by S. M. Butler
“I want to go home. It’s going to be dark soon,” she whined.
“I can’t leave yet. Ysabeau!” He took another swing at the building. Then stood back heaving to catch his breath, listened with everything he had.
“Everyone went home because of the sign. See?” Her finger pointed toward a lot behind the building. “If Dr. Morno hadn’t closed the clinic, this lot would be full.”
Luke dropped his makeshift hammer with a loud clank. “The parking lot’s empty.” He nearly fell to his knees with relief. Brigitte’s parking spot was empty. Ysabeau wasn’t inside the clinic when it collapsed.
“I told you.”
“Yes, you did.” Luke didn’t bother swiping at the tears streaming down his face. He took a deep breath and said, “I’d better take you home. Will you show me the way?”
She nodded again, clinging to his waist as if her life depended on it.
They went half a block, slowly, carefully, picking their way through the rubble and mess. People were pouring into the streets wailing their sorrow. Luke could only imagine how many had been hurt or killed in such a large quake and truthfully, he didn’t want to think about it. He had to concentrate on the jobs at hand. First, he was going to take Talitha home and then he’d comb Port-au-Prince for Ysabeau.
His gut clenched at the terrifying possibilities of what might’ve happened to her. Dammit! If only he’d stayed with her! What if…? Mentally, he talked himself off that ledge. She’s okay. She has to be.
Talitha told him which way to go and they kept moving for several minutes in silence. Sometimes they had to climb over parts of broken homes that had tumbled into the street, other times they were blocked by cars and trucks that had skidded together like Matchbox toys. It was a war zone.
They passed an apartment building where people milled around in the front yard picking up items stuck in the grass. A man came out of the building screaming his head off. He was carrying a woman’s body.
Luke reacted quickly. He tapped Talitha on the shoulder. “Look at me. Only me.”
Her eyes were chocolate brown saucers of horror.
“What is your favorite subject in school?” he asked.
She blinked. The image of a dead woman still burned onto her retinas.
He kept walking, pulling her past the scene, jabbering as he went. “School. What do you like the best about it? Math, Language, Science? I loved P.E. and recess. Oh, and lunch. Lunch was definitely the best. We had a cafeteria that produced the most disgusting slop, but my mom sent awesome bag lunches. How about you?”
She looked up at him. “Music?”
“Oh, sure. That’s a good class.” They were past the apartment complex now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two young men dragging an old guy into the street. He was dead too. “Over here, look at me, Talitha.”
Her face was getting panicky again. “Wha—aaat?”
“Music. What kind of music do you like?”
“Reggae?”
“Good. Me too. Sometimes.” He rubbed her shoulder. “How about movies? Who’s your favorite actor?”
He quizzed her over and over, distracting her from the carnage multiplying around them. While fairly easy to draw her gaze away from the dead, it was impossible to block her ears from the mournful cries that grew louder and louder. His own mind was reeling from the bodies were adding up quickly in the street. People were rushing home from wherever they’d been when the earthquake hit to find their loved ones dead. He couldn’t imagine that horror.
How does anyone survive this? If this was San Francisco and Sunny was home all alone when an earthquake hit… He shook his head, mentally yelling, Focus, Luke!
He needed to shield Talitha from terrors and dangers the best he could and get her home to her parents. Safe and sound. Of course that thought made him queasy too. Would anyone be alive at Talitha’s house?
Dear God, please make her parents be okay, he prayed.
An aftershock hit with such brute force he was nearly knocked off his feet. Talitha screamed and climbed up him as if he was a tree. She burrowed her face into his neck and whimpered. Huge tears dripped down his collar. With his legs spread and knees bent for balance, Luke stood there in the middle of the trembling street holding a frightened girl and did the only thing he knew how to do.
He sang a lullaby. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”
On and on he sang, well after the pavement stopped rolling and the Earth’s plates quit grinding. When he had a stable footing, he walked on, slowly, carrying little Talitha as he sang. He was a terrible singer, but that didn’t stop him from croaking on. He quickly ran out of words and made them up, not caring if they rhymed, or made sense, or sounded stupid. He choked on dust and his voice became reed thin, still, he sang for all he was worth and stumbled along. It was as if this song was the only thing gluing his feet to the earth and blocking out the horrors all around them.
Talitha quieted and looked up. “Over there,” she said. “That’s my house.”
There were no words for how grateful he was to see her house was still standing.
“Talitha!” Her mother yelled and ran toward them.
Her father came out from the back of the house whooping and hollering. He ran toward them too and soon they were all one big cheering, jumping, squealing Luke sandwich. There was no choice except to jump and cheer along with them.
When Talitha’s father took her from Luke’s arms, she clung to him too. Luke smiled at the little monkey, so damned happy she was all right. If that had been Sunny out there all alone in the rocking street with buildings crashing around her ears…Tears pricked in his already watery eyes.
Sonofabitch, he was becoming a crybaby.
Talitha’s mother embraced him again with such a ferocious mother-bear hug that his sore ribs cursed. Ah hell, he didn’t care if she busted them completely. This was no time to get worried over a few cracked bones. This was a time to celebrate.
Kreyòl words flew all around him as Talitha and her parents rehashed the events of the quake. He could guess by the tone and hand gestures Talitha’s parents were amazed and grateful he’d brought their little girl home. Their smiles said it all. To them he’d performed some sort of miracle. They acted as if he wasn’t the man who was going to let their daughter die a few short hours ago.
Well, he wasn’t that man now. He’d be damned if he’d let that sweet little monkey get anything but well. He’d make sure she had the medicines and nutrition she needed, no matter what. The Carrera was in mint-condition and would sell easily. A second mortgage on his house would be easy enough too. He wouldn’t touch Sunny’s money, but he’d find the rest, somehow.
He smiled sheepishly. “It wasn’t anything, really. I’m glad you all are okay. I’ve really got to go. Dr. Morno is out there alone. Hey, do your parents have a car I can borrow?”
Talitha shook her head. “I’m sorry. No.”
“It’s okay. Probably wouldn’t get far in one any way.”
As they’d already seen, some of the roads had been completely blocked by rubble. He suspected he’d have to jog the ten plus miles to Ysabeau’s house. He hoped he wouldn’t get lost on the way. Nothing looked the same anymore and it was getting dark. He checked his watch. It would be pitch-black by the time he got to her.
His stomach seized again. Dear God, Ysabeau had to be okay.
“Wait. Take this.” Talitha pulled the loaf of bread out from inside her shirt she had tucked against her belly during their long walk. “My mother says she will make more for Dr. Morno. You are going to need this tonight.”
“Merci.” He held up the bread to Talitha’s mom. “And thank you, Talitha, for keeping me together out there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the clinic. “Don’t think I would have made it without you.” It was the truth.
She blushed. “I was scared.”
“You? I didn’t notice.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Will you come back?” Talitha’s voice
was hoarse. After witnessing so much loss, it was normal to be worried she’d never see him again.
He didn’t skip a beat. “Absolutely. I’ve got to go home and see my daughter, but then I’ll come back to check on you. I promise. Tell your mom I’ll bring her my world-famous cornbread. It’s the only bread I know how to make.”
Talitha’s mom looked him in the eye and said something serious.
Talitha interpreted, “She says ‘May the Lord tuck you under His arms and keep you safe.’”
Grann had said nearly the same thing to him before the mother of all earthquakes hit. Was it a normal Haitian goodbye, or did everyone know something he didn’t?
Thinking on that, he picked up his feet and started the long run to Ysabeau’s house. He ran as hard and fast as was possible over the littered terrain. He couldn’t bear that Ysabeau was injured and alone in her house. Dammit, Gran! If only he had ignored her and waited to talk to Ysabeau at her house, he’d be with her right now.
Fury and anguish gave his feet wings.
*
Ysabeau opened her eyes and blinked. She blinked again. She couldn’t see a thing, no shadows, no grayness, no light. Pressure on her cheek gave her the sensation that she was face-down. But that didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t she just standing at the lobby counter at the Hotel Montana calling Luke?
Disjointed thoughts flashed as her brain tried to make sense of what happened.
Swinging chandelier…
Train careening through the lobby…
No…not a train. Rumbling…shaking…an earthquake! A huge one. She ran toward the front doors and smashed into a…what? Column?
Where am I?
Am I dead?
She tried to sit up and knocked her head on something above her. “Ow.” No, not dead.
“Help!” She yelled. “I’m here! Help me!”
She listened to the silence. Was anyone out there? Anyone at all? She called again and again, her voice muffled to her own ears.
Feeling above her head, she realized something huge was on top of her. Maybe she could crawl out from underneath it and be free. Using her hands she tried to claw herself forward. Suddenly, intense pain shot through her leg, so horrible she whimpered from the shock of it. Oh, dear God, was her leg broken? Or merely bent at a strange angle? She swallowed and noticed for the first time her mouth tasted like blood and dirt.
None of that mattered. Doctors could fix her injuries once she was free. She swallowed again and forced herself to concentrate.
I have to get out of here!
Taking three quick breaths, she bit down on her lip and hefted herself up on her elbows. She pulled herself forward as hard as she could. Pain tore through her leg—her foot, calf, hamstring—all burned like fire. Screaming with the effort she kept it up for what seemed like a minute, trying to inch forward. Nothing happened. She hadn’t moved at all.
“Help!” She slammed her hand down on…what? The column she had collided with?
Her leg really hurt. The pain was growing with each passing minute. Swelling? Broken bones? Or the worst possible thing—bleeding? The column she smashed into had been covered in glass. If the femoral artery was cut, she didn’t have much time to get out of here. She had to move quickly.
“Help! Please, help!” she yelled as loudly as she could.
Nothing.
Her leg was pinned under the Hotel Montana and she’d been buried alive. Wasn’t anyone trying to save her? Would anyone think to look for her down here?
Horrible thoughts exploded in her mind. Was she the only one who survived? What about her patients? Talitha, sweet Talitha, was she okay? She must be so frightened. What about Luke? Oh, my Lord, Luke! He’d been on the fifth floor when the quake…
No! No. No.
Luke had to be okay. She wouldn’t let herself think otherwise. He was waiting for her out there with his sky-blue eyes and heart-stopping dimples. His arms were going to open to her and they would kiss forever, his soft lips giving her life.
The thought calmed her.
Digging deep into her resolve she knew she had to hurry. At any minute she could lose what little strength she had, or slip into unconsciousness. It was now, or never.
Deciding to try and ease her foot loose from whatever held it, she wiggled her toes. Good. Carefully, she tried to rotate her ankle and pull it free. Not so good. Her ankle was stuck fast. She worked as hard as she could to turn it all possible ways. Moisture dripped into her eyes. Sweating and panting from her efforts, she was disheartened to realize she still hadn’t moved. Her leg wouldn’t budge.
She gave it one strong yank and was rewarded with a jolt so excruciating she gasped and sucked in a breath of dust and choked. Putting her head down on her arms, she coughed and coughed, struggling to exhale the dust that filled her lungs. The spasms in her chest subsided but now she had a new horror to contend with.
What if there wasn’t sufficient air to breathe down here? Taking several tiny inhales through her nostrils, she was fully aware now there might only be enough oxygen to last her a few hours.
If she didn’t bleed to death first.
Suddenly, she heard horrible popping and cracking sounds all around her. She felt herself shaking, slowly at first, then violently. With terror, she realized what was happening and threw her arms over her head. In the darkness, she held her breath and curled into herself the best she could to ride out the aftershock. Dust rained upon her head and choked out the oxygen. And still the world shook.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the hotel crashing completely on top of her. She was going to die.
Please God, save me!
As quickly as it came, the shaking stopped. The hotel continued to creak and moan over her head, but the rattling was over. Ysabeau laid there with her arms over her head and waited for the crushing blows. The creaking subsided too. After a few minutes, she took deeper breaths.
“Help! Please! I’m down here.” Her voice was getting softer and softer. She was slipping away into unconsciousness. “Help…me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
‡
Grann held her nose while blood poured through her fingers. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Deo! For the love of all that is holy, answer me! Where are you?”
Was her best friend in all the world dead on the other side of that caved-in wall? Grann trembled at the thought. She was alone. No one could help her save Deolina. No one. With all her might, she tried to move a piece of rubble. She tugged and pulled, shoved and heaved. Nothing happened. She moved on to another piece and had the same outcome.
She groaned with the effort. Sweat dripped off her cheeks and blood from her nose splattered the concrete. And nothing moved. It was all too heavy for an old lady. Desperation, coursed through her veins. What was she going to do?
“Deo!”
The damned woman wouldn’t answer. Any other day, she’d talk a person’s ear clean off. Grann shivered. She didn’t want to think about all the reasons why Deolina was silent now. Still…she had to believe she was breathing in there. Wouldn’t she feel something if Haiti’s black magic Vodun had moved on? She made herself believe that.
Grann couldn’t stand around and let her friend die inside Ysabeau’s broken house. She needed help. Fast!
Sitting on a chunk of concrete the size of a watermelon, she closed her eyes and began to chant. The breezes picked up, circling her head, trying to lift the hairs sweat-plastered to her cheeks. She concentrated all her powers on Tico’s image. She could see dreadlocks draping a fearful face. He was alive!
“Tico! Come quick! Bring the van,” she ordered.
She let her mind drift out across Port-au-Prince, hovering over the Bay. She could see Gochi’s fishing boat, rocking on the waves. “Gochi! Bring your fishing ropes. Come now.”
Over and over she called to her friends. If they were able, they’d come.
She didn’t bother calling the American. She’d given Luke a promise to stay out of his head, and sh
e was a woman of her word. And Ysabeau…well, if Ysabeau was safe, she’d be coming home any minute.
Grann cast a sad look at the disaster behind her.
“There are worse things than losing a home,” she whispered into the winds. “Dear God, keep my girl safe. And help us get Deolina out of that damned house.”
If she lost Deolina…no, she couldn’t think that way. She’d hated Deolina for fifty years, but she’d loved her much longer. At seven months her junior, Deolina was the little sister Grann never had. And that mouth of hers, well, it was always too big for anyone’s good. The past roared back and Grann saw two little girls dancing in the yard and giggling so loudly Gran’s momma threatened to beat them with a wooden spoon if they didn’t hush up. Gran’s father had to work two jobs and was cranky when awakened too early.
And in church? Shee-ya, Deolina could get them both into so much trouble. On more than one occasion, Grann got a slap upside the back of her head because she burst out laughing during Mass. It wasn’t her fault. Deolina thought the priest had a funny way of speaking, which was true since the man had come from Ireland. Most people chose to ignore the way Father Michael butchered their language. Deolina was not most people. She got the giggles every time Father Michael opened his mouth and flashed his crooked yellow teeth. Since she had been warned in no uncertain terms to be silent during Mass, Deolina had resorted to silent laughter, which meant her entire body, which was already on the large side for a ten-year-old girl, shook uncontrollably. Who could sit straight-faced while the pew wiggled beneath your bottom?
They had remained the closest of friends until, big surprise, Deolina noticed boys. And not just any boys, Deolina seemed to want the worst of the bunch. She was drawn to the bad boys like a papiyon lanp to a flame. One particular no-good-boy was deeply into black magic and larceny. Grann saw the writing on the wall—that boy was going to be dead, or jailed within the year—but Deo wouldn’t listen to Gran’s warnings. Deo had gotten sassy, calling her jealous and telling her to go find her own boyfriends. She watched helplessly as her best friend was sucked up into black magic and all sorts of foulness she shouldn’t have been playing around with. Grann never had any use for fools, so she walked away and didn’t look back. And then Deolina stole her husband and tore the past to shreds with her long painted fingernails.
