by J. M. Paul
Finding strength within my aching body, I rolled over, and reality set in.
About fifteen yards in front of me was what used to be the Laundromat. The sign was still erect, but it was bent and cracked. The outside walls of the building were partly intact but severely damaged, and the ceiling was gone.
A chorus of voices—either crying, screaming, or whimpering—echoed in my ears along with sirens, scraping metal, screeching tires, and distant thunder.
My gaze lifted to the sky. A few puffy white clouds decorated the crystal blue, and the sun shone its warm rays upon my skin. I turned slightly and saw dark clouds, almost black, off in the distance. Mother Nature had given her best performance and had moved on to the next audience.
I hope no one bought tickets to that showing.
Movement to my right caught my attention, and I swiveled my head in that direction. The motion caused pain to pierce through my skull, and I squeezed my eyelids closed to ward it off. After I took several deep breaths, the throbbing lessened but was still persistent.
I lay on the ground, trying to grasp my bearings, when I noticed my hand was clenched in a tight fist that ached. I raised my hand as high as I could, ignoring the sharp sting that exploded in my arm. When I unwound my dirty fingers, I noticed my nails had left indentations in my skin that oozed with droplets of blood. The sun reflected off the object in my palm, and my eyes landed on a shiny, round copper piece.
A penny.
Why am I holding a penny?
Bax.
Oh my gosh, Bax! Where is he? And Carly and Milo—are they okay?
I turned my aching head again and searched the surrounding area, looking for my group.
People milled around, lifting pieces of metal and wood, more than likely searching for victims, belongings, pets, and the like. I didn’t see any signs of Bax, Carly, or Milo.
Panic clawed up my throat.
I tried to sit up, but a loud, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, miss,” sounded overhead, and a hand pressed me back onto the wet grass.
Trepidation immediately struck me. My breathing increased before cutting off altogether. Instinct, brought on by a stranger’s touch, told me to run, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. It was weak, which left me exposed, and that was something I couldn’t afford.
“Don’t touch me.” I found the strength to at least say no.
Recollections of lessons I had just learned played through my head. How do I defend myself if I’m already on the ground?
Bax had never gotten around to teaching me those moves this afternoon.
Bax.
I moved again, but the fricking person forced me to stay lying down. My body was drained, but I was sick and tired of being pushed around. And my friends needed my help.
“I said, don’t touch me.” My arm flew up and knocked the persistent pressure away.
A horrible pain shot through my arm, and I cried out.
“Miss, I’m trying to help you.”
I’ve heard that before.
“Please, lie back until I can assess your injuries. Where are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” The voice floating over me was deep and scratchy, like the person smoked three packs of cigarettes a day.
Searching fingers probed my skull. When they reached the crown, it felt like horrible electric shocks zapped around my head and exited my temples and eyes.
“Ow. Son of a mother,” I groaned.
“You definitely hit your head.” The guy held up a couple of digits in front of me. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Two.”
“Good. What’s your name, miss?” He shone a light in my eyes.
“Libby.”
“Hi, Libby, I’m Tim. I’m a firefighter, and I’m here to help you.”
A firefighter? I wanted to eye him closer, but my lids were so heavy and insisted on trying to slam shut.
From what I could tell, the ideal of all firefighters being smoking hot and calendar-worthy didn’t apply to Tim. He was middle-aged and thick around the belly.
“Do you know what day it is?” Mr. Unsexy Fire Dude asked.
“Um…”
“I need you to say the day, Libby. Can you do that for me?” His hands lightly pressed against my neck, looking for injuries.
“Tuesday. All bad things happen on Tuesdays,” I ground out. “It’s a stupid day.”
Tim chuckled, but it was cut off when his hand smoothed down my hurt arm, and I cried out.
“You’ve got a pretty deep laceration on the back of your arm, and it’ll require stitches. Can you move your fingers?”
I wiggled all ten, just in case he was worried.
“Good. Does anything else…” Tim’s three-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day voice faded into nothing.
My eyelids fluttered open again, and Mr. Unsexy Fire Dude was leaning over me, his gray eyes probing into mine. I knew he’d told me his name, but I couldn’t remember it.
“Libby? You with me?” He faintly shook me.
I said something, but it came out as a grumble.
Fire Dude moved, and the sun shone in my eyes.
I squeezed them closed against the bright light when I heard pounding footsteps and, “Libby!”
I lifted my lids and turned my heavy head to see Bax running toward me. His hair was a matted mess, and his shorts and T-shirt were dirty and ripped.
When he skidded to a halt next to me and squatted down onto his knees, I took what felt like the first cleansing breath since our hands had separated in the Laundromat.
“Oh my God, Libby, are you okay?” His gaze searched my face, and then he regarded Fire Dude. “Is she going to be okay? Is she injured?” Bax met my gaze again and brushed back sticky hair from my forehead.
“Sir, please step back,” the guy ground out.
“Bax.” I reached for him, but my arm screamed in protest. “Ah!” I winced in pain.
“Please try not to move, Libby. We should have an ambulance available for you soon,” Fire Dude said.
“What’s wrong with her?” Bax questioned the guy caring for me but kept his rapt attention focused on me.
Fire Dude sought my approval, and when I nodded—which caused tingles of pain to shoot into my eyes—he turned toward Bax and stuck out his hand.
“I’m Tim.”
Tim! Now, I remember. Even though Tim is super nice and is helping me, the dude’s still unsexy.
“Bax.” He reached out and shook the offered hand once.
“From what I can tell, Libby has a concussion and a deep laceration to her left bicep. I haven’t found evidence of other injuries, but she’ll need to go to the hospital for further assessment. She’ll need stitches on her cut.” Tim pointed to the bicep that was now wrapped in white gauze and was slowly turning red from the oozing blood.
“That’s it?” Bax’s tone was full of surprise. “She flew through the air!”
“She probably doesn’t feel this way since she’s suffering right now”—Tim shot me a sympathetic glance—“but she was very lucky, all things considered.”
Bax seemed about to tell Tim what he thought about him considering me lucky when I suddenly realized we were missing two important people in our group.
“Carly and Milo?” I asked in a rush.
Bax took my palm in his and gently squeezed. It was a gesture meant to bring reassurance, but it did nothing but frighten me about the news he was going to relay.
“They’re both okay. Tim here would probably consider them lucky”—he glared at Fire Dude—“since their injuries aren’t horrible. A few scratches and bruises, but Carly sprained her ankle pretty bad. They’re going to take her in for X-rays just to be sure she didn’t break it.”
“Wow.” I flexed my hand in his. “What about you? Are you okay?” I tried to lift my head off the towel being used as a makeshift pillow to assess Bax better, but Tim stopped me.
Bax glared at him again. He knew I didn’t like to be touched, but I had come to terms with Tim being there to help me.
&n
bsp; “I’m fine.” Bax shrugged. “A few scrapes and bruises as well, if that.”
“You should probably get checked out, just to be sure, son.” Tim started to reach into his medical bag.
Bax held up his free hand. “I’m fine.”
Tim leaned back on his haunches, giving Bax a disapproving stare. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Bax clipped. “When will someone come get her? She’s bleeding through her bandage.”
Tim looked around, and I adjusted to move to see what he was seeing, but I only saw frantic commotion and wreckage. The sight made my heart hurt.
I couldn’t imagine what these people were going to go through. We were only passing through town and would move on as soon as we knew we were healthy enough to leave, but these people would have to stay, pick up what was left of their lives and belongings, and try to start over or build from what little they had left.
I felt guilty for being thankful that this wasn’t my hometown and that the effect this storm had on me was at a minimum.
“I’m not sure. Hopefully soon.” Tim pressed on the bandage, causing the cut to throb again. “You are starting to bleed through your dressing.” His brows furrowed in concern.
I wanted to yell at him to stop, but I knew Bax would overreact to my discomfort, and it wasn’t something we needed at this point.
I started to sit up again, but Tim put a hand on my shoulder to prevent me.
Bax knocked Tim’s hand away from me and growled, “Don’t touch her.”
Tim put his hands up in the air and sat on his heels again. The poor guy was only doing his job and was getting nothing but grief from us.
“Bax, it’s okay,” I reassured him as I came into a sitting position. My head pounded, and the world around me tipped and spun slightly. I took several deep breaths to steady myself.
When my eyes swung around the perimeter, I cataloged just how much damage had been done. It mirrored what I imagined a war zone would look like, except these people had had little to no warning and hadn’t been armed for battle.
Cars were overturned, trees were gone or lying on their sides, and buildings were either dismantled or the structures were severely damaged. People cried and called out for their missing loved ones. When the fortunate found each other, they hugged.
My gaze landed on our rented minivan. I blinked in disbelief when I noticed it looked virtually untouched. “Oh my gosh.”
Bax followed my line of sight and then turned back to me. “It’s astonishing, but it’s none the worse for wear.”
“How is that possible?”
“How are some houses demolished, but others are fine after a tornado?” Bax shrugged. “It’s Mother Nature. She has a wicked sense of humor sometimes.”
We sat mute, absorbing the commotion around us, when I finally let out an annoyed exhalation.
“Tim, I really appreciate your services, and I can’t thank you enough, but I’m fine. So many more severely injured people are here who need help. You shouldn’t waste your time on me.” I sent him my most honest and thankful smile for his selflessness. “Our van is fine”—I jerked my chin in its direction—“and Bax can drive me to the hospital to get stitched up. I would feel guilty if you stayed with me when I was okay and someone else was in need.”
“I don’t know. We’re not supposed to leave a victim.” Tim looked around.
I knew he saw so much more than my untrained eyes could. Several people were worse off than me, and they called to his helping heart. I pulled my hand from Bax’s and placed it on Tim’s forearm. He met my eyes, and I could see he knew I was right.
“I promise, we’ll go to the hospital. Bax will help me. If you haven’t noticed, he’s a little overbearing.” I tipped my lips up into a small grin, and Tim followed suit. When I looked at Bax, his anxious expression loosened a little.
After a few more seconds, Tim nodded. “Okay, only if you promise to go straight to the hospital.”
“Only for you.” I grinned. “Thank you so much for your help. You’re a wonderful man, and I won’t forget you.”
“Thanks, doll.” His cheeks flushed slightly as he packed up his bag and then stood. “You’ll make sure she gets proper medical attention? You can’t mess with a concussion.” Tim regarded Bax.
“Definitely.” Bax nodded.
“Okay then. Good luck, Libby.” With that, Tim walked toward a man who was holding his wrist, bleeding from his chin, and limping.
“Do you think you can stand?” Bax asked.
“I think so.”
“Hey, amigos.” Milo’s voice cut through the air. “Quit lazin’ around, and let’s jet. As hot as this chica is, she gets heavy after a while and needs a McHottie MD to X-ray her ankle, stat. Her words, not mine.”
Bax helped me to my feet and put his arm around my waist when I swayed and stumbled. The world was spinning again.
Stupid concussion.
“Is this all right?” Bax whispered, referring to his intimate touch.
I was amazed when I realized it was okay. Bax holding my hand and gently caressing my face had been tolerable almost from the start, but I wasn’t sure when being touched by him in this manner had become acceptable. Bax’s arm was completely wrapped around me, our bodies touching from shoulder to knees, and I wasn’t hyperventilating. I wasn’t sweating profusely, and I didn’t feel like I was going to choke and vomit at the same time. It was astonishing because, just a few weeks ago, people standing too close to me had rattled me.
I nodded and then focused on Milo and Carly. They brought a smile to my face. Milo held Carly in a piggyback. Carly had her chin resting on Milo’s shoulder, and her right ankle was wrapped in a large Ace bandage.
“Estás bien, chica?” Milo’s brows drew together in concern.
“Sí,” I replied to his query asking if I was okay.
The more time I spent with Milo, the more and more Spanish I was learning. This trip was proving to educate and expand my horizons on much more than photography.
“She needs to get to the hospital for observation as well,” Bax said as he helped me walk.
If it wasn’t for his support, I would have been staggering the entire way to the van like an unseasoned drunk.
“How’s your ankle, Carly?” I asked when Bax and Milo got us both into the backseat of the vehicle.
“Hurts like a bitch, but I don’t think it’s broken.” Carly lifted her foot to rest on the console between the two front seats. “How’s your head and arm?”
“My head feels like tiny elves are hammering my skull, and my arm’s chanting an F-bomb chorus at me.” I rested my head against the seat. It helped bring relief to my screaming head.
“Screw the elves; they freak me out. But I like the singing F-bomb arm. If we keep finding trouble like this, we might bring you over to the cussing side of the fence. Come join us over here; we have candy and magic juice.”
I could hear the smile in Carly’s voice.
My lips curved at the thought that she might be right. Maybe running on their playground wouldn’t be so bad if I was in such good company.
Carly had a bad sprained ankle, and I had suffered a minor concussion and received six stitches for the cut on my bicep.
All things considered, we had been lucky—just like Tim, the Unsexy Fire Dude, had said.
Our visit to the hospital that afternoon had lasted into the wee hours of the morning. There had been countless people with injuries in what we had found out was a microburst, not a tornado.
While we had received care, the storms had moved into Mississippi and Tennessee and had wreaked havoc over the landscape and communities in those states. Several confirmed tornadoes had touched down, and a shiver had slid up my spine as I imagined the devastation they had experienced.
When we had left the hospital, it had still been dark outside. We had decided to catch a few hours of sleep in the van, and then we had driven back to the Laundromat to see if any of our belongings would be salvageable.
We had stood, surveying the scene of our horrific experience—the deconstructed building, the broken windows, the fallen trees, debris, dirty and torn clothes scattered everywhere, and the distraught community—and we had found a new respect for Mother Nature. She was one nasty beast, not to be messed with.
Even though we had been in the midst of an awful situation, the uniqueness of the setting hadn’t passed our creative eyes. The environment had begged to be photographed, and I had known we would more than likely never be placed in that position again.
Without a word, all four of us had headed back to the van, grabbed our gear, and started documenting everything on film.
Carly had been forced to stay close to the van to rest her ankle, and Milo had never let her out of his sight. Bax and I had gone our own ways, but I had noticed he always kept me within his view as well. It had seemed chivalry wasn’t dead. The boys had been worried about the girls and made sure we were taken care of.
“That’s an awesome picture, Libby. You have such a unique eye for finding beauty among the ugly.” Carly broke my concentration as she leaned over my shoulder and eyed the picture I had up on my laptop screen.
We were on the road to Hot Springs, Arkansas, after taking a few hours’ worth of pictures on the scene. Every one of us was exhausted from the last two days’ worth of events and the lack of sleep the night before. But, despite our fatigue, we had decided to travel to our next destination, not wanting to waste more time.
To keep myself awake and occupied, I was sifting through the shots of the storm damage I had obtained. The picture on my screen captured a baby’s pink sock that was wet, dirty, and half-submerged in a mud puddle. Out of focus in the background, a man and woman were in a tight embrace. The lady was crying and clutched a small baby with a headful of dark curly hair, sucking its thumb. I was editing the picture to be black and white with the pink sock the only portion in muted color. With minor editing, the result of the photograph was quite striking.
“Thanks.” I pressed Save and shut the screen after a few seconds.
We had been traveling nonstop and taking so many photos on this trip that I rarely had time to do much more than load them onto my computer and place them into my Dropbox folders when we had Wi-Fi service.