Stan noted with concern that his gas gauge still worked accurately, as the indicator tilted far to the left, hovering precariously close to “E.”  He had planned to get gas anyhow, but he didn’t realize they were so low. This is no time to be out of gas, Stan fumed, frustrated that Christine apparently hadn’t filled up the last time she was out. Why can’t that woman get it through her head—gas isn’t always available these days! We have to get it when we can. Stan whipped the car out of the apartment area and headed toward his usual service station. Even at this hour, the roads leading toward L.A. were congested.

Sure enough, as the gas station came into sight, the right lane of traffic slowed to a crawl, then a stop. Cars lined the roadside for nearly half a mile, waiting for their turn at the pump. Stan’s parents had told him that life now was reminiscent of the gas lines they had experienced during the Arab oil embargo in the early 1970s, when gas prices had sky rocketed while available supplies plummeted. This time, however things were even worse. In an attempt to service as many customers as possible, many gas stations limited the amount of gasoline they sold to each customer. No more than ten dollars’ worth could be purchased on good days, five dollars’ worth when the station’s supply was running out. Some days, a handwritten sign alerted customers to the bad news: NO GAS TODAY.

Just as Stan inched the Chevy across the gas stations property line an attendant came out to the sidewalk and put up the dreaded sign: NO POWER, NO GAS. TRY TOMORROW. Tomorrow! Stan cringed. I’ll be lucky to make it home tonight! And I still have to get to the grocery store!

Although the gas pumps were turned off, the snack bar and convenience store portion of the station remained open, lit by battery-powered emergency lighting. Stan couldn’t help noticing the unusually large number of people congregating inside the store, in front of the food area. Many were buying whatever staple food items they could find on the shelves, but a large number of people were simply milling about as though shell-shocked. It looked as though they were gathered around a radio, listening.  Some were crying; others sat dumbfounded outside on the sidewalk curb, as though they had been suddenly over-taken by a dizzy spell and sought the first available place to sit down before they fell down.

Something strange is going on, Stan thought. Stan pulled hi car over to the station parking area and turned off the ignition. He hopped out of the car and gingerly walked toward the crowd. The closer he got, the more he felt like he intruded on a funeral procession.

Everyone wore somber expressions. Many people wept openly. Others stared blankly into nothingness. Several women huddled together, arm in arm, swaying precariously, looking as though the entire group might tumble to the ground if even one of them let go.

A man and two teenage boys stood to the right of the store entryway. Stan noted with bewilderment that they were praying. Praying at the gas station? For what? Asking God to miraculously send a fresh supply of gasoline? Ha! Stan chuckled at the thought.

Stan walked past the praying fellows and entered the station. The interior of the convenience store section of the gas station was surprisingly quiet, especially considering the large number of people in the building. People pressed against a counter, focusing their attention on a small radio behind the counter. “Turn it up!” A large disheveled-looking woman called from the isle next to the darkened ice cream freezer.

“The volume is up as high as it will go,” a man behind the counter replied. “My batteries are getting low. I’ll replace them in a few minutes, but I don’t want to miss anything right now. Just try to keep it down in here, and we’ll all be able to hear.”

Stan nudged a middle-aged fellow dressed in Jeans and a sweatshirt.

“What’s going on?”

“They’re about to give the latest death toll,” the man replied sadly.

“Death toll? From what? Is something wrong? Was there an accident? A wreck on the freeway? People just need to slow down a bit when we have these brownouts …” Stan shook his head disgustedly.

“This is not just another brownout,” replied the man in the sweatshirt.

“Oh?”

“Do you mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what? What are you talking about? Our power has been out in our apartment complex, and I haven’t seen a television or heard a radio broadcast all day. What’s happened?”

“There was an earthquake in Los Angeles, a big one.”

“So what’s new?” Stan answered flippantly. He quickly sobered. He didn’t mean to sound so callous, but earthquakes in California were nothing new, especially these days. According to recent reports, seismic activity was so rampant that the needles on the recording machines were having to be replaced regularly.

The man glared back at Stan as though he had insulted his mother. “Loa Angelas is gone,” he said icily.