It makes sense. He’s the only resident, and the compound is minimally staffed. That lazy bastard Anto must be gone, so it’s just Dao and Riya, the maid . . .

Who’d been screaming somewhere above his head. It’s the last thing he remembered before being crushed.

There’s a loose beam blocking his way. He grabs it and pushes it with all his might. The pain is unbelievable, but he manages to budge it. Another push. Some more give. He works like this for some time, taking frequent breaks. He’s got no leverage here, only his strength.

Finally, he’s moved it enough to wedge his body through.

He can see a speck of the morning sky. He keeps going, crawling through toward that blue, pushing against the debris in his way. He’s so damn tired. It feels like he’s got nothing left, but then there’s a sound. A cry so loud, so unearthly, it almost shatters his eardrums.

Instinctively, he moves toward it. He can’t stop now. If he stops, it’s over. Part of him wants it to be over. A damn hill fell on top of him, after all, shook loose by an earthquake. And the one before that, and the one before that, too.

The Ring of Fire.

In the Pacific. This archipelago, full of little islands. Rife with volcanos and along fault lines. The meeting point of several tectonic plates and both the Indian and Pacific Oceans.

He’s been in Indonesia for over a year, and it feels like it’s been trying to push him away ever since he got here. Not that he’s wanted to stay. Hell is still hell, no matter how nice the weather is.

There’s that cry again. A woman shouting about a baby. Who brought a baby to a natural disaster?

He breaks free and hoists himself onto the ground. Lays there on his back, stunned. The rising sun warms his face, makes him sweat, even though his hands are cold. He sees someone digging frantically through the rubble close by. It’s the little maid. Riya. She’s shouting at him to help. In English. Which she pretended not to be able to speak.

Women.

She goes over to him and, with a strength he didn’t know she possessed, pulls him to his knees, then to his feet. “My baby,” she says, her eyes wide and pleading. She’s filthy. Her dress is torn in several places, and her hands are bleeding. There’s a nasty cut along her cheek that she touches gingerly with her fingertips. Blood on blood. He feels like retching. She reaches to grab him, but he pulls away from her.

“Please!” she shouts, when he stands still for several seconds, just looking at her.

He snaps out of his daze. “Where?”

She pulls him toward the rubble. “I think here. Please.”

“Call someone,” he tells her. “Get help from the village.”