Desperate Creed

by Alex Kava

  Maggie immediately regretted being so blunt. Frankie’s olive complexion paled and her eyes darted out the window. Maggie’s eyes followed. Both she and Frankie had been checking the parking lot. But in the last few minutes Maggie couldn’t help notice how dark the sky had gotten.

  The corner light poles had turned on. Across the street, the lights above the gas pumps were on and most of the vehicles headlights, too. All of them triggered by the sudden change. But otherwise, it looked quiet. Even the trees were stockstill. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze.

  Maggie’s cell phone buzzed on the table beside her. A new text message from Agent Alonzo. Frankie finally started eating her fish, pretending not to be interested. Maggie held the phone up, so no one could read it but her. She was hoping Alonzo had an owner for the black sedan, though she hadn’t seen the vehicle return. She’d even been watching for it over at the gas station.

  His message was only two words: HE’S THERE.

  She tried to keep her reaction from registering on her face. She could feel Frankie’s eyes on her. But Maggie didn’t look up. She continued to stare at the phone. Then she tapped back a message: INSIDE?

  Alonzo knew where she had been headed. He said he was mapping out everywhere the tracking device had led him, getting as close as possible. But this morning when he had told her about the killer being at Frankie’s hotel, Alonzo hadn’t been able to distinguish if he was exactly at Frankie’s hotel or the one next door.

  His answer came back quickly: DON’T KNOW. 100FT RADIUS.

  Her eyes darted back out the window before she could stop herself.

  “What is it?” Frankie wanted to know.

  “Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”

  “Just Hannah. What’s going?”

  “By text?”

  “Yes and we talked.”

  “Did you use your phone or the burner?” Maggie kept her voice calm, but she could see Frankie becoming visibly shaken. And every time Maggie scanned the parking lot, Frankie’s eyes shot out the window, too.

  “I think I’ve been using the burner. I can check my emails with my watch.”

  “Your watch?”

  Frankie flexed her wrist. “It’s a smartwatch.”

  “It keeps you connected to your email account?”

  “Email and text messages.”

  Maggie didn’t say anything. She kept quiet and watched as the realization swept across Frankie’s face.

  “Oh no,” she whispered and her eyes met Maggie’s. “Can they track this?” Her fingers were sliding the band up and down her wrist. Maggie could she the skin turning red. She put out a hand and stopped her.

  “It’s Bluetooth,” Maggie said. “It’s possible.”

  “And you think they’re here, don’t you?”

  “Just relax, okay?” Maggie noticed the wind had picked up, and now, fat drops of rain started hitting the window.

  “Folks,” a short, stout man came into the middle of the restaurant. His bald head glistened with sweat. He was waving his hands for their attention. Maggie hadn’t see where he’d come from, but he was wearing a stained apron.

  “Folks,” he tried again, and everyone quieted. “My name’s Hank. I’m the head cook. I need to tell y’all, we’re in a tornado warning. Nobody needs to panic,” he said.

  Even as he said this, Maggie saw the two waitresses hustling through the restaurant, picking up and delivering and finishing, reminding her of flight attendants when a pilot comes on to warn about turbulence.

  “We have a small basement. It’s nothing fancy, but y’all might want to consider coming on down. At least until we know it’s safe. It’s over this way.” He gestured to the back of the restaurant and started walking in that direction, but no one followed.

  Maggie looked to Frankie, but she was so busy studying the parking lot that Maggie wondered if she had even heard the man. And now, Maggie could see the wind had gotten stronger. Trees swayed. The rain was coming down in sheets.

  There was a crash of thunder. No warning. No slow, distant rumble.

  Lightning flickered in the dark sky and so did the restaurant’s lights. A second crash sent almost all the guests to their feet.

  “Everyone, please, let’s head this way,” Hank said and now the two waitresses were encouraging people.

  “Oh no!” It was the trucker sitting in the booth close to the front door. He bolted up out of his seat. Just as he turned the glass in the front doors exploded.

  “Let’s move it!” Maggie said as she raced across the room and started herding people to the back.

  She looked over her shoulder to check on Frankie and saw her helping the two older women that had been seated close to them. A teenaged boy pulled and pushed at the woman with him, despite her being paralyzed by the loud roar that blared through the shattered glass door. Hank was already out of sight, yelling for guests to hurry. Maggie could barely hear him over the wind.

  The couple that had looked like new lovers started running for the back, but the man was three steps ahead, barely glancing back. The man in the polo shirt who had been at counter followed. He stopped to loop his arm through the woman’s and pull her along.

  The trucker stopped to help one of the waitresses. He was motioning for Frankie to hurry with the other two women.

  “Go,” Maggie shouted to Frankie when she saw her stop and look as though she might wait for her.

  Maggie turned back around to gather the last waitress. She was nowhere in sight. Maybe she had gone ahead and Maggie missed her. Was that possible? The only other place was the kitchen or the restrooms. Over the counter she could into the kitchen area. The grill was abandoned. There was lots of stainless steel. Maybe the woman had already gone down.

  “Rita?” she called but the howl drowned out her voice.

  She saw the older man, the one with salt and pepper hair who had been at the far end of counter. For some reason he clear across the restaurant searching for something.

  “We’ve got to go,” she yelled at him.

  He didn’t seem to hear her.

  More windows shattered. Another crash followed by a boom. It sounded like explosions. The lights flickered. Maggie could feel her ears pop just as lunch plates took flight. One of them sailed into her forehead before she could duck. It knocked off her feet. Blood dripped down her face as she crawled. One blurry-eyed glance out the door and she saw trees swaying erratically. Behind the trees a cloud of black smoke was spitting out ash.

  Then it occurred to Maggie and her heart started banging against her ribcage. It wasn’t smoke behind the trees. And it wasn’t ash. It was the tornado spewing debris, and it was heading directly for the restaurant.

  She pushed to her feet fighting against the wind and being pelted by what it brought with it. She felt her way along the wall, hoping she was heading in the right direction. Chairs and tables were skidding across the floor. More glassware crashed against the walls.

  “Come on,” a deep voice called. “Hurry, come on.”

  Objects were pummeling the roof. There was a scream of metal ripping away and a new draft overhead. She didn’t dare look up. Suddenly, in front of her was a hulk of a man reaching his hand out to her. It was the truck driver.

  “Hurry,” Frankie yelled from behind him.

  Maggie stretched her arm toward them. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her the rest of the way. She stumbled down the concrete steps, descending into dark shadows. She saw that the older gentleman had made down before her. There was a landing. Her hand pressed against the cool concrete. Before she turned to descend down next set of stairs the door above her slam shut.

  Maggie couldn’t help feeling that they were going down underground only to be buried.

  42

  SOUTHERN BLESSINGS

  Just South of Montgomery, Alabama

  Above them, the storm raged. To Maggie it sounded like the building was being ripped apart. Loud crashes were followed by the entire structure vibrating. Wood cracked. Gla
ss shattered. Floorboards moaned too close overhead. A thunderous roar only seemed to grow louder. A single light bulb cast a dim glow over the area.

  Around her, several people had pulled out their cell phones. Their faces were an eerie blue-white. Hank commandeered the stairwell with the lone flashlight, shooting its beam up around the corner and towards the door at the top. It was almost as if he expected the storm to break through.

  When her eyes adjusted, Maggie scanned the area. Cinder block walls and a concrete floor. Two steel support beams took up the middle, both were bolted into the ceiling joists and into the concrete floor. Shelves with boxes lined one wall. An old chest freezer was squeezed into the far corner. The restaurant above was probably 2,000 square feet, but this room was at best, a quarter of that.

  Just then, a loud boom sent debris raining down. Maggie looked up and saw how low the ceiling was. Exposed wood beams were so close she could reach up and touch them with her fingertips.

  So close. Too close.

  Nausea immediately kicked in without warning. She needed to breathe or the claustrophobia would take over. Once upon a time a killer had locked her in an old chest freezer, not unlike the one in the corner. Ever since then, she barely tolerated small enclosed spaces, let alone small enclosed spaces crowded with a dozen other people. Her pulsed was already racing. Her chest ached from the throbbing of her heart. But right now, she was grateful to be down here instead of upstairs.

  Above them, the storm thrashed and pounded. Furniture screeched as it was shoved across the floor. Large objects were being hurled and dropped on top of them. More debris rained down. The roar made it difficult to hear anything else. It sounded like being underneath the tarmac as jet engines revved above their heads. She couldn’t hear anything else, but Maggie could see one of the older women’s lips moving, her hands together, fingers laced. She was praying.

  For a brief moment, Maggie envied that kind of faith. Her father had had it when he ran into a burning building as a firefighter. When she was a child, he’d given her with a religious medallion—a duplicate of the one he wore. He promised that if she kept it close she would be protected from evil. And for a short time, she’d worn it on a chain around her neck, more out of respect for and remembrance of him, not because she believed. After all, his medallion hadn’t protected him. She’d taken it off and never put it on again when she’d seen real evil one too many times and hadn’t been able to stop it.

  But times like this, she wished she believed, because what was happening above truly sounded like a demon from hell. A demon that pummeled them and at the same time clawed and ripped, trying to tear them out from their hiding place.

  She tried to concentrate on the others in the cramped quarters. Frankie was crouched down beside her. On a bench next to them the woman praying huddled with her friend. The teenaged boy allowed the woman who was most likely his mother to wrap her arms around him.

  The older gentleman who had been sitting at the counter held onto the wooden shelving unit, one of the few solid pieces of furniture. Up in the restaurant Maggie thought the man looked familiar. There was something about his composure that she recognized. Maybe he was retired law enforcement. Shadows prevented her from getting a look at his face, but he held a wad of bloody napkins to his jaw. One of the waitresses stood close to him, holding onto another part of the shelving unit.

  The couple braced against the wall in the far corner. Maggie had thought they looked like lovers earlier. Now neither comforted the other. In fact, they stood at arm’s length.

  The man dressed in a polo shirt and khakis had been at the counter, too. He sat on the floor with his arms over his head, rocking back and forth.

  The truck driver had lost his ball cap. Long, thin strands of hair whipped around his head and looked as wild as his eyes. He stood close to Hank, staring up the stairwell like he was ready to push the door open as soon as the storm stopped. But he was holding his shoulder. Even in the dim light she could see the stain of blood growing on his shirt. When he turned, she could see something protruding from the back of his shoulder.

  It reminded her of her forehead and her fingers found the open wound. Then Maggie realized something else. Her eyes darted around, checking faces, searching the far corners. The other waitress—the one who had served Frankie and her wasn’t here. She had looked for her before coming down and had hoped the woman had already escaped down the stairs. But she wasn’t here.

  Maggie listened to walls collapsing overhead as the storm punched and clawed and ripped. And suddenly she felt the crushing weight of the woman’s absence. There was no way she could survive whatever was happening up there.

  Just when she didn’t think things could any worse, something exploded above them. The beams creaked and groaned. The concrete wall vibrated. A second boom shattered the light bulb sending them into darkness. A slow moan grew into a high-pitched screech. And suddenly the ceiling started collapsing down on top of them.

  43

  Just South of Montgomery, Alabama

  Creed carefully maneuvered the Jeep through the mess. Power lines dangled from broken poles. They tried to drive to the industrial area they had watched take a direct hit. A gigantic cell tower had toppled over on top of the interstate, so they had to backtrack to another exit.

  Creed weaved along a side road, stunned by what he saw. Branches cluttered their path. Cinder blocks and bricks were scattered everywhere. Electrical transformers six-stories high were bent over and twisted into the ground. In an area where trees had blocked their view of the tornado, now Creed could see all the way to the horizon.

  He slowed and they rolled down their windows to listen for calls of help, but an eerie silence had replaced the roar of the storm. And in the quiet they could hear the tinkling of shredded metal that hung from the few trees that remained.

  “Oh man, over there,” Jason said as he pointed to the right. A few blocks away was the entrance to a residential area.

  Several blocks away, Creed saw flashing lights of rescue units at the other end of what used to be a housing complex. Three blocks wide, for as far as he could see, foundations looked swept clean, but beside each one stood a pile of rubble. If it wasn’t for the concrete slabs it would be difficult to tell where one house ended and the other began.

  People wandered around. Some looked totally lost. Some were bleeding. A few first responders had already arrived. Sirens filled the air. Confetti littered the lawns and streets with shattered glass, toys, shoes, books, dinner plates and twisted pieces of chain link fence. Yet, at the end of one driveway stood a stainless steel refrigerator, upright and unmarked as though someone had delivered it right there.

  Across the street, not a house looked touched, except for the corner lot. The wall facing the street was gone, making it look like a dollhouse. Furniture, rugs, wall hanging remained in place. Creed was stunned to see that even the pillows on the sofa hadn’t been disturbed.

  The path of the storm was very distinct. To the right, every single tree had been uprooted, stripped of leaves and bark or dumped on top of what used to be a house. But on the other side of street, huge oaks weren’t missing a single branch. Magnolia trees still kept their blooms. The only indications of a storm were the pieces of pink insulation clinging in between the leaves like cherry blossoms.

  Creed felt a bit numb. He backed the Jeep and pulled up off the street in an empty lot, getting out of the way of a fire truck.

  “We should take the dogs,” he told Jason, “and do a sweep. See if there’s anyone trapped.” When Jason didn’t respond Creed glanced over at his profile. Behind his sunglasses Creed could see the kid staring out the windshield. His hand was rubbing the elbow of his other arm. It was a familiar gesture, a habit Jason had gotten into after his arm had been amputated, but Creed hadn’t seen him do it since he’d been fitted with his new prosthetic.

  “You okay?”

  Jason blinked a couple of times before he turned to look a Creed.

  “It loo
ks like a war zone,” he said.

  “Yeah, it does. One big difference,” Creed said. “Rufus and I usually came in before everything exploded.”

  44

  FLORIDA PANHANDLE

  Hannah had save Brodie the anxiety of having lunch with her mother. What a spectacle that would have been! Brodie could only imagine the look on Olivia James’ face as soon as she started breaking apart her entree. Here was a woman who instructed and lectured on the appropriate utensils used to serve particular foods. She remembered an entire episode dedicated to silverware placement that included a total of three separate forks.

  But now as they sat across the kitchen table Brodie didn’t know what to do with her hands. She had picked up Kitten at one point, trying to settle the cat on her lap, but even Kitten must have felt the woman’s disapproval. The cat insisted on jumping back to the floor and disappeared as she often did when she didn’t want to put up with whoever or whatever upset her.

  Brodie was quickly learning that Kitten didn’t possess the same loyalty that Hannah and Ryder’s dogs had. Still, the cat had become a sense of security to Brodie. She couldn’t explain it. The animal calmed her like nothing else.

  The kitten had appeared inside the Christmas house along with two brown paper bags of grocery. She wasn’t sure if the person who left the food had also left the kitten. It didn’t matter, whether a mistake or an intention, Brodie immediately thought of the cat as much of a gift as the food.

  Now Brodie wished her fingers were stroking the Kitten’s soft fur. Instead, she was hiding and wringing her hands under the table.

  Thankfully, Hannah filled the silence. Her voice was smooth and steady and peaceful. She talked about recipes, the storms and about Ryder and Jason. She told Olivia about Isaac and Thomas, and Brodie wished the two boys were here. They would understand her discomfort, but they would also be impatient and wanting to play with the toys inside the box.