Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series Page 10

  “Nobody move just yet, okay?” Desh instructed. “It will be better not to stand until there is sufficient light. Much of this debris is probably very dangerous.”

  Desh and Haruo were the first to find their feet. She couldn’t be sure in the faint light, but it almost seemed as if the refrigerator was half as tall as it had been when they entered. It took a few minutes of shifting objects around in the dark, and the sounds of metal scraping against metal, but eventually, Haruo was able to force the walk-in refrigerator’s door open. A shaft of light had Abigail squinting and she ducked her head to give her eyes a moment to adjust. After Justin had the wailing toddler standing and balanced, he helped Abigail stand up next to him. When she could focus, her gaze traveled first to Justin and then to the child at his knee. Like Justin’s head, the toddler’s beautiful red curls were mud spattered and matted.

  Abigail shifted her gaze out the door. Where there had once been ceiling, sky now filled the vista. The reality of what they’d just endured was slow to sink in.

  Hard to believe. Almost . . . dreamlike.

  Dully, Abigail’s gaze drifted back to Justin. “Do I look as alien as you?” she asked, touching first the layer of mud on her face and then, the toddler’s curls.

  Squinting, he studied her. With the back of his finger, he reached up and stroked her jaw and up over her cheek. Then, he plucked some straw out of her hair. “Wow.” He glanced around. “Wow.”

  She followed the path of his gaze with her own. “Yeah, wow,” she breathed. It was as if a colossal sledgehammer had attacked the restaurant and flattened everything but the reinforced refrigerator.

  Haruo was the first one to venture out the door. It seemed as if he had to climb through a maze that was something akin to a child’s fast-food restaurant jungle-gym, before he finally called back that he was standing on solid ground. After a full minute, he returned and peered back into the refrigerator. “You will want to be extremely careful when you come out. It is not—” there was a catch in his voice, “—it is not . . . the same.”

  Desh decided it would be prudent for him to go next. That way, Chaz and Justin could help the women and children from behind, and he and Haruo could assist from outside. Jen made it out first. Then, one at a time, everyone else traversed the twisted exit, only to emerge gasping at the sight that met their eyes. Abigail waited for Justin and they came out together. Their entire group stood in silhouette against the setting sun, a bedraggled collection of shock and awe, taking in their first glimpses of the holocaust.

  Abigail fumbled for Justin’s arm, which he slipped around her waist, correctly sensing that she could use the support.

  “Gone,” she gasped, and stared agog at the ruin that evoked images of Hiroshima.

  “Yeah.” Slowly, they turned in a full circle and were stunned to discover that they’d stepped out of a time machine and onto another planet. For there, as far as the eye could see, was nothing but a flat, sprawling field strewn with rubble.

  “Look,” she whimpered and pointed and then pressed her face into Justin’s chest.

  The Quick In Go was gone.

  Not flattened. Not in tatters.

  Gone.

  Only the concrete pad remained. If Haruo hadn’t come for them, they’d all have certainly perished. Abigail could feel Justin’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Thank God,” he breathed into her hair and held her ever tighter.

  The rest of the Rawston Market strip mall’s shops were in various stages of carnage. The refrigerator was all that was left of the Sakura Gardens. Tantastic had a partial interior wall left standing. Across the parking lot, the front wall and roof of the Tripoli Cleaners was missing, but Chaz said his brother had decided not to come in to work, because of the storm, so for that, he was praising God. The Pump was a pile of rubble.

  Not one car that had been in the parking lot was drivable. Most were upside down or on their sides. Some were just plain gone. Storm sirens were still sounding and security systems and car horns blared, waiting for their wires to be cut or their batteries to die, whichever came first. The smells of splintered lumber and broken gas lines were the most powerful. Twisted metal, shattered glass, mud and slime everywhere. Whole buildings looked as if they’d been put through a wood chipper.

  It completely short-circuited Abigail’s brain. Her ability to think a rational thought was gone, rendering her capable of uttering only squeaks and gasps and guttural sobs as she clutched Justin’s shirt and attempted to remain vertical. Her knees felt like rotting tomatoes, and even blinking had become a chore. Eyes glassy with shock, she stared at pieces of what had once amounted to someone’s life. The hours and energy it took to build—shattered in a matter of moments.

  She felt . . . violated. As if she’d been robbed of the padding between life and death. Now, there was simply a razor’s edge, it seemed, between her . . . and this.

  What was the point? Build and work and study and for what? For this?

  The tornado may have gone, and the sky may have cleared, but it left its darkness behind and took her confidence with it.

  Dazed, Abigail bent down and pulled a scrap of tattered white lace from where it was caught on a shard of metal and absently wondered if it had come from the cleaners. Could it be a piece of Kaylee’s dress? The beadwork was beautiful. An hour ago, it had been something that someone cherished. And now? Now it was a picture of their lives.

  Shredded hopes. Shattered dreams. Something once bright and shiny and full of promise. She swallowed at the lump in her throat that was leavened and rising with depression. Over here was the scrap of a red and gold silk curtain from the Sakura Garden. She plucked it up and ran her fingers over the dragon pattern. Over there was a baby’s blanket. Where could that have come from?

  Everywhere, tatters of the fabric of life fluttered. Drawn to them, Abigail gathered and grieved. To whom had they belonged? What had become of their lives? How would they begin to recover? To replace? To rebuild? It all seemed so utterly hopeless.

  She tucked the scraps into her pockets and tried to calm the panic that swirled in her stomach with deep, measured breaths. Justin moved to her side and instinctively rubbed the knotted muscles in her neck. She leaned into his hands, thankful for the strength and warmth. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and the wind had died. And to add to the surreality, a bright, double rainbow arced against the huge black cloud that had packed up and headed east.

  Kaylee was relieved to discover the Rawston Common’s apartment complex basement stood the test of time, and everyone who had taken shelter there would live to deal with the massive clean-up. Mama and Aunt Lydia had been amazing, singing gospel tunes in their beautiful two-part harmonies to boost the morale of Kaylee’s neighbors just before the storm hit. And, when the storm arrived, they’d clung to Kaylee and prayed over her and all the good folks who were weathering this tempest down there with them.

  Kaylee had never been so glad to be in her mama’s arms as she had when she’d heard the twister slam into the building. As it was, she was in great shape, unless she counted getting smacked in the side by a slab of slate on her way across the parking lot. Her arm hurt like the dickens, and Mama was certain it was broken, possibly in several places.

  Everyone had insisted that the laundry room was the best place to weather the storm. But, miraculously, the fact that her landlord hadn’t gotten around to fixing a leaky washing machine had probably saved their lives. The floor in the laundry room had been wet for several weeks and begun to smell seriously rank, like a pile of damp towels that had been left in a wad for a week. It was because of the smell and inconvenient dampness more than anything that all fifty-three units’ worth of tenants who’d been home at the time had chosen the opposite end of the basement to gather and huddle. Chaz had been right. The windowless furnace room had been the only safe spot. And, though they’d been clobbered with the ceiling tiles and insulation, the floor above had not caved in.

  Not the way it had in the laundry room.r />
  When the wind had finally let go of Bob Ray, it dropped him like a bowling ball, and he’d scrambled back under the bar to avoid being pummeled by debris. There, he’d crouched while the storm completed its demolition and moved on down the road. After a brief inventory he decided that—aside from a pretty intense headache and some serious scrapes and cuts—he was good. Physically, anyway. Over the ringing in his ears, he could hear water rushing. And then, someone crying out for help. Somehow, a pool table had ended up on its side and boxed him in. It had probably protected him from the mirrored walls that had been the Low Places’s trademark.

  Sitting up against the bar and using his legs, he leveraged the pool table away. Bits of dirt and broken glass, 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 space 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 muffled 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 pronounced. “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 glass 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-shirt 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-glass 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 mío,” 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 mía . . .”

  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.

&
nbsp; “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 . . .”