by S. M. Butler
There was a flurry of excitement behind him, but Luke tuned it all out. His focus was on Deolina, the formidable black magic priestess who predicted this mess. If only he’d listened to her instead of thinking she was a nutcase, he could have snatched Ysabeau up and taken her to California before the earthquake hit. “If only’s” weren’t worth shit.
On and on he worked, forcing blood into Deolina’s heart, waiting for her to take over. He blew two more quick breaths into her lungs.
“Deolina, you’d better stop this nonsense and come back to us!” Grann yelled over Luke’s shoulder. “Do you hear me? Right now!”
Deolina sputtered and started to gag. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at Luke.
“Welcome back,” Luke said.
The crowd cheered. Men danced and hugged each other. Grann mumbled a bunch of words Luke suspected were grateful prayers.
“You did it, chief!” Tico pounded him on the back.
“Help me up,” Deolina whispered.
Luke cocked his head at Tico and they both hooked her under the arms and hoisted her to a sitting position.
“Give her some water!” Luke ordered and several people scrambled to find her a water bottle.
To Deolina he asked, “Hungry?” He reached into his back-pocket and pulled out the other half of bread that he’d been carrying around. Even though it looked pretty beat-up, his stomach rumbled at the sight of it. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, but he knew Deolina could use the food more than he needed it.
She held up her hand for him to keep the bread and reached for the water bottle. After chugging down all the water, Deolina wiped her wet lips with the back of her dirty arm and gave a contented sigh, “Ah.”
“Deolina! Don’t you ever do dat to me again. Nearly scared me to death.” Grann plopped down on the grass next to her.
“Whoa. Your face is one ugly mess,” Deo mumbled.
“Never mind me, how are you feeling?” Grann asked softly.
Deolina reached up and felt the dried gash on her forehead. “Ouch. Not so good. My head feels like one of my neighbor’s sows sat on it. Hurts.”
“I bet. You need fluids and…” Luke looked at her forehead. “…a couple of stitches. Tico and the others will take you and Grann to the hospital. I wouldn’t bother calling for an ambulance. Not today.”
“I tell you, I got knocked upside de head and choked down a bucket of dust.” Deolina stuck her tongue out. It was a pink contrast to the powdery greyness of her skin. “But dat’s not de worst of it all.”
Luke winced. His brain ran through the possibilities. She looked pretty good, all things considered, still, she could have internal injuries. “What Deolina? What’s the worst?”
She crossed her arms. “I got myself kissed by an American devil.”
Luke busted up laughing.
Deolina grinned. “You know. It wasn’t half bad.”
Luke kissed her on the cheek. “Glad I could be of service.”
“Now come on, you keep kissing me and Ysa’s going to be jealous.” Her face crumpled as if she’d suddenly remembered something painful. “I saw her in my vision, Guardian. You’d better go find her. It…it doesn’t look good.”
His heart stopped. “Where is she?”
“The Hotel Montana,” she whispered.
Tico jerked up straight. “No shit? Oh man, oh man.”
Luke rubbed his temples. Ysabeau had gone to see him and he’d gone to find her. What a FUBAR mess. At least I know where to look for her next.
“Everyone’s been talking about the Montana. This is serious shit,” Tico said behind him. “She can’t be in there.”
Luke grabbed Tico by the collar. “Why?”
“It collapsed. Completely. All five stories smashed down like a giant pancake. If anyone was inside that thing…”
“No!” Luke pounded the grass with his fist. “No!”
Grann placed her hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Carter, before you go and do somet’ing crazy…”
Luke didn’t wait to hear more. He was already crazy. His head felt like it was going to explode off his shoulders. He jumped up and took off running for the moped.
Behind him he heard Deolina saying, “Don’t stop him. De man needs to go to her.”
He kick-started the bike and sped off toward the hotel, praying to God he wasn’t too late.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‡
There was a sharp buzz in his pocket as if thirty bees were trying to get out.
Ignoring it, he opened the moped’s throttle to full force and flew around the obstacles in the streets. He was a lunatic on a mission to save Ysabeau. Nothing could slow him down. His pocket buzzed again. Someone was calling him.
He came to an abrupt stop, nearly crashing the bike.
“Ysabeau?” he shouted into the phone.
“Daddy? Oh, thank God. It’s horrible. All over the news. Are you okay?”
“Sunny,” he said softly, trying not to let her hear the disappointment in his voice. “I’m fine.”
“It was a 7.0, Dad. That’s insane. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Sweetheart, I’m fine.”
He could hear her sniffle. “I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you…just like Mom…I thought…” Sunny blew her nose.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“Oh, Daddy.” She sobbed.
Luke tipped his head up to the stars. How he wanted to hold his little girl right now. “Takes a lot more than a little shaking to knock your old man down. I’m fine, Sunny, really. Please don’t cry. You’ll get the hiccups.”
“Too late…hic…What about…hic…Ysabeau? Is she with you?”
Sadness and worry pressed at the back of his eyeballs. He shook his head. He wouldn’t cry in front of Sunny. “No. I have to find her. She was inside the hotel looking for me when the quake hit.”
“Oh, no! Some of the hotels collapsed…hic…this really beautiful one, I forgot its name, was completely demolished in five seconds!…hic…two hundred people are still trapped inside.”
He couldn’t swallow. “The Montana?”
“That’s it! Have you seen it?”
“Sweetheart, I’ll call you when I have more news. Make sure Danny tucks you in tight tonight. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad. Wish you were home.”
So did he. But in his wishes he’d be there to tuck both of his girls in at night and keep them safe and sound.
He hung up and checked for messages from Ysabeau.
Nothing.
His hands were shaking when he dialed her cell. It rang and rang. Her voice mail picked up. Not good. “I’m trying to find you, angel. I’m going to the Montana now. If you get this message…God please make her get this message…call me. I’m desperate to find you. I will find you. I promise. I love you.”
He started the moped again and immediately brought her up to full speed. He was flying. Caution was not in his vocabulary tonight.
Speeding around a large pile of debris, he found a car’s headlights in his eyes. He’d swerved into head-on traffic. He maneuvered around two cars, while trying to get back over into his lane. Horns blared all around him. The third car in the long line of traffic hit a fissure in the road and lost control. In slow motion, the car caught air and sail straight toward him.
Luke had nowhere to go. He laid the bike down and slid across the lane and into the shoulder. He and the moped kept sliding like he was on some crazy Slip’N Slide. He smashed into a row of thick plastic trash bins set up as a barrier to stop wayward cars from careening into a government building. The bins stopped him. Five feet more and he would have been impaled by rebar jutting out of the concrete at weird and dangerous angles.
He laid there a minute, dazed and bleeding. Cars continued to honk at him as if he was annoying them by having the audacity to let his blood flow in the street.
Finally, when he had his wits about him, he got up and picked up the moped. It didn’t look to
o bad if he squinted at it and lied to himself. It might still run. Emphasis on the word might. At least the headlight was still working.
In that light, he saw he was sporting an oozy, drippy road rash starting above his elbow and going down his forearm. Blacktop and dirt were imbedded in his skin. His elbow looked like a peeled grape. Blood dripped from the scrapes on his arms and there was a huge tear up the side of his favorite blue jeans.
Limping, he hopped back on the moped and tried to kick-start her. Repeatedly. The damn thing wouldn’t fire up. He gave it a little throttle while kicking it over. No good. Then he gave it a ton of throttle. Working at it until he was sweating and cursing made-up words, he realized this was not going to happen. He was wasting time.
“Shitshitshit!”
An old man with white hair and a beard approached, saying something Luke couldn’t decipher.
Luke grimaced. He really needed to take a Kreyòl for Dummies class. He lifted his elbow to show the man. “Accident.”
The man pointed this way and that, at the cars, street, broken buildings overhead and went into a flurry of sentences that had no meaning whatsoever for Luke.
“I know. Life’s a witch.” Luke in turn pointed at the mangled moped. “You want it?”
The man’s eyes lit up.
“Doesn’t work, but you can have it. I’ll buy the guy a new one.”
“Merci!” Grinning, the man took the moped off Luke’s hands and started dragging it away.
“Wait,” he called. “Which way to the Hotel Montana?”
The man gave him a string of directions. Luke caught one or two words. He had an inkling of which way to go, maybe. Taking a deep breath, he started running. Again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‡
Ysabeau woke slowly. At least she thought she was awake. Her cave was still charcoal-black. She wondered again how long she had been asleep. The Vicodin had knocked her out and taken away her pain. Now her leg was starting to ache again, which meant it had been about four hours since she’d taken the drugs. Four hours had passed and no one had rescued her. What did that mean? Wasn’t anyone coming? Would she ever see Luke again?
“Help! I’m here! Please, help me!” she yelled and sobbed. “Oh, God, no one hears me!”
“I hear you.” Out of the darkness came a woman’s voice. It was as faint as a bee buzzing under a jar.
Ysabeau’s mouth dropped open. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating from the Vicodin and blood loss?
“You’re not alone,” the woman said.
“Oh!” Ysabeau cheered. “You can hear me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in here too? In the hotel?”
“Yes. I am close.”
Ysabeau was incredulous. She wasn’t dreaming. There was a real live woman trapped under the hotel with her. “Can you hear anyone else?”
They both listened.
“I hear a group of men talking. Americans, I think,” the woman said. “They are together, trapped to the left of me. You cannot hear them?”
“No. I haven’t heard anyone until now.” For the first time in many hours Ysabeau was hopeful. If there were others alive down here, there would be rescuers. It was only a matter of time. “What’s your name?”
“Marisol.” The woman had an unusual accent, one Ysabeau had not heard before.
“Beautiful. Spanish?” Ysabeau shifted her position and bit her lip on the pain. The Vicodin was wearing thin, but she didn’t want to take the pain pills. She couldn’t risk going back to sleep now that she’d found a friend.
The woman hesitated briefly before saying, “Yes.”
Her leg was killing her. She ground out between her clenched teeth, “I’m Ysabeau.”
She didn’t realize how strained her voice had become until the woman asked, “Are you injured?”
“My leg. It’s trapped under something. I think it’s broken.”
“Dios mio. Can you move it at all?”
“No,” Ysabeau said.
“That is not good, but try not to worry. Someone will be here soon to rescue you,” the woman said softly.
Something in her voice gave Ysabeau pause. “To rescue us both, you mean.”
The woman didn’t respond to that.
“Are you injured?” she asked, crossing her fingers the answer was going to be no.
The woman was silent.
Cold panic seized Ysabeau. “Hello? Marisol, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Marisol’s voice seemed fainter.
“Okay, hang on. Don’t…don’t leave me.”
“I’ll try not to.” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if it took all her energy to speak.
Ysabeau’s heart fluttered like a chicken’s on the chopping block. Her breath came in short quick bursts. She couldn’t be alone in here. She wouldn’t make it. “I’m…I’m a doctor! Tell me how badly you are injured. I can help.”
The irony of her statement hit her. How could she do anything for the woman’s injuries? She herself was trapped in the dark with no real supplies. Both of their lives depended on her.
“Please,” Ysabeau begged. “Talk to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‡
January, 13, 2010. Day after…
The morning sun dried the sweat on his back as he jogged up the hill in Petionville. The driveway to the hotel was steeper than he remembered by taxi. His legs and lungs burned, screaming for relief. He pressed on. Almost there.
Rounding the corner, he came face-to-disaster with the remains of the Hotel Montana.
“Holy shhhhit!”
It was going to take a second to grasp what he was looking at. The sheer massive size of the wreckage was mind-blowing. Slowly, he walked up the paved drive to what used to be the entrance of the four-star hotel. It looked like the hotel had exploded.
Tico had been right. Five stories had pancaked one on top of the other, creating a monstrous white mound of concrete. Metal jutted out of what he imagined to be railings from balconies, like the one he was standing on last night, before the earth tried to rip itself in two.
A British tourist taking pictures of the mess walked up behind him. “Unbelievable, right? I was staying there.”
“So was I,” Luke mumbled. Glancing around, he noticed people walking around in shock. He completely understood. It was hard to wrap his brain around what he saw. “Who’s in charge here?”
The man seemed not to hear him. “I’d been at the Iron Market, trying to buy a trinket to send to my mum. Couldn’t find a thing. I’d just gotten into the cab when the quake hit. The entire Iron Market, all of it, collapsed before my eyes. And now this.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Unbelievable.”
“Do you know who’s in charge?”
“No, man.” He took a few more pictures saying, “Un-freakin-believable.”
Yes, it was. His woman was inside that disaster. And he had to find her.
A policeman yelled at a group of teens to back away from the destroyed building. The teens snatched something from the wreckage and took off running.
Luke sprinted toward the officer. “Excuse me.”
“What do you want?” The officer said gruffly.
Luke suspected that the officer was barely eighteen, just a kid and probably scared out of his wits. “To help.”
Studying him from head to toe—taking in the scrapes, the dried blood, the torn pants, and caked-on filth—the young cop said, “No hospital here. See a doctor in town.”
“No. I don’t need help. Listen…” he combed his fingers through his hair trying to find the right words. “I’m an American. I have extensive search and rescue skills and medical training. Let me search for survivors.”
“I don’t know, man. The Search and Rescue teams don’t arrive until tomorrow, but Haitian police force can’t handle this. We don’t have the manpower or the means…” The officer’s shoulders sagged. If possible, he looked even younger and far more frightened. The immensity of
this disaster was kicking his butt. “I’m supposed to keep looters away from the scene. That’s all…but…” He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “…my roommate, Lupe, is a bartender. He’s inside. Tomorrow is a long time from now. Do what you can. Please.”
Luke put his hand on the young cop’s shoulders. “Do you have any tools?”
*
Armed with a flashlight, a crowbar, and a sledgehammer, Luke walked around the building. Where to start? How to begin?
The cop had said the Search and Rescue teams wouldn’t arrive until the next day. Nearly forty hours after the hotel caved-in? He understood it would take time to mobilize teams from all over the world, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Ysabeau being in there a second longer. She was afraid of the dark and terrified of being tied down. He had to get her out.
He walked around the building slowly, studying it, trying to find a way in. There were tiny cracks, here and there, nothing man-sized. He’d have to find the right spot and sledge-hammer his way in.
It was intensely quiet. No bird sounds, no talking, no honking horns, nada. He imagined the noise had been ear-shattering at four fifty-three yesterday. Had Ysabeau screamed? Did she know what was happening? Was her life taken in five seconds?
Suddenly, he knew he couldn’t do this. It was too big, too horrific.
He was one man.
Even if he hacked away at that dead hotel for ten years, he wouldn’t make a dent. He was weak, and tired, and so damned petrified. Sickness and anguish seized him. His stomach flopped and bile rose into his throat. He stumbled away from the hotel, making it to the bushes before he vomited. Wiping his mouth, he stood up and looked at the Montana Monstrosity.
He was one man.
And Ysabeau needed him.
Screaming her name, Luke Carter hefted the sledgehammer and began.
*
Ysabeau shivered and hugged herself in agony. The pain was back and as intense as it ever was. Having chills was not a good sign. She might be going into shock. Digging inside her purse, she pulled out the Vicodin and hoped it didn’t put her to sleep. She needed to listen for rescuers to save Marisol’s life.
