by Amy Miles
Timothy runs his hands through his hair, wincing at the matted tangles he finds there. He can feel the push of the winds against his back. It’s getting harder to see as the rain begins to fall in thick sheets.
“You need to come inside, Tim. We’ll get her out of there once the storm has passed.”
“No,” he shakes his head and pulls out of his friend’s grasp. “I’m not leaving her in there!”
He rushes toward the rubble and throws himself to the ground, beginning to toss aside broken boards and chunks of foundation aside. He ignores the howling of the winds and the torrent that beats down with unrelenting force. For several moments the world falls away. All that matters is getting to Hannah, to save the girl who risked everything for people he cares deeply about.
“Tim, you gotta come with us, man! You’re gonna get yourself killed if you stay out here!” Daniel jogs up to him and grabs his arm. His hair hangs heavy in his eyes as he motions for Rubin to go on without him.
Timothy focuses on his friend with tears welling in his eyes. Blood drips from his palms where wood and metal have gouged him. “I can’t leave her behind.”
“I know,” he says and kneels beside him, “but if you get hurt, who’s going to help her later?”
Timothy glances beyond Daniel’s shoulder to see Rubin and three other men struggling to carrying Pastor Justin around the side of the main church building. Although much of the rear section has been demolished, the main sanctuary is the safest structure within reach. The winds whip down the street with gale force, nearly toppling the men backward. As they lean into the wind, he glances at the sky overhead.
“The storm’s here, Tim. There’s no more time.”
His hands tighten around the board. Splinters bury deep, but instead of shying away from the pain he embraces it as penance. I couldn’t save her.
With every piece of his soul he doesn’t want to leave Hannah behind, alone and terrified, but Daniel is right. He has no other option. Rising to his feet, Timothy throws one last desperate look at the ruined building and sprints toward the church. Please take care of her, he prays as Daniel rounds the edge of the building behind him.
Running toward his friends isn’t the problem. Stopping is. The wind claws at him and threatens to drag him right past the church building. He grabs onto the metal railing that leads to the front doors and slowly pulls himself up the steps.
Jonas braces himself in the doorway to grab onto Timothy’s arm and pull him up the final step. The instant he is out of the wind, Timothy collapses to the floor in the entry hall. The carpet is well-worn and faded but achingly familiar.
How many years has he crossed over this threshold? How many tears has he shed at the altar since Abby was stolen from him? How many doubts have plagued him because of the trials God has placed in his path?
A soul shaking grief washes over him. There’s nothing that I can do to save Hannah now, Lord. This one is up to you. I just hope this time you do the right thing.
He looks up at the sound of a cry and grabs onto Daniel’s outstretched hand behind him, pulling his friend through the front doors. Daniel sprawls to the ground as Timothy rises and leans against the double doors, fighting to turn the lock into place.
As the storm is sealed outside, Timothy slides down the paneled doors and slumps to the ground. Leaving Hannah behind is the second hardest thing he has ever done. Putting his wife Abby in the ground still holds that number one spot in his life.
Tears fall unheeded down his face. He wipes his face, angry not only with himself but with the God he used to believe in and follow to the best of his ability. The God who he trusted not only with his life, but that of his precious wife. The God who stole her from him far too soon.
Old bitterness swells up inside, and he struggles to stuff it back down. Most days he can get by fairly well. As long as he stays busy, he can ignore the gaping hole left in his chest. The therapist he went to see a couple of times after the funeral would frown at his lack of progress, at his refusal to deal with his grief, but it’s how he survives. People can’t hurt you if you never let them close enough to try.
What about Hannah? I let her get close, didn’t I? It was a mistake to let her follow him to the hospital. A mistake to not make sure she remained there. Whatever happens to her, this is on me.
Resting his head back against the door, Timothy spies four men carrying Justin up onto the raised platform behind the pulpit. He never realized just how narrow the aisle is until he sees them shuffling along. He cringes at the shrill cry when Justin’s splint connects with one of the wooden pews.
“Tim, get over here, man! You need to take a look at his leg,” yells Matthew, a short roly poly of a man. As Timothy rises and jogs down the aisle, he notices Matthew’s retreating hairline is slick with perspiration from the effort it took him to help carry the injured Pastor.
He kneels down beside the partially unconscious man. Although he has no medical training to speak of, he’s seen his fair share of accidents on job sites. Basic first aid is a must.
“I need someone to get me some water,” he calls to the men standing helplessly around him. “If the pipes aren’t working then stick a bucket outside and catch me some.”
Jonas and Rubin hurry off. To the rest he says, “I need clean towels and peroxide to sanitize the wound. See if you can get into the supply closet. There should be a first aid kit in there.”
Daniel nods and sprints down the aisle. “We just need to ride out this storm and wait for help to arrive. Mark, as soon as the storm begins to subside, I need you to get back to that hospital. Charley’s on call. Tell him we need him.”
“Matthew? I need you to find some boards and take care of those windows.” He points to the once beautiful stained glass windows that have been lost. Rain pours through the opening, flooding the floor. “Let’s get this place sealed off as best we can.”
He raises his head to see who still remains. “Philip, I need you to grab John and hunt down anything soft. Blankets, crib mattresses, choir robes, anything we can use to shelter us if this roof decides to cave in. There’s not much we can do to keep from being crushed, but if the damage isn’t too severe we might at least be able to avoid any more wounds.”
As the last of the group hurry to their allotted tasks, Timothy looks up to see Jonas return with a small bowl of water and a stack of towels from the baptistery. “Thanks. Do you think you can give the others a hand?”
Jonas is already down the steps in search of someone in need. Timothy smiles. That is one of the reasons he didn’t give up on coming to church altogether. The men here have big hearts and not just a willingness to serve, but an eagerness as well.
They are real. No masks needed here. Pain is pain. Guilt is guilt. Forgiveness is readily offered.
Dipping the cloth into the bowl, Timothy begins to clean Justin’s face. The open wounds on his palms sting as he plunges them into the water, but he ignores the pain. He will tend to his own injuries later.
He winces as each new cut is revealed under the layers of dirt on Justin’s face. The pastor’s chest rises and falls in steady breaths. He is sleeping for the time being.
Timothy wrings the dirty water from his cloth and sinks back. There is little he can do for the leg. A lump rises in his throat when he surveys the splint that Hannah constructed for Justin. It is crude at best but amazingly intuitive considering what few supplies she must have had to work with.
“Are you ok?” Daniel asks as he sinks down beside Timothy.
He blinks, surprised to see that most of the men have returned. He can see Jonas and Matthew propping up bookcases in front of some of the shattered windows while Rubin and John work at rocking the back rows of pews out of their foundation to use to help shore up the roof.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Daniel shoots a pointed look down at Timothy’s hands and he realizes that he’s twisting the cloth so tightly in his hands that
the tanned flesh of his fingers looks white. He releases his grip and sets the cloth aside. “Just feel helpless, you know?”
His friend nods. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. You know that. It’s just a hard thing to accept.”
Timothy sucks in a deep breath and holds it till his lungs begin to burn. Then he slowly blows it out.
“She’s different.” He turns to offer Daniel a wry smile. “Never seen a girl who thought so much of complete strangers and so little for her own well-being.”
His friend nods. “Nothing happens by accident.”
Timothy frowns. He has never liked hearing people say that, as if God intends for terrible things to happen to good people. Like Abby…was it God’s plan to take her in her prime? If so, for what purpose? This is a question that has tumbled around in Timothy’s mind since the night she died.
“I know you want to be the hero here, Tim, but you gotta get your head on straight. Just remember you’re just a man. You have limitations. We all do.” Daniel pats him on the back and then rises.
“I know,” he whispers to no one. He is painfully aware of just how little he truly can do to make a difference.
As the hours pass, Timothy grows restless. The walls shudder and shake, but they hold well enough. The classroom behind the sanctuary caves in and the men rush to seal off the hole. Timothy’s entire body aches, but he forces the pain aside, focusing on the task at hand instead.
Slowly the storm begins to abate and the water stops flooding in. With each step he takes, water rises from the carpet and over the soles of his work boots. Timothy paces near the front doors, restless as a caged animal.
“I think it’s nearly over,” Jonas cries out as he peels back a waterlogged bookcase from one window.
Timothy wrenches open the front door and races outside. His heart plummets at the darkness all around him. Night has fallen again and without any electricity, he can’t see a thing. “Someone get me a flashlight!”
He rushes back up the steps and grabs the light Daniel offers to him, but his friend holds firm. “You need to wait for help. You don’t know what’s out there.”
“Hannah is what’s out there. She needs me.”
Ignoring his friend’s protests, Timothy races around to the back of the church. His chest clenches at the sight of the devastation before him. “Hannah!”
Propping his light on a board, Timothy falls to his knees and begins tossing debris away.
“Easy, man!” He turns to see Jonas and Rubin approaching with flashlights. They set their lights down beside him and begin to help with the removal. No one speaks. They just work.
Others arrive to help. A line forms to help dump the debris farther away, leaving the area free to work in. A brilliant light flares to life behind them. Timothy shields his eyes and sees Matthew and John rolling an old hotwired work truck toward them, its headlights on. “Yes!” He cries. “Grab more cars. Grab anything you can find.”
No one speaks of their pain or hunger or weariness. They work as a team, slowly uncovering what was once a beautiful church. A place of hope and peace. Timothy can only hope that it will not become a symbol of remorse as well.
“Hannah?” He calls. His voice has gone hoarse over the past hour from shouting her name. She has yet to answer them and fear takes root in his heart.
What if she is gone? What if she died alone and scared? What if I could have saved her if only I’d tried a little harder?
A cry rises from behind him and Timothy turns, grimacing at the pull of the muscles in his back. Flashing red lights can be seen down the road. “Is that Charley?”
Daniel lifts his gaze and nods. “I think so. Looks like they can’t make it down here.”
Timothy rises from his knees and spies a great tree that has fallen over the road two blocks away, lit by the ambulance's headlights. Charley could probably go around, but there’s no reason to think another street would be less damaged.
“We need to get a stretcher down here. Take Matthew and a few others and see if you can help.”
Daniel glances back at the dent they have made in the debris removal. They are only five or six feet in. Hannah is at least five feet beyond that. “I’ve got this, Daniel.”
His friend nods and shouts out to the men. They converge on him as he shouts directions and then spread out, clearing people’s memories and pieces of homes out of the road while Daniel and Matthew rush toward the ambulance. Hang on, Hannah. I’m coming for you, he silently vows.
He grabs a splintered beam and yanks. It comes free but the pile behind him shifts, settling. A scream of pain from beneath the rubble pierces right through him. “Hannah!”
Timothy no longer feels pain. No longer feels exhaustion or the strain in his muscles. He works as fast and as hard as he can. Brick and wood fly out behind him as he wildly chucks things aside. She’s alive!
“Just hold on!” He grunts, digging his boots into the waterlogged ground, shoves a large beam aside, and falls still. There, not two feet in front of him is one of her hands.
“Hannah!” He dives forward and scrambles over the pile. His hands tremble as he cups her hand in his. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
Although it is only a faint movement, he feels one of her fingers twitch in his hand. Spurred by hope, he doubles his efforts. “Jonas! Get over here!”
The man ducks under a plank of wood that Timothy sends flying then rushes toward him. “Take that side. We need to figure out where the rest of her body is,” Timothy orders, working toward her from the left. When they last saw her she was forced into a small space, but she appears to be closer than he’d thought. Is it possible that she found a small hole to fit into as she tried to claw her way out to keep from drowning?
The thought of her enduring hours in the elements during the storm makes him feel lightheaded. He can’t even begin to imagine how terrifying that must have been for her.
Less than five minutes later he cries out and Jonas rushes to his side. “I see her. Help me lift this beam and I think I can pull her out.”
Jonas grunts, using his legs and back to help support the weight as Timothy dives under. Her eyes are closed and her face is a mass of bruising. Dried blood clings to her nose and split lips. The lower half of her body remains trapped under a webbing of wood.
“I’m here,” he whispers, pressing his hand to her cheek. She feels cold to the touch and this terrifies him. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
She doesn’t stir. Doesn’t speak or even blink.
Timothy wiggles back out and shouts for help. At his call, men race toward him and he feels weak with relief as he sees Charley and his partner among them. “Charley, over here!”
The older man rushes forward, his medic bag in hand. Deep bags rest under the paramedic’s eyes but his gaze is alert. “She’s trapped,” Timothy says as he ducks back down. Daniel and Matthew assist Jonas in lifting the beam again to give Charley room to see.
His face is grim as he backs out. “It doesn’t look good, Tim. I’ll do what I can for her but we need to get her out of there right now. She may have internal bleeding that I can’t see.”
Timothy swallows hard and nods, throwing himself back into his work. With more men arriving to aid them, Hannah is fully uncovered within half an hour. She looks frail and broken as he is finally able to lift her into his arms. He tries not to think of how limp she feels as he begins to run toward the ambulance.
“Hannah? Can you hear me?” Desperation pinches his voice as he calls to her. Charley rushes beside him as they work their way toward the road. The ambulance is nearer than before but still feels as if it is miles away.
Her eyes flutter at the sound of his voice and a low moan rises from her throat. Timothy forces himself to move faster, weaving through the street like a skilled slalom skier.
“Put her over here,” Charley calls from his right.
Timothy places her on the stretcher as gently as he can and helps lift her inside the ambulance. H
e steps back as Charley rushes in, checking her vitals and calling to her. Her clothes are stained with mud, making her face appear white in the cabin’s lights. “Hannah? Can you tell me where it hurts?”
Her eyes flutter and begin to part. Timothy breathes a sigh of relief. He reaches out and brushes back the strands of hair that are matted in the blood that smears across her forehead and cheek.
“Hannah? Can you answer me?” Charley prods.
She groans and opens her eyes. Timothy can see fear, potent and consuming. “It’s ok,” he soothes, leaning in close enough for her to see him. “You’re safe now.”
Her voice cracks as she tries to speak. Wetting her lips, she tries again. “The pastor?”
A tender smile crosses his lips. “He made it.”
Her lips twitch as her eyes falls closed again. Charley steps in, gently pushing Timothy aside. “Hannah, I need to know where you’re hurting.”
She opens her eyes again. Her gaze is less focused this time. “My head.”
Timothy glances at the deep gash over her left eye. “Anywhere else?”
“No,” she weakly shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
Charley exchanges a loaded glance with Timothy, then together they glance down at Hannah’s legs. Both are badly broken. Her hip is twisted, though Timothy can’t tell if is out of joint or something far worse.
“How do your legs feel?” Timothy asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
Hannah offers him a weak smile. “They are good.”
Timothy’s shoulders slump as Charley closes his eyes and hangs his head.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asks, glancing between the two men.
Timothy fights for words to say something that will reassure her, but none come to him. Instead, he settles for the truth. “Your legs are broken. There’s no way you wouldn’t be able to feel the pain unless…” he doesn’t have the heart to finish the sentence.
Hannah’s confusion melts into pained understanding. Her breath catches as she closes her eyes, pursing her lips. He can see the tremble in her hands as she presses her palm to her heart. “I’m paralyzed.”