As he lay pinned by a concrete slab on his chest, Yuan Jiang heard the stuttering beep of the alarm clock on his cell phone, the only thing helping him keep track of time while trapped in a collapsed office building.
Once a day, from somewhere in the wreckage, it sounded at 8 a.m., the time he normally woke up, letting him know another day had passed. In between, the 37-year-old marketing executive shouted for help, talked with two co-workers buried elsewhere in the rubble, thought about his wife and daughter -- and waited for the alarm.
It rang three times.
Once a day, from somewhere in the wreckage, it sounded at 8 a.m., the time he normally woke up, letting him know another day had passed. In between, the 37-year-old marketing executive shouted for help, talked with two co-workers buried elsewhere in the rubble, thought about his wife and daughter -- and waited for the alarm.
It rang three times.
"I just waited and waited and waited for somebody to come," said Yuan, who was freed from the wreckage almost 72 hours after the devastating earthquake flattened his hometown of Beichuan.
While the powerful May 12 quake obliterated communities in a swath of China, 6,375 people were pulled alive from the rubble -- victories amid a death toll projected to rise past 50,000. State media have cheered the rescues.
Yuan suffered light injuries, fractures to his chest, a torn left ear, a bruised right eye, a chunk of scalp torn away and now bandaged.
His 10-year-old daughter lived, but his wife is buried under their home and presumed dead. "My wife is gone," he said from his hospital bed.
Beichuan is so wrecked that officials are talking about rebuilding on a new site, leaving the mounds of ruins as a monument to the thousands dead and the quake-shattered lives of its remaining 30,000 people. While rescue workers kept up a methodical hunt for survivors in recent days, fewer searched Tuesday, the pace slowing nine days after the quake.
Down the block from the now listing six-story Beichuan Hotel, Yuan was meeting with 20 others at his telecommunications company's sixth floor office on May 12 when the building shook. At least eight of them rushed to a stairwell but made it only one floor down before everything crumbled.
A nearby wall splintered, shooting off a chunk of debris wide enough to cover Yuan from his stomach to his neck and pinning him to the floor. He could not move, but was wedged at an angle he could still take shallow, painful breaths in the hot, dusty air. His glasses were smashed, leaving him unable to see much beyond a few feet.
"I shouted until I had no more strength left," Yuan said Tuesday, his voice still hoarse. "I just wanted to escape."
In between his own screams, he heard others and recognized their voices, two co-workers, screaming "Help! Help!" They called to each other, talking about their injuries, and figured out where each was. One was on the floor above Yuan, the other on the floor below.
Continue...
While the powerful May 12 quake obliterated communities in a swath of China, 6,375 people were pulled alive from the rubble -- victories amid a death toll projected to rise past 50,000. State media have cheered the rescues.
Yuan suffered light injuries, fractures to his chest, a torn left ear, a bruised right eye, a chunk of scalp torn away and now bandaged.
His 10-year-old daughter lived, but his wife is buried under their home and presumed dead. "My wife is gone," he said from his hospital bed.
Beichuan is so wrecked that officials are talking about rebuilding on a new site, leaving the mounds of ruins as a monument to the thousands dead and the quake-shattered lives of its remaining 30,000 people. While rescue workers kept up a methodical hunt for survivors in recent days, fewer searched Tuesday, the pace slowing nine days after the quake.
Down the block from the now listing six-story Beichuan Hotel, Yuan was meeting with 20 others at his telecommunications company's sixth floor office on May 12 when the building shook. At least eight of them rushed to a stairwell but made it only one floor down before everything crumbled.
A nearby wall splintered, shooting off a chunk of debris wide enough to cover Yuan from his stomach to his neck and pinning him to the floor. He could not move, but was wedged at an angle he could still take shallow, painful breaths in the hot, dusty air. His glasses were smashed, leaving him unable to see much beyond a few feet.
"I shouted until I had no more strength left," Yuan said Tuesday, his voice still hoarse. "I just wanted to escape."
In between his own screams, he heard others and recognized their voices, two co-workers, screaming "Help! Help!" They called to each other, talking about their injuries, and figured out where each was. One was on the floor above Yuan, the other on the floor below.
Continue...
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