Clay had ended up with a broken arm, Turner a concussion. Houghton had had thirteen roofing nails embedded in his back.
Not something he really wanted to repeat.
They were almost at the basement door.
He yanked Annie even closer.
Turner lurched toward the basement door, one arm over her head protectively.
If they fell, they fell. But at least they'd be below ground.
Her arms tightened around him somehow. Turner wasn't about to let her go. A force slammed into him. Turner thought he’d never breathe again.
He hit the floor just outside the stairwell. The building shook apart around them.
And then the world imploded around them.
He only had one thought.
They hadn’t made it in time—and it was all his fault.
3
Elliot Marshall, Chief of the Texas State Police—Finley Creek branch, hurried through the lobby of the post. He had one hundred seven people on the clock right now. He was ultimately responsible for the safety of all of them.
The tornado siren sounded in the distance, activated by the nearby fire station on the corner of Main and Boethe Streets. They’d had no real warning.
None.
They were forty minutes south of Wichita Falls, and almost twenty north of little Value, Texas. Neither of those cities had given notice of the storm. The weather stations certainly hadn’t.
“Inside!” Elliot yelled to a crime scene tech and the detective who’d no doubt been at the same scene. Madi McAlister had a terrified look on her pretty face. One Elliot suspected was on his own. “To the hallway!”
Dom Alcardi, the detective, grabbed Madi by the arm and dragged her to the center of the building. Elliot was steps behind them when the front glass doors slid open and a woman who had to be one hundred if she was a day hobbled inside. “Help me!”
Elliot looked at Alcardi. He had the evidence tech—a petite young woman who looked like she’d blow away in a storm if left to her own devices—practically vised in his arms. “Go! Get her inside!”
He turned. Toward the elderly woman.
Elliot had just reached her when the building blew apart around them. He wrapped himself around the old woman as the wind knocked them to the floor.
And he prayed.
4
For the longest time, Annie, thought Turner Barratt was dead. His weight was pushing her into the debris beneath her—and he wasn’t moving. They were pressed almost chest to chest—and she couldn’t tell if the man was breathing.
She worked her left hand free from where it was trapped, ignoring the way her arm screamed in protest. Her arm wasn't broken, but she'd done some tissue damage. Maybe. A hairline fracture wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She worked her fingers under the mayor's chin and felt for a pulse.
She held her breath until she felt it.
It was there. Steady and strong.
Thank God. He was alive.
He shifted at her touch. The flames of three hells shot straight through Annie's right shoulder. She screamed. “Stay still! Don't move, please! Stop moving!”
Turner stilled. “Annie? Are you ok, honey? Tell me where it hurts.”
“No. I’m not ok.” She gasped it out, feeling with her left hand. Something was sticking out of her right shoulder. And it was sharp. Thin. About half an inch in diameter. “I'm pinned to the floor, I think. I’m stuck. Impaled. I think it went…all the way through.”
And she wasn’t getting loose. It…held her in place. If she moved, she would do far more damage.
But there was debris pinning her from above.
She fought the panic as best she could. She could bleed to death, if they didn't end up crushed. She’d seen impalement injuries many times before. She’d seen people get up and walk away from them before, too. If the proper first aid was received at the time. She could survive this—she just had to get through. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of each of her children’s faces. One by one. Until she felt strong enough to do what she had to. She would get back to them somehow. Even if she was mostly in pieces. She would get back to them. “I...we need some kind of light so I can see. I'm a trauma nurse. I know what to do, but I need to see.”
He shifted carefully. She felt every millimeter he moved. “I have my phone.”
Light nearly blinded her. Annie forced herself to stay as still as possible. His curse had her closing her eyes to fight the tears. She hadn’t missed the panic in his tone. It was a sound she was so intimately familiar with. She dealt with panic every night in the ER. “How bad?”
“Honey, I think you're right. You're pinned. And I don’t know how to fix this. You need to tell me exactly what to do so I can help you until someone comes to get us out of here, ok? We’re ok. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll fix this.”
Annie had difficulty focusing on the man's words. Pain. Shock. Her whole body was outside of her control. She pulled in as deep a breath as she possibly could and tried to focus. She knew what to do for impalement injuries. She just had to focus, to think. To get through. She could do this. “Listen...can't move it at all. I could bleed to death. Right now, the object is acting as a barrier to slow bleeding.”
“Can I move off you? Would that help?”
“I don't know. Can't jar this side. Don't jar it, please.” She didn't know if she said the words aloud, but she thought them. Fought the pain as long as she could. “Please...FCGH. My friends will...I need Iz…Nik…Please…”
The debris above them shifted, tightened around her. The pain in her shoulder intensified.
Annie let the pain take her. It was all she could do.
5
Turner had to think. Had to find a way out of this.
Drywall was on his back. There was a 2x6 or something pressing against his arm. Boards pinned his legs beneath something, but nothing was broken. He wiggled his toes just to check.
Everything worked as it should. He was just pinned.
He was on top. She’d landed on insulation and broken building materials.
They were sandwiched in. The first floor had held, but the walls had caved in around them. When he’d wrapped his arms around her to protect her, he’d sheltered her from the walls themselves.
They’d gotten damned lucky not to be buried by the old bricks from the exterior.
Turner could see the outside if he turned his head to the far left.
Rain trickled in from somewhere.
They were in the center of the building, at least. As far away from the exterior walls as they could possibly get.
He had no idea where the basement was now. How far they’d been pushed by the storm.
Or where the security personnel were. Turner yelled, as loudly as he could.
Annie flinched beneath him. He shined his cell at her face again.
Those gorgeous blue eyes were still closed.
He wasn't about to move even an inch. If he did, he risked jarring her. The metal rebar impaling her shoulder was about as thick as his pinkie finger and at least two feet long. Even the slightest bump could shift it. He didn't know what kind of damage that could do, but he wasn't ready to find out.
An inch to the left, and it would have impaled him, too. And then he wouldn’t have been able to help her at all.
He checked his phone again, hoping, praying, there would be signal. He had two bars, whereas he usually had the full five. Some of the towers must have been hit.
He kept trying. It was his only hope to get her help.
A busy signal.
There was no way in hell 911 should be giving a busy signal right now. They'd upgraded the city's system six months ago to prevent that very thing from happening.
The only way this could be happening was if it had been...bad. Really bad. And not just for him and Annie.
How many people had been hurt out there? In a town of fifty-seven thousand, it could be…thousands.
He tried again. And again. Noth
ing.
He kept dialing every number he could think of, just hoping to get through to someone, for at least half an hour. No one.
Turner bit back the panic.
He was going to have to find a way out. If he could get out, he could get help for Annie. Somehow.
Yelling for help hadn’t done a damned bit of good, either. The security guards were probably trapped themselves. Or dead.
He shone the light on Annie’s face again, just needing to see her again. See how she was.
Annie was still out. He did his best to pull his shirt off without jarring her. He was lying to her left side, his legs tangled with hers. He had just barely enough room, but he managed it. Turner had carried his great-grandfather's pocketknife since he was twelve. He used it to cut his shirt into strips. He balled several up. As gently and carefully as he could, he lodged them around the metal to keep it in place.
It was all he could think to do. If no one was going to get them out, he would have to find a way to do it himself.
He was a Barratt. They didn’t just exactly sit back and wait for life to come to them.
Or rescue, for that matter.
And he wasn’t about to leave this woman behind. He was getting her out. No matter what he had to do.
He grabbed his phone again. Dialed.
Nothing but a buzz. He disconnected and tried someone else. All of his top contacts were busy. Nothing. Signal had to have been lost completely throughout the city. Just how bad his city had been hit was sinking in.
They could be facing thousands of lost lives. He had to get out there. Help his city.
Help Annie.
Resolve hit him, smothering out the panic that was on the edge of his consciousness. He would not break down now.
Turner had too much to do.
He cursed, kept trying. Kept saying whatever he could to her, even though she couldn’t hear him. Making promises he was going to keep.
Until the buzz ended and a ringtone sounded. Nothing had ever sounded as good to him as that ringtone.
The five rings until someone answered took the longest moment of his life.
Turner yelled, the instant someone answered. “Get help!”
“Turner?” Houghton asked. “Where the hell are you?”
“Get someone to city hall. Hurry. I'm trapped. Near the rear stairwell. There's a woman with me. Right next to me. She's been impaled. I can't move her. We can't get out. We’re sandwiched between debris, still on the first floor. My legs are trapped, and she’s been impaled. Just get help! She's bleeding! Hurry!”
His cousin swore, but Turner knew the other man would move a mountain if he had to in order to help someone in need. “I'm getting people there now, Turner. But the whole town has been hit. I'll dig you out myself if I have to. I’m at the hotel now, with my security team. I’m not that far away, I promise. Help is coming. I swear. We’re coming for you.”
“I’m ok, Houghton. It’s her that’s not. It’s her. You have to get her out.”
Turner kept praying over the next ninety minutes. His father had been a minister Turner’s entire life. He knew how to pray. And he knew miracles existed.
He hoped there was one in the queue for Annie.
He prayed the shaft kept the bleeding to a minimum. Prayed that help could get to them quickly. Prayed that it wouldn't be too late for her.
She was in and out, almost incoherent. All he could do was tell her help was coming. Then he heard something that gave him hope.
Voices.
Near.
He yelled as loudly as he could. The woman next to him jerked at the sound. He grabbed her, using his strength to hold her still, to keep her from hurting herself. “Shhh, honey. Just hold still, Annie Belle. You must stay still right now. Help is coming. I promise. I promise.”
He kept reassuring her until hands pulled him from the rubble so they could get to her.
6
It took them over two hours to pull Turner and the woman he held out. He spent most of the time doing what he could and praying. Finally, someone moved the last piece of rubble off Turner's legs. He moved his feet as gently as he could, ignoring the pain.
He could feel his damned toes. He'd survive.
Annie had been in and out the entire time she'd lain underneath him. He would never forget those blue eyes or how they had looked in the dimming light of his cellphone. She hadn't panicked. Not even once.
She had looked at him each time, asking him if she was still ok. He didn't know. He was a corporate attorney and accidental politician, not a doctor.
There wasn't a doctor among the Barratts anywhere. It just wasn't something Barratts did. They ruled cities and states and businesses and ranches and villages and mega-companies. His father had been the black sheep, not going into business of some sort.
They didn't become doctors. There hadn't been a doctor in his family since the end of the Civil War.
If Turner ever had a kid of his own, he was going to strongly encourage that child toward med school after today.
An older man he recognized as Mel’s father was the first to get to Annie.
He and Houghton pulled her out together, Turner stabilizing her as best as he could. Houghton cursed when he saw her. “Annie? Can you hear us?”
No response.
Annie never woke in the entire time they were getting her out.
Hands pulled Turner farther from the ruins. He was able to stand. “I'm ok. But Annie...Annie's hurt. Help her.”
“We've got her, Mayor Barratt,” a calm male voice said. Turner looked at the paramedic now kneeling over Annie. Half a dozen men and women surrounded Turner. Houghton hugged Turner quickly.
Houghton had meant it—he had helped dig them out with his bare hands.
The paramedic strapped a neck brace on Annie. “We'll get her help right now.”
“Finley Creek General. She works there. She wants to go there. She has friends there. I promised…”
“That hospital took a direct hit. A third of the building is now gone. Most of the ER. They're working triage in the parking lot.” One of the paramedics said.
“Then get her there. That's where she wanted to go. She has friends there.” If nothing else, he’d make certain she was taken where she wanted to go. He could do that. She’d asked him to do that, and he’d promised.
The paramedic paused in stabilizing the rebar. “I know. I work with Annie. See her almost every day. I even painted her porch for her. She’s my friend, too. I'll make certain she's taken care of, sir. You have my word. But we need to get moving.”
“I'm going with her.” Turner stepped closer to the stretcher.
He wasn't ready to let her out of his sight just yet. Turner wasn't certain he ever would be. She looked so alone and so small on that gurney.
There was blood and dust and rain over her everywhere.
“We'll get you checked out, as well. People will be looking for you soon, I think.”
Turner remembered the city he loved then. Remembered that he had a job to do now, just the same as the paramedics. “How badly were we all hit?”
“I don't know. But it's catastrophic. Hospital, city hall, schools, churches, and the TSP—hit or flattened. The TSP is just gone. And I think it's going to get worse. The storm went straight through our city.”
Turner just stared at the paramedic as he finished strapping Annie down, as what he’d said started to sink in.
His city had been destroyed, and now he had to help hold his people together.
He didn’t have a clue how he was going to make that happen.
7
Dennis Lee Arnold knew there were a million and one ways to make a buck. The aftermath of a massive tornado was just one of those ways. After the dust settled and he’d taken stock of his people and more legitimate businesses, Dennis Lee knew now was the time to act. Just how he was going to pull it off was a different question.
He had fifty-two boys and seven or eight girls who worked under
him. Off the books, so to speak. Eighty-six others worked for Arnold Industries—legitimately. Supply chain was the game he’d chosen to play from the time he was a boy.
There were many ways a man could go from being a grubby street kid to being one of the wealthiest men in Finley Creek. People listened when he spoke now.
It took skills to be as organized as he was. Skills, and big balls.
Dennis Lee had a nice-sized package, if he did say so himself.
Dennis Lee had started running cons when he was no more than thirteen. Small-time stuff, a bit of a panhandling in Wichita Falls, scams in Dallas, petty thefts in Houston. But Finley Creek was where he had always been the most at home.
Finley Creek was where he kept coming back to roost.
An indirect descendent of the brother-in-law of the man who had founded the county, Dennis Lee had always had the waters of Finley Creek flowing through his blood. He didn’t see that changing some sixty years later.
He had found his way in the world, and his family had wanted for nothing. He took a great deal of pride in that.
He was no Barratt, but Dennis Lee did just fine.
Dennis Lee had learned how to organize men under Uncle Sam’s direction when he’d been all of nineteen years old. It had been jail or the military at the time. Dennis Lee hadn’t figured there was really much of a choice.
He’d only stayed in the navy four years, but those four years had been enough. Dennis Lee had learned what he’d been supposed to learn back then.
And those lessons had stuck with him.
As soon as the storm settled, Dennis Lee grabbed his truck keys. He had people out there. People who would need him. First, his two daughters. Martie and Lea were his girls, his life.
And he’d made certain they were set for life.
Walk Through the Fire Page 3