by Amy Miles
Her pant leg snags and tugs her back. Hannah jerks her leg, fighting against the invisible nail.
“Please…” the voice calls again. “I think my leg is broken.”
Hannah rocks to the side and grins in triumph as her jeans tear, freeing her. “I’m almost there.”
Ducking her head, she pulls herself the last two feet and finds herself in a larger space. A man, perhaps in his early thirties and covered from head to toe in grime, lies before her. The remnants of his office lie scattered around them—dozens of books, shattered picture frames, crushed plants, and a partially intact wooden desk. It is this cherry wood desk that has saved the Pastor. He lies partially halfway under it, spared from the great wooden rafter that collapsed in on him.
As she works her way toward him, she realizes that the collapsed end of the desk pins him in place.
“I see you!”
He raises his head and she meets his pain-laced gaze. She hurries toward him, ignoring the pain in her forearms as she finds a relatively clear spot to rise onto her knees and survey the damage. “Can you move your other leg?”
“Yes.” He nods in affirmation. “It is just my right that is pinned.”
Rising slightly, she peers into the dark beneath the desk and sees that his left leg is bent at the knee but the lower portion of his right leg is beneath the crushed wood. As best she can tell, there is only a minimal amount of blood, which must be a good thing.
Hannah bites down on her lower lip as she looks at the beam. It is nearly ten feet long and looks to be very solid. “I’m not sure I can lift this on my own, and even if I can, shifting it might bring the rest of the roof down on us.”
Pastor Justin nods. “I’ve already come to that same conclusion.” His focus shifts as he grimaces, as if a new wave of pain has gripped him. Hannah rushes to his side and holds his hand. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his grip is firm until the pain begins to fade away again.
“How bad is it?”
He offers her a weak smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Hannah smiles back. “Are all you southern men this tough?”
Justin laughs but is seized by a coughing fit. She holds on to him until it subsides. “We have our moments,” he finally manages.
Determined to get this man to safety, Hannah lifts her gaze and begins to follow the maze of wood above her. Several smaller beams have collapsed on top of the one that rests upon the Pastor’s desk. If she can just move those…
“Hold on a moment. I’m going to see if I can shift some of this weight.”
He calls out a warning, but Hannah is already on the move. She ducks and weaves, moving forward in a low crouch that burns in her thighs until she is finally able to half stand between two fallen rafters.
She can feel the violence of the winds that funnel down from overhead. The sky has gone black. The clouds seal out all sunlight. Droplets of rain begin to patter against her nose as she turns away.
“Can you see anything?” Pastor Justin calls.
“Nothing useful,” she mutters and refocuses on her task. Placing her hands upon a smaller beam, she braces with her legs and lifts. At first the beam hardly moves. She holds her breath as the wood around her groans, but she manages to shift it aside.
“That’s one down,” she grunts.
“How many more?”
She ducks to look back at him and sees that he has pushed up to slump forward, his head pressed against the desk drawer. I’m running out of time!
“Don’t you worry about it,” she calls back as she seizes the next beam. “I’ll have you out of here in no time.”
The minutes drag by. Her shoulders scream in protest and her arms tremble under the weight, but slowly and as carefully as she can manage, she begins to make a hole.
Sinking back down into the darkness, Hannah realizes she can hardly see the Pastor now. “Call out to me,” she requests and follows his voice. He is weaker now. Far too weak to be able to be of much help when she lifts the large beam.
What am I going to do now? Looking around her, Hannah searches for anything that might help create leverage, like she and Timothy had done earlier in the day to free Iris, but there is nothing. The beams are too long to maneuver into place in such a confined space.
Water taps against her head as the rains begin to arrive, making everything slick. A chill runs through her as she pushes back her damp hair. “Can you help me lift?”
“I can try.”
“Alright. When I count to three, I want you to push up on the desk as hard as you can. Once your leg is unpinned, you need to get free. I won’t be able to hold it long.”
He nods and braces, gritting his teeth against the sure pain that is about to sweep over him. “One. Two. Three!”
The desktop groans as he pushes against it. Pain flares along Hannah’s lower back as she lifts on the beam. The muscles cord in her neck and she can feel the strain reddening her face.
“It’s no use!” he calls, falling back. Hannah releases her grip and slams her palm against the beam in frustration. He’s right. They barely managed to lift it an inch, hardly enough to make any difference.
A flash of lightning overhead startles the Pastor. “Was that lightning?”
Hannah nods, sinking down beside him. She is spent, her energy utterly wasted. When was the last time she ate? Last night? Yes, at the meal her uncle Andrew made for her. Far too long to go without, considering the strenuous day she has had. Obviously, adrenaline has its own empty tank as well.
“The eye has moved,” she whispers, leaning her head back against a fallen rafter and looks up into the sky. The rain pelts down at her, soothing the heat that feels suffocating in this small space.
“You need to leave.”
She sits up. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Well you can’t stay. I won’t have you risking your life for me. We’ve proven that this is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible with God,” she responds, and the fear that she previously saw beginning to encroach into the pastor’s eye is replaced by contrition. She places a hand on his arm. “It’s ok to admit that you’re afraid because that’s when you realize you aren’t strong enough to succeed on your own.”
Pastor Justin grins through his pain. “Maybe I need to step aside and let you preach this weekend.”
Hannah laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not so good with crowds.”
“Well,” he holds out his hand and waits for her to accept it, “at least let me extend the invitation to join us, though I have no clue where we will meet in all of this mess.”
Hannah feels a flush rise into her cheeks as she smiles back. “I’d love to, but first let’s get you out of here.”
Squinting against the dark, she can barely make out anything beyond a four-foot radius. The chances of them making it out of here alive are slim. This is a fact that she accepted the moment she reminded Pastor Justin that neither of them are strong enough to save themselves.
Despite all odds, Hannah is determined to do her part. “If we can’t lift it off you, maybe we can push it.”
“Push it?” There is a hint of alarm in his voice as he glances overhead, blinking against the rain that falls in steady waves now. “Won’t that bring everything down on top of us?”
“Honestly,” she turns to look at him, “I don’t think we have much of a choice at the moment. Help isn’t coming and we are running out of time. All we can do is wait on a miracle.”
Pastor Justin nods. His face is grim as Hannah moves into position. “I’ll push the beam. You lift the desk the moment it’s free.”
“Can you do this?”
She pauses and shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Placing her hands upon the slick wood, Hannah plants her feet, allowing them to settle into the rubble to find a firm footing. She tries not to think of how weary she is, how easy it would be to drop from sheer exhaustion. Instead, she turns back to stare at Justin, the man depending on her.
/> “On three.” Without waiting for him to reply she pushes with all her might. He cries out as the beam shifts. The sickening crunch from beneath the desk makes her stomach clench but she doesn’t stop pushing. The beam slides an inch and comes to rest. The unstable structure around her groans but doesn’t give way. Panting, she eases back to catch her breath.
“I thought you said on three.”
“I figured it would be easier if you weren’t waiting for the pain.” Her fingers grip the edge of the beam, all color fleeing as she prepares to push again. “Are you ready for this?”
“As best I can be—” he howls with pain as the desk begins to lift on one side, placing extra pressure on his leg. Hannah pushes till her arms shake violently.
“Almost there…” she grunts as she releases her grip and then slams back against the wood. The motion rocks the beam enough to get it close to the edge. The desk tilts again, but this time there is no cry of pain. Glancing over her shoulder she sees that Justin has passed out.
Small miracles. She steps back and slams her foot into the beam, pushing with all her might. A terrifying groan echoes through the space and she ducks, sure that she’s about to be buried alive. The beam tumbles to the ground. A cloud of dust rises into the moist air. The wooden planks around her tremble and creak. Several shift, falling around her, but the main structure miraculously remains intact, settling into a new configuration.
Slowly, Hannah blows out an unsteady breath. “That was a bit too close for comfort,” she mutters as she rushes to Justin’s side.
His skin is pallid in the dim light. She presses her hand against his clammy neck to check for a pulse and finds his heart rate to be far too slow. She pats him on the cheek, calling his name, but he doesn’t respond.
Rising to her feet, she braces herself and lifts the desk off his leg. The mangled mess she finds below makes her throat clench and she is forced to look away.
Just keep it together. She works diligently to help support his leg for the journey out but she fears that the damage may not be reparable. She’s never seen a leg so badly broken.
Several minutes pass before Justin begins to come around. Hannah returns to his side and cradles his head. “Nice to see you awake again. I was afraid I’d lost you there for a minute.”
He sits up and glances down at his leg. The splint she managed to fashion out of broken boards and strips of curtains is wrapped tightly around his leg. His eyes widen before he looks away again. He looks as if he might faint but manages to keep himself upright. Hannah places a hand on his shoulder and waits for him to look at her. “There’s no easy way out of here. I’m afraid you’re going to have to pull yourself through that hole I came in through.”
He nods as she passes him a ball of material left over from the curtain. “Whatever it takes,” he says and shoves the wad between his teeth.
She squeezes his arm, then tucks her hands under his armpits, and slowly drags him toward the hole. Justin grits his teeth against the pain. Tears streak down his face, clearing away the dirt and grime that mats his auburn hair to his head. Several times she fears she’s going to lose him, but he manages to remain alert though heavily glassy eyed.
Hannah collapses near the entrance to the tunnel. Her chest rises and falls from the effort of getting this far. “Timothy?”
From somewhere down the tunnel she hears voices. “I’ve got him. He’s coming out first,” she calls, hoping they can hear her over the winds and rain.
She helps roll the pastor onto his side and then gently pushes against the sole of his good shoe, helping to guide him into the tunnel. Although he is not nearly as broad in the shoulders as Timothy and certainly has a smaller stature than the other men outside, Justin struggles to fit through the narrow gap.
She spits to the side as he kicks up brick dust into her face. “You’re doing great,” she encourages, pausing to wipe her face. It is much darker than it was the first time she came through here. Fear rises up within her, threatening to root her in place, so she focuses only on Justin’s shoe, pushing when needed.
Their pace is slow, much too slow.
Justin’s grunts and muffled cries of pain tear at her heart. She tries to share words of encouragement as they burrow through the unstable building. It creaks and groans around them, shifting and settling in the winds. One mighty gust will bring it all down on top of them. Hannah prays that they can make it before that happens.
From up ahead and she can see a light around the outline of Justin’s body. Voices echo down the tunnel toward her. “Hannah? Can you hear me?”
“We’re here!” she cries hoarsely, her fingers trembling against Justin’s shoe. She can’t see around him well enough to see how close they are to the exit.
A light flickers all around her and she winces, her eyes too sensitive from the dark. “I can see you,” Timothy calls. “You’re about ten feet from me.”
“Did you hear that?” she nearly laughs as she pats Justin’s shoe. “We’re almost here.”
He doesn’t respond. Hannah lifts her head. “Justin? Are you ok?”
When he doesn’t respond again she taps his leg with more urgency. “Timothy, can you see Justin?”
“Yeah,” he calls back. This time there is an edge to his tone. “He doesn’t look too good.”
“I think he’s passed out!”
Sweat and hair obstruct her vision. She blows out through her lips, trying to clear the hair away. Tears begin to moisten her lower lashes as desperation fills her. “He’s too heavy for me to push on my own,” she calls out, lowering her head to rest upon her arms.
There is a pause before Timothy speaks again. “I know you’re tired and hurting, but do you think you can get him just a little closer? I’ll meet you halfway and reach in to pull you both out.”
Pastor Justin may not be a large man, but he is dead weight now. There is hardly a half inch of space on either side to allow his shoulders to squeeze through. If he gets twisted even the smallest amount he’ll get hung up.
“I’ll do my best, but I’m getting really tired. I don’t know if I’ve got much left in me.” She can hear the weariness in her voice, the same weariness that makes her arms and legs feel like weights dragging behind her.
“You can do it, Hannah. You were strong enough to save Iris. You were brave enough to enter this building, and you’ve gotten Justin this far. I know you can make it a couple more feet. I’m right here. I’ll grab him as soon as I can reach him.”
Spurred on by his encouragement, Hannah adjusts her grip on the pastor’s shoes and pushes. Her elbows buckle and her ribs cry out in protest as she braces her feet against the sides of the tunnel and slides over shards of tile. A growl rises from deep within her chest as she pushes again and again, moving them forward a couple of inches at a time.
“You’re doing it. Just a little further,” Timothy calls down the tunnel to her. All that matters is getting Justin to safety. After that she can rest.
She cries out as a teepee of rafters behind her collapse, sending a gust of brick dust into the tunnel. “Hannah!”
“I’m fine,” she coughs, wafting her hand to try to clear the air.
“Oh, thank God!” Timothy sounds weak with relief. “You need to hurry. The storm is getting worse. I don’t know how much longer you have.”
“I’m trying.” She pushes Justin again and the urge to scream in frustration over their slow progress nearly tips her over the edge. The light around her is brighter. She must be getting close.
“Timothy?”
“Another few feet. That’s all I need.”
Nodding, Hannah screams as she shoves hard against Justin’s foot, digging deep within herself for a strength she know she doesn’t possess.
“It’s just too far.” At Timothy’s words Hannah feels all hope fade. I can’t do this. I just can’t. Please help me.
“Hang on a second,” he calls down the tunnel to her. She waits, listening to her labored breathing echo around her. “
I’ve got some rope. Tie it around his waist and we’ll pull him out.”
The first two tosses fall short but the third is right on target. Hannah twists and turns as she tries to tie the rope around his waist
“I’m not very good at tying ropes but it should hold.”
“Pull!” She hears Timothy shout. Hannah’s head falls to rest on her arms as she feels Justin’s unconscious form being pulled away from her. Her lower lip trembles with relief as tears well in her eyes and spill over. She is completely spent of strength and energy.
“I’ve got him!” Timothy shouts. “Hannah, can you crawl to me now?”
“I think so. Just give me a—” She cries out as a terrible crash behind her creates a ripple effect among the beams. The floor beneath her quakes. She screams and covers her head with her arms.
“Hannah!”
Timothy’s cry is lost in the thundering crashing all around as the building collapses in around her, sealing her inside.
NINE
Broken
Timothy watches in horror as the building before him crumbles. The roof sags and caves in. The walls splinter and collapse, flattening the building to the ground.
“Hannah!”
The men yank him back as the awning nearby detaches from the wall and slams to the ground only a few feet from where he stood. “I heard her scream,” he says in a daze, turning to look at Rubin. “She’s hurt!”
The older man nods, the graying hair at his temples no longer visible against the mortar that clings to his coarse hair. “There’s nothing you can do for that girl now.”
Timothy knows that Hannah’s screams will haunt him till the day he dies. But as he glances back at Pastor Justin, his chest swells with gratitude when he sees that the man is starting to come around.
“You did everything you could,” Rubin soothes. “She knew the risks when she went in there.”
“So did I. I never should have allowed her to go.”
“She wasn’t yours to protect.”