Beyond The Storm Part 8

Sitting up against the bar and using his legs, he leveraged the pool table away. Bits of dirt and broken gla.s.s, like glitter, rained down on his head. "Can anybody hear me?" he shouted. His heart was still hammering and his breathing was as labored as if he'd run a marathon. On his hands and knees now, he crawled out of the tiny s.p.a.ce that had saved his life and, using what was left of the pool table for balance, managed to stand. At the shocking sight that met his eyes, his jaw fell slack, and he swore under his breath.

As if it had been in a four-lane car crash, the building was totaled. Beyond repair. No, make that beyond recognition. Slowly, Bob Ray turned in a circle, trying to take in the unbelievable devastation. Rubble was the only word he could think of to describe what had become of Low Places. Everywhere he looked there were piles of splintered wood and broken bricks.

His gaze flitted from one unrecognizable pile to the next until something had him doing a double take. Knees buckling, Bob Ray stumbled back, recoiling and gasping as his heart clawed its way into his throat. A body. A dead body.

He knew this guy was deceased. Didn't take a rocket coroner to figure that one out. Still, he forced himself to venture forth to feel for a pulse. He'd been right. Dead. When he stepped back, he saw another body. And then another.

Tears coursed down his cheeks. He knew these guys. Played pool with them mere hours ago. Scoped out the women with them. It could have been him. It should have been him. Why wasn't it . . . him?

A cry sounded from somewhere amid the rubble. Bob Ray was afraid to move for fear he'd step on somebody. "Is anybody else in here?" he shouted.

"Here!" The m.u.f.fled cries of several men sounded from where the bathroom used to be. "Here! Over here! We're under here!"

Bob Ray was glad that the sun was still high enough to give him a little light. Driven by terror, he was able to muscle far more weight than he'd have thought himself capable of, even on a good day. He tossed aside several heavy timbers and more than a little brick. Beneath the wreckage was a pocket, supported by toilet stalls. Huddled inside, there were at least four men and two women crouching in various stages of shock.

Bob Ray reached in and pulled a woman out first, and soon they were all upright and had staunched the blood flowing from various wounds. The folks that were able began an organized rescue effort and were soon frantically helping Bob Ray search the debris for more of the lucky ones. The second restroom yielded another half dozen survivors, several of whom needed to be transferred to the hospital as soon as possible. One man quickly cleaned out an area for triage, and the badly wounded were able to lie down while being tended to by those more fortunate.

Eventually, working together, the men were able to lift a ceiling beam and dig out the closet that Bob Ray had been beating on and begging Renee to let him enter. Once the door was removed, the men who'd arrived reached in to begin pulling people out. One at a time, bodies emerged until all three were laid out side by side.

"They're all gone," one rescuer p.r.o.nounced. "Dead. Beam got 'em." He gestured to the huge timber they'd pulled off the closet.

Trembling, Bob Ray stared at the ghoulish scene. If the redhead who lay staring sightlessly up at him had had a heart, Bob Ray wouldn't be standing there right now. Turning, he braced his hands on his knees and wretched until his stomach was empty.

Using her head, as well as her arms, Heather pushed back the lid of the baptismal and peered out into the sanctuary. The first thing she noticed was that the beautiful stained gla.s.s windows were gone. Such a pity. But, beyond some corner roof damage, the old stone building seemed to be amazingly solid.

Gently pulling her T-s.h.i.+rt over Robbie's head, she unzipped him and left him asleep where he lay. Then, Heather climbed out of the baptistery and moved to the gaping arch where a beautiful stained-gla.s.s rainbow, dove and olive-branch pattern window had once been the building's crowning glory. Ironically, a real rainbow had taken its place, off in the distance. As near as she could figure, her single-wide mobile home lay somewhere in that unrecognizable pile of rubble.

Her heart clutched as she wondered . . . what had happened to Danny?

The last time Selma had ridden out a tornado, their house had spun off like a scene out of the Wizard of Oz. So, she didn't have very high expectations when she and Guadalupe ventured up out of the storm shelter that Clyde had labored over so many years ago. Weeks later, she'd tell people that the only word that would cover her reaction now was shock.

For not only was the house still standing, but the electricity was on. The stack of magazines she'd left on the table was still arranged in a tidy pile. Every drop of her chamomile tea was still waiting for her in the delicate, bone china cup. Beyond the front window, aside from the car parked on her neighbor's roof, her entire block seemed to have been largely spared.

"Dios mio," Guadalupe murmured, lapsing into her native language, "Gracias, gracias, gracias." Together, the women moved to the porch to join the neighbors already congregating in the streets and comparing storm notes.

"They're saying on the radio," said the woman who owned the new rooftop garage, "that Old Town is gone."

"No!" Selma pressed a fist to her chest. She didn't want to believe it, but knew it must be true. Her precious quilt shop was her livelihood. No. No. Forgive me, Father. You are my livelihood. The quilt shop was just a hobby.

"The high school?" Guadalupe demanded. "Was the high school damaged?"

The neighbor nodded. "News is still coming in on the casualties."

"Madre, madre mia . . ."

Selma reached to steady Guadalupe, who rocked on her feet. "Now, Guadalupe," she said, matter-of-factly, "let's not borrow trouble. Instead, you start praying, and I'll get the Olds and drive us down there."

"Uh . . . Abby?" Jen's voice had an odd quality that had Abigail and Justin turning around. She'd walked away from the group and was standing by herself.

"Jen? Are you okay?"

"Well . . . I'm not sure, being that I'm new to all this and everything, but I'm thinking my water just broke."

11.

7:34 p.m.

Jaw slack, Abigail glanced first to Jen, then to Justin, and then back at Jen.

"You are kidding, right?"

"Well," Jen admitted with a sheepish grimace, "I was definitely scared enough to wet my pants, but I'm reasonably sure I didn't."

For Jen to have to endure labor pains, out here in the dark and the dirt and the danger and this . . . this . . . she brushed her hands on her pants . . . stuff, was unthinkable. There would only be enough light for another hour at the very most. The batteries in their flashlights wouldn't last all night long either.

"We gotta find Danny," Justin muttered and glanced at his watch.

Over in the parking lot, the homeless guy had spotted a lawn chair perched on top of-or at the bottom of, depending on the viewpoint-a rolled minivan. Seemingly without a thought for his personal safety, he climbed the wobbly rig, slip-sliding as he fumbled his way to the top. There, he doggedly worked the lawn chair loose from a tangle of wire and tree limbs. When he returned, he planted it on solid ground a good distance away from the rest of the group, where worries about loved ones and personal property were being hashed out, and small children fretted and cried.

"My lady? Your throne awaits." He stepped back with a flourish and bowed.

As she hobbled over to take a seat, Jen played along with him and asked, "What is your name, good sir?"

"Bernard, ma'am. But you can call me Bernie."

"Thank you very much, Bernie."

"Anytime, Missus." He held his arms out. "The world is my castle. So, you just sit and take a load off. That's what I always do after a long day." It was clear he was trying hard to cheer her up.

Jen reached out and clasped his filthy hand. "You're a real blessing to me, Bernie." Her sweet words took Bernie aback. Chin quivering, his smile revealed a number of missing teeth.

"Well now, don't that beat all? And here I was, a-thinkin' that 'bout you."

There was a lump in Abigail's throat as she smiled over at Justin. Expression soft, he winked at her as the old guy shuffled off, no doubt to unearth more treasure.

Justin reached for Abigail's hand. "Can I have a quick word with you?" He smiled down at Jen. "You relax while we try to figure out what to do now." Jen nodded as they walked over to join Desh, Haruo and Chaz, who were deep in a conversation about safety issues and where they should all go from here. So far, the chances of getting help right away seemed pretty grim.

"Jen is in labor," Justin told them.

The men all exchanged worried glances.

"Isuzu and Mieko have been dialing 911 nonstop and can't get through on any of our phones," Chaz said and rubbed his jaw. "The storm must have taken a cell tower down, because I can't seem to get a hold of anybody about getting Jen out of here. I don't know what else to do. The streets are filled with trees and cars and . . ." he gestured off to the street, "and . . . buildings . . ."

Desh cast a worried glance out to where Chaz pointed and said, "Since we've been standing here, not one vehicle of any kind has pa.s.sed. Perhaps this is because all the roads around here are backed up with debris."

"I'm sure you're right," Justin agreed and absently ran a hand over his chest. "My truck is missing, but even if it was here and worked, we'd still have to wait for the heavy equipment to come and clear the roads before we could actually go anywhere."

"How long do you think that will take?" Chaz asked.

"No telling. And, even if we could get through to 911, I don't know how they'd get an ambulance to us, or even land a medevac helicopter in the middle of all this stuff. I have a sinking feeling we're going to be here for several hours . . . maybe longer. I'm no expert on tornados, but you can just tell . . ." His gaze slowly traversed the landscape. "We're not the only ones who will need an ambulance."

"True." Chaz nodded. "We're lucky, too. Rawston Market was pretty much deserted except for us. The gym, Jen's place, and our business all decided to close early for the storm. I'm pretty sure that everybody who was in the mall at the time made it into the restaurant with us." Haruo and Desh agreed.

"There was n.o.body left at the lumberyard, either," Justin said. "Everyone was out on deliveries or out on a jobsite, working up estimates today and Danny was with Heather and Robbie before we lost contact with him."

"So," Abigail said, clearing her throat and trying to keep the terrible worry out of her voice. "We're all alone out here?"

"For now, yeah," Justin said. "Most places out here close early on Sat.u.r.day. The factory is closed on weekends, so are the banks and most of the businesses down here."

"So, we're probably going to be low on the priority list." Her shoulders flagged.

"If the most populated areas are top priority, then . . . yeah."

A short while later, after tossing around a number of different plans of attack, a fledgling scheme was formed. Before it got any darker, a now frantic Haruo and Mieko had decided to strike out on foot and try to get to Brooke and Tyler over at the high school. Since the young mother and her three children lived over in the neighborhood behind the high school, they'd take her with them. The businessman offered to carry one of the kids. Desh was also extremely worried about the safety of his own pregnant wife and decided to set out with the middle-aged woman, because they both lived in the same general neighborhood.

Because her water had broken, everyone agreed that Jen should stay put and wait for a ride to the hospital. Walking any distance in the dark, in her present condition, would be too dangerous. Everyone else would stay with Jen.

En route, the ones who'd left would all search for someone to come and pick up Jen just as soon as possible. It was the only logical plan. Then, as if they were all long-lost friends, everyone hugged each other good-bye and shed a few emotional tears. They thanked Haruo for his wisdom and generosity and vowed to stay in touch.

They also took two of Desh's three flashlights.

That left only one flashlight and a crew of Isuzu, Chaz, Justin, and Abigail to care for Jen. And, of course, Bernie. If he was even still around. Abigail's stomach lurched with anxiety as she wondered what the next hours would bring.

7:58 p.m.

First responders from Souths.h.i.+re and Fisher's Mill began to arrive in Rawston almost immediately, sirens screaming, flas.h.i.+ng red and blue lights, visible in the waning daylight. Selma eased over to the side of the road to let several emergency vehicles roar by. She and Guadalupe had been in the car for half an hour now and had only been able to travel a mile, maybe two, down the Souths.h.i.+re Highway. They were listening to the radio reports and growing more anxious by the moment.

". . . and authorities are warning people to find adequate shelter before dark. Right now, we can tell you that the Salvation Army, the Red Cross, and the National Guard are mobilizing and preparing to set up command posts and triage centers throughout Rawston and hope to begin offering shelter, first aid, fresh water, coffee, and myriad types of emergency a.s.sistance within the hour.

Right now, the death toll has already reached into the dozens, with hundreds injured, and more missing. Souths.h.i.+re hospital is accepting all life-threatening injuries now and sending less serious cases over to Westfield and Lost Lake . . .

We're getting reports here at K-RAW now of places hardest hit, starting with the areas first struck on Fisher's Mill Road . . ."

The road that had been barely pa.s.sable was becoming steadily clogged with traffic as folks flooded into the tornado's path, eager to offer a.s.sistance and to find loved ones. Impatiently, Selma ground her gears, searching for reverse. "Guadalupe, I'm going to do something a little bit unorthodox, and so I'm going to ask you to tighten your seat belt."

"Why?"

"Because I'm in the mood for a little off-road action," Selma grunted and, cranking the wheel, punched the accelerator till the tires squealed.

Guadalupe reached for the dashboard and braced herself. "And you think your car is up to the task?"

"It's been forty years and she hasn't failed me yet."

"Then via con Dios, mi Amiga," Guadalupe said, just before she was thrown back against her seat as they dove into a newly sprouted spring wheat field.

8:00 p.m.

While there was still some light left to navigate, Justin hiked down the street a ways in search of help. While he was gone, Abigail, Isuzu, and Chaz decided to scout around for any supplies that could come in handy while they waited for Justin to return. Isuzu went to look for bottled water, while Chaz headed off to the Cleaners to dig up some warm clothing before the temperature fell.

Abigail figured they'd all eventually need to sit down and went off in search of seating. She hadn't traveled too far when she happened upon a pile of stuff that the storm had savaged from a pet shop. Even in the fading twilight, she could see that the plastic wrapped bundle of dog beds had been cute. Doggy paw prints on fabric made for loyal friends. . . She stared at the tags on one of the tattered dog beds. PetSmart.

The closest PetSmart was at least ten miles from here. Ten long miles. A sudden rush of goose b.u.mps crawled up her spine, and she found herself battling a panic attack.

Oh, G.o.d, she wondered, how could You let something as horrific as this happen? How can you say You're a loving G.o.d and let puppies suffer like this? Why?

She was too numb to cry now, which was a good thing because she had a feeling that once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop for a long time. Abigail shook the debris off two beds for large dogs the best she could and hauled them back to where Jen waited and settled them next to Jen's chair.

"How are you doing, mama?" She hoped she sounded upbeat as she rejoined Jen. Positive. Sanguine in the face of this nightmare. She dropped down and made herself as comfortable as possible. Could Jen tell she was shaking? a.s.suming a relaxed pose, she crossed her feet at the ankles to still the tremor in her legs.

Jen's normally beautiful face was bathed in sweat and the crease between her brows stood out white against the layer of mud. "I don't feel so hot. Back in the refrigerator, something fell on Chaz and it hit me pretty hard, too, so my back aches."

"Oh." Tough to find a positive spin for that one. Abigail licked her lips and groped for something encouraging. "Try not to worry. Justin is getting help." Nervously, she tugged a sc.r.a.p of loose fabric off the dog's bed. Twisting the strip into a long rope, she tied her hair up with it and then leaned back, hoping she exuded a lot more confidence and peace than she felt. "He'll be here any second now." As if on cue, Justin returned. "See?" Abigail leapt to her feet and rushed out to meet him. "Did you find anyone to come take Jen to the hospital?" she asked quietly.

With a glance back at Jen, Justin kept his voice low. "No. I found some other folks about a block up the street. One has lost a lot of blood, two are suffering from broken bones and concussions, and some are okay. Like us, they're waiting for help to arrive, too. The good news is that one of them talked to someone who heard on a car radio that the first responders are starting to arrive from Souths.h.i.+re and Fisher's Mill. They said that Rawston EMTs have just transported the first, most seriously injured.

"This storm . . ." he swallowed and looked up at Abigail, ". . . this storm was huge. They're saying EF5."

"No," she breathed out the word in a whoosh. They stood, not speaking for a minute as they digested the magnitude of what they'd just lived through. Finally, Abigail broke the silence. "So, hey, uh . . . that whole awning permit thing?" She squinted up as the first stars began to emerge in the night sky. "No hurry, huh?"

A grin nudged his lips up, and he laughed that warm, wonderful laugh she remembered from last night. "That's good, because I have a feeling the commissioners have bigger fish to fry now."

They smiled at each other for a long moment. "I am sorry," Abigail said. "My behavior this morning was inexcusable. Especially looking back at it from this angle."

"Funny. That all seems like a lifetime ago, huh?" He grinned. "I'll forgive you if . . . you'll forgive me."

"What for?"

"I have a policy. And I violated it. For you." At her raised brow, he shrugged. "I don't date women I meet in bars. Mainly because I don't go to bars. Unless charbroiled beef is involved. And even then, it's just to eat and not to pick up women. But you . . ."

Abigail smiled. "I get it."

"Oh, good." Justin's shoulders sagged and his grin was comically sheepish. "Earlier, when you said you don't normally hang out there, I was relieved and wanted you to know that I don't either. But it came out wrong. I'm sorry."

Abigail nodded and allowed herself a second to forget the horror and simply bask in his smile. "It's okay," she whispered. Something fluttered in her stomach. He really was nice. Really and truly . . . nice. She couldn't imagine any of the men she'd dated in the past ever being as heroic as Justin had been through this ordeal. She held his gaze with her own and wondered exactly what it was that made him tick. And if he was this good looking, why wasn't he already attached? First chance she got, she'd ask Danny.

Bob Ray had hitched a ride to the edge of town with one of the guys from Low Places who'd not only survived but still had a functioning vehicle. The going had been slow and frustrating, and they'd had to stop more than once to drag stuff out of the way. Finally, when the road could take them no closer to Rawston because of wrecked cars and fallen trees, he got out, thanked his benefactor, and struck out on foot. With every step, he begged G.o.d to let Heather and his son be okay.

"Please, please, please," he chanted as he rounded the corner of Fisher's Mill Highway and turned onto Sycamore Drive, the street that led to his alma mater. Good old Rawston High School was all lit up. But not the way it used to be, back when he was playing football. This looked more like emergency lights being run by a generator. And the flas.h.i.+ng red and blues of cop cars. And ambulances. And fire trucks.

A siren squawked as an ambulance backed up and then turned and nosed out onto the road that lead to Souths.h.i.+re. Gravel shot from beneath the tires as it picked up speed and turned the siren on full blast.

Bob Ray quickened his pace. What had been going on at the school? Should have been empty, this time of night. It wasn't a game night . . . He'd broken a sweat by the time he reached the football field. Everywhere he looked there were traumatized kids, standing around dressed in formal wear, clutching their parents and each other and crying. Bob Ray blinked. Prom? Was that tonight? Ah, man. He slowed as he came into the light and sucked in a huge breath.