Earthquakes and Amateur Radios
an excerpt

Josie leaned back in her chair, resting her paintbrush on its stand. She gazed at her latest work and dabbed a blip of white on the petal of a flower. Satisfied, she rinsed her brushes in the sink and set them in their rack to dry. She gently lifted the canvas from the stand, careful not to brush the damp paint. As she padded across the floor, the rumbling started.
It began quietly, and Josie spared a thought for the birdfeeders. The squirrels always stole the bird food, and it sounded like a whole herd of them up on the roof. Or maybe a herd of cats. Or elephants. Josie stared out the window into the bright sunshine. Something soft hit her head- one of her paint shirts. She stared upward as her paint bottle rack began to tip. It spilled onto the floor, shards of glass and plastic exploding in clouds of dripping color. Jodie dropped her painting, smearing flowers across her shirt and the floor. A crack spidered up the wall as she dove under the table. Everything in the room was falling to the floor and rolling across the boards. Jodie huddled away from three fractured glass jars that trundled past her, leaving oozing trails of neon. The ceiling creaked and began to dip as one wall collapsed. Jodie could see the cars bumping up and down outside. A draft blew the mail off the table, and one envelope flew towards her. The last thing she saw as the table collapsed was the letter from the ARRL. Jodie Pherson, it said, we regret to inform you that you did not pass your amateur license test. Your score was 2 out of 60. The ceiling fell inward, plaster raining down and obliterating everything but the hateful words. A beam came loose, its splintered end swinging down in a perfect arc. Jodie couldn’t move as it continued toward its irreversible collision with her. She could see every splinter in it, every termite hole, and as it smashed through the table, she screamed.