by Kava, Alex
“Okay, first of all, Maggie says they’re okay,” Jason said.
“But?”
“There’s a fire on top of them.”
“What?” This time Creed rolled over to look at Jason. Even Grace lifted her head. “Those barrels. The HAZMAT team thought they were flammable.”
He was up on his feet and putting on his boots before Dr. Avelyn could stop him.
61
Southern Blessings
Maggie retreated to the other side. She needed to stay with Frankie though her instinct urged her to keep as close to the door as possible. It didn’t matter. The air was getting thinner no matter what side of the room. It wasn’t her imagination. She noticed Frankie struggling to breathe. There were coughs and choking from the others. Whatever slivers and gaps there had been were now being clogged.
She checked her phone. NO SERVICE AVAILABLE.
“Is anyone else getting texts or calls to go through?” she called out.
“I was,” Beth answered. “My last call got dropped.”
“My battery died! This is crazy. We need to get out of here.” Maggie recognized Stephanie’s voice.
She heard thumping and banging. The men were still trying to ram the door. A crash and boom made both her and Frankie jump.
“Thunder.” The rumble vibrated the walls. “Ryder said there were more storms.”
“Oh no,” someone moaned, realizing the same.
Another crack of thunder. Then came a whoosh followed by a barrage of drumming.
Rain.
Maggie cocked her head, listening. It had to be rain. That was a good thing. Maybe it would put out the fire.
That’s when she felt the water rushing against her legs. What had been a trickle before was now a stream. She pointed her cell phone’s flashlight and followed the flow. Clara and Adele saw it before Maggie. They hurried toward her, away from their bench. The water was coming down the wall right behind them.
“Move to the other side,” Maggie told them. “Hank!”
It was Gus who showed up first. “It’s coming in through the wall,” he said. “Can we get out through this way?”
“It’s solid cinder block,” Hank told him.
“But the water—”
“There’s dirt on the other side,” Hank insisted, but water was flowing in between the concrete blocks.
Above them Maggie thought she could hear engines roaring. Ryder had mentioned they were bringing in large equipment to help move the debris off of them.
“Here we go again,” Hank yelled. “Everyone take cover.”
She realized her mistake when the floorboards started shaking. It wasn’t heavy equipment. It was another tornado.
62
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Creed told Jason at the same time he looked back to make sure Grace and Scout were okay. Both had their heads down, but their eyes watched their owners.
Dr. Avelyn had loaned them a crate for Grace when it became obvious the little dog was not going to stay without Creed. And it was already obvious Creed wasn’t going stay no matter what the good doctor said.
In the side mirror, Creed could see the sky lightening behind them, but they were heading into darkness. He hoped they were following behind the storm and not driving straight into it.
“Here’s my cell phone,” Jason handed it to him. “See if you can bring up some radar. I don’t want another son of a bitch sneaking up on us.”
They hadn’t been able to find Creed’s cell phone. Even the GPS watch Maggie had given him for his birthday had been stripped off him along with his shirt. He had put on a fresh T-shirt before leaving the hotel room, but wanted to rip it off, because it pressed against the pine needles still impaling his back.
He checked first to see if Maggie had answered any of Jason’s text messages. The last answer had come fifteen minutes ago. Creed sent another before he brought up the weather.
“Why did they think the fire was arson?” Creed asked.
“Sheriff Krenshaw said something about seeing a guy right before. One of the television stations left a video cam on the scene, and they have a live feed.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“Crazy, right? Almost like he didn’t want those people to be saved.”
Creed punched the radio volume up. It was a woman meteorologist now.
“Again, we have a tornado on the ground. Those of you on the south side of Montgomery, you should already be taking cover. This one looks like it’s following the same path of the tornado that hit Sterling Ridge and the Southern Blessings restaurant earlier today. I know some of you have already sustained damage to your homes. Go to a neighbor’s. Take shelter. Do not try to drive or outrun this. Get somewhere safe. Do it now.”
Creed turned the volume down.
“It’s going to hit the restaurant, again,” he said, staring ahead as if expecting to see the tornado reveal itself right in front of them.
“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Jason told him. “These bastards keep dropping out of the sky all over the place.”
“What about Brodie and Hannah?” Creed couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to check on them.
“They’re okay,” Jason reassured him. “I talked to Hannah just a bit ago. Only thunderstorms. Lots of rain. They still had electricity. They’re all watching old home movies your mom brought with her.”
“They’re doing what?”
“Watching old home movies.”
“I didn’t know we had any.” For a second or two he wished he were back there watching with them.
“Is this the exit?” Jason asked.
Creed could see the snapped electrical poles and broken pine trees. They were the new landmarks in a horizon that had been scrubbed of its usual ones. He nodded.
Jason took the exit, slowed and came to a full stop at the intersection despite there no longer being a stop sign. When he turned, he slowed again. Then stopped. Creed didn’t have to ask why. They were far enough away that they were safe, but close enough to see the debris spewing out of the black.
“Son of a bitch,” Jason said, “Looks like it’s already hitting them.”
63
Maggie yelled over the thunder. She gestured and directed whoever would listen to get back against the far wall. They needed to get out from under the cracking floorboards. And they needed to do it quickly.
It sounded like the storm was picking up objects and flinging them back down. The monster clawed and bashed, almost as if it was purposely trying to finish them off.
Debris rained from the ceiling. Beams groaned overhead. Maggie didn’t dare look up. She knew there was no way this basement could sustain the collapsing structure and all those heavy kitchen appliances.
Gus had found dusty old tarps. Maggie held onto the ends while he unfurled each one, trying to cover the others. Stephanie screamed while her son tried to pull her under. Clara and Adele huddled together. Beth and Val made sure Ronald and Frankie were shoved against the wall, up out of the water on the wooden benches.
Gus and Max moved the tall wooden shelving unit, tilting it, creating a teepee to absorb the brunt of the falling debris. Then both men disappeared in the direction of the stairwell; still believing it would eventually become their best path for escape. At one time, Maggie may have agreed, but now in the hazy dim light, she didn’t think any place was safe.
The ceiling was being ripped apart. Just as she found a corner of the tarp and started to get under, she saw a table come tumbling down. She leaned out of the way against the cold concrete blocks, but a heavy object slammed into her arm. She grabbed at the shooting pain.
Debris pelted her. Already she could feel the wind whipping and shredding the thin canvas. And in no time, she was drenched from the down pouring rain. In that brief moment, she realized something—she could breathe again. There was a gust of air, but it came with an electrical charge. And it carried in the odd mixture of pine trees and sulfur.
More debris crashed down. The c
oncrete walls and floor vibrated. Maggie imagined them cracking and caving in around them. She thought she heard someone scream, but it quickly got lost in the roar of the storm.
She closed her eyes and slid to her knees, ignoring the cold water gushing around her. She remembered her initial reaction coming down here and realized it was coming true. They had gone underground hoping to escape, only to be buried alive.
64
Creed gritted his teeth as Jason followed a screaming ambulance. The kid was keeping a safe distance, pulling over whenever another rescue unit with flashing lights raced around them. He was doing a good job, and yet, Creed wanted to tell him to go faster.
Not being in the driver’s seat only seemed to fuel his panic. It wouldn’t let go of him. His hands clasped into fists, only interrupted whenever he scrubbed one of them over his face. His pulse raced. Sweat trickled down his back. He knew he was running on adrenaline. Evidently, not enough because his chest still hurt, and he swore his head was going to explode for a second time in the same afternoon.
Creed kept checking Jason’s cell phone. It had a signal. A strong signal, but there wasn’t a new message from Maggie. He sent another text. He called her number hoping this time it would go through.
No such luck.
She was unreachable. His brain listed all the reasons why, and it kicked up an overwhelming sense of urgency in his gut.
“The mobile cell unit is probably flooded with calls,” Jason told him, reminding him that the cell tower had been demolished in the earlier storm.
“The signal’s strong.”
He knew Jason was trying to stay positive, but Creed had glimpsed the white knuckles of his hand on the steering wheel. He was worried and anxious, too.
What Maggie had said earlier kept running through his mind. He could still hear the tension and fear in her voice. When he told her about more storms coming, she said she didn’t think they could survive another hit.
They had been following the storm, driving into darkness. Headlights—their own and those racing to the scene—provided a limited view. There were no other lights. The electricity had blown out during the first hit. But now, the storm clouds moved on. The sky cleared, and it was still dark. Only then, did Creed realize the sun had already set.
Twilight cast shadows over the devastation making everything look worse. Soon the entire area would be pitch black. Vehicles lined the road, again, jockeying for a better position while trying to stay out of the way of rescue crews. State troopers were directing the chaos. In the glare of the headlights Creed recognized Trooper Sykes. He brought the Jeep’s window down and waved to him. Sykes looked relieved to see someone he knew.
“Hello Mr. Creed. Mr. Seaver,” he said as he bent down and glanced inside the Jeep. He took a second look at Creed and said, “What happened to you?”
“Got caught up in the storm, but I’m okay.”
“Well you guys can relax. I don’t think they’ll be needing the dogs.”
Creed’s stomach took a nosedive. Did that mean everyone was okay, or that no one made it out? He tried to see over the hoods of vehicles in front of them.
“A couple of our friends were trapped in the basement of the restaurant,” he told Sykes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
“How bad is it?”
The trooper straightened to his full height and glanced in the direction of where the restaurant used to be.
“Pretty bad.”
“Mind if we go take a look?” Creed didn’t like pressuring law enforcement to do him any favors. But he was already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door before Sykes could respond.
“Jason you mind staying with the dogs?” he asked as he closed the door
Sykes didn’t argue. Instead, he looked back in at Jason and said, “If they ask you to move there’s an empty lot right behind you to the east.”
Creed remembered the phone and handed it back to Jason through the window.
“You sure you don’t want to keep it?”
“No, that’s okay.” He stopped himself from saying the obvious. That Maggie and Frankie weren’t texting or calling because they couldn’t. One way or another, he wasn’t going to leave until he found them.
“Come on,” Sykes told him. “I’ll take you in.”
65
The storm finally stopped, though Maggie’s ears were still ringing. It was dark and quiet, so very quiet...until the moans began.
She could hear the others shoving out from under the rubble. Objects skidded and banged. Someone was whimpering. Slices of white light flashed as cell phones were turned back on.
“Maggie?”
It was Frankie’s voice, but she couldn’t see her. Then she realized why. Only now did she feel the suffocating weight of debris on top of her. She arched her back. Pieces slid off. Something heavy still pinned her down.
Don’t panic, she told herself.
Her knees were on the concrete. Water sloshed against her thighs. With the weight holding her down, she couldn’t adjust herself to get her feet under her. She started to reach up. A sharp pain in her left arm stopped her. She tried again, and this time the pain shot down all the way to her fingers.
“She’s over here.”
Frankie was directing someone. And just then, Maggie felt the weight being peeled off of her, layer by layer. She pushed up, using her back and her right arm, helping shove off chunks. She heard and felt the objects. She still couldn’t see. Little by little, her vision adjusted. The last layer was removed, and she finally stood straight. She was gasping for breath when she turned to find Hank and Ronald tossing aside a section of the floorboard. Both of them were covered in dust. Blood ran down Hank’s bald head.
“You good?” he asked as he blinded her with his flashlight beam, running it over her to see for himself.
She started to answer and realized her mouth and throat felt like cotton balls were stuffed inside. She nodded, instead. Without a word, the two men moved on to the next pile of rubble where someone else was trying to crawl out.
It was almost impossible to move without slamming into something. Maggie looked up and every muscle in her body tensed when all she saw was murky black. And yet, she swore she could feel a breeze. The air felt different. How could the ceiling collapse down on top of them and not leave a gaping hole? Was it possible the storm sealed it back up with the wreckage from up above?
“Maggie, are you okay?”
In the dim light, she tried to follow Frankie’s voice.
She coughed and managed to croak, “I’m okay. How are you doing?’
“Over here.”
Maggie saw her waving her hand on the other side of the wooden shelf. She reached for her cell phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Her T-shirt was drenched. She’d lost her buttoned shirt, exposing her shoulder harness. A quick check made sure her revolver hadn’t also been stripped away by the wind. Just lifting her left arm to adjust the holster sent a new wave of pain.
“You sure you’re okay?” Frankie asked.
By now, some of the others were sending beams of light over the area. It was difficult to see around the collapsed debris. Maggie stepped carefully, trying to make her way to Frankie. The woman was still on the bench but one of her legs had slid off. She saw Frankie trying to lift the leg back up out of the water.
“Let me help you,” Maggie said. Gently, she readjusted her.
Frankie was biting her lower lip, making it bleed. The pain had to be severe, still, she pointed to Maggie’s forehead and said, “You’re bleeding.”
Maggie wiped at the sweat on her face. When she brought her fingers back, she saw blood. It didn’t hurt. It was probably the cut from the first storm. She’d worry about it later.
Now that she had her bearings, she shot her cell phone’s flashlight toward the stairs to see if the door had, at least, blown off. She waved the light back and forth then up and down before she realized the stairs were gone. In their place w
as something huge and stainless steel.
That’s when she noticed a jagged hole in the ceiling. She could feel fresh air coming down from it, but there was only black on the other side. She shut her light off and tried to focus on the hole. She stared until she was convinced the dotted black was sky.
Yes, black sky with stars!
And she heard something or someone up above. Voices and engines.
Please be engines and not another storm.
She started looking for anything sturdy to help her crawl up, but quickly wondered if she could do that with only one hand.
Now, she noticed streams of lights up above.
“Is that lightning?” Frankie asked. She was searching the same spot.
From the other side of the debris pile, a woman’s voice cried out, “Oh no! I think she’s dead.”
=66
The closer they walked the more Creed thought the site looked like a giant meteor had hit the area. Trucks with generators pulled in front of them. Paramedics and firefighters were using headlights to find their way around the wreckage.
Creed remembered earlier there had been a concrete foundation along with a couple sections of teetering walls. And in the middle, right on top, the 18-wheeler had sprawled across the area, crumpled and surrounded by blue barrels tossed everywhere. Now there wasn’t a sign of the truck or the trailer. And there was absolutely nothing that resembled a restaurant or even walls.
“There was a fire,” Creed said to Trooper Sykes. Night had sneaked in around them, and in the stark light from the vehicles he couldn’t tell whether the crater was scorched. “Did the fire do this?”
“Someone tried to set a fire. The HAZMAT team had sprayed foam on any of the spilled fuel.”
“But there were barrels. Were they flammable?” Creed asked.
“That’s what the arsonist must have thought.”
“Vinegar and tomato sauce,” someone said from behind them.
They turned to find Sheriff Krenshaw.