed at this but, he thought maybe a large truck was driving down the driveway, even though they had a delivery road. When the glasses continued rattling, he thought maybe Florida had earthquakes, even though he had never heard of that but, he was a new resident and he didn't know that much about the area. When the bottles behind the bar started toppling over he realized he might be in deep trouble and he looked around to see where the other employees were. He saw a look of sheer terror in the eyes of one of the cocktail waitresses and before he could say anything to her the room fell in.

  Patrick held on to the edge of the bar and rode it down like an elevator until the floor settled. The bottles and glasses that had been neatly stacked were scattered on the floor behind the bar and the big mirror behind the bar had fallen and smashed with a shattering explosion. The emergency lights came on when the power died and most of the lights were dislodged from their near ceiling mounts and were scattered haphazardly around the room. There was a lot of screaming and cries of pain coming from the guest who had filled the lounge area and total confusion seemed to prevail. Being of quick mind, he yelled for everyone to try to stay calm and help would soon be there. This worked briefly until, the room fell another ten feet and the ceiling caved in.

  Pat again tried to calm the patrons down but, panic had by now set in and utter chaos reigned. He again looked around for any of the other employees but, by now he could only see frightened guests. He walked around the edge of the bar, crunching on the broken pieces of glass and made his way to where he thought the emergency exit door should be. A large section of the roof was laying directly in his path and he turned back toward the people lying on the floor closest to him and began helping people stand on their feet. He wanted to open the emergency door and see what was happening outside the room but, this being cut off from him, he tried to calm as many people as he could. He realized that whatever happened would not be isolated to this room and help was sure to be there as soon as possible. He began gathering the people that were obviously in a state of shock into small groups and he finally located one of his cocktail waitresses who, looked no worse for wear at this sudden disaster and he told her to keep saying calming words to the people he had gathered into small groups, until help a
rrived.

  Pat Ramsburger then went back behind the bar and found an unbroken bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, peeled of the sealing label, unscrewed the plastic cap, and took a big pull on the bottle. The warmness went immediately down his throat and a calming effect suddenly came over him.

  He took another short pull on the bottle, shrugged his shoulders, and began looking for a way out of this hell hole. He walked toward the front entrance and in the dim light he could see the roof had collapsed across the entire expanse of the lobby and they were trapped in the existing lounge area. He walked back to where his waitress was playing nurse to about two dozen people and a warmness, similar to the whiskey, flowed through his veins. Even in a time of crisis, he thought, the good in people is still there, even if they have no idea if they will be rescued, the strong will be strong. He at that point, was happier than he had ever been in his entire life. No matter what happens, some people will still be survivors. With a smile on his face he walked over to the cocktail waitress and said a very sincere thank you, which puzzled her completely and began helping her calm the very scared people who had come to enjoy the grand opening and have a drink to celebrate.

  June 14, Saturday 1:04 p.m.

  Inside the corporate office

  Walt Morgan, head of the security unit at the new resort, was retired from the Chicago Police Department after thirty adventurous years. He retired as chief of homicide and received a gold pocket watch to match his gold detective shield that they had let him keep and they were stuffed in his underwear drawer beneath his pile of white socks in his double wide mobile home on the outskirts of Forest Glenn. He had planned to do a lot of fishing and traveling after his retirement but his years with the police department kept him from totally relaxing. Everywhere he went, he saw a suspicious character. He knew a two-eleven was going to come down every time he entered a liquor or even grocery store. It was in his blood so, he decided the only way he would be happy would be doing police work. When he saw the ad in the newspaper advertising for security guards at the new resort, he jumped at the chance to again put on his shiny leather shoes and his Sam Browne. He didn't apply for the head position but, after the corporate office reviewed his application, he didn't bother with a resume for a job as a security guard, they had called him up for a second interview and laid a lucrative position in his lap. It was a lot better than he had wished for and he had ten full time and five part time guards under him. Just like the old days. He was the boss.