Nothing seemed broken, and he felt along his limbs in the darkness. He felt pain, but not so much that it hindered his movement. Miraculously, he was all right.
So he’d lived. But would he get out of this place? Had God saved him just for a last moment of reflection?
He pictured Allie clinging to little Justin and watching coverage of the collapse of the building. She was probably a wreck. He hoped someone had come to be with her.
They had walked through the valley of the shadow of death before, and the Lord had seen them through. They had survived bullets and fire and the day-to-day struggles of life. Had it all been so they could come to this?
He had a flash of Allie at a funeral visitation, wearily greeting those who came to say kind things about him. He saw his father, skinny and drawn, reeking of Jack Daniel’s and trying to act respectable.
The picture made him angry. He wasn’t ready to die. Maybe God had placed him in this precise pocket because he did intend for him to live. Maybe it wasn’t over yet.
He called out again, “Anybody there?”
This time he heard coughing and a movement of rubble.
“I’m here,” a voice croaked.
Mark’s heart jolted, and he sat up. Powder showered from his hair into his face. “Man, am I glad to hear another voice!”
“Mark, that you?”
He recognized Nick’s voice and began to laugh, softly at first, a tickle at the back of his parched throat.
“I wouldn’t call this funny,” Nick muttered.
Mark shook his head and tried to clear his throat. “No, not funny. Not funny at all. Are you all right, man?”
“I think so.” Nick’s voice came from his right.
“I thought I was dead. It wasn’t like you promised, buddy.” He started to laugh again. It wasn’t a normal reaction. He couldn’t remember ever succumbing to a laughing fit when he’d been in crisis before. Maybe it was hysteria. A shrink would have a field day with this. He hoped he got the chance to tell it.
“What shape are you in?” Nick asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you trapped?”
“No, man. Looks like I fell right into a pocket.”
“Me too. Probably the same one. I think I’m under part of the stairwell,” Nick said. “I can’t see a thing, but I think I could crawl out if I knew which way to go.”
“Help me.” It was a third voice, one Mark didn’t recognize.
“Who’s that?” Mark called out.
“Sam Shelton,” the voice grunted. It seemed far away, below Nick. “My legs are buried. I need help.”
Mark tried to see through the blackness. Nothing. He got on his knees and felt in front of him. Slowly, he moved toward the voice. He cut his knee on a sharp edge but kept going.
“I have a flashlight on my key chain. Can anybody see the light?”
Mark strained to see. “No, buddy, I don’t see anything.”
“Now?”
Mark still didn’t see it.
“I see the light,” Nick yelled. “Just barely.”
“Where? Where is it, Nick?”
“Not far beneath me. Mark, try to move toward my voice.”
He crawled to the right, careful not to disturb the rubble beneath him. All he needed was for the bottom to drop out again.
He heard a brushing away of debris and crawled blindly toward the noise.
“Where are you?”
Nick’s voice sounded close. “Right here, man. Reach toward me.”
He felt Nick’s hand grabbing for him.
“Hey, Preacher.” Mark hugged him, then looked down and saw the small dot of light.
“We see you, Sam. We’re trying to get down to you. Keep the light on.”
They crawled toward it, carefully moving over girders and beams, broken steps and steel rails. The light’s circle grew bigger, making it easier.
When they finally reached the man, Mark winced at the pain he must be in. He lay beneath a heavy sheet of concrete, about six feet long and four feet wide. It lay across his lower body, crushing him from the waist down.
Mark’s emergency training kicked in, and he crawled next to the man and began to take his pulse.
“How you doing, buddy?” Nick asked him softly.
“Been better.”
“Feel any pain?”
“Are you kidding me?”
The man’s pulse was racing. “Would that be a yes?” Mark asked.
“Yes!” he gritted out. “Please, get this thing off of me.”
The pain was good news. Mark glanced up at Nick. His face was streaked in black soot, and his temple was scraped and bleeding. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Mark guessed he had lost them. “Any ideas?” he asked him.
“We can try to lift it up, but I doubt he can slide out from under it. And there’s not enough room to move it.”
“Let’s try,” Mark said. Nick nodded, and they each took a side of the cement slab. “One, two, three . . .”
Mark strained to lift it, and it gave a few inches. “Move out, Sam,” he grunted.
The man used his arms to slide upward—but not far enough.
“Little more,” Nick said through his teeth.
The man ground his teeth together and, with a herculean effort, dragged himself free of the slab.
They dropped it back in place, and Mark tried to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked down at the man. His legs looked mangled, useless, and thick veins strained against the skin of his forehead. His eyes locked on Mark, as if he knew he could get him out of here.
Mark wasn’t so sure. He took the light and held it up, looking around for an escape. It couldn’t be much past noon, yet there wasn’t a sign of daylight through all this debris. How would they ever find their way out? Did anyone know they were here? Or were they just among hundreds also buried?
“Take the light,” the man groaned. “Take it and find your way out, then come back for me.”
Nick looked at Mark. “I’ll stay with him,” he said. “You go.”
Mark nodded, relieved. He needed to do something besides sit here in this tomb and wait. He took the light, held it up, and decided to move up where the stairs had been. The stairwell had been next to an outer wall. If he could just find a breach in it, see daylight coming through . . .
“I’ll be back,” he assured them and started moving upward, over the mound of debris and twisted steel.
He glanced back and saw that Nick had begun to pray over the man. Something about that made him feel better.
He climbed upward from steel girder to steel girder, testing his weight with every step. Thankful for his gloves, he grabbed whatever looked like it would hold and pulled himself along.
It was clear why this pocket had not collapsed. Because it was near an outside wall, there were more steel girders, and instead of toppling over they had bent, forming a barrier network above them. He hoped he could penetrate that ceiling when he reached it.
He climbed as far as he could, then shone the light around, searching for another pocket that would offer him passage. He saw a slab of concrete much like the one that had trapped Sam. It was split down the middle, making a V-shaped ditch he could crawl through. He put the light in his teeth and pulled himself through.
It took him into another cavelike hole, only big enough to slide through on his belly. He shone the light around, praying for a pin-light of day indicating he was near the top.
A flash of flourescent yellow glowed from under a pile of powderlike debris, reflecting back his light, and he crawled toward it.
It was the arm of a turnout coat.
His heart began to hammer, and he thought of all his buddies who’d fallen with the building. It could be Dan or George or Ray. . . .
He started to dig with both hands, clutching the light between his teeth. He uncovered his chest, saw the NOFD emblem on his black T-shirt.
Not one of his own comrades, but still a brother. He
dug harder to uncover his head. The man lay limp, lifeless. Quickly, he touched his neck for a pulse.
There was none.
Mark just stared at him for a moment, and the enormity of what had happened caved in on him like the building itself. Had he survived only to be found later, like this man, buried beneath a tower of rubble?
He propped himself on his elbows and started to cry. His anguish came up in a slow trembling, convulsing through his body, constricting his heart with sudden and inescapable fear.
If he could just see the light of day. Even a hint of gray, suggesting that light was nearby. If he could just know that there was someone on the other side of this debris who knew he was here. Someone who hadn’t given them all up for dead. Someone who still had a rescue left in him.
God knows. The knowledge hit him like a lightning bolt, electrifying him, fortifying him.
God knew he was here—and had the power to rescue him. There was still hope, as long as he was breathing.
He forced himself to leave his fallen brother and crawl on. He got to a dead end, carefully dug through with his hand, shifted through wood and Sheetrock and crumbled cement. And then he saw it.
A slit in the darkness. The daylight he had longed for.
The sight almost paralyzed him, but he pulled himself toward it, fighting everything in his path, swimming through the devastation.
“Anybody hear me?” he shouted. “Help! Anybody there?”
There was no answer, but he kept going. He reached the slit and pushed through.
Daylight washed over him, but it was thick with smoke. He pulled himself up, expecting a crowd of rescuers to cheer as he emerged.
But all he saw was a battlefield. He got to his feet in horror and looked around him. He stood on a mound of rubble, but there were other mounds, testifying of death and destruction, as if a fleet of planes had rained bombs down upon them. A building adjacent to the mounds burned in lavish, licking flames, the heat of which undulated around him.
He saw no one.
Had anyone survived this mayhem? Was he the only one who’d made it out? Had they taken the whole city?
He collapsed to his knees and cried out.
Suddenly a figure emerged in the smoke, another firefighter, coming up over the mound. “Need help over here!” the man shouted.
Before Mark could get up there were others running toward him. He wept harder at the sight of them.
“There are others,” he made himself cry out. “At least two survivors in the pocket I crawled through. We have to hurry.”
“We’re with you, buddy.”
Together they began to widen the breach that he had crawled through, as he switched gears from victim to rescuer.
When he and Nick had put Sam into an ambulance, Mark saw Ray Ford running toward them.
He threw his arms around both of them and clung to them as if he’d never expected to see them alive again.
“Where’s Issie?” Nick asked. “Have you seen her?”
“Yeah, man. She’s okay. Looking for you.”
Relief melted the tension on Nick’s face. “God is good,” he said.
“Who did we lose?” Mark asked.
Ray pulled back and rubbed his trembling mouth. “I haven’t been able to make contact with Dan, George, or Junior. I think Jacob’s missing too. Man, I’m glad to see you two alive.”
Mark stared at him. “They gotta be all right. They’re around here somewhere, don’t you think? Dan, he’s tough. If anybody could survive this, he can.”
“He was in the building when it came down, just like you guys.” Ray’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “How many pockets could there be?”
“A lot,” Nick said. “They’re not dead, okay? We’ll find them. They’re probably sitting in a hole somewhere waiting for us.”
“They were in the same stairwell we were,” Mark said. “They couldn’t be that far from where we landed.”
They joined the others, digging and sifting through rubble, moving cement and steel and computer parts and tabletops with an urgency Mark had never felt before. Heat whirled up from the smoke and sweltered through their clothes.
“Nick!”
Mark turned around and saw Issie running over the mound toward them, tears streaming down her black-sooted face.
“Issie!” Nick cried, and he dropped the concrete he held in his hand and took a few steps toward her. She flung herself into his arms, and he crushed her against him.
“I thought I’d lost you!” she cried. “Oh, thank you, God!”
“I was so worried about you,” he said. “Were you clear of the building when it came down?”
“Yes. There are so many injured, Nick. And so many dead.”
Nick kissed her, then let her go. “We have to work,” he said. “We have men missing.”
“Two paramedics missing too,” she said. “Karen Ensminger and Steve Winder. They’re not responding to our radio calls. I’ll help,” she said, and she got beside them and joined in the process.
They formed a brigade, passing debris from hand to hand, digging carefully so as not to collapse any pockets that might contain survivors. Mark looked up at the cloud of smoke still hovering around them. The whole French Quarter was probably enveloped in smoke. He wondered how many bodies lay beneath this rubble. They would find many dead today. He didn’t know if he was up to the task, but he kept digging as fast as he could, praying with all his heart that he would find Dan and his other comrades alive.
Chapter Fourteen
The gym had gotten more crowded as family members of the missing began to add to the numbers already there. Allie clutched her cell phone in her hand, desperately praying that it would ring.
Jill had taken a shower in the locker room and changed clothes, and her cuts and bruises were more evident with the soot washed off. Her eyes still looked injured.
Ashley, Jill’s teenaged friend, refused to shower, for she feared missing the moment that her mother walked in. Susan had used her own cell phone to check area hospitals for the girl’s mother. No one by the name of Debbie Morris had been admitted anywhere in the area, but Allie suspected that a number of patients were still unidentified.
She wondered how many of them were firefighters.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she heard her distinctive Charleston ring.
“It’s ringing!” Jill said.
“Oh, God, please . . .” Allie clicked it on. “Hello?”
Jill moved closer, trying to hear.
“Hey, honey.”
“Mark?” Relief exploded like a nuclear bomb inside Allie.
“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. I’m still at the site, but I’m okay. You must have been praying.”
“Oh, Mark! Thank God!” She wilted into tears. “Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
She looked up at the others. “He’s okay! Mark’s okay!”
“Find out about Dan,” Jill cried.
Allie pressed her finger to her ear. “Mark, Jill wants to know if you’ve seen Dan.”
“Jill’s okay?” he asked. “Oh, that’s good news. We were worried about her.” He got quiet for a moment. “Let me talk to her, honey.”
Allie’s stomach tightened with dread, and she handed Jill the phone.
Jill knew it wasn’t good news. If Dan was okay, Mark would have blurted it out to Allie. She looked at Susan, then Celia as she took the phone. The dread on their faces mirrored her own.
She brought the phone to her ear. “Mark? Where is he?”
Mark’s sigh spoke of his own despair. “Jill, I think Dan’s missing.”
A fog of dizziness weakened her knees, and she slid to the floor. “Oh, no, please say it’s not true.” Susan fell beside her and hugged her arms around her.
“Jill, you can’t give up. Nick and I were buried when the building came down, but we got out. He could be in a pocket like we were. They’ve gotten several survivors out already. We’re digging as fast as we can. And
we’re not sure he’s buried. He could just be in a different part of the site here, trying to rescue others. We don’t know for sure.”
It was difficult to hear in the crowd, and she thought of screaming for everyone to shut up.
“Weren’t you with him?” she asked. “Wasn’t he where you were?”
“I don’t know where he was,” he said. “He could have been helping someone out of the building. He may not have even been inside.”
A tiny bud of hope sprang up in her heart. “Do you think so?”
“Could be. I just don’t know. But I swear to you, we’re doing everything in our power to find him. And if I see him, I’ll let you know immediately. I won’t let a minute pass.”
Jill handed the phone back to Allie and melted into Susan’s arms. Celia joined them, and the women wept together. She looked up and saw Ashley watching her with her own tears streaming down her face. She wished she could comfort her, but there was no comfort in sight.
“Come here, sweetie,” Susan said in that sweet, maternal voice. She reached a hand out and drew the crying girl into their circle. “We’ll pray for Dan and your mama too. God knows where she is, just like he knows where our Dan is.”
Ashley complied and came into their circle, but she didn’t take her eyes from the door.
Chapter Fifteen
It had been awhile since they had pulled out any survivors, so the paramedics busied themselves treating the rescue workers with their breathing and eye problems. Issie stood over a firefighter who looked old enough to be retired. The whites of his eyes were bloodred, and he wheezed like an asthmatic. But he couldn’t wait to get back to the digging.
“Medic! We’ve got one.” Issie turned and saw that the voice came from a mound next to where Mark and Nick dug. “I’m going!” Issie called and abandoned her patient. She dashed up the mound, heart pounding. Let it be one of ours!
Other medics had gotten there before her and were already pulling a civilian woman out of the rubble. Her dress was tangled around her legs, and blood congealed on her face. She was unconscious.
“She’s alive,” one of the paramedics cried. “I need a board over here, stat—and a neck brace.” Issie waited as they passed the spineboard to them. If they’d found one alive here, maybe there were others. Karen and Steve, maybe, or Dan, George, Jacob, or Junior.
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