"We Are Still Alive!"

by Malcolm McConnell

       In July, 1990, an earthquake occurred in a resort city in the Philippines. After one week's hard work, International Rescue Corps abandoned hope and left. Yet several people were still alive, buried in the ruins of the building. Did they survive in the end?

    Spread across pine-covered ridges in the northern Luzon highlands, the Philippine resort city of Baguio was quiet on the afternoon of July 16, 1990. At around 4:30 p.m. Pedrito Dy, a cook at the luxurious Hyatt Terraces Hotel complex, was resting on a chair in the hotel's gym.

    The gym was in the basement of an 11-story flat.Adjacent to the tower were seven floors of rooms that rose like steps.

    At 26, Pedrito was strong, with a quietly confident manner. Beginning as a kitchen helper while still a teenager, he had advanced to second cook. He and his wife, Adela, had a two-year-old son, and Pedrito was proud that his success had brought the family modest prosperity.

    Three floors above, caretaker Luisa "Jingjing" Mallorca, 20, waited for an elevator. Her friend William Tan, 32, joined her. Behind them security man Arnel Calabia, 26, had just taken up his post at the guard-station table. Arnel and William were like protective older brothers to Jingjing.

    Suddenly the carpeted floor swayed violently. The overhead lights went out and the hall was enveloped in blackness.

    "Earthquake!" shouted Arnel. "Stay where you are." He had experienced tremors before.

    In the basement gym, Pedrito Dy was rising from the chair to get his coat when the floor began to shift. He staggered through the darkness toward the corridor. Others crowded behind him as a second violent tremor hit. Through a distant door Pedrito saw the tower of the flat twist and collapse. Above the crashing roar, he could hear co-workers crying and gasping for breath.

    His lungs filled with dust as thousands of tons of rubble smashed through the floors above. Then he felt something large and soft pressing across his back. A mattress stored in the corridor forced him down onto his hands and knees miraculously shielding him. Pedrito arched his back against the mattress, desperately trying to form an air space.

   Jingjing Mallorca tripped over the debris.Finally she was forced into a pocket formed by broken concrete chunks. William lay beneath the table, his legs near Jingjing, his head and one shoulder against Arnel's chest.

    "Are you all right?" Jingjing asked.

    "I'm hurt," William answered painfully. "My stomach. My chest."

    Jingjing twisted to her side, struggling to shift the debris from William's body, but she could not budge the heaviest chunks. She heard Arnel trying to reach under the table to free William.

    "I've got only my left arm free," Arnel said. "My right hand is jammed under the beam. I can't move it."

    Jingjing could hear the despair in Arnel's voice.

    Engineer Andres Marzan, safety manager of a gold mine at Balatoc, ten miles southeast of Baguio, struggled from his company toward mine headquarters. He went to the office of the mine's operation's vice president, Dominador Valencia, who said, "We must send rescue teams to Baguio. The two big hotels are down."

    Marzan jotted notes as Valencia organized the rescue force. "Get our best volunteers," Valencia said, "men with experience." Marzan shuddered as the image of high-rise hotels collapsed into rubble filled his mind. He knew he faced a terrifying challenge.

    Day Two. Pedrito Dy tried to move the debris pressing him. After a long time, he felt a sharp chunk shift, and he was able to roll over onto his shoulder. He was desperately thirsty. He forced his thoughts toward his wife's warm smile, to his small son's bright eyes. He had to live for them.

    Arnel Calabia bit his lip,trying to dull the pain from his trapped right hand. Groaning, William twisted against the debris inside the guard table. "Listen," suddenly Jingjing cried. "There are people up there!"

    They heard the engines work, then echoes of words. "Please help us," Arnel shouted. "We're still alive." But no reply was heard.

    Day Three. The miners arrived. They used hammers to chop through the concrete chunks.

    The victims' anxious relatives gathered at the rescue site, tearfully pleading with the miners to work faster.

    Day Four. Pedrito tried once more to picture his wife and small son, his parents and his relatives, all of whom he felt certain were standing outside. But his mind kept returning to the thirst. Please, Lord, send me water, he prayed.

    Moments later, a trickle of bitter, rainwater dripped from the rubble above. He opened his mouth like a baby bird to catch the precious drops. I will live, he vowed.

    At the same time, Arnel was screaming hoarsely for help. Jingjing, meanwhile, tried to comfort William.His internal injuries were dragging him relentlessly toward death.

    Day Seven. Jingjing listened to the steady tapping as Arnel thumped a piece of pipe against the thick beam above their heads. But the rescuers’ voices and sounds of their excavations seemed to grow distant. Then they were gone altogether.

    "We're here." Jingjing shouted weakly. "We're still alive."

    "William," Arnel whispered. William did not answer.

    "Feel his pulse," Jingjing said.

    After a long silence Arnel said, "He's gone."

    Lauren Marzo, Marzan's colleague, watched British and Japanese members of the International Rescue Corps climb down the rubble to the parking lot. For several hours they had probed the ruins, listening for the tapping that the miners had reported, but they had not heard any.

    "Is there any hope?" Lauren asked a bone-tired volunteer. The man shook his head.

    That afternoon the foreign teams packed their equipment and left.

    Day Nine. When miners tunneled toward the gym, they used a cutting torch that accidentally ignited the barrier. Choking smoke filled the tunnel.

    "Do you smell smoke?" Jingjing asked.

    The smoke grew thicker. Arnel coughed until his ribs felt broken. Gradually, Arnel felt his consciousness fade, and he floated like a child's balloon into a bright sky. He felt the sunlight fade as he shuddered awake.

    "Arnel, where are you?"

    It was Jingjing's voice. He raised his free hand stiffly to his face. His flesh was cold. I was dead, he realized. But it was not my time.

    Day Ten. When they reached the third floor, one of the miners heard faint cries from below. "If anyone's alive," he shouted, "answer so we can follow your voice."

    A man replied with surprising strength, "There are two of us, and we're still alive. I have a woman with me."

    The miner shook with excitement and yelled, "We'll do our best to get you out."

    Day Eleven. Jingjing lay in the dark, listening and expecting. Then, with a
sound of cracking, dazzling light flooded the cave. Her dust-caked face was bathed with a sweet, cool draft. Men's voices were calling her. Suddenly she comprehended. She crawled beneath the debris and into the strong, muddy hands of the miners. She was thin and weak, but her voice was clear and strong. "Help Arnel," she begged. "His hand is pinned."

    Arnel clenched his jaw against the pain as the miners sawed through a wooden frame to free him. His face flooded with tears. As the miners carried him through the parking lot, he reached out with his uninjured hand to touch the men who had saved him.

    Day Thirteen. Pedrito Dy had heard the noise of hammers on concrete so clearly for so long that he was certain rescue was near. He had found a length of pipe and had begun to hit it against nearby pipes, but the only response was random grinding as the rubble shifted.

    Slowly the realization came that he would never be found. He knew what had to be done. Twisting in the dark, he found a knob of concrete behind his head. He slammed his shoulders back and began to smash his head into the concrete, again and again, each below bringing him closer to the final sleep of death.

    Then he felt invisible hands holding him back. He tried to move, but they gripped him firmly. He understood. I don't have to die.

    For the first time in days, he slept well. Then, as he dozed off again, he heard men's voices close by. He shouted, "I'm here. Please help me." But there was no answer.

    Day Fourteen. The miners snaked through the basement rubble and prepared to strike a concrete beam with their hammers. As they shifted their tools, they heard a man call out weakly through the concrete.

    Stunned, one miner yelled, "Relax! We'll get you out."

    With a final beat, and Pedrito's cave burst with hot light. The miners slid a wooden backboard through the narrow hole, and Pedrito lay down on it. He was alive.

    (1 422 words)

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