by Kava, Alex
She waited for Brodie to nod.
“She tried and she couldn’t do it. You know why? Because Brodie wouldn’t let her.”
Brodie stared at her and finally nodded.
“None of us, including your mother, expect you to be that little girl anymore. But you don’t have to push her aside. She’s still a part of you. She gave you your love of reading, your kindness to animals, your fascination with the stars. Sweet Pea, somehow you need to stop blaming her. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was your fault.”
“That’s what Dr. Rockwood said.”
“Maybe starting on Monday we can see if you can talk to Dr. Rockwood every week.”
“But she’s in Omaha.”
“She said she could talk to you over the computer or the phone. A video-chat. Or you could go back to Omaha for a little longer.”
Brodie shook her head, almost too violently as she said, “No, I don’t want to leave home.”
Hannah smiled, again, and this time Brodie furrowed her brow, questioning what she had said that made Hannah smile.
“That’s the second time you called this home.” Hannah squeezed her hand, and Brodie noticed she had eased her grip. “Now, you get some rest. Maybe a little later—only if you’re up for it—your mother brought some home movies. Some good memories. Would you like to watch?”
“With Isaac and Thomas?”
“Of course, but oh Lord, you’ll have to be prepared for them poking fun.”
Hannah stood, and Brodie let go of her hand.
“Get some rest. I’ll fix some special movie treats for all of us to munch.”
Brodie watched her leave. She stroked Kitten. Then suddenly, she remembered the notebook she still had clutched against her chest. She looked at the words. She tore the page out. But instead of crumpling it and throwing it away, Brodie folded it carefully, protecting the words inside the fold. She folded it a second time then hid it clear to the back of the drawer in her nightstand.
49
Just South of Montgomery, Alabama
Creed’s phone dinged, again. He glanced at it and wanted to throw it against a wall. They were heading back to the Jeep. Between sending messages that “failed to be delivered” to Maggie, Creed argued with Jason. The kid wanted Creed to leave him and Scout to continue searching while Creed drove to the restaurant. Scout’s tongue dangled sideways. Both dogs were panting. The humidity was stifling. He wanted to get both dogs inside the Jeep.
“I can’t risk leaving you without some A/C relief for Scout,” Creed said.
He knew he didn’t need to remind Jason that sometimes dogs couldn’t cool off fast enough on their on. Although dogs sweated through their paw pads, panting was their only way to circulate air and cool their bodies. Because scent dogs breathed more rapidly while working a scent, there was a risk of them becoming dehydrated quickly or worse. Within a very short period, an overheated dog could suffer heat stroke causing damage to the brain, heart, liver and nervous system. Creed wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost a dog to heat exhaustion. That was why he’d installed the alarm systems in all their vehicles as an extra precaution. All his handlers carried the supplies necessary for subcutaneous injections in case they needed to rehydrate a dog more quickly.
He knew Jason only meant well. He wanted to make sure no one else was missing. Creed finally convinced him to give one of the firefighters a business card with his and Creed’s phone number. After all, they were only a mile or two from the restaurant. They would come back. But even as Creed promised, he noticed the horizon growing thick and dark with another round of storms.
Now, ready to leave, he tapped one last message to Maggie as he started the Jeep.
“We did see that cell tower down over the interstate,” Jason told him.
“But weren’t you just on the internet?”
Jason pulled out his cell phone. “It was really slow. And I never really connected. Not getting anything now. I’ve got her number in my contacts, I’ll keep trying while you drive.”
Creed punched the address of the restaurant into the GPS. He had a feeling they’d need to try more than one way to get there, and they wouldn’t be able to look up directions or maps. He was relieved when he saw that they really were only three miles away and according to the GPS, they’d be there in less than five minutes.
“I’m sure first responders are there,” Jason said. “The firefighter told me about it—” He glanced at his watch, “Like half an hour ago. Maybe they already got everybody out.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Jason turned the radio on, and the station was broadcasting more weather advisories. He turned up the volume.
“Folks, this is Willis Dean at WALC-TV in Birmingham, Alabama. Please pay attention this afternoon and evening. I know we have some folks who were already hit. Damage reports are coming in, and we’ll get you information as we get it. But folks, as bad as it’s been we can’t let down our guards. There is another line of storms developing.”
Creed’s phone dinged, and Jason punched the radio volume down. Creed handed him his phone while he weaved his way around more downed power lines.
“It’s Hannah,” Jason said. “She wants to know if we’re okay. They’re probably just hearing about the damage.”
Another ding and Creed shot a look of hope.
“Hannah, again. Said Dr. Avelyn and Penelope Clemence are coming up to help. She wants to know what the hotel is where we’re staying. I’ll text her back on mine.”
He handed Creed his phone then started tapping on his own.
“So we must have service if her message got through.”
“I’ll text Maggie, again.”
“Thanks.”
“The damage must be more widespread than what we’re seeing if Dr. Avelyn and Penelope are headed here,” Jason said.
Creed knew that Dr. Avelyn belonged to a national group of veterinarians that responded after natural disasters. They worked with local authorities to treat injured pets. Penelope Clemence helped reunite displaced dogs with their owners. The woman had made it a mission to rescue abandoned dogs and find homes for them, even working with shelters to raise funds. To her credit, she’d turned almost a dozen facilities across the country into no-kill shelters. Some of Creed’s best scent dogs had come by way of Penelope.
Only a few miles after exiting the housing development, and Creed could see it wouldn’t be a simple trek. Up ahead, a jumble of debris blocked the road.
“I guess we’re taking the long way around.”
Twenty-four minutes later, they still hadn’t heard back from Maggie. Although one of their texts finally claimed it was delivered. Flashing lights of rescue crews could be seen from half a mile away. Vehicles lined both sides of the highway. Only a couple of units had made it all the way into what used to be the parking lot. A HAZMAT unit in full gear had taken over what used to be a gas station on one side of the street. Eighteen-wheelers were flipped on their sides and upside down vehicles were scattered everywhere. Some of them were crumpled like tin cans.
“Where’s the restaurant?” Jason asked just as Creed’s phone dinged.
Finally, a text from Maggie:
HANGING IN THERE. HOPING A RESCUE CREW IS ABOUT TO BUST US OUT OF HERE!
Creed scanned the area. Though the gas station pumps had been destroyed and the vehicles tossed, the cinder block station was still standing. He noticed a sheriff’s patrol car and recognized Sheriff Krenshaw. He shifted into PARK, left the engine to idle and the A/C on.
“I’m gonna ask Sheriff Krenshaw. I’ll be right back.”
He grabbed his K9 CrimeScents cap and pulled it on. It usually gained him entry and allowed him to pass through most barricades. Turned out, he didn’t need it. Krenshaw saw him and waved him over.
“Mr. Creed, good to see you, again. We’ve got quite a mess.”
“We heard a restaurant got hit.”
“Yup. A bunch of people are trapped in the basement.”
; “Have the rescue crews reached them yet?”
He shook his head and grimaced. “We’re gonna need more than a rescue crew. They’ve got some earthmoving equipment coming, but I’m afraid that next round of storms will beat them here.”
The sky had already started to darken.
“Sir, I have a couple of friends trapped inside.”
“No fooling?” His wince was more pronounced this time. “I’m sorry about that. Have you been in contact with them, yet?”
“Finally got a text.”
“You might give them a heads up about another round of storms. But Mr. Creed, I wouldn’t tell them how bad this looks. Hate to take away a person’s hope.”
“How bad is it, Sheriff?”
He turned around and pointed to a parking lot littered with debris. At first, Creed couldn’t tell that there had ever been a building. Then he saw the concrete foundation and one wall still standing in the rubble. But everyone’s main focus was on what had landed on top of where the restaurant used to be—an 18-wheeler, its trailer on its side and split open. And it was right on top of where Maggie and Frankie were.
That wasn’t all. The storm had tossed and rolled the huge blue containers that the truck had been hauling. And now Creed could see members of a HAZMAT team inspecting the barrels.
“What’s in those?” Creed asked, but the knot forming in his stomach told him he might not want to know.
Krenshaw shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Trying to call the company. Driver didn’t make it. But I will tell you this, I know for a fact that chemicals are Alabama’s second largest export. I’m just hoping none of those containers broke open.”
50
Birmingham, Alabama
Willis didn’t like the way the radar map kept lighting up. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Inflamed commas—the signature of a hook echo—seemed to be forming in a blink of an eye. Storm chasers had already called in four different tornadoes on the ground, and that still didn’t account for what he was seeing on the radar. Across the border in Mississippi another group of storms were getting organized, lining up and marching east/northeast. He hadn’t seen anything like this since 2011.
The tornado that Simon had called in earlier had hit an industrial complex. Photos were coming in of a residential area where homes had been flattened. The same tornado plowed through a gas station and restaurant before lumbering on, skimming the southern edge of Montgomery. From recent reports the monster was still on the ground, raking across the state.
As violent as that storm appeared, it wasn’t the only one. It was a juggling act keeping up. As soon as one warning expired, another supercell would replace it. The news team faced the same challenge. Hundreds of photos, livestream video and damage assessments flooded their social media pages. Reporters were out on the roads and trying to get to some the areas hit. There were fatalities, though in the early hours it was best to wait for the authorities to confirm. It became a challenge to sift through what was real and what were rumors gone wild in the chaos of the moment.
Willis looked up from the monitors, and Paul handed him a new printout.
“They’re saying people are trapped underneath that restaurant,” Paul told him. He sat down and gestured to the television monitors. One of their anchors was talking about it right now.
Willis glanced up then did a double take.
“Is that a semi trailer?”
“The truck stop across the road got hit, too. I know this place. It’s not far off the interstate. My wife and I have eaten there.”
Willis shook his head. “Any word from Simon?”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paul wince and look away.
“Nothing yet.”
“Don’t wait too long, Paul. Send someone out to check.”
“Roads are blocked. Where do I even send them?”
“The last place that Simon called from. Please, just do it. I don’t have a good feeling. This was the kid’s first Alabama tornado. We shouldn’t have sent him out.”
“We didn’t send him, Willis. He went out on his own. We only send teams.”
Willis turned and stared at the man. Paul was a twenty-year-plus weather veteran, most of those years here at this station.
“We have hundreds of spotters and chasers, Willis. We can’t take responsibility for all of them.”
Willis stopped himself from reminding Paul that the last he checked, he was still in charge. Instead, he simply said, “Send someone, Paul.” Then he swiveled his chair back to the radar screens.
Paul barely left and another one of their interns leaned into the doorway.
“Mr. Dean, you have a call on line one.”
“I can’t take any calls right now. I don’t take calls.”
“I know, I’m sorry, sir,” the young woman was visibly flustered. “It came in on the news desk. They told me it was really important. They said it was your wife.”
“They’ll need to take a message.”
Why in the world would she call him in the middle of a storm outbreak? He was irritated. Beyond irritated. In all their years together she’d never interrupted. And suddenly, it hit him. She wouldn’t dare interrupt unless...
He tapped one of the screens until it brought up his own neighborhood. No, it wasn’t close to any of the tornadoes. Though some of the thunderstorms were severe.
He stood and hurried to the door. He couldn’t remember the young woman’s name. It didn’t matter. She was already gone. His eyes darted to the phone on the wall and he saw that line one was still blinking.
“Suck it up, Willis,” he told himself and pulled the receiver off.
“Beth? I’m a little busy here,” he said.
“Willis, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.” Her voice sounded far away, a bit muffled and gargled like she was calling from under water. “I’m trapped.”
“Beth, I can hardly hear you.”
“I was at Southern Blessings.”
“What’s that?” He had no idea what she was talking about.
“The restaurant. A tornado hit.”
His eyes flashed to the television screen. It was still showing the semi trailer. There was a HAZMAT team.
“We’re trapped, Willis. And I’m scared.”
51
Southern Blessings
Maggie was desperate to find some relief for Frankie. Ronald’s arm had stopped bleeding and Val was keeping watch over him. Gus had joined Max and Loverboy convincing them to try another tactic other than brute-force, which wasn’t working. She finally had Hank’s attention.
“Is there any way to stop the gas leak?” she wanted to know. She could taste it as much as smell it. At this rate, they would all die from carbon monoxide poisoning before they could be rescued.
“It must be a break in the line,” he told her. “The grill in the kitchen is gas.”
“What about an emergency shut-off?”
“If the line’s broken it won’t matter. Our only chance is to break through that door.”
She pointed to the maze of pipes that ran in between the ceiling beams.
“Could you check?”
He shot the flashlight up and around following the pipes that were still intact and inspecting the ones that were broken. His bald head shimmered with sweat. The air was hot and stifling down here. Maggie’s T-shirt stuck to her like a second skin, but it didn’t matter if she couldn’t breathe.
“Here,” he said. “This one is gas.”
“Are you sure?”
He followed the pipe with his flashlight, stepping over debris and around the two older women. She noticed their feet sloshed through water. How much higher was it?
“Oh dear,” one of the women said. “Did the gas line break?”
Hank ignored them and zigzagged all the way to the far corner and over the chest freezer.
“There.” He pointed to a lever. “This is the gas shut-off.”
“Hold this,” he told her and shoved the flashlight at her.
“Keep it right there.”
He climbed on top of the freezer so he could reach it. He gestured for the flashlight and pointed it directly on the lever, stopping first to read what was written. Then he grabbed it and pulled it down.
“We still need to close off those broken pipes,” he told her. There’ll be residual gas in the lines.”
He hopped off the freezer and took the flashlight back. He started searching the boxes on the shelves and sorting through items left on a workbench. He picked up a couple of things and moved back under the pipe.
“Hold this, again.” He handed her the flashlight.
She pointed it up while he stuffed a rag into the pipe. Then he started winding duct tape around and around until she couldn’t see the rag. Could it be that simple?
“There’s another break over here,” he said and waited for her to point the light.
They did this three times. Maggie couldn’t tell if it worked. Her nostrils were already filled with the smell. Her chest ached from breathing in the fumes.
“They’ll shut it off at the main,” the woman said from her place, sitting next to her friend.
Again, Hank ignored her, but Maggie asked, “Is that standard procedure?”
“I believe so, but it depends how bad the tornado was. It may have compromised the main, too.”
“Thanks. I’m Maggie, by the way. Are you two doing okay?”
The woman put her arm around her friend whose face looked pale. “We’ll be fine. I’m Clara and this is Adele.”
Maggie looked to Hank. He was still standing beside her. She had expected he would be anxious to join the men at the door, but he swept the stream of light around their surroundings. It flicked over the hole in the ceiling where the support beam had pulled down a chunk with it. Maggie saw Hank’s eyes go wide.
“What is it?” she asked.
