Desperate Creed

by Alex Kava

  Grace’s ears were slicked back and despite the noise he could hear her low whine.

  “It’s okay, girl. I’m here. You’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

  He laced his fingers between the back grate and she immediately licked them.

  A quick glance over his shoulder and he knew he was lying to her.

  Power lines danced. Branches cracked and snapped. The sky had darkened even more. It was difficult to see inside the vehicle. The air was filled with bits of debris and dirt. There was no way he was going to make it across the parking lot and inside the hotel.

  He grabbed a blanket, opened Grace’s crate from the rear. For a brief second he questioned the wisdom of a crate that opened at both ends. Convenience had been a selling point. Now all he could think about was two doors that could pop open, and his jaw clammed tight. He bundled her in it even though it was already getting warm inside. She wanted to come out and he gently held her back.

  “Stay here, girl.”

  He stuffed a towel inside, too, cushioning her until she was snug and tight. Then he closed the crate’s door, making sure it was secure despite her whimpers.

  Curtains of rain poured down. Wind gust shook the Jeep. Debris pecked at the windshield. Metal pinged as hail started falling. At first just a few, then sounded like golf balls assaulting the roof and hood.

  “It’s okay,” he kept repeating to Grace, trying to keep his voice calm.

  He threw a blanket over the crate then he crawled up, inserting his body between Grace’s shelter and the ceiling of the Jeep. He draped his torso over the hard shell, hoping to shield and secure it and Grace. His head faced the windshield and he kept it down while his legs dangled toward the tailgate.

  By now, the storm sounded like an angry beast. Creed’s ears popped. He couldn’t see Grace inside the crate underneath him, but he kept talking to her, hoping she was focusing on his voice and not the earsplitting noise roaring over them.

  The Jeep started to rock violently. He felt like he was riding a bucking bull. Riding the wrong way.

  Even with his head down he could see shadows flying by. Objects pecked at the windows. The Jeep was being pummeled. Branches continued to crash and snap, so constant now, it sounded like fireworks.

  Something ripped above him. A loud crash and a whoosh. Suddenly, he felt the rain and the wind inside the vehicle. The sunroof had blown out. Another crash and ducked his head as glass shattered against his helmet.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and kept his head down. But the force had changed. The wind inside the Jeep tried to peel him away. He could the feel the storm sucking at him, threatening to dislodge him.

  Creed held on tighter. He gripped the front seat then his fingers searched for the shoulderbelt. Awkwardly he wrapped it around his wrist. His mind flashed to the passenger in Baby Garner car. He had no idea if staying with the vehicle protected or doomed him, but he new one thing for certain. He was not leaving Grace. This monster would not separate them.

  The whistling rush of wind surrounded them now. The pressure was so intense Creed was sure his helmet wouldn’t matter because his head was going to explode. He held on as the creature’s hot breath sucked at him. It peeled his shirt off his back. Then tried to do the same with his skin. It tugged and punched at him. His bare back felt sandblasted, poked and stung by a thousand bees.

  He gritted his teeth and continued to hold on.

  Grace’s crate shifted. Now it pressed against his rib cage, digging in and threatening to cut off his breath.

  He opened his eyes and tried to look down at it. The darkness flashed like strobe lights, the lightning making everything look like it was moving in slow motion. Pieces of debris flew in the air. Some of it hitting him now that the windshield no longer was there. The rumble was so intense he could feel the vibration all through his body. Curtains of rain started filling the inside of the Jeep.

  He wanted to see if the crate beneath him. The blanket still covered it. Were the steel-grated doors still latched or had the force sucked them open. Was Grace still with him? She had to be. He’d know if she had been sucked out from under him.

  His left hand was tied to the shoulderbelt. He pushed his feet against metal frame of the Jeep to better secure himself. Then he released his right hand. He had to be sure she was okay. Even as the winds pulled at him, he twisted his arm enough to allow his hand to weave under the blanket. His fingers felt the metal grate. He poked a finger in between and almost immediately was rewarded by Grace’s soft tongue.

  A flood of relief washed over him. She was there! She was able to respond.

  “Hold on, girl,” he yelled and could hardly hear himself. It had to be almost over. “Just a few more minutes. Hang on, Grace!”

  The storm sounded like it was on top of them, snarling and clawing, poking and stabbing at his back.

  It couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t hold on for much longer.

  Just then the vehicle jolted like hitting a speed bump at sixty-miles-per-hour. It slung Creed up against the remaining roof then dropped him hard, slamming the breath right out of him. He gasped for air, his mouth sucking in dirt and choking him more than helping.

  The Jeep bounced. It skidded. Forward, backward, sideways.

  Then suddenly, they were flying.

  57

  SOUTHERN BLESSINGS

  Maggie tried to scroll through the text messages and missed calls that were coming through now, a string of pings at a time. It should have been a relief to be connected again, but each one only made her feel more helpless.

  “The mobile cell tower must be close by,” she told Frankie. “I’m getting a whole bunch of messages I missed.”

  Frankie was feeling no pain, but she was also drunk. Maggie realized the alcohol could cause dehydration. Earlier she had found a case of bottled water. The expiration date was two years ago, but everyone was parched from the stifling heat. She’d handed out bottles to the others when she distributed the packages of frozen meat. Now, she plied Frankie with water, realizing too late that the makeshift painkiller could backfire and dehydrate her.

  “I really am better with dead people,” Maggie said out loud before she could stop herself. She’d had two sips of the whiskeys hoping it would relax her and keep her from thinking how damn hot it was. Maybe it would stop her from noticing how the ceiling and walls were closing in on her.

  “I can’t drink anymore,” Frankie complained. I’ll need to pee.”

  “And that would be a good thing. It’d mean you’re hydrated.”

  Maggie saw movement in the dark. The woman who had been sitting with the teenaged boy was wandering over to them. She left the boy back in the dark while she weaved her way around the toppled support beam and the pile of debris that separated Maggie and Frankie from the others. She used her cell phone’s flashlight and stepped carefully.

  Maggie had guessed that she was maybe forty. Her shoulder long dark hair stuck to the sides of her head. She was sweating profusely. It could have been the unflattering light, but Maggie thought the woman’s eyes looked glassy and her skin pasty.

  The woman waited until she was a foot away before she greeted them, and then it was only a head nod.

  “I understand you’re an FBI agent?”

  Maggie bit back a grimace. Good ole Beth—“we all have secrets, Beth”—sure didn’t keep that secret for long.

  “My name’s Maggie,” she said instead of confirming or denying. “This is Frankie. What’s you’re name?”

  The woman looked thrown off by the question. “It’s Stephanie. Listen, I’m not from here,” she talked fast like she didn’t have much time to say what she wanted. She brushed at the damp strands of hair on her forehead. “We were driving down from New York. We’ve been on the road for two days. We just stopped for lunch.”

  She glanced back at her son. He was on his own cell phone. Maggie suspected he was fourteen or fifteen. Now that they had mobile service, he looked content. From what Maggie remembered o
f the pair, the son had been the one leading her to safety while Stephanie had been paralyzed by her panic.

  “We can’t be here,” the woman said, addressing Maggie as though she were a retail clerk at a return counter. “We’re supposed to be in Gulf Shores, Alabama. We should have been there by now.”

  Maggie didn’t respond. It was possible the woman was in shock and didn’t realize what she was saying. Maggie waited. She wasn’t sure what Stephanie from New York was expecting her to do. She heard Frankie snort an exasperated laugh. The woman noticed.

  “Can’t you do something?” she finally asked Maggie, still using that impatient tone. “I don’t think these men know what they’re doing. Is there anyone even trying to get us out of here? I don’t know who to text or call. But you must?”

  “Stephanie, there are rescue crews.”

  “Oh thank God! I thought so!”

  “But they’ve had to pull back.”

  “What? No!”

  “Just until these next storms go through the area. It’s too dangerous for them to be out in the open.”

  “More storms?” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe it. “This is the most godforsaken part of the country I’ve ever been to. I can’t believe this. Who lives like this? I swear I’m never coming here again.”

  “I tell you what, Stephanie, I’ll let you know when I know more,” Maggie told the woman, reminding herself, yet again, that she really was better at crime scenes. The dead were never this demanding.

  Instead of watching Stephanie shuffle her way back, Maggie returned to her messages.

  “Did you notice she didn’t once ask if I was okay?” Frankie said, her tone unusually sober.

  “Yes. And I also noticed you didn’t offer her any of your whiskey.”

  “Don’t need to. She’s already on something. I’ve seen her popping pills a couple of times.”

  Maggie glanced at the woman again. That could explain the glassy eyes and the unrealistic perception of her own surroundings. She couldn’t worry about it right now. She scrolled to the first text message from Agent Alonzo. She wanted to read his in the order he sent them.

  HE’S DEFINITELY THERE.

  The second one read:

  STILL HASN’T LEFT.

  The third:

  I’M EMAILING WHAT I’VE FOUND ON CARSON MILLS. LOTS OF GOVERNMENT SUPPORT.

  And a fourth:

  2 OUT OF 4 SEPARATE LAWSUIT LITIGANTS HAVE DIED FROM “UNFORTUNATE ACCIDENTS.” I’M DIGGING DEEPER.

  The fifth one read:

  MAGGIE, YOU OK? I JUST SAW THE DAMAGE.

  And the last:

  LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OK.

  She tapped out a message telling him she was fine, but they were trapped underneath the restaurant.

  His response was immediate:

  DAMN! ANYTHING I CAN DO?

  Before she could type another message she stopped. She smelled something. More gas fumes? No. It was something else. Sulfur? Smoke?

  “What is it?” Frankie asked, alarmed by Maggie expression.

  “I think something might be on fire.”

  58

  SOUTHERN BLESSINGS

  Maggie left Frankie so she could investigate. The water was getting higher. She still couldn’t figure out where it was coming in. Halfway to the stairs she practically ran into Hank. In the halo of the flashlight’s beam the man’s eyes were bulging, even more pronounced by the sunken, dark circles under them.

  “Something’s on fire up above,” he told her.

  He said it so loud she could hear gasps around her coming from the dark.

  “Fire! What are you talking about?” Stephanie was on her feet.

  “And there’s a tornado on the ground just ten miles south of us,” Beth said without looking up at them, her head bent over her phone.

  Gus came down the steps. It occurred to Maggie that she hadn’t seen him or the other two men she had nicknamed Polo Shirt and Loverboy. She had heard them at the top of stairs, but she couldn’t tell what they were doing. She remembered now how the stairwell wasn’t a straight-shot down. It was an L with a landing in between two sets of stairs.

  “What are they doing to the door?” Maggie asked. “Did they accidently create some sparks? There could be gas from broken lines on the other side.”

  She tried to study Gus’ face, thinking at this point Hank was too upset to read. She expected Gus to be the exact opposite. The man had been calm and composed and totally unreadable since the storm hit. But now, she could see his jaw was clenched, his hands balled up into fists.

  It was Hank who answered while one side of his mouth twitched. “I told them to be careful. They could have ignited something. They’ve only made such a small hole. I don’t see how it could have.”

  She glanced back at Gus and caught him checking his watch. Only then did she realize it was a smartwatch like Frankie wore. But he wasn’t checking the time. She could glimpse a message across the square face, a miniature screen. He was receiving messages without having to use his phone. Convenience or did it allow him a level of secrecy. It didn’t matter, because now he was clearly rattled. He ripped a cell phone from his back pocket, started tapping away in a frenzy. When he noticed Maggie watching, he turned his back to her and walked off into a dark corner.

  Maggie pulled out her own phone and called Ryder. Even if the rescuers had to back off because of the approaching storm, he might still know what’s going on. It rang for a long time then went to voice messaging. She asked him to call her as soon as possible.

  She tucked the phone into her back pocket, no longer caring who saw the shoulder harness and gun tucked under her arm. She had tried to be discrete letting the lightweight shirttails cover it. But the shirt was drenched in sweat now, as was her T-shirt.

  She hated feeling so completely helpless. As long as she took control and guided the others she could keep the claustrophobia at bay. The dim light and the dark corners only made it worse. And then for the first time she noticed something else. Her breathing was a bit labored. The air was getting thinner.

  Maggie whipped her phone back out. She tapped out a message to Ryder. She sent one to Jason, too. Then she waited.

  59

  CREED DIDN’T REMEMBER blacking out. He woke with a jerk. Cold water lapped against him. His eyes blinked. The lids scraped like sandpaper. It hurt to breathe.

  He tried to keep his eyes open. The world looked upside down.

  He remembered Grace’s crate underneath him, pressing against his ribs. Now, it was up on top of him. The floor of the Jeep had replaced the roof. It was dented in, trapping him. He couldn’t move.

  “Grace!” The one word took his breath away.

  He tried to lift his head then dropped it back. It was too heavy to hold up. He still had his helmet on. He lifted his head a second time. He needed to see inside the crate.

  His wrist was caught in the seatbelt strap and he remembered wrapping it to secure himself. Now, it handcuffed him to the frame of the vehicle restraining his movement. His other hand was free, and he twisted his arm so his fingers could feel the metal grate of the crate. It was still intact. He couldn’t reach the other side to see if the rear grate was in place.

  The water was getting higher around his neck, gurgling close to his ears. From what he could tell it was starting to fill the inside of the vehicle, seeping in through the blasted out windows.

  Creed tried to move his body out from under the crate. Pain stopped him. He was pinned in.

  The water was cold against his skin. But it actually felt good, soothing his raw back. Was that really possible or was it simply shock?

  “Grace?” His voice sounded like a croak. The emotion he heard surprised him.

  If she was gone, he’d never forgive himself. She had trusted him. She depended on him to keep her safe, and he let her down.

  He laid his head back. It was too difficult to keep holding it up. The water climbed up towards his ears. His chest ached. He heard his own
rasps. He was breathing through his mouth, and it was still hard to get enough air.

  He closed his eyes. Maybe it was too difficult to care. If he’d lost Grace...

  There was motion outside of the vehicle. Boots crunched glass and sloshed through water.

  “Over here,” he heard someone yell.

  He opened his mouth to call out only to have water trickle down his throat. He choked and spit. He arched his back and tried to shove the weight off his chest.

  Nothing moved.

  And this time pain exploded inside his chest. He craned his neck, keeping his face out of the water. It hurt too much. He dropped his head back down, splashing water over his face, sucking in another mouthful. He jerked up, choking and spitting.

  The water had seeped all around his body. He no longer could hear what was happening outside. He closed his eyes and held his breath as his head fell back. Water lapped entirely over his face now. He was a good swimmer but he couldn’t this. Not with the weight of the vehicle crushing down on top of him. He wasn’t strong enough.

  His fingers still gripped the metal grate. And just then, he felt Grace’s soft tongue on his fingertips.

  He jerked his head back up, sputtering and choking.

  “Grace!”

  It took all his strength to twist and turn, but he still couldn’t see her.

  He was gulping for air when a shadow came over him. Someone was lifting the crate. From behind him he felt strong hands grabbing his shoulders and starting to pull him free.

  “Grace,” he spat out the word along with a mouthful of water. “She’s inside.”

  “We’ve got her,” someone told him.

  A woman’s voice. Familiar.

  But he couldn’t see anyone. Free of the confines of the demolished Jeep, the brightness hurt.