Walk Through the Fire (Finley Creek Book 10)

by Calle J. Brookes

  He and Houghton pulled her out together, Turner stabilizing her as best as he could. Houghton cursed when he saw her. “Annie? Can you hear us?”

  No response.

  Annie never woke in the entire time they were getting her out.

  Hands pulled Turner farther from the ruins. He was able to stand. “I'm ok. But Annie...Annie's hurt. Help her.”

  “We've got her, Mayor Barratt,” a calm male voice said. Turner looked at the paramedic now kneeling over Annie. Half a dozen men and women surrounded Turner. Houghton hugged Turner quickly.

  Houghton had meant it—he had helped dig them out with his bare hands.

  The paramedic strapped a neck brace on Annie. “We'll get her help right now.”

  “Finley Creek General. She works there. She wants to go there. She has friends there. I promised…”

  “That hospital took a direct hit. A third of the building is now gone. Most of the ER. They're working triage in the parking lot.” One of the paramedics said.

  “Then get her there. That's where she wanted to go. She has friends there.” If nothing else, he’d make certain she was taken where she wanted to go. He could do that. She’d asked him to do that, and he’d promised.

  The paramedic paused in stabilizing the rebar. “I know. I work with Annie. See her almost every day. I even painted her porch for her. She’s my friend, too. I'll make certain she's taken care of, sir. You have my word. But we need to get moving.”

  “I'm going with her.” Turner stepped closer to the stretcher.

  He wasn't ready to let her out of his sight just yet. Turner wasn't certain he ever would be. She looked so alone and so small on that gurney.

  There was blood and dust and rain over her everywhere.

  “We'll get you checked out, as well. People will be looking for you soon, I think.”

  Turner remembered the city he loved then. Remembered that he had a job to do now, just the same as the paramedics. “How badly were we all hit?”

  “I don't know. But it's catastrophic. Hospital, city hall, schools, churches, and the TSP—hit or flattened. The TSP is just gone. And I think it's going to get worse. The storm went straight through our city.”

  Turner just stared at the paramedic as he finished strapping Annie down, as what he’d said started to sink in.

  His city had been destroyed, and now he had to help hold his people together.

  He didn’t have a clue how he was going to make that happen.

  7

  Dennis Lee Arnold knew there were a million and one ways to make a buck. The aftermath of a massive tornado was just one of those ways. After the dust settled and he’d taken stock of his people and more legitimate businesses, Dennis Lee knew now was the time to act. Just how he was going to pull it off was a different question.

  He had fifty-two boys and seven or eight girls who worked under him. Off the books, so to speak. Eighty-six others worked for Arnold Industries—legitimately. Supply chain was the game he’d chosen to play from the time he was a boy.

  There were many ways a man could go from being a grubby street kid to being one of the wealthiest men in Finley Creek. People listened when he spoke now.

  It took skills to be as organized as he was. Skills, and big balls.

  Dennis Lee had a nice-sized package, if he did say so himself.

  Dennis Lee had started running cons when he was no more than thirteen. Small-time stuff, a bit of a panhandling in Wichita Falls, scams in Dallas, petty thefts in Houston. But Finley Creek was where he had always been the most at home.

  Finley Creek was where he kept coming back to roost.

  An indirect descendent of the brother-in-law of the man who had founded the county, Dennis Lee had always had the waters of Finley Creek flowing through his blood. He didn’t see that changing some sixty years later.

  He had found his way in the world, and his family had wanted for nothing. He took a great deal of pride in that.

  He was no Barratt, but Dennis Lee did just fine.

  Dennis Lee had learned how to organize men under Uncle Sam’s direction when he’d been all of nineteen years old. It had been jail or the military at the time. Dennis Lee hadn’t figured there was really much of a choice.

  He’d only stayed in the navy four years, but those four years had been enough. Dennis Lee had learned what he’d been supposed to learn back then.

  And those lessons had stuck with him.

  As soon as the storm settled, Dennis Lee grabbed his truck keys. He had people out there. People who would need him. First, his two daughters. Martie and Lea were his girls, his life.

  And he’d made certain they were set for life.

  It took him far too long to find them, but when he did, they were together, with his four precious grandchildren tucked between them in the storm shelter, and their husbands next to them.

  Dennis Lee moved the debris off the top of the shelter he’d paid for himself and let his family out. After hugs and kisses between them, and Dennis Lee making certain Martie understood that the situation was bad and she wasn’t to panic—his older girl had some problems with anxiety—he sent them to his place.

  He had work to do.

  And his people were starting to come out of the woodwork, looking for his direction. There was money to be made now.

  And when it came to cons and shakedowns, Dennis Lee was the man in charge.

  8

  Carl Buchanan, deputy mayor of Finley Creek, nearly vomited at the devastation. In his sixty-two years, he had never seen such destruction. Powerlines were the first victims of the storm. There was a cell tower near his home. It had been sheared in two, and the top half was embedded in a nearby clay bed. Perfectly erect. If it weren’t for the red light that had always blinked atop it, he never would have noticed it had been moved three hundred feet.

  Trees were down everywhere. Trees wider than he could spread his arms. Picked up and tossed like toothpicks everywhere.

  Houses…Carl took a look around as he turned onto the road named after him. Houses had been flattened, just two streets over from the four-story brown brick estate he’d built more than thirty years ago. Destroyed. Houses that should have been strong enough to withstand any wind were just matchsticks now.

  He doubled the pressure on the gas pedal. He had to find Jason. Once he knew his grandson was safe, he’d find Jennifer. Make certain she was ok.

  He grabbed his cell phone and checked the signal. Useless.

  No doubt because of the destroyed tower.

  Carl had watched the monster storm bearing down on his city, from the bank where he’d been a silent investor for twelve years. Managing his diversified assets was a full-time chore itself.

  They’d ushered everyone into the bank vault at the last minute. The damage to the bank had been moderate, but it could be rebuilt. He’d stood in that vault with twenty-seven other people and prayed for Jason. For Jennifer.

  For the two people who mattered the most to him in this world.

  He still had to find them both.

  Jason was supposed to be at home. He’d been staying home by himself for a year now. Carl had been reluctant at first, but even for a thirteen-year-old boy, Jason was mature and responsible.

  He always had his cell phone with him, he knew the rules Carl expected him to obey, and he had a level head on his shoulders.

  Jason would have gotten himself to shelter. The house hadn’t been in the direct path of the storm. There was a basement, with even a home theater system that made Jason the envy of Finley Creek Prep. He was probably still down there, sound asleep on the sofa, a big bowl of popcorn in front of him, and the credits rolling.

  He may have even had a few friends over.

  It was against the rules, but Carl didn’t care.

  He just wanted to find Jason and make certain he was safe.

  9

  Annie opened her eyes. She recognized the man leaning over her. It wasn't the one who had been there the last time. And she was
in an ambulance. She’d seen the insides of ambulances a million times now. “Drew...”

  “Hi, Annie. Do you remember what happened?”

  “Yeah. I was planning a trip to Kansas the fast way. I can’t find my phone. I need it.”

  “I’ll get it for you later, kid.” Drew smiled down at her, as handsome as always. Seeing a man she’d worked with so many times before had some of her fear subsiding. Some. She was in an ambulance, after all. And she hurt. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes.” She'd gone to a movie with him once. She liked Drew, but dating wasn't something she did casually. He had understood that. When she had needed her front steps repaired a few weeks later, Drew had volunteered, in exchange for a nice dinner at the Barratt hotel. Annie had enjoyed the evening with a friend, exactly as it had been intended.

  “We're on our way to FCGH, but let's get you stabilized before we get there.” He squeezed her hand briefly.

  “Have you been there yet? Is everyone ok?” She fought to talk around the pain, but it was hard.

  She trusted Drew. Annie knew she'd be ok.

  Someone brushed a finger over the back of her hand. She looked to the other side of the gurney.

  Turner Barratt was staring at her, worry and fear on his handsome face. She focused on the dark blue eyes again. “You really are a beautiful man.”

  “Me, or the mayor?” Drew asked as he threaded an IV into her vein.

  “Both. Far too beautiful for a woman's peace of mind. Should come with warning labels…” Annie went back under the darkness.

  10

  “Grandpa!”

  It was the most welcome voice Carl had ever heard. He stopped walking and yanked to the left. At first, he didn’t see Jason. And then, right there next to the culvert, was a mud-covered mass. Had Jason not been moving, Carl never would have seen him.

  His grandson was covered head to foot in rich Texas clay. “Grandpa, hurry! Hurry!”

  The panic in Jason’s voice had Carl running. He tripped in the mud once, his knee wrenching to the left in a way a sixty-two-year-old man’s was not meant to. “Jason! Where are you hurt?”

  The clay was mixed with blood. And lots of it. “My arm. It’s really hurt. But Jimmy…that metal’s sticking out of him, Grandpa. And I don’t know what to do.”

  Jimmy. Jason’s best friend since preschool. A beautiful boy with a loving soul who had never hurt anyone. Not the brightest kid, but there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for those who loved him and who he loved in return. Jimmy wasn’t his grandchild by blood, but by heart.

  Carl looked down. Red hair stuck up everywhere on Jimmy’s head. His hair was that rich red that was so unusual. But now…it wasn’t just red hair. It was blood. Lots of blood.

  And that wasn’t all. Jimmy had more blood on his body than Jason had mud.

  Carl had seen wounds just like this overseas. Training he hadn’t used in two decades or more kicked in. He yanked off his suit coat and pulled free the small penknife his own father had given him when he was younger than Jason. He cut the material into strips quickly.

  “My cell phone is dead,” Jason said, biting back sobs. “And I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You did exactly as you should have. You stayed with your friend. We never leave a man behind, son. I’m so proud of you.” They had to secure the rebar first. It was extremely close to Jimmy’s femoral artery.

  “I didn’t know if I was supposed to take it out. I couldn’t remember. I just…left it there, even though it was hurting him.”

  “That was exactly the right thing, Jase. It’s slowed the bleeding. It’s helped keep him alive. Now, we’re going to do what we can to keep it from starting again. Can you hand Grandpa that board right there? We’re going to tie Jimmy’s leg to it. So that he doesn’t move it when I carry him back to the car.”

  The car was five hundred feet away. It seemed like five thousand.

  Carl made quick work of securing Jimmy’s leg. Then he grabbed a longer, wider board. Thankfully, Jimmy was a skinny kid, even though he ate like a horse.

  Or a growing teenage boy. Carl wanted to see him finish growing the rest of the way.

  Jimmy hadn’t moved, but he was breathing. Steadily, at least.

  Carl was able to slip the board beneath the boy’s back. He tied him down as best he could.

  It was going to be difficult for them to carry him, but Jason was a sturdier kid; he had a good sixty pounds over his friend.

  “How badly are you hurt?”

  Jason was favoring his arm. Carl knew it was broken, just by the angle that it fell.

  “I think it’s just my arm. I…something hit it when I was running.” Jason stared at Jimmy, panic in his eyes. “I made it to the tunnel. Jimmy didn’t.”

  “Tunnel?”

  Jason pointed. A concrete box culvert was one hundred feet away. “He wasn’t fast enough.”

  Of course, he wasn’t. Jason was larger, stronger, more aggressive than Jimmy. Jimmy had never been able to keep up. And if he had been terrified, it would have been so much harder for the little guy.

  “We’re getting him the help he needs, Jase. I promise. We’ll take him to the hospital. The doctors will help him as soon as they can. But I’m going to need you to help me get him to the car.”

  They lifted, but it was far too difficult for Jason with his injured arm.

  Carl had one option. “Help me get him to the road. Then I want you to stay with him while I get the car. I’ll come to you, and we’ll get him in the backseat. We’ll be at the hospital in no time.”

  11

  Turner stared at the TSP building in horror, less than an hour after the ambulance had pulled in to the FCGH parking lot. He’d been rushed to the front of the line by the chief of medicine—ostensibly so he could get out there and lead the city.

  He’d be fine. Bruises, just bruises.

  His next stop had been to hoof it toward the TSP. Half of it was gone. The new annex that had been built after the older one had been bombed was nothing more than rubble. He looked at the man next to him. Daniel McKellen, second in command of the post, had stitches through his left eyebrow, and his arm was in a sling. And he’d taken the least of the injuries.

  “How many injured?” Turner asked.

  “Fifty-two, including the chief. Four are still in the hospital,” Daniel said.

  “How many lost?”

  As Daniel gave him the details, Turner fought the nausea. They had five road officers still out missing. One detective had been killed when caught in the parking lot. He’d been hit by flying concrete and died instantly.

  He'd been set to retire in a matter of days, to spend time with his wife, kids, and sixteen grandchildren.

  “We lost two of the forensics techs,” Daniel said, quietly. “Both women in their thirties, married with children. They were caught on a scene in the southern part of the county. Direct path of the storm. And we lost two officers inside the annex. We’re pulling auxiliaries from every post close enough to send us numbers to help on the streets.”

  Turner nodded. He’d already put in calls to the national guard for bodies to patrol the streets to prevent looters from getting their kicks. But it would take a few hours to get things in place. “I’ll need to talk to the chief.”

  “He’s at the hospital now. Took a hard hit to the head.” Daniel stepped over a pile of what Turner thought were clothing lockers. “He was in the lobby making certain everyone who could took cover did; he didn’t get out of the lobby in time.”

  Turner swore. “I’m heading that way myself to check on the woman I was with.”

  “Heard about that. You doing ok?”

  Turner nodded. “Bruises, mostly. A strained back. The woman with me took the brunt of it. I landed on her. She was impaled.”

  “Just glad we got you out.”

  “Do we know the death toll yet?”

  “Thirty-eight, last I heard. And growing by the hour.” Daniel paused and looked at him. “Tu
rner, the sheriff of Value and one of his deputies…they haven’t been found yet.”

  Horror had Turner jerking to a stop. The sheriff of Value was his older cousin. “Clay?”

  Daniel nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep you in the loop. I have people out looking for them, but I can’t spare the resources for too long. We are hoping they took cover and just haven’t made contact. They…the storm wasn’t as strong in Value as it was in this county. They could be anywhere, and just fine. I just wanted to let you know since you’re family.”

  Turner grabbed his phone. His first instinct was to call his cousin, make certain Clay was ok. To call all his cousins and his brothers and do a damned roll call. Make sure the people he loved were ok.

  “Towers are still down. You won’t get through.”

  “How are you keeping in contact with people?”

  “Satellite internet. There’s a damned Facebook page for the FCTSP. Brynna Marshall and Haldyn Harris are coordinating it and getting some of her sister Mel’s staff to help.” Daniel kept walking toward the rear parking lot. A huge canvas tent stood in the center. People were clearing debris to make paths around it. “Brynna knows what she’s doing. She’s going to pull people for social media duty as soon as she can. From what I understand Houghton Barratt’s wife is coordinating everything—charities, Red Cross, private search-and-rescue groups—through Houghton’s satellite phone system.”

  “Yeah, he installed a system at his home to play with its capabilities a year or so ago. He and a friend in St. Louis have been experimenting with satellite features as part of their research and development projects.”

  “Well, his wife is using it for the city now.”

  No doubt Mel had commandeered years of Houghton’s work, and his cousin had just let her. “I hope this works.”

  “Until we get the TSP communications systems back online, it’s all we have. The TSP, in the hands of volunteers.”