by Mayer, Dale
Kali wiped her eyes with her good arm, staring despondently at the wet streak across her sleeve. She had to stop thinking about it.
The middle-aged doctor strolled in. "Kali, the x-rays look good. You just need a cast to immobilize it and time to heal." The doctor's smile was both gentle and understanding.
The nurse beamed as if she'd created this happy outcome by herself. Kali stared at them both, dazed. So what if her arm was a simple break? It was still broken. She still wouldn't be able to return to Mexico or help Inez.
The nurse escorted Kali to the treatment room. Twenty minutes later her left arm sported a deep-purple cast. Stan hovered, asking questions and pestering Kali to stay awake. He snatched up the prescription when the doctor handed it over and said he'd get it filled at the hospital pharmacy.
Kali wanted to get home and be alone with Shiloh, who currently waited in Stan's truck. Stan returned within minutes, a small white package sticking out of his pocket. "Let's go, kiddo."
Conversations flowed around her, bits and pieces floating through her awareness. Something about shock, see her doctor, and rest. Kali rose and followed Stan blindly. Shiloh barked as they approached, her tail wagging hard.
"Sorry for the long wait, Sweetheart." Kali hugged her tight, giving her a good scratch on her ruff. "We're going home."
Home meant a fifteen-minute drive south of Portland’s center to her house on the coast. When they arrived, it was all Kali could do to make it up the front stairs.
Stan put her pain meds on the table, then hauled in her gear. Shiloh bounded inside, barking once.
Kali stood at the bottom of the stairs, weaving on her feet. Pain, drugs and exhaustion blended toward an inevitable collapse.
"Kali, can you manage a shower or do you want to wait until later?"
They both looked at the purple fiberglass cast on the one arm with the clean white fingers poking through and then at the other not quite so clean arm. The result of someone's half-attempt to clean her up.
"Sleep first, then a soak in the bath," she whispered.
"Let's get you upstairs."
Like a mother hen, Stan laid down a blanket to protect her sheets from the grime coating her hair and skin. Turning back to Kali he helped her remove her boots.
"I'll grab you a glass of water, while you get undressed." Stan walked into the bathroom while she struggled to shimmy out of her soiled jeans and tee-shirt before crawling under her duvet. She pulled the covers up to her chin.
Stan returned to place a glass of water and her pills on her night table. "Get some rest now. I'm going to the center for a few hours. I'll check on you later."
Shiloh, ever the opportunist, jumped up beside Kali and curled up into a ball. Kali rolled over to elevate her injured arm on the dog's shoulder and closed her eyes.
Stan turned off the lights. Before leaving the room, he added, "Look after yourself, Kali. Everyone has to deal with death and disaster in their way. Go easy on yourself. You did your best. That's all anyone can ask of you."
With that he walked away, his footsteps fading away in the distance.
All anyone could ask of her? What about what she asked of herself?
***
Today sucked. One more day in a long series of the same. Clouds gathered overhead. They suited his mood.
"Hey, Texan. I wanted to thank you for your involvement here." Adam spoke around the cigar butt in his mouth.
Texan? He'd worked hard to minimize that drawl. Still, if that's what this guy saw, it was hardly an insult. He could tolerate it, identify with it even. He sat on one of the many large rocks that dotted the unforgiving terrain. Brown dusty bushes similar to the sage brush found across Texas dotted the Mexican hillside.
The rescue teams had taken a severe hit with that last quake. Seven rescue workers and the little survivor from the original quake, dead. Kali Jordan injured and shipped home. Her departure had hit them all hard. Especially him. Even though she'd laugh if she knew.
Chaos had ensued in the short term, depression, and lethargy in the aftermath. Things had yet to be reorganized. No one cared anymore, apathetically accepting what life dished out. It was as if the simple beliefs of the locals had come true. He cast his thoughts to the old woman he'd found on the first day. She'd clutched his hand, speaking in broken English as she died. What was it she'd said? Something about it being God's will? The earthquakes, their punishment for a lifetime of sins?
Now, hours later, shadows blanketed the area. People littered the ground. Not moving, not talking, just staring into the emptiness of their lives. He looked over at Adam squatting under low hanging branches, smoking. Blue white fog curled upward through the leaves.
What an idiot. Adam was one of the lucky ones, pulled free early on. He should have been dead, and could have been maimed for life. Instead, that caring old woman had died and Adam had survived with only a cracked wrist. A break that still allowed him to move the cigarette to and from his mouth. Disgusting. Adam made him feel old today.
God he hurt. He'd worked the south quadrant of the main center. Mostly houses. Mostly dead inhabitants. Shifting on the rock, he tried to ignore the other man. Fatigue had taken over as despair settled on his soul. He closed his eyes, grateful for the last few moments of daylight.
Adam wouldn't leave him in peace.
"That’s a good thing you did here, helping everyone out like that. Good job." Adam spoke around the butt in his mouth.
Another stream of smoke drifted his way. What a filthy habit. Nodding in response to Adam, he narrowed his eyes and waved off the smoke. Adam's skin was scored with wrinkles and his bloodshot eyes would have fit a man who'd spent decades searching for the bottom of a bottle - not a man in his mid-twenties. "Did you ever consider giving up smoking? You got a second chance today. Don't you want to make the most of it?"
"I'm going to. Tonight I'm going to find me a hot woman, and I'm going to fuck her until she's almost dead." Adam howled, his open mouth showing yellowed and missing teeth. Evidence of heavy tobacco and probable drug use. The drug of choice here was marijuana, wasn't it? Or maybe it was cocaine? Not that it mattered, Adam hadn't taken care of himself before the disaster and had no intention of doing anything about it now.
What a waste.
"Remember the rescue angel, you know, one of them SARs people like you? Now I wish I could ride her tonight. Those long legs, wowzers. That walk of hers should be illegal. Definitely put a spell on my poor pecker." Adam frowned at the lack of response. "You should know the pair. The furry bitch is Shiloh. Don't know what the two-legged bitch is called. She must be from one of them foreign Nordic countries."
Staring off into the darkening sky helped tone down the fire of rage in his belly. His fists curled. How dare this asshole talk about Kali Jordan like that? Of course he knew her. Not as well as he'd like to. He'd worked on many sites with her. Besides, with so many rescue totals to her credit, it was hard not to know of her. She was famous. She was special. His grip on his temper slid. His stomach knotted, barely containing the bubbling acid in his gut. The bastard had no right to even speak of her.
"Hmmm mmm." Adam took another long drag of the cigarette barely clinging to his lips. He cackled then coughed, loud wheezing rasps driving up from his belly. His red-rimmed eyes lit with unholy amusement. "A couple of centuries ago, she'd have been burned at the stake for that walk of hers. I'm gonna catch me some z's and dream of a witch." With a carefree wave, Adam flicked the still burning cigarette to the dirt before returning to his shadowy hollow. Within minutes, guttural snores wafted out from the burrow. The dust settled on top of him, even as the light evening shadows crept over him.
A witch? Watching Adam sleep, he tasted the word, rolling it around in his mouth. Hardly. Kali's skills were hard to explain, harder to understand, even for those who did the same work. Her record unbeaten. How many jobs had he done? How many times had he wondered why Kali was always so blessed in finding people when he was the one who prayed? He was the one
Did she have unworldly skills? Nah, surely not. She epitomized everything good in a person. Could it be that she was too good?
It would explain why she had such phenomenal success.
Troubled, he realized the more he tried, the less anything changed. He worked hard. He went to church. He believed in the good of all people. So why, with all the effort he put into his work, did it never make a difference? It needed to make a difference. He needed it to make a difference. Otherwise, why was he here? Why was anyone here?
Studying the ground, his gaze narrowed in thought. That old woman from his first day was never far from his mind. She’d been so peaceful with her death. It was her time, she’d said then. He’d thought it unfair. What if he had it wrong? What if he had it backwards?
What if this act of nature, this earthquake, was really an act of God? What if God created these natural disasters to call home the people He needed, when He needed them? What if they weren't the horrible accidents everyone said they were?
Once he latched on to that train of thought, he couldn't let it go.
God had created this planet and put Mother Earth in charge. She carried out his orders. Therefore, it followed that if she'd created this earthquake, it had been with God's consent. If that was what God wanted, saving these people buried by rubble was going against His wishes.
He sat back stunned. He looked around to see if the sky had turned purple or the trees had suddenly grown upside down. After all, his whole belief system had flipped.
Glancing over at Adam's burrow, he could see a bare foot sticking out from the overhang. Adam was the type of person he'd been rescuing these last few days. Sure, there had been a couple of children included in the group, yet several had been single asshole males like this one.
"Why? Why bother?" He looked up to the sky for answers. "What do you want me to do, Lord?"
All these years he'd been told that God was the creator of all. He believed it, knew it deep inside to be true. His faith had been the mainstay of his world. So then God had to be the creator of this earthquake. How simple. Why had he never made that connection before? If God had made this earthquake happen, it was because he wanted these results. He wanted these people to die. And if He wanted it, He had to have a good reason. It was not Man's job to wonder or to question why.
God had called these people home.
Just as the old woman had said, it was God's will.
He straightened, his face brightening with enlightenment. By SAR's intervention, these people hadn't followed God's orders. He suddenly understood. These people needed to go home. Search and Rescue work was going against His will. The best of them being the worst of them all - Kali.
This new understanding reenergized him. That's why nothing he'd ever done had made a difference - he'd been doing the wrong type of work. He hadn't understood.
He walked over to where Adam slept. So stupid, so careless of the life he'd been graced with. No appreciation.
"Hey, Adam, wake up!" The Texan nudged Adam with his foot. Adam moaned and rolled over, his snoring continued unabated. He kicked harder.
Adam opened a bleary eye. "Huh?" At that moment he sneezed, a thick black wad of tobacco-reeking snot splattered onto the Texan's work boots.
Staring at Adam, the Texan scrunched his face up in loathing. "That's disgusting." His leg lashed out, the tip of his steel-toed boot connecting with Adam's chin. Adam's head snapped back. He groaned once, then fell silent.
Kneeling, he studied Adam for a long moment. This was almost too easy. Shoving the brush to the side, he slid both arms under Adam and rolled him over and then over again. It took several more rolls before Adam's unconscious body settled at the bottom of a shallow ditch at the edge of a small hillock. Using his hands, he cascaded dirt and rock on top of the prone man.
Adam moaned as small rocks bounced off his cheekbones and forehead. His eyes opened, then slammed closed as dirt rained on top of him. He flipped his head to the side, sending dirt flying. Getting his arms under him, he tried to push upward. Bigger rocks pounded his back. He lurched lower under the blows. "Wha...t?" A small boulder crunched hard on his shoulder, sending him flat to the ground. Adam shook his head as if to clear it. He turned to stare, pain and confusion evident in his gaze. "Why...why are you doing this?" Blood trickled from his temple and scratches razed his neck.
"You weren't meant to survive. You were meant to go home."
Another large rock hit Adam’s skull, dropping him in place. The dirt piled higher. Adam could still draw a breath, but blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth.
The dirt pile, now a large hollow gouged from one side, collapsed, sending yards of dirt tumbling onto the still form below. Not satisfied yet, Texan kicked, shoved, and scooped the balance of the small hill until it reformed above Adam.
His chest heaved when he finally stopped, sweat rolling off his face and soaking his back. The summer heat sweltered, thickening the air, making it hard to breathe. Dust filled his nostrils and eyes. He bent over to regain his breath. After a couple of minutes, he turned to search the area. It was deserted.
Of course, it was.
God was on his side.
What was that old saying, ashes to ashes, dust to dust? He'd sent Adam home - where he belonged. Underground.
He smiled, a beatific reflection of the new glow surrounding his soul.
He'd passed his initiation. Now his vocation could begin. Satisfaction permeated his being. He'd found his calling.
Simple, reasonable, perfect.
CHAPTER THREE
Six months later
Kali came to a sudden stop, staring at the deserted landscape.
Dust whirled around her on scorching dry wind, adding yet another layer of filth to her face and clothing. Lord, it was hot. She lifted her hard hat to wipe the ever-present sweat from her forehead. Her nostrils flared at the smell of decomposition and despair. Moving carefully, she stepped over a broken plastic doll, its head crushed by rocks. A table leg jutted from under a cracked window half covered in construction paper depicting a hand-drawn map.
This pile of rubble had once been a small school. Now death surrounded her. A week ago, school children had laughed and played here, smiling their joy to the world. Bodies of twenty-two children had been recovered since.
Her lower lip trembled. She gripped Shiloh's harness even tighter. Children's deaths were the hardest. Especially after Mexico. Before that disaster she had been able to keep death at a distance. She might as well have been wrapped with cotton batting, protecting her, giving her space to function in the face of so much pain. Now the images of her past pulled at her, keeping her awake at night. The cotton no longer insulated and distanced her.
Everything was worse after Mexico.
Especially The Sight. Stronger, clearer, more insistent.
The instinctive pull had morphed into a knowing she couldn't ignore. It demanded her attention. Sometimes she saw dark-colored ribbons. Other days she saw shadows. There appeared to be little in the way of consistency. The only definite here was that it was changing. And whatever was happening was getting stronger.
Kali pulled her drenched tee-shirt away from her breasts as sweat continued to trickle. Grabbing her water bottle, she took a healthy swig. The place had a desolate appearance to it with gray dust coating everything and everyone. A landslide in the Madison River Canyon had taken out part of the town center of the small community of Bralorne, Montana.
Most volunteers were working on the other side of the hastily established rescue center serving as a command post, refreshment/medical center. She had chosen to search in this direction. The Sight hadn't given her an option.
A loud whup whup whup rose in crescendo as a helicopter crested the treetops and approached her. Drawn by the propeller, dirt was swept into a swirling storm until it engulfed her.
Straightening, Kali reached for her water bottle again, this time pouring some into Shiloh's mouth as she lapped it up. Carrying a recessive gene, Shiloh was an odd long-haired purebred in a world of short-haired Labradors. Another reason the two had bonded instantly. Both were oddities in their respective worlds.
Taking a firm hold on her frayed emotions, she closed her eyes and tuned into the weird energy calling her. She'd given up calling 'it' intuition now. It had morphed into so much more. Right now, the ribbons were twisting. Dark tendrils beckoned her. She caught her breath. The murderous threads, black and violent, rustled in the space between life and death. More North. Taking several large steps forward, Kali stopped again to listen to the whispers.
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