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Zack Morris, with his signature smirk barely containing his mischievous glint, strains under the weight of an enormous, ridiculously ornate baby basket. It's woven from delicate willow, painted a pastel yellow, and overflowing with an absurd amount of baby paraphernalia. Tiny, impossibly soft blankets in cream and pale blue cascade over the sides, nestled amongst plush stuffed animals – a wide-eyed giraffe, a floppy-eared bunny, and a chubby-cheeked teddy bear. Miniature bottles, their nipples still pristine, peek out from a sea of disposable diapers. There are tiny, pastel-colored onesies, folded meticulously, and even a small, decorative mobile with smiling felt stars and moons.
Tucked amongst the baby items are a few "pregnant lady" essentials: a large, fluffy, maternity pillow shaped like a crescent moon, a box of antacids, and a collection of serene-looking pregnancy magazines, with a champagne bottle thrown into the mix. Beside him, A.C. Slater, usually the picture of effortless strength, is also visibly struggling. His biceps bulge against the sleeves of his Bayside letterman jacket as he grunts, his grip tight on the other side of the massive basket.
"Seriously, Morris," he wheezes, his voice strained, "whose idea was it to get a basket this big? It's like we're delivering a whole nursery!"
Zack, despite the exertion, manages a grin. "Hey, it's for Becky Belding! Only the best for the future Bayside mascot! Besides, imagine her face when she sees all this."
They navigate the bustling school hallway with comical difficulty, bumping into lockers and eliciting amused glances from passing students. The sheer size of their offering necessitates a rather unconventional mode of transport. They arrive at the old, industrial-looking freight elevator, its metal doors scarred with years of use. It’s usually reserved for weighty deliveries or maintenance equipment, but today, it’s pressed into service for a very special occasion.
Just as Zack fumbles with the archaic call button, a round, cheerful-looking woman with a glowing smile, her belly a prominent testament to her impending motherhood, waddles towards them. It's Becky Belding, Principal Belding's wife, her usual polite demeanor softened by the delightful curve of her pregnancy. She wears a comfortable, flowing maternity dress in a soft floral print.
"Oh, you boys are here!" Becky exclaims, her voice a warm melody. "Thank goodness for this old elevator. I swear, these stairs are getting steeper by the day!" She pats her belly affectionately. "Little Belding is already a rule-breaker, making me take the freight elevator." She chuckles, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
The freight elevator is indeed bending the rules, taking Becky up to Mr. Belding's spare office – a space that, in truth, is little more than a glorified custodian's closet on the second floor. It was once a dusty, forgotten corner of the library, but today, thanks to the gang's tireless efforts, it's been transformed into an impromptu baby shower venue. Streamers in pastel blues and pinks are strung haphazardly across the low ceiling, and a small, rickety table in the corner holds a collection of half-eaten cupcakes and a punch bowl.
The heavy doors groan open, revealing a cavernous, dimly lit interior. The air inside smells faintly of old machinery and dust. Zack and Slater carefully maneuver the colossal basket into the elevator, the dolly's wheels screeching faintly against the metal floor. Becky, with a graceful waddle, steps in after them, her presence filling the space with a comforting warmth. The doors slide shut with a low thud, plunging them into a slightly claustrophobic quiet.
Slater, ever the considerate one, turns to Becky, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "So, Mrs. Belding, how are you and the little one doing? Everything alright?" His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous tone.
Becky smiles, her hand resting instinctively on her belly. "We're doing wonderfully, thank you, Slater. Richard and I are just a little tired but eager to meet our newest addition."
The words are barely out of her mouth when a low, guttural rumble vibrates through the floor of the elevator. It's a deep, unsettling sound that seems to come from the very core of the earth. The light fixture above them flickers wildly, then goes out entirely, plunging them into a momentary, disorienting darkness. A sudden, violent jolt throws them off balance. The entire elevator car shudders violently, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. A piercing, metallic shriek echoes through the confined space as the cables above groan under immense strain.
"Whoa! What was that?" Zack yelps, grabbing onto the cold metal railing for support. The baby basket, surprisingly resilient, slides a few inches across the floor.
"Earthquake!" Slater shouts, his voice tight with alarm. "Get down!"
The shaking intensifies, a terrifying, bone-rattling tremor that seems to shake the very foundations of the school. The entire building groans and protests, a cacophony of creaking wood and shifting metal. Inside the elevator, the three are tossed about like rag dolls, their shouts swallowed by the terrifying roar of the quake. Becky cries out, clutching her belly, her face paling.
Meanwhile, on the second floor, in what passes for Mr. Belding’s spare office, Lisa Turtle and Screech Powers are in the midst of adorning the makeshift baby shower with more streamers. Lisa, with her usual flair, is attempting to drape a long, pink ribbon across the doorway when the first tremor hits. The streamer slips from her grasp.
"What in the world?" Lisa exclaims, her eyes wide with surprise.
Screech, ever observant, points a trembling finger. "Lisa! Earthquake! Doorway! Now!"
His voice is high-pitched with urgency. They both instinctively dive for the sturdy wooden frame of the doorway, their hands bracing against the sides, their faces etched with fear as the room around them rattles violently. A vase of wilting flowers on the small table topples over, shattering with a sharp crack. The streamers sway wildly, looking like frantic, colorful snakes. Downstairs, in the echoing expanse of the girls' locker room, Tori Scott is enjoying a quick, refreshing shower after a strenuous gym class. The rhythmic drumming of the water against the tiled walls is suddenly interrupted by the ominous rumble. She feels the floor beneath her feet tremble, and the showerhead above her begins to spray erratically.
"What the heck?" Tori mutters, her brow furrowed.
She quickly shuts off the water, the sudden silence amplified by the growing roar of the earthquake. The tiles around her seem to ripple and shift. With remarkable speed and an athlete's instinct, Tori leaps out of the shower, not bothering to grab her clothes. She runs, dripping wet, towards the nearest doorway – the entrance to the row of showers. She braces herself, her arms outstretched against the frame, just as a terrifying sound rips through the air. A whole row of metal lockers, already precariously balanced against the far wall, begins to tilt.
They sway violently, then slowly, agonizingly, begin to collapse inward, a terrifying cascade of screeching metal and dull thuds. Tori watches, her heart pounding against her ribs, as the heavy lockers crash to the floor just feet from where she stands, sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air. She remains in her towel, completely exposed but utterly focused on survival, her muscles tensed, ready to move at a moment's notice.
The relentless shaking finally begins to subside, slowly at first, then fades into a lingering tremor that eventually dies out. A heavy, almost eerie silence descends upon the school, broken only by the distant wail of a car alarm and the nervous murmurs of students.
Inside the dark, confined space of the freight elevator, the air is thick with dust and the lingering scent of ozone. Zack, still clinging to the railing, takes a shaky breath.
"Everyone alright?" he calls out, his voice hoarse.
He fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a clunky, black brick phone with a long antenna, a marvel of portable communication for 1992. The small, green screen flickers uselessly. No signal.
"Forget the phone," Zack mutters, frustrated. "It's dead in here." Then, a thought strikes him. "Wait, I've got something."
Given the recent uptick in earthquake drills at Bayside, Zack, ever prepared (or perhaps just hoping to impress someone), had actually remembered to bring a sturdy, metal flashlight with him today. He pulls it from his backpack and clicks it on. An intense, focused beam of light cuts through the gloom, illuminating Becky's pale, but open, eyes. She nods weakly.
"I think so," Becky whispers, her hand still protectively over her belly. Slater is already kneeling beside her, checking her over with gentle, reassuring hands.
"Alright," Zack says, his voice gaining a semblance of his usual confidence, though a tremor still runs through him.
The flashlight beam sweeps across the dusty emergency panel. "We're stuck. Time to call for help." He points the beam at the elevator’s emergency call button, a small, red button set into the grime-streaked metal. He presses it firmly, and a faint, crackling sound emanates from a small speaker embedded above the button.
"Hello? Bayside High maintenance," a gruff voice crackles through the speaker.
"Yeah, hi, this is Zack Morris," Zack explains, trying to sound calm, but his voice is still tight and has a residual fear. "I'm stuck in the freight elevator on the second floor with Slater and Mrs. Belding. The earthquake just hit, and the elevator stopped. We're good, but we need someone to get us out."
"Understood, Morris. We're checking everything out. Sit tight, we'll get you out as soon as possible." The voice sounds professional, but Zack can hear the underlying strain.
"Thanks," Zack mutters, then glances at Slater and Becky, sweeping the flashlight beam over them. "They're on it. We just gotta sit tight."
Minutes stretch into an eternity. The silence in the elevator is punctuated only by their nervous breathing and the occasional creaks and groans of the building settling after the quake. The flashlight beam, held steadily by Zack, provides a small, comforting circle of light. Just as a fragile sense of calm begins to settle, a new, far more terrifying sound erupts. It’s a low, resonant growl that rapidly escalates into a deafening roar.
This isn’t an aftershock; this is a whole 'nother quake, a "mega-quake" as Zack would later call it. The elevator car is ripped from its fragile stillness. It lurches violently, then begins to fall, dropping several feet with a gut-wrenching plunge before the emergency brakes screech to a halt, sending a shower of sparks from the ceiling. The force of the jolt is immense, throwing them all against the walls. The baby basket topples over, scattering its contents across the floor. The flashlight clatters from Zack's hand, rolling into a dark corner, plunging them into a terrifying, pulsating darkness once more.
Becky screams, a raw, guttural sound of agony that sends a chill down Zack's spine. She clutches her belly with both hands, her face contorted in pain.
"Mrs. Belding! Are you okay?" Slater cries, struggling to regain his footing as the elevator continues to sway and jolt with the relentless aftershocks.
Becky cries out again, her voice strained. "The baby! Oh, the baby!" She's doubled over now, tears streaming down her face. She looks up at them, her eyes wide with a mixture of pain and desperate urgency. "The shaking... it's... it's broken my floodgates! My baby is coming now!" Her voice is a desperate gasp, each word punctuated by a spasm of pain.