Shaken

by Kariss Lynch

  Instead, she remained in Haiti, shaken and bruised. Home was an illusion, a wonderful dream to which she hoped to return. Reality was death and devastation. How did Nick fight against this daily? Where did he find the strength?

  “I’ll help. Stitch me up.” Rhonda hesitated for a moment, but Kaylan allowed no chance for further pity. Work would dull the pain. Every face would bear Sarah Beth’s smile or eyes. Every child would remind her of her bubbly best friend. Every cry for help would motivate her never to allow someone else she loved to die, if it was within her ability to stop it.

  It was no longer her body that felt the keen sting of pain, but her soul, as if it too had been shaken. Forced tears poured as Rhonda removed debris from her leg in a hurry to help those outside. Within moments of the needle tugging her skin, Kaylan slipped into pain-driven oblivion, the cries for help smothered by blackness.

  Chapter Twenty

  FOURTEEN HOURS HAD passed since the earthquake, but Kaylan couldn’t remember the day of the week. More people arrived at the clinic. More bodies lay in the streets. Kaylan hobbled from patient to patient, stitching, cleaning, and applying salve and bandages until supplies ran out.

  Aftershocks rattled remaining bodies, sending precariously perched rubble tumbling down. With every rumble, people sprinted to the middle of streets, covering their heads and wailing. Sometime during the day a voodoo candle was lit and placed in the middle of the street. The thick dust stamped its glow, but people instinctively ran to it during each aftershock—anything to get away from the crumbling buildings. As the shaking died away, hymns replaced the wailing, and the soothing sounds of Creole chants filled the streets, a true picture of the combination of Christianity and voodoo in Haiti.

  “Help! We need help over here.” Rhonda and Kaylan rushed to a stretcher Abraham and Stevenson placed on the floor. A young girl, no older than sixteen, lay unconscious, her arm broken and protruding below the elbow. Kaylan gagged and averted her eyes, scanning the girl for more injuries.

  “Where was she, Abe?”

  “In a house up the hill. A boulder was on her arm. She passed out when we moved it.”

  Rhonda pulled Kaylan aside. “We have to amputate, but the only medicine I have left to give her is Tylenol. Put these in her mouth and make sure she swallows them. I’ll need you to hold her down.”

  Kaylan’s mouth fell open in horror. She had to be joking. “Can’t we just set her arm? Maybe it’s a bad break.”

  “Believe me, if that was the case, I would do it in a heartbeat. I need your help, Kaylan.”

  “Rhonda . . . ”

  “She’ll die if we don’t.”

  Kaylan looked at the girl and saw Sarah Beth’s twisted legs, blood slipping from her mouth, and unfocused blue eyes. Kaylan blinked away the images. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Rhonda instructed Stevenson and Abraham as Kaylan gave the girl pills and water. The grind of a chainsaw drew Kaylan’s gaze. Abraham braced the girl on the table.

  “No, Rhonda. You can’t use that.”

  “We don’t have anything else. Lay across her, and hold her still.”

  “Rhonda.”

  “You think I want to do this? It’s her only option. Now, do as I say or leave and let Stevenson help.” A tear slid down Rhonda’s cheek.

  Stretching her body over the girl’s torso, Kaylan angled her head away from the grinding noise. The girl’s body jerked as she screamed. Kaylan fought the urge to move off the girl as something warm splattered the back of her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and then quickly opened them as the image of Sarah Beth flashed before her with a vengeance. Kaylan tightened her hold.

  “Kaylan.” Kaylan glanced up from changing a woman’s bandage to find Abraham and Stevenson towering over her. She stood slowly, grabbing the stick that helped her hobble from patient to patient. She hadn’t said anything to Rhonda, but she was worried about infection.

  “Can you come outside?” Kaylan nodded and followed them out of the clinic, past the line of tents that stretched from the doorway around the block. A body lay on a stretcher, a dirty hot pink towel obscuring the identifying features. The hand brushed the dirt, and Kaylan saw Sarah Beth’s neon nail polish and pale skin.

  She reached to pull the towel back. Just a glimpse. Abe grabbed her waist and held her fast. “No, Kaylan. She is not there. She is with Jesus.”

  “Sarah Beth.”

  “We don’t sorrow as those that have no hope,” he whispered in her ear, slowly releasing her.

  “Where’s the hope in this, Abe, where? My best friend is dead. She loved Haiti. She wanted to be here.” She covered her face. “Why?” The word was barely audible.

  Abe hugged her, remaining silent. Stevenson observed them, his face etched in stone. They had found young Reuben that morning in the doorway of a building near Rhonda’s house. He had been huddled around his soccer ball when he was buried. Stevenson hadn’t shed a tear, but he wouldn’t leave Abe’s side. Abraham’s classmates had been buried in the seminary. Few remained alive to bring their people the gospel. Kaylan’s heart broke for the teens who only wanted better for their people.

  Why, God? Why here? Why Sarah Beth? Why sweet, precious Reuben, who only wanted to play soccer?

  Abraham released her and, with Stevenson’s help, lifted the stretcher. Kaylan balked at the shovel tucked under Sarah Beth.

  “I need to take her home. She can’t stay here. I need to take her back to Alabama to her family.”

  “If we do not bury her now, she will be thrown in a mass grave or burned in the street. I am sorry, Kaylan. This is the best way for you and for Sarah Beth.”

  The boys hastily dug a grave outside the city and lowered Sarah Beth inside. Abraham read Scripture and prayed while Stevenson fashioned a cross out of two sticks. Kaylan couldn’t speak, couldn’t process the events surrounding her. This couldn’t be happening. She would never hug Sarah Beth again, never hear her tinkling laugh or smell her flowery perfume. Sarah Beth wouldn’t have a class in the fall. What would Kaylan tell the students she had tutored and taught last semester? Would they understand that the woman who’d loved them, who’d brought them snacks from home because some hadn’t eaten all weekend, was gone forever? The grave was permanent.

  “All things work together for the good, Kaylan.”

  “Where’s the good in this, Abe?” Leaning on her cane, Kaylan felt the cool poison of bitterness seep through her veins and wrap around her heart. Then, so only Abe could hear, she met his brown eyes and whispered, “God left Haiti, just like He left Sarah Beth.” A tear coursed down her face and landed near the cross. The wind dried its track as she hobbled back to town to help.

  Kaylan’s mouth felt like cotton. She licked her lips and winced when her split lip stung in protest. The man stretched out on the cot before her was dying. She’d failed again. His wife and adult children hovered around his pallet on the ground. Kaylan ran a cool rag over his forehead and checked his pulse, again. There was nothing she could do. Another part of her heart chipped away. Helpless and useless, she made herself keep moving.

  Lord? Are You there?

  She stood, slowly, and her leg wobbled beneath her, threatening to collapse. She gritted her teeth and counted silently, focusing on the process instead of the pain. Kaylan moved to the next patient, one who could be saved. A flurry of activity behind her made her spin back around to the dying patient. The man drew a rattled breath, and as his chest fell, his head drifted down his pillow and became limp. His wife and daughter threw themselves over his chest, crying and wailing, his son attempting to console both women.

  Kaylan couldn’t bear it. All around her, under the makeshift tents of the medical clinic, people wailed or sat in utter silence, too numb, too shocked to react. She needed to get away, but death had become a constant companion. She couldn’t stop it. She tried, but the grave respected no person. She fought a losing battle.

  “I’m so sorry.” She hurried toward the clinic door, limping and draggi
ng her leg. She needed refuge, respite for just a moment.

  The sound began as a wail and morphed into a melody, quiet at first and then gathering in intensity. The air around the clinic charged with energy as the wailing fell silent.

  The Creole words soothed her as they had in her few weeks in the country. As the song gathered, she recognized the melody and stopped cold. She sank to the ground facing the woman who lost her husband. “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” intermingled with the dust. For the first time since the quake, the earth was still. The woman’s hair and arms were coated white. Dark eyes reflected her sorrow, but they weren’t fixed on her late husband. They were tilted to heaven, pouring their sorrow out to the Lord. For a moment, Kaylan wondered if she were an angel in disguise, come to lift the souls of the downtrodden.

  One by one, other voices joined the woman’s until a chorus of Creole enveloped the clinic. Abe and Rhonda appeared from the clinic, mouths hanging open. Tears coursed down Abe’s dust-covered cheeks, and his lip quivered. As the chorus began again, he added his voice to the throng, louder and louder still. He threw his arms open wide, his face tilted toward heaven.

  “All I have needed Thy hand hath provided; great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”

  Chills coursed down Kaylan’s spine as the refrain ebbed into silence. The woman hummed and swayed, tears weaving down her dust-stained cheeks, a small smile on her lips—like the one Kaylan had seen on Sarah Beth’s face as she slipped into eternity. The woman had just lost her husband, and yet peace radiated from her chalky face. Kaylan had never seen anything like it. Just as the earthquake united their plights, the song bonded their hearts.

  Abe helped her to her feet and moved with her to another cot. The atmosphere had a different feel, as if the song had morphed the area from one of gloom and despair, to hope.

  Abe whispered in her ear, “That is the first time I have seen something beautiful come out of this chaos.” A small smile graced his lips. “Now I know, I remember that we will be all right.” The fervency of his words made her pull away and study his eyes. They were no longer filled with fear, uncertainty, or the ghosts of the many he had pulled from debris. Peace rested in their depths.

  Uncertainty settled in her heart. She had lost one she loved dearly. These people had lost everything. Where was her peace that life would be all right? What was she missing?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THURSDAY MORNING DAWNED bright through the dust still coating the air. Another day without Sarah Beth, another day of bodies and chaos. Kaylan had slept for two hours on a pallet beneath one of the sheets next to the girl who’d lost her arm.

  Two nights and a day had passed since the earthquake, and she still hadn’t called home. Rhonda needed her, and phone lines were still down. A member of the American embassy had found her and Rhonda and registered their names on a list with Sarah Beth’s. Families were to be contacted, but she had no way of knowing if her family had been called. They would be frantic by now.

  “Rhonda, Kaylan.” Abe’s voice carried before he reached them. “A truck is here. Doctors, supplies. Water and food. Hurry.”

  “Kaylan, you go with Abraham and Stevenson. Bring back what you can.” She hobbled after the boys as they raced ahead.

  Home was a lifetime away, and she wondered if she would ever see the sun shining on the lake again. Moisture was absent from her mouth and lips, and her stomach had ceased to speak. Hunger pains had become familiar sensations, a new normal. Food was scarce. Kaylan passed her rations to Sophia and her friends, her water to Yanick and her baby. Kaylan wondered where Tasha and Kenny were. Would she see them again? Were they alive?

  She grew weaker by the hour but powered through, determined to save one more life. Each nameless face bore the soul of Sarah Beth, of little Reuben, of the girl who had lost her arm. One more. Save one more.

  More died by the hour.

  Maneuvering around rubble, she finally arrived at the trucks. People shouted and shoved. A man hollered indiscernible noises, and she realized he was deaf. As she pushed to his side to help, the crowd shoved him to the ground. She lost sight of him in the throng. Anyone with a disability in Haiti was considered of less importance than the local animals. But she could do nothing to help as the crowd pushed her back and megaphones blared in an attempt to bring order.

  Her leg ached, and she struggled to keep her weight off the wound. Blood seeped through the bandage. The stitches had busted. She gritted her teeth and welcomed the pain. It motivated her race to help the people around her—one more who wouldn’t experience the same fate as Sarah Beth. Their pain was hers. They were survivors of this tragedy. She would model their resiliency. Her pain would become her strength. The weak would not leave Haiti alive.

  Water bottles were passed, and crackers flew into waiting hands. Kaylan was once again jostled, but Abraham and Stevenson appeared at her side and gripped her arms. They waded into the crowd and arrived at the truck carrying men and women in American camouflage. She scanned the faces, wishing Nick and Micah were among them, but their SEAL team would never let them come to Haiti. “I need food.”

  “Help us, please.”

  “Money, shelter.”

  “Clothes.”

  “Medicine.”

  “Water, please, God, water.”

  Creole and broken English swirled around her head like a whirlpool, and the stench of sweat and blood assaulted her nose.

  “I work for the Hope Clinic. We need supplies. Medicine, food, water. We have a hundred under our care and haven’t anything to eat or drink.”

  “A lot haven’t, ma’am.”

  The soldier’s russet hair reminded her of Seth, and she offered the ghost of a smile. “Please, anything.”

  “If we give you a crate, this mob will have our heads. Where’s the clinic? Maybe we can bring the next truck load by there.”

  “A box, anything, please.” She was prepared to beg. The people needed something. Many had waited in a line for hours the day before, only to be turned away, water buckets empty. An eight-month-old baby had died the day before from lack of nutrients. Kaylan didn’t want that for Yanick’s child. Sarah Beth had helped bring that little life into the world.

  The soldier looked at his partner and handed Abraham and Stevenson each a box of water and crackers. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

  “We’ll manage. Thank you.”

  A group of men crowded around her, and she lost Abe. Hands reached upward toward the back of the truck and jumped and pushed on Kaylan’s head to support their weight. She crumpled to the ground, feet trampling her.

  She shielded her face, blood now pouring down her leg. “Abe. Stevenson.” Her words went unheard beneath the cries of a hunger-ravaged crowd. A box nicked her head as a man grabbed it and ran into the streets. She lay dazed, feet stepping on and over her.

  A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to the edge of the crowd. Abraham’s loud words gained the attention of a few of the men and they parted briefly as she was pulled to her feet.

  “Kaylan, you okay?”

  She sagged against him, her head pounding. Survival had driven the people to primal behavior. Only those strong enough, determined enough to fight for food and water would avoid starvation.

  “When will this nightmare end, Abe?”

  His smile was sad. “It is always a nightmare for the people of Haiti. But we know how to survive.”

  “How do you survive this? No water, no food. No place to sleep. How do you live like this?”

  “It is Haiti, Kaylan. We live like this because we must.” He threw her arm around his shoulder and supported her weight. Her eyes threatened to close. He squared his shoulders, his head erect. “Someday, things will change for us. I have hope for my people, hope for a better Haiti.”

  “What hope?” She nearly shouted.

  “You are alive, are you not? So am I.” His sharp, steady gaze challenged her to argue.

  Abraham led them through the markets and back t
o the clinic. Blood had become more common than water, and crying ceased to have meaning. The smell of human flesh permeated the air from piles of bodies on fire in the street. Troops and reporters arrived, bearing cameras instead of supplies. Food, water, and medicine sat at airports in Haiti and the Dominican Republic, unable to travel the rutted, pothole-riddled roads to people in need.

  Broken people, bruised bodies, shattered lives, shaken faiths, missing loved ones. No soccer games led by a group of rowdy children, no worship bells. Kaylan’s heart broke.

  A group of people gathered at the end of the street around a pole leaning on the side of a dilapidated restaurant. Cheers and cries seemed foreign to her ears. She stopped, and her breath caught as the red and blue of the Haitian flag pulled into a sky clearing of dust. Blue shone through for the first time since the quake. A child sat on his father’s shoulders, hoisting the cloth higher and higher until it billowed in the air.

  Abraham stood tall. “You see, Kaylan? There will be a better Haiti. One day. God is still in control.”

  In the ashes and rubble the flag spoke of lespwa, hope despite the harshness. Kaylan didn’t understand it, couldn’t believe it. Too many lay dead, too much destroyed. Still, the image of the flag nagged her.

  “How are you so strong? You pulled bodies and people from buildings. You braved the quake to save others when you could have died. Why?”

  “You would have too.”

  “I wanted to hide. I wanted to die when Sarah . . . when my friend died.”

  “You kept going. You will rise above this.”

  Kaylan didn’t think so. Something inside her had died when Sarah Beth breathed her last.

  A cold, delirious voice halted Kaylan. His shouts filled the street.

  “You, you brought this to Haiti. Where is your God?”

  Eliezer rocked on the sidewalk like a drunken man in tattered and torn clothes. A gash stretched from his eye to his jaw. Kaylan instinctively stepped toward him, driven to inspect the wound.