by Laura Hayden
“That tears it,” she said aloud. “I’m going home.” Bad weather aside, both she and her laptop were running out of power. But before she closed up shop for the night, she brought up the instant messenger screen that she and Nick had used to stay in contact.
WHERE ARE YOU? she typed.
MARRIOTT IN BETHESDA. ONLY 24-HOUR ON-SITE OFFICE I KNEW IN THE AREA. NEEDED TO PRINT OUT SOME STUFF DONNIE SENT.
BAD?
WHAT WE FEARED.
WHAT NEXT?
WEATHER’S GETTING BAD.
TORNADO WATCH HERE, A T-WARNING SOUTHWEST OF US.
YOU SHOULD HEAD HOME.
MY PLANS.
AFTER I PRINT, WILL GO TO THE STORAGE UNIT—NOT FAR FROM HERE—AND STASH NEW PAPERS THERE.
THEN?
BACK TO HOTEL TO WAIT OUT THE STORM.
BE CAREFUL.
U2. NIGHT.
NIGHT.
Kate saved her files and shut down the computer. Once she stashed it in her briefcase, she started the engine and headed home. As she drove through the waterlogged streets, Kate kept the radio on as much for the news as for the company. Her long, hard day had gotten far longer and harder than she’d ever expected, and her yawns were distracting her with their frequency.
When she finally pulled off the main road into her neighborhood, the radio blared its latest warning, upgrading the tornado watch to a warning.
As she negotiated the wet street, she saw lights flare in several of the houses, the occupants evidently alerted by weather radios. As she pulled into her driveway, she looked over and saw Darlene standing in the Purcells’ kitchen window, looking toward her house. They waved a mutual greeting, and then Kate dashed toward the front door.
Buster was still waking up from a deep sleep when she scooped him under one arm and headed straight for the basement. She’d sidestepped misfortune once today; she wasn’t going to take any more chances. They snuggled in what the prior owner of the house had used as a playroom—a brightly decorated room in the basement that Kate had never gotten around to repainting in a bit more sedate color scheme. She’d at least stocked it with all the bad weather essentials in addition to using it as a storage area for seasonal items.
Whether it was the incoming weather or the fact that they were closed up in a room, Buster couldn’t get comfortable. He kept whining and pawing at the door in hopes Kate would set him free. She resorted to bribery, breaking into a package of saltines and running him through his tricks—sit, lie down, beg, shake. She kept him distracted until the electricity went out. Plunged into darkness, he immediately pushed close to her with a whimper. She cradled him in her arms, and they sat together on the pallet on the floor, where Buster trembled and occasionally released a growl as if warning away hidden dangers in the dark.
Up to that point, the basement walls had shielded them from most of the sounds outside, but now she could hear the wind picking up, the sounds of something—lots of somethings—striking the house. A deep rumble filled the air, and she clutched Buster more tightly, and he responded by burrowing his head under her arm. The house shuddered twice as if the raging winds were battering it with gleeful malice.
“Lord, please protect those in the path of this storm,” she prayed aloud, repeating the phrase over and over again as the wind roared outside like a freight train crashing through the neighborhood.
Although the sounds seemed to go on for a lifetime, she knew the assault had actually lasted less than thirty seconds. But that didn’t mean things were safe upstairs. She’d seen things go very wrong in thirty seconds.
Houses obliterated.
Lives taken.
Worlds changed forever.
Surviving a possible tornado in a reinforced bunker in the White House surrounded by professionals trained in all manners of survival was one thing.
Surviving one by yourself in the basement of your house was far more frightening.
She waited another fifteen minutes for a second wave of bad weather to hit, but it never materialized. She grabbed her flashlight, cranked up her emergency radio, and listened. Not all clear, but better. When she finally stood, Buster didn’t want to leave her lap and relented only when she reached into a box of Christmas decorations and found a plush snowman. She handed it over and it appeased Buster’s need to cuddle. She tucked him and the snowman in the corner of the room and ventured upstairs to survey the damage.
When she emerged from the basement stairs, she expected to see nothing but rubble. But instead, she walked into her kitchen, which looked just as it had when she took refuge downstairs.
Her purse still sat on the table. She looked around for her laptop and belatedly realized she’d grabbed it along with Buster to take to safety. At least she had her priorities right.
When she stepped out to the porch, that’s when she learned about the truly capricious nature of tornadoes. The house across the street was gone. Only a pile of rubble remained where it had sat just a half hour earlier. She sagged to the wet porch step and stared blankly at the carnage. Here she lived—on a street full of houses, those houses filled with people, all probably just like her, huddling for safety in basements or closets or bathrooms.
And what did the tornado destroy?
The only empty house on the street.
“Can you believe it?” Carl Purcell called out. He and Darlene had emerged from their own unscathed house with an industrial-size flashlight and were picking a pathway between the broken hedges toward her. They all took shelter on Kate’s porch to stare at the house across the street.
Carl pointed his light at the For Sale sign that had miraculously survived the same onslaught that had literally blown the house away. “It’s like some big cosmic joke. Of all the houses on this street . . .”
Darlene nodded. “It’s like the tornado chose to hit the one house that could be blown away without hurting anyone.”
Kate stared numbly at the sign. “There but by the grace of God . . .” She paused, then closed her eyes. “Thank you, Lord. Thank you for sparing us. Please be with all of those who have been affected by this.”
A siren, then two sirens, shattered the unearthly silence.
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Darlene whispered.
Carl, the unofficial neighborhood captain who usually rallied everyone to participate in group picnics, multifamily garage sales, or holiday decorating contests, took charge as usual. He ducked back into the house, grabbed his emergency kit, and the three of them began to canvas the street, making sure that everyone was okay, surveying any incidental damage, and preparing to administer first aid if necessary. Carl’s background included a stint as a medic in the army, and his manner was both caring and efficient.
However, there was no need for his medical skills. Not a single person had been injured. Another miracle, Kate thought, sending up another wave of thanks.
After they’d finished contacting everyone, Carl dragged a piece of plywood out of his workshop and spray-painted 1 House—Empty. 0 injuries. No gas.
“This way, the rescue crews won’t waste any time stopping and can go on to the next area that might need help.”
Two other neighbors helped him drag the sign out to the main road. Darlene excused herself to go inside. “We have a phone tree we activate at times like these. I just never expected to have to use it twice in twenty-four hours. I hope my cell works.”
They hugged and Kate stepped inside in time to hear a mournful “You forgot about me” howl from Buster in the basement. She went downstairs to discover that the snowman had been chewed up to the point that it looked as if it had actually snowed in the playroom. But she couldn’t bring herself to admonish him for it. Instead, she curled up next to him on the makeshift bed, intending only to comfort him for a minute or two.
She awoke six hours later, stiff, sore, and hungry. When she and Buster went upstairs, she learned the power had been restored at some point during the wee hours.
In the bright light of day, the destructio
n outside looked even worse than it had in the wet darkness. Although little damage had occurred to the other houses, the winds had deposited debris in their yards from other neighborhoods that had not been as lucky. Twisted metal and pieces of siding dotted the yards, and asphalt roof shingles were scattered everywhere like confetti.
Kate switched on the local television stations that had live coverage of the affected areas. One weatherman described the wave of tornadoes that hit during the day on Friday as “only a brief taste of the widespread destruction that was to strike again hours later.”
After wreaking havoc in northern Virginia and, this time, the nearby Maryland suburbs, the storms had followed the I-95 corridor and struck Baltimore with a ferocity never felt before in the area. The Inner Harbor had taken the worst of the hit, with the National Aquarium suffering appreciable structural damage, especially to its tropical rainforest exhibit on the roof. The USS Constellation, permanently moored in the harbor, had lost a mast, and two banks of lights had fallen at Camden Yards, crushing parts of the left field upper deck.
But the biggest problem was that the flooding in Baltimore threatened to close down both harbor tunnels and force emergency workers to use alternate roadways in their efforts to reach affected areas.
The news anchors were already calling it the worst natural disaster to hit a major city on the East Coast.
And here I am, hiding in my house.
Kate picked up her landline and discovered she had no dial tone. Turning to her cell phone, she called her parents’ number but got a fast busy signal meaning busy circuits. Her fallback position was to try her brother’s number. Luckily the call went through.
“Thank God, Kate. Mom and Dad are frantic. They’ve been trying your house, your cell. They would have tried to get Emily except they knew you were hiding out from her.”
“I’m not hiding out. Can you call them and tell them I’m fine? I don’t know why I can’t get a call through to them.”
“No problem.”
“Did the weather hit them again like it did here?”
“No, they only had more rain and some high winds, but nothing like before. We’re the lucky ones. It missed us twice.”
After a few more reassurances, she promised to call him back later when things calmed down and get an update on the family. But now she had other concerns that needed her more immediate attention.
She dialed Nick’s prepaid cell but got no answer, and that just made her concern turn into worry. Did he get back to the hotel? Or had he tried to brave the elements to keep up his online investigation?
Kate managed to get through to the hotel and rang his room, but no one answered. Now she was getting really worried. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been in Bethesda, and he’d said the storage unit wasn’t far away.
But where exactly?
She grabbed the phone book and started searching for storage units near the Bethesda area, but after finding ten without reaching the second page of listings, she knew it was useless to think she could guess where his might be.
Before Kate could formulate a plan, someone knocked on her door. Buster decided it was his cue to start barking. She closed him in the kitchen so she could answer the door without his help.
She didn’t look through the peephole, expecting her visitor to be either Darlene or Carl or one of her other neighbors. But when she opened the door, to her surprise, she found Nick standing on her porch.
“Nick?”
He gave her a blank look; then his gaze sharpened as if he just realized where he was. His usually immaculate clothes were rumpled and stained with dirt and . . .
Is that blood?
She opened the door wider. “Are you okay?”
“Um . . . yeah.” He hesitated for a moment. “Maybe not so much.”
She stepped out to the porch and grabbed his elbow. “Come in.”
He still looked a little bit befuddled. “Okay.” He moved with deliberation as if unsure exactly how to propel his body from the door to the living room. When he dropped onto the couch, Kate knew something was seriously wrong.
She moved close to him, perching on the edge of the chair next to the couch so that they were eye to eye. “What’s going on?”
He dropped his head and buried his face in his hands, saying something Kate couldn’t quite catch.
“What?”
He lifted his face. “It’s gone. Everything’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“The storage unit. The proof. Everything. It’s all gone.”
She drew an involuntary breath. “The tornado?”
He nodded, then winced. When he leaned down again, Kate spotted an ugly red welt on the back of his head, just behind his ear. Without hesitation, she pulled down the collar of his leather jacket, exposing the injury and the trickle of blood that had soaked the neckline of his shirt.
“You’re bleeding.” She shifted his collar to examine for more injuries. “Were you at the storage unit when the tornado hit?”
He had to think about his answer. “Yeah. It hit me and then it hit the unit.” He gingerly probed his head. “You got some ice or something I can put on this? And maybe some aspirin?”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Kate headed straight for the kitchen, but rather than get him ice, she was going to get him medical help. She picked up the phone out of habit more than anything and learned that service had been restored.
She was about to call 911 when Nick stepped into the kitchen and put his hand on the phone.
“Don’t.”
“Why not? You’re injured.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It might be. I’m calling the paramedics.”
“If you do, Emily will know I’m here. It’ll leave a paper trail.”
“That’s better than a blood trail.”
He managed a small grin. “Don’t make me laugh. I think my head will fall off if I laugh.”
“Okay. I’m calling a friend.” She dialed, but instead of 911, she called the Purcells.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Darlene, but can Carl come over for a moment? With his medical kit? A friend’s showed up, and I think he needs to have Carl take a look at him.”
“He’ll be right over.”
By the time Kate put together an ice bag and helped Nick get back to the couch, Carl had entered the house without knocking and immediately went into EMT mode.
Although Nick protested that he didn’t need a doctor, Kate very sweetly told him to shut up. Unhampered, Carl poked, prodded, and finally gave his pronouncement.
“As far as concussions go, I’ve seen worse. I don’t think there’re any fractures, just some healthy bruising. In cases like this, we like to see swelling. And that’s going to be a real goose egg. Have you had a tetanus shot recently? in the last couple of years?”
Nick nodded, then grimaced at the motion. “In the last couple of months.”
Carl applied an antibacterial ointment and then covered the bruise with a loose bandage. “Keep it clean and dry, and if the swelling doesn’t go down some over the next forty-eight hours, you need to see your physician.”
He turned to Kate. “And you’ll need to help him watch out for infection. You know the signs. And it’d be smart to keep him awake for the next twelve hours or so.”
As he rose, Carl motioned for Kate to follow him into the kitchen. She expected more instructions, but he stopped by the kitchen door and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not stupid. I know exactly who that is—President Benton’s ex-husband. What in the world is he doing here?”
Kate searched for a plausible answer, deciding that the truth—at least a portion of the truth—was the best response. “I’ve known Nick for years. I’m not sure why he came here, but he probably knew it would be a safe haven and he could get help. He knew I wouldn’t turn him down just because he and Emily don’t get along.”
That seemed to satisfy Carl. “Just making sure. If you need anyth
ing, you give us a call. Oh, one more thing? Keep him hydrated. I didn’t smell any booze on him, but—”
She held up her hand to stop him in midsentence. “He doesn’t drink anymore. He’s been a member of AA for a while now. But thanks.”
“I only want to know that you’re safe with him around.”
“I promise. I will be. And, Carl? I’d just as soon no one knows that Nick’s here.” She shrugged. “You know how the press can be. . . .”
He nodded and tapped his lips with his forefinger. “Mum’s the word.” Then he pointed toward his own house. “I won’t even mention it to the mouth of the South over there.”
As soon as Carl departed, Kate returned to the living room with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. She handed Nick the water and opened the pill bottle for him, shaking out three tablets in his hand. “Tell me everything that happened.”
He downed medicine and half the water, grimacing as Kate insisted he stretch out and get more comfortable. “I hung around the Marriott longer than I’d expected to, mainly because of the weather. Finally it looked like it was letting up, and I wanted to stash the stuff Donnie sent me in the storage unit before I drove back into Virginia.”
He ran his hand across his chin as if suddenly realizing he hadn’t shaved in a while. “It was a small outside unit on the end of the building with a roll-up door. I was trying to get the key out of my pocket when the wind came up and something hit me in the back of the head. When I woke up, I realized the tornado had struck my unit and the two next to it.”
“Oh, Nick . . .”
The hollowness in his dark eyes made him appear almost shell-shocked. “It looked like a bomb had exploded. Debris everywhere. Broken furniture, boxes scattered everywhere.”
“The papers?”
“Gone. I thought I’d hidden them well by sticking them in the mattress box. But the only thing left of the mattress was the cotton batting in the trees across the street.” He cradled his head in his hands. “Everything we had . . . all the proof is gone. They took it.”
A shiver of fear coursed up Kate’s arms, not as much for the missing evidence, but for his sudden irrational statement. She gave him her best soothing smile, meant for a man who might be suffering a concussion and, with that, some memory loss. “No one took it,” she said gently. “It was just bad luck. Bad weather.”