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protecting the neighborhood, rather than looting it. Mitch couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t going to push his luck. Heart racing, he crept closer to the side of the house, keeping his shoulders low. He tripped on a stack of loose bricks and almost fell into a recycling bin. Cringing, he crouched in the bushes.
    It smelled like cats.
    Ugh. He hated cats.
    He also hated clutter, and there was a lot of it piled near the house. He’d grown up in a place like this, full of clutter. His mother was a collector. He’d called her right after the earthquake, and she was fine. It was a good thing she didn’t live here in San Diego; she’d be buried in her own junk. The last time he’d visited he’d found a desiccated kitten beneath an old wardrobe.
    Shaking his head at the memory, he waited in the shadows and tried to ignore the stench. When the baseball bandits were out of sight, he rose from his hiding place.
    “Help me.”
    He froze at the sound of a woman’s voice. It was coming from inside the house. There was a broken window about five feet off the ground. He stepped closer, trying to peer inside. “Hello?”
    “Help me,” she said again. “I’m stuck.”
    He found another window with a busted screen. Tearing it loose, he shoved up the window pane and climbed inside.
    It was very dark. And very crowded.
    He hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight on this excursion, which was his mistake. The living room appeared to be loaded with boxes and bags of clothes.
    Just like Mom’s.
    “Here,” the woman said. “By the TV.”
    Mitch made his way toward the weak voice, skirting around stacks of books and magazines. His eyes began to adjust to the meager light, and he spotted an elderly woman on the floor. She was lying on her side with her right leg wedged between an old television and a storage cabinet. The furniture must have fallen over during the earthquake, and she’d been trapped ever since.
    He wasn’t sure how to proceed. Picking up the TV was no problem, but what if freeing her did more harm than good? He wasn’t a doctor. She might have a broken leg or crushed artery or something.
    “Lift this thing off me,” the old lady said.
    “I don’t know if I should.”
    “Of course you should.”
    “I can get bring someone to help you.”
    “How soon?”
    Mitch couldn’t give an estimate. It might be days or it might be hours. Instead of answering, he moved around to the other side of the TV and inspected the damage. “Can you wiggle your toes?”
    “I can wiggle your ears.”
    He laughed at her response, dragging a hand down his face. “What’s your name?”
    “Louise.”
    “I’m going to touch your foot.”
    “Be my guest.”
    Trying to be gentle, he palpitated her orthopedic shoe. “Does it hurt?”
    “Yes.”
    He figured the circulation wasn’t completely blocked off. That was a good sign. After a short deliberation, he righted the television set.
    She pulled her leg free. “Thank you,” she said weakly. “Thank you, thank you.”
    Mitch nodded, relieved she was okay. She maneuvered into a sitting position, but she didn’t try to stand up. He didn’t think she could walk.
    Now what?
    He was going to have to carry this old lady to the evacuation center. He couldn’t leave her here, so his plan for the night was screwed. He’d have to wait to see Helena. His heart sank at the realization. She probably thought she didn’t need him. He wanted to prove her wrong. He wanted to win her back.
    He wanted to win.
    With each passing moment, he felt her slipping out of his grasp.
    But unless he found someone else to take care of Louise, she was his responsibility. He couldn’t abandon her, the way his father had abandoned him and his mother. Mitch was struck by a fresh wave of guilt for abandoning Helena.
    So he picked up Louise, with some difficulty, and headed toward the door.

CHAPTER FOUR
    G WEN STAYED UP all night again.
    She figured she could sleep during the day, after the new volunteers