“How far to the trailer park?”
“Almost there.” Marty turned and Nick recognized O’Riley’s Rocks. It was dark. The front window had a long crack running down the center. Nearby, at the Psychic Sidekick, the lights were out, curtains drawn.
Down a narrow side street, the trailer court came into view - and it wasn’t pretty.
Marty let out a low whistle. “I’m guessing we have ten, maybe fifteen minutes to get our asses in and out of here. Much longer, and this place will go the way of Atlantis.”
* * *
Despite the stone barrier, the koi pond was nearly flooded.
Madison stood at the edge of the rocky border, willing the koi toward her. Alejandro was on the other side, holding a bucket and net like her own. He’d insisted on helping despite his fever, and there’d been no stopping him. He sure doesn’t act like he’s sick.
A koi came perilously close to spilling over the edge. The way it was raining, even if she’d built the border up two more feet, it might not have been enough. “Hang on guys.” She dipped her net into the water and snagged a bright orange fish on the first try. It flipped around, gaping as she got it safely into the bucket and went after the next.
A gust of wind nearly pushed her over as lightning lit up the sky. “There’s one swimming your way,” she called to Alejandro. He dipped his net, caught the fish, and released it in his bucket.
Madison captured two more in one lucky swoop. “One to go!” The wind and rain stole her voice but Alejandro nodded, rain dripping down his face.
The koi turned around, heading toward her. She crouched at the edge of the pond and managed to net it as another strong gust of cold wet wind almost knocked her off her feet. “Got it!”
Alejandro stared up at the sky, rain pelting his face.
“Come on!” Madison grabbed her bucket and made her way to him. “Come on, Alejandro!”
But he didn’t move. His nostrils flared as if he were scenting the air. “Hold this.” He handed her his bucket, walked toward the edge of the hill, and stared out over the valley. The entire town had gone dark.
“We need to get inside! What are you doing?” The rain hit so hard it stung.
Alejandro tipped his head, listening to something only he could hear. His jaw went hard and he dropped his net.
Then he turned and ran, bolting past her.
Madison stared, speechless, as he bounded toward the house, sprang to the ledge of Madison’s bedroom window, then quickly pulled himself onto the roof.
“What are you doing?”
He moved across the roof with animal agility, perching above the eaves. He raised his head, sniffed the air.
“Come down, right now!” She saw headlights as Dette’s red Mustang made its way up the steep drive toward the house. “Alejandro!”
He was like a crouching statue, impervious to the storm. Then he stood, pulled his sodden sweatshirt off, then his shoes, and leapt from the roof just as the Dette pulled up. He landed on his feet, cat-like, his body crouching to absorb the shock, then - just as quickly as he’d landed - he was upright and running toward town. His shoes tumbled from the roof.
“Alejandro!” Madison’s scream was stolen by the storm as she watched him sprint down the hill, disappearing into the gray distance. Mouth open, both buckets in hand, she turned toward Dette, who stared in disbelief as she got out of the car. “Boy, I guess he didn’t want to see me.”
Madison barely heard her.
Hugging herself, Dette trotted over. “Where’s he going?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not going after him. Come on.” She handed Dette a bucket and they ran for the house.
“This is crazy!” Dette’s voice was muffled as wind struck at them like angry fists. “If I’d left five minutes later, I think I would’ve gotten stuck. Cars are-” She stopped dead. “When did that happen?” She pointed.
The rose bush at the side of the house - the one Alejandro had fallen into - was in full bloom. There hadn’t been a single green leaf, let alone a bud, on it for two years, and now it was bursting with bright red roses and thick foliage, tossing off raindrops as the wind whipped through it. If Dette hadn’t been there to see it, Madison wouldn’t have believed her eyes.
* * *
He loped through the rain - thinking, thinking. What was he hearing? Where was it coming from?
Every muscle in his body burned, but it felt good. He didn’t know where he was going or why, but he knew, somehow, that this - whatever it was - was what he was meant to do.
The water-soaked sweatpants encumbered him. He paused and pulled them off - but left his boxers on because Madison said they were important - and continued running. He came to a block of houses and without thinking, he flexed his thighs and leapt, pulling himself onto a roof with whatever holds he could find.
The whisperers weren’t whispering at all now, they were screaming, rising and falling in discordant urgency. He’d been practicing very hard to block them out and it seemed to be working, but now they were too loud to ignore. And there was one voice - one among the sea of others - that was different, purer. He needed to get to it.
He bounded to another rooftop and paused, listening, searching the tangle of voices for the one that compelled him.
Help me … oh dear, God, help me … My baby!
Alejandro lunged, his bare feet hitting the muddy earth. He darted from one neighborhood to the next, hoisting himself onto roofs to listen, then sprinted toward the streaming downtown streets, the desperate voice guiding him. He ran, the rain sluicing off his body, his feet barely touching the ground - or the water where it pooled.
* * *
Its moorings stripped away by the wind and rain, the short single-wide trailer had tilted, bringing the couch barreling toward Abigail Strane and pinning her facedown on the floor. The water was rising, touching her cheek, seeping into her mouth, her vast collection of cigarette butts and wigs floating toward her face. “Oh, God, help me. My baby!”
The psychic, Beverly Simon, had warned her to be careful walking home yesterday. This must be what she meant! Abby’s arms were wedged at her sides and she couldn’t reach the framed photograph of her husband, Roman, which she’d clutched close during the quake. And she couldn’t find the jar of pill bugs, either. The poor things were going to drown. “Mary, Ishmael, Job!” she called. “Moses, Mark, Luke!”
And the baby! Oh, dear God, the baby! Abby’s stomach was pressed to the floor and a trapped wig box beneath her pressed painfully against her. “Help me … oh, dear God, help me.” She prayed for the pill bugs, for Roman, for the safety of her unborn child. Her desperation was profound, but so was her faith. She closed her eyes, holding her breath as water flooded her mouth, and waited for the Lord to rescue her as she knew He would.
* * *
Prominence Court Trailer Park rested in a slight depression at the bottom of an incline at the end of a road that petered out into a ravine that led to a dry riverbed below. Water rushed down the center of the court, heading for the riverbed. The sight nearly stopped Nick’s heart. People ran from their homes, barrelling out in Jeeps and trucks, and Nick recognized Corey Bannon, one of the younger officers, in a high-wheeled Silverado. People and their pets were piling into its bed. Marty pulled up beside it and both men rolled down their windows. “I’m taking them to Prominence Elementary,” Bannon called through the wind and rain. “I’m almost full, but I’ll come back. I haven’t checked inside the trailers yet.” Hard rain pelted his face. “Horace has a truck. He’s supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Ain’t that a surprise,” Marty said.
Lightning split through the black clouds, striking close by. Thunder crashed, rattling the Explorer’s windows.
A woman handed her poodle to a man in the back of Bannon’s truck, then climbed in to join nearly a dozen people, all shivering and wet. The truck plowed through the flood toward Cameo.
The water was knee-high where some of the
mobile homes sat. “We need to make sure everyone’s out,” Marty said to Nick. “I’ve got some waders in back.” Leaving the cruiser idling on a slight rise, they hopped out and thrust on the boots. Nick attached the hundred-foot rope to the grill guard, then played it out as they trudged toward the trailers.
“Hello!” called Marty through a bullhorn. “Anyone in there?” No one answered. Nick and Marty moved toward the rear of the park, toward the flooding ravine.
Most of the homes’ doors were accessible, but water was rising fast, and had covered bottom and middle stairs already. They kept walking and yelling.
A woman’s voice rose through the sounds of thunder and rushing water. “My baby!”
Nick whirled, following the voice. It came from within a battered silver single wide that had tilted as rushing water eroded the foundation nearest the ravine. Trudging through the flood - it was moving even faster and harder now - they climbed the drowning steps. The door was jammed. Nick yanked hard and when it finally gave, he nearly fell over. Marty, behind him, hung on. As they entered the tilting trailer, it lurched. Nick stepped into a sea of floating cigarette butts.
Marty wrapped the rope around the stair rail and followed him inside. “This is going to slide down the hill any minute now,” he called over the thunder.
“My baby!”
Nick looked wildly around, trying to find the woman.
“There!” Marty pointed to a couch wedged against a wall. “She’s trapped.” The trailer tipped a little more, further wedging the woman in. “Shit!”
The trailer upended another foot. Water sloshed, furniture slid, and Nick held onto the door as Marty tripped and went down. The woman’s cries were silenced as she was submerged. Books, butts, and doilies sloshed toward the far end. Marty sputtered and rose, looking around. He spat out a cigarette butt.
As the tipped trailer’s door slammed shut, Nick and Marty slogged through the water toward the couch. Something small and hairy touched Nick’s arm under the water. He nearly screamed. It seemed to be a wig. What the …? The trailer tilted a few more degrees, cascading cigarette butts like a school of fish around them. Grunting, the two men pulled the sodden couch away from the wall, barely keeping their footing in the knee-high water.
The woman gasped, dog-paddling to her feet. “My baby!”
Nick was stunned. She was at least seventy. “Where’s your baby?”
She touched her belly, Marty gave Nick a quick shake of the head and said, “Your baby’s fine, Mrs. Strane. Let’s get you out of-”
The trailer groaned and shifted, and all three were tossed back into the deep.
Mrs. Strane screamed and grappled for Nick, taking him down. Marty fell, but splashed back to his feet in an instant, grabbing something dark and wet - another wig - from his head and tossing it away, then helping Nick pull the old lady upright.
The trailer was tilted like the Titanic now, the door unreachable.
Someone screamed from outside. “In there! It’s Abigail Strane! She’s trapped!” Wind howled and as lightning flashed, Nick hoped they wouldn’t be electrocuted. He saw a wide window at the far end of the trailer, half-submerged.
“This way! “called Marty.
Mrs. Strane between them, they sloshed through the water toward the window. The trailer tipped further and the window went underwater.
“Shit!” Marty searched for escape.
Nick saw none.
Mrs. Strane wept and shivered, clinging tight to Nick.
“Over here!”
Nick turned to the voice. A man stood, silhouetted in the open doorway. Lightning flashed, lighting him up, and stupidly, Nick thought of Thor and his hammer. The man threw the rope down to them. “Take it!” he called. It was the pancake gobbler Nick had seen at Roxie’s Diner yesterday.
The rope tumbled down and Nick handed it to Mrs. Strane.
She grabbed it and the man in the doorway pulled the rope without effort. When she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the threshold.
“Go,” said Marty.
“You first.” Nick thrust the rope into Marty’s hand and watched him climb out.
Then Nick took the rope and began climbing. The man at the doorway stood rock-steady, bracing the rope as Nick neared.
The young man - wearing only a pair of soaked gray boxers - gripped Nick’s wrist and easily pulled him from the rushing water and helped him onto the top step where Marty and Mrs. Strane stood, clinging to the doorway. They were at least five feet above the water outside, the aluminum stairs hanging in mid-air. The rope was still tied to the Explorer. Thank God. They’d have to jump and pull themselves against the water to the vehicle.
He thought he saw another lightning flash, then realized it came from a man shooting pictures from the bed of a red pickup twenty feet away. Marty whirled and shouted at the cameraman, “Get out of here, Cooter! It isn’t safe!”
“I have a right to inform the public!” The man’s voice was nearly drowned out as thunder boomed.
“Damned reporters,” Marty muttered.
“My babies!” cried Mrs. Strane.
Babies? What? Plural? Nick gaped at the old lady.
The man in boxers looked into the depths of the trailer.
“And Roman, my husband! Help him!”
Nick made a move to reenter the trailer but Marty gripped his shoulder. “Don’t. Her husband’s dead.”
“But how do you know?”
“Ten years dead.”
“Oh.”
Mrs. Strane cried, “Roman! Oh, Roman!”
The pancake-gobbler darted across the threshold.
“Stop!” called Marty. But it was too late.
The young man jumped in and was nearly submerged in the swirling water. A figurine of a French poodle caught in a doily careened off his thigh. Cigarette butts battered him and a wig caressed him with long brown tendrils. He ignored it all and bent, disappearing into the murky water. Another slimy wig, this one red, rose to the surface like a jellyfish ready to strike.
“Damn it!” Marty turned to Nick. “We’re going to have to hang on to the rope and jump.”
Water swirled and the trailer was wavering now, back and forth, back and forth. It would soon give and slide down the ravine. They’d drown for sure. They’d have to jump, but carrying Mrs. Strane would be almost impossible.
She blubbered, crushing her face into Nick’s chest. “My little gray babies!”
The pancake-gobbler rose from the water and stepped without effort into the doorway. He handed Marty what looked like a Mason jar and clutched a framed photograph to his bare chest.
Mrs. Strane’s eyes lit up.
Cooter’s camera flashed. Nick squinted against the light.
She took the photograph from the young man. “Roman! You saved my Roman!” She took the jar from Marty. “And my little gray babies!” She kissed the jar. Within it, several pill bugs rolled around. She handed the photo and jar to Marty then framed the young man’s face with her hands and kissed both his cheeks. “You’re an angel!” The blond man appeared to be in some kind of shock.
“Young man,” said Marty. “What’s your name?”
The pancake-gobbler stared at them both, then took the jar and the photo from Marty and put them in the old lady’s arms before scooping her up in his own. “You will be all right?” he asked Marty and Nick.
Nick was startled. “Yes, but-”
The man leapt into the storm. He ran, almost on top of the water. Nick watched, stunned, as the stranger and the old lady disappeared into the gray rain.
“Who was that?” Marty yelled at the reporter.
“I don’t know,” cried Cooter, “but I got it all right here.” He tapped his camera.
“You need to get out of here, right now!” Nick called to Cooter. “And take these people with you. That’s an order.”
“What about you guys?”
Marty brandished the rope. “We’re fine. Go!”
The pan
cake-gobbler saluted, and hopped down from the truck bed and got behind the wheel. “Anyone need a ride?” Stragglers hopped in back and clung to the bed as the engine roared to life and the truck grumbled, found traction and pulled out.
Marty looped the rope around his waist then handed the length to Nick, who did the same. “Ready?”
“One, two, three!”
They jumped into the water and began pulling themselves against the flood; Nick hoped the Explorer didn’t start floating toward them. Behind them, Mrs. Strane’s trailer groaned and screeched like a dying animal then crashed down the ravine into the floodwaters below.
At last they reached the Explorer and climbed in. Deep water sloshed around the tires. The black and white was losing purchase, but they pulled out before it could follow another trailer toward the riverbed below. Nick watched as, one by one, homes sailed down the ravine. The groaning of metal, the splintering of wood, the rush of water, and the crash of thunder - it really was apocalyptic.
Nick knew he’d never forget those sounds.
* * *
After uprighting lamps and replacing books on their shelves, Beverly Simon watched the storm from her bedroom window. It was as if the sky had been ripped open. Rain ran like rivers in the streets and the sirens of emergency vehicles wailed.
There’d been no more tremors except those that continued to vibrate through her own body. She hadn’t been this shaken in years and decided a long hot bath was in order.
The power was out, and after changing into her robe, she began running the tub and went downstairs for candles. She grabbed several from the hearth in the main room, along with matches and lavender incense.
She jumped as someone banged on the shop’s front door. “Who on earth …” She pulled her robe tight and peered out the glass. “Oh, dear God.”...
She threw the door open and stared. “What happened?”
“She is all right.” A handsome young man, dressed only in boxers, rain dripping from his golden hair, had Abigail Strane in his arms, and now set her on her feet. Abby patted his hand, then blinked up at Beverly as if she’d never seen her before. “He saved Roman! And he says the baby is fine!” She touched her abdomen. “And my gray babies are safe, too!” She thrust the jar of pill bugs at Beverly.
The Angel Alejandro Page 12