Sizzle (St. Martin Family Saga): Emergency Responders

by Gina Watson

  He knew they’d only endured the first half of the storm, the better half. The worst was yet to come.

  He gathered his gear. He’d take their biggest, highest truck. Maybe he could at least get the girl. Or he could get stuck trying and be reprimanded, or worse, for breaking protocol. Still, he had to try. Mrs. Howard was a large woman, and he suspected she couldn’t walk very well. Big as he was, he didn’t think he could carry her out and through the water and debris. He’d have to pray for inspiration.

  When Jack spotted Clay dressing to go out, he jogged over to him. “Hey, you going after the girl?”

  Clay pulled on his boots. “Yeah, I have to. I can’t just sit here. We’re in the eye right now, so maybe I can go and get back before it kicks up again.”

  “Wait up; I’ll go with you.” Jack ran to grab his gear.

  He was grateful; Jack might have just saved one of their lives.

  They boarded the ladder truck and drove toward Mrs. Howard’s home. The truck was big, and heavy enough not to easily get pushed around by debris and high water. Without the truck to worry about, they could focus on the problem of disorientation. Even though they’d lived in the area their entire lives, they were having trouble finding their way. To make matters worse, there were no lights since the power had been cut. Slowing but staying diligent to keep the gas pumping so the truck wouldn’t stall, Clay gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

  “I can’t see a damned thing.”

  Jack leaned closer toward the windshield. “The whole town’s been plunged into darkness. I don’t recognize a thing. I’ll get the portable searchlight.” Jack turned onto his knees and began a crawl to the back of the truck.

  “Be careful; I can’t stop the truck or we’ll stall.”

  Jack climbed through the window to access the back. If Jack were compromised, he’d stop. But if they stalled, that meant the mission was over, possibly along with the lives of the two women.

  Moments passed with no movement or sound from the back of the truck. Clay yelled for Jack, but didn’t hear anything. He lifted his foot from the gas and was about to press the brake when Jack swung himself back into the cab. Clay let out the breath he’d been holding and hit the gas pedal. Jack flipped on the spotlight and pointed it out across the landscape. The water had engulfed the roads, so there weren’t any of the usual landmarks. Debris piled up where it couldn’t pass freely or push itself through. Power lines hung lifelessly and tangled in the debris and water.

  Leaning halfway out of the truck, Jack said, “Thank God they cut the power.”

  Their world tilted and the left side of the truck rose higher than the right.

  “Shit! I think I’m on the sidewalk,” Clay said. “Hang on.” He turned the wheel, but it fought him. The truck was wedged, and he had no choice but to continue on at an angle. The wheels rutted and the metal strained and then suddenly they dropped down hard. He swung the steering wheel and the truck was freed. He felt the tires make contact with the waterlogged road.

  Jack anxiously said, “I think that’s the neighborhood over there.” He gestured across what appeared to be a bay but was actually what they knew to be a six-lane street with median.

  “Fuck, we’re on the opposite side.”

  Jack pointed the spotlight up. “Look at that, see those traffic lights?” He gestured with his head. “It’s an intersection. We can make the turn.”

  Clay approached the intersection with caution and turned the steering wheel slowly to the right. The truck responded, powering through the deep water. He kept the steering angled so the truck straightened itself out without too much effort. “Shine the light at the street signs; it won’t do to pass up the street. We won’t be able to turn around, so that only gives us one shot at this.”

  Jack nodded and lifted the upper half of his body out the window. He leaned out as far as he could and hit the reflective signs with the light. “The streets are in alphabetical order and we’re to C. They’re on Hightower, so five more streets.”

  They proceeded cautiously, using the spotlight to ensure the alphabet was going higher. When they hit Glen Eagle, Jack shined the light on what they knew should be the bayou that ran between the two streets. “Look,” he called back to Clay.

  Clay’s spine tingled at what he saw. The bayou was indistinguishable from the flooded street water because both were rapidly flowing. “Fuck.”

  Jack pointed to the street where he needed to turn. “This is Hightower.”

  Clay turned cautiously onto the narrow street. The headlights shined and revealed the mayhem to their eyes. Huge oaks and debris—tree limbs, fencing, gutters, cars, and power lines—were everywhere. It looked like a war zone with this neighborhood on the losing side. They were stuck and could go no farther. He turned to Jack, out of suggestions. Given the amount of water in the street, water had to be in the houses at least two feet deep, maybe more. That wasn’t too bad. The main problem was the streets were sitting under at least that much water and the water wasn’t still; it flowed moderately fast. With the added debris, someone could easily break a leg walking through the river that had been Hightower Avenue.

  “Hey, we’ve got the ladder.” Jack’s voice pierced Clay’s circling thoughts. Jack leaned out the window, shining the light on the houses. “It’s the third house there.” He bobbed the light at the house. “We can crawl to it on the ladder.”

  It might be possible. They had to try, and Mrs. Howard was in no condition to make the journey on foot.

  “Okay… I’ll climb into the bucket and you get me as close as you can. I hope to come out with Mrs. Howard first.”

  Jack nodded, confirming the plan.

  Clay climbed through the truck and onto the ladder. As he was settling into the bucket, he felt the wind and rain start to kick up, eviscerating his hopeful mood.

  *

  Eve had Ruth’s feet up on the coffee table, free of the water. She had hers tucked under her on the couch. She wondered how high the water might rise. Eve wasn’t worried about herself; she could climb. But Ruth—No, the more she thought about it, the more she recognized that it would be impossible to move her. For starters, Ruth was already exhausted, lethargic even, and she was a tall and overweight woman, probably over two hundred fifty pounds, and Eve was only five foot five and weighed one twenty. She wouldn’t be able to help Ruth any more than she already had.

  Despair struck hard. She couldn’t just let the woman drown. Her body started trembling as the eerie hush heightened all the other sounds she could hear. Unfamiliar sounds such as hissing, chirping, and swishing. The swishing disturbed her the most. It sounded like something was swimming in the water, maybe a fish. She hoped for a fish. She refused to think what else might be in the water as she climbed up to hunch on the back of the couch.

  Ruth looked at her when she moved. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’ve lived my life, but you’ve yet to live yours. You shouldn’t have stayed here with me.”

  “We’re not dead yet.” She tried to lighten the grave mood, but there was no hope to share since she herself had none.

  Eve cocked her head, certain she was hearing things when she heard a whistle. But then she heard it again.

  “Hello? Ladies?”

  Eve jumped down from the couch and water hit her knees. “We’re here.” She waded through the house to the living room. She went to the door and pulled hard, but couldn’t get it to budge.

  A piercing whine cut through the silence. A saw? She pressed herself against the hallway wall.

  “Stay back!” a male voice called out.

  The huge limb in the living room was moving. After a few seconds, it snapped, half falling into the water inside the house and the other half dropping out the window. Then in the window frame she saw him on a ladder, and she started to cry so hard, her body shook. The big fireman had come back for them. She didn’t even know his full name and he didn’t know hers but in that moment she would have given him her firstborn child. She cle
ared her throat and shouted, “We’re in here.”

  He shined the light on her. “How’s everyone?”

  “We’re good.” She was crying so hard, her words came out as a sharp whine.

  “I’m just gonna knock out some of this glass, okay?” His brow rose as he waited for her response. All she could do was nod.

  “Go into the other room and keep out of the water.”

  She did as she was told, climbing up to reclaim her spot the back of the couch. “Ruth, they’ve come for us. You’re going to be okay.” They were both going to be okay.

  They heard the glass break that he warned her about. Then Eve heard what she thought to be him jumping into the water. The sounds of swishing grew closer, and she sat half hopeful, half desperate. She prayed the increased movement and waves were due to the big man wading toward them and not to something else slithering through the water.

  He pushed into the den and shined a spotlight, finding them on their dry perches. She released the breath she’d been holding.

  “I think it’s high time we exchange full names. I’m Clay St. Martin.”

  “I’m Eve Ivey, and this is Ruth Howard.”

  “Very good. Everybody okay?” He shined his flashlight from Ruth to Eve, careful not to blind them.

  “Yes, I think so.” Eve’s voice quivered.

  “Here’s the plan. First, I’m going to take Ruth out to the truck.” He spanned the area with the light and looked through the opening to the kitchen. “Eve, I’m gonna take you to the kitchen. I need you to wait for me on the countertop.”

  She stood and started making her way to the kitchen.

  “Eve! I told you to stay out of the fucking water.”

  Clay dropped the spotlight onto the console table and pulled her forcefully back. Then he threw her over his shoulder caveman style, picked up the light, and strode in the direction of the kitchen. Once inside he set her on the countertop and reached down, pulling a small flashlight from his cargo pants. Twisting the barrel to turn it on, he shined the dim light at her. He placed one firm hand on her shoulder.

  “Listen to me, Eve. I’m going to take Ruth to the ladder. From there it’ll be slow going to get her into the truck. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more. You should be fine here. Take this flashlight.”

  She nodded at his directives and tears filled her eyes.

  “Look at me.” He put his finger under her chin to lift her gaze to his eyes. “I’m coming back for you, but the storm is picking up again. You can expect more wind and rain, but I will be back.”

  She nodded again, unable to say anything. The intensity in his gaze comforted her. In that moment she thought he would physically dam up the water if that was what he needed to do to get to her. She believed fervently in him, in his honor, and instantly she knew he was an excellent fireman. A man who excelled at everything he did, unwilling to fail.

  She sat on the counter in the kitchen while Clay struggled, grunting a bit, to carry Ruth to the ladder. She felt helpless, but she definitely didn’t want to cause more trouble or have him yelling at her again, so she sat quietly.

  Once he was gone, she shivered in fear. All the anxiety that had been stowed while he was near rushed back. To calm her nerves, she replayed the instructions his rich baritone had delivered. It helped to distract her for a few minutes but when she heard the storm winds burrowing through the eaves and the driving rain kick in again, she knew it was as he said: the storm wasn’t over.

  She sang one song and then started another, but singing didn’t distract her. She tried counting, but stopped near two hundred.

  She shivered, feeling not only alone but abandoned. In the darkness of a strange kitchen in the depths of a hurricane, time seemed to have little meaning. She had no idea how long it had been since Clay had left. Sounds of swirling and swishing in the water beneath her had her imagination running wild. She pushed back toward the wall. Something big was in that water, she knew it. She wrapped her arms around her knees and peered, unblinking, into the darkness.

  When she heard his voice and saw his searchlight, she was instantly relieved and it was all she could do to sit still and wait for him on the countertop. His big body stood in the doorway, and he shined his light on her.

  “Ready?”

  She sagged in relief. “God, yes.”

  He held his left arm open, indicating she should climb right on him. He kept the light turned to the floor. When she put her arms around his neck, he pulled her into the warmth of his body. She delighted in his warm strength and was so close to his face she could smell his aftershave and the tinge of sweat on him. He started wading through the water, but almost immediately Eve felt his already hard physique stiffen as he transferred the light to his other palm. With his free hand he reached down, and she heard the distinctive sound of Velcro as he opened and then pulled something from a pocket. He became as still as a hot, sun-drenched desert.

  Loud and sudden bursts of gunshots rang out in the kitchen. The sound blistered the quiet, and Eve instinctively screamed and grabbed her ears as she burrowed her face into the niche between his chin and neck. She smelled gunpowder and after a moment turned in his arms to see what had happened. The bright light highlighted the now dead and floating carcass of an alligator. She gasped and buried her face into Clay, clinging as tight as possible.

  He carried her through the kitchen and the hallway to the living room, where the bucket waited in the window. He climbed up with her in his arms and signaled to someone outside. The ladder started to move and once it cleared the house, hard-driving rain stung her face and back. She yelped and nestled deeper into the safety of his body at the same time he turned to shield her from the brunt of the rain. A few moments later, the ladder jerked, and her world turned on its axis. Lifting her head, she realized he was leaning forward, ready to dismount the ladder with her in his arms. He smiled at her—the sweetest sight she’d seen in hours—and indicated with a nod that she should ease her hold on him. She reluctantly let go and watched as he climbed down and then turned to pull her free. She was shoeless, and he passed her to another man—Jack, she saw, smiling at him—who helped her get seated in the front seat of a very large fire truck. He was busily punching buttons and even with the storm she could hear various motors come to life as he reset the giant ladder that had helped them. Clay climbed in and joined her while Jack joined Ruth in the back.

  Eve made sure Ruth was all right as Clay started the arduous task of getting them all to a safe location.

  *

  When they pulled in to the high school, Clay exhaled the breath he’d been holding for what seemed like miles. He’d saved them; they’d survive now.

  Jack had the medics bring a gurney out for Ruth, which was quite a production in the rain and wind. Eve stood waiting by the truck. He watched her, unable to turn away, noting that she was barefoot and still wore the leisurely attire from earlier. Except now she was soaked and he was able to confirm that she was definitely not wearing a bra. That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t go into the school looking the way she did. He jogged to the back of the engine and rummaged around until he found a BRFD T-shirt and sweat suit. The suit was large, but she could draw the string. He walked around to her.

  “Here, put this on.”

  She took the shirt and put her arms through the holes, pulling it over her head before he handed her the pants. She pulled those on and cinched the waist tight. He passed her the sweat shirt, saying, “In case you need it.”

  Her gray eyes held a solemnity that froze him in place. She touched his bare arm, laying her whole hand against his skin, and heat sizzled beneath her palm.

  “Thank you for what you did, Clay St. Martin. I owe you my life.”

  Clay shrugged. “It’s what I do.” He argued silently with his soul, the deep part of him that was currently shouting that what was between them was so much more than just his job.

  “You went beyond your job. When I called 911 a second time, I got a recorded message stating
all emergency services had been temporarily disabled. You risked you job and life. You didn’t have to come for us.”

  He nodded because he couldn’t speak as he thought about what would have become of her had he not gone back. They walked toward the designated evacuee area. As he surveyed the space in the gym, he saw children running wild, without discipline, and women and men crammed into a room much too small for so many.

  His work was done, and he had no reason to linger. He passed Eve over to a volunteer and turned away, feeling let down. He told himself his unease was from the drop in adrenaline, but he knew a lie when he heard it.

  He was moving toward the door when Jack hurried over and whispered, “Augie said they’re running low on food and water. Supplies won’t be able to get in for hours. Or it could be a few days, God forbid, or even weeks before they get everything they need.”

  Clay searched across the gymnasium until his eyes landed on her yellow curls. She was already rolled into a ball on one of the cots, using the sweatshirt he gave her as a pillow. The man in the cot next to her reached out to rub her back, and instantly Clay stiffened. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he strode across the room to check on her. His anger was starting to build, and he’d need to focus to keep it in check. He stood at the edge of her cot, listening as she softly cried and curled her body away from the man’s touch.

  Of course anybody would notice her beauty. He had. Men were like piranhas, and she was blood in the water. As he stood there, he thought he might have saved her from one dire situation only to dump her into another. He looked around. Men were taking notice of her even in the baggy clothes. The shelter was good cover from the storm but the things that went on inside could be worse than fighting the elements outside. He’d seen this before during other storms. There were just too many displaced people in one location.