Chapter Three
The atmosphere outside was very still. A graveyard fog rose up from the lake and lay heavily atop the ground; the temperature felt as though it had risen ten degrees. There was an odd light to the sky, yellowish green and phosphorescently reflective; for a moment, both Kate and Kevin were fascinated by the effect.
"Spooky," Kevin said at last, speaking softly, as though not to disturb the spirits that lurked nearby.
"Atmospheric pressure," asserted Kate, but she, too, was uneasy.
"I've never known it to get hotter after a rainstorm, have you?"
"You've been away from this part of the country too long, Kevin." She reached inside the glove compartment of her car and took out a flashlight, although the supernatural color of the sky shed so much light they hardly needed it.
She worked quickly and efficiently, suddenly anxious to be away from this isolated spot and back to the comforts of her own home. Kevin held the flashlight for her and stayed out of her way, and after she had fixed the broken jack, everything went smoothly.
"Bang-up job," Kevin complimented her, and gave the newly installed front tire an experimental kick. She frowned at him in a warning and put the tools back in the trunk, slamming the lid. "You're going to let me ride home with you and use the phone, aren't you?"
She released an impatient breath, knowing there was no point in arguing but compelled to give it a try. "There's no point in that, Kevin. No one's going to come out and turn on your utilities tonight."
He looked at her archly. "My dear, you forget who you're talking to. I've got this town wrapped around my little finger. They'll come out if I ask them to."
The worst of it was, they probably would. "Oh, all right," she grumbled. "But let's get going. I have a feeling that storm isn't completely over yet." She held out her hand for the keys determinedly. "And I'm driving."
She saw debate form in his eyes and then dissolve. He handed over the keys without argument and went around to the passenger seat.
Kate was right. Rain began to splatter on the windshield in huge sporadic drops as she turned into her block, and the angry gusts of wind began to play with the tops of the trees. At least they had missed the worst of it, and she would be safely inside her house before the rain started again in earnest.
Kevin had his arm stretched out along the back of the seat, and as she pulled into her driveway, he rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Just in case I can't get my electricity turned on," he suggested, "I don't suppose you'd consider letting me spend the night with you?"
"No chance, loverboy." She jerked on the emergency brake.
His eyebrows shot up innocently. "Hey, you're safe with me. Remember—"
"Your vow, I know." Her voice was dry as she opened the door. "One phone call, Dawson," she reminded him firmly, "and then out you go."
"As soon as my driver comes," he amended confidently, and got out of the car.
The streetlights, reflecting off wet asphalt, guided the way to the front porch of Kate's small, imitation-Tudor-style house. The wind had a cold bite to it now, and she hurried to open the door, expecting another soaking rain any moment.
The house into which they stepped was a brilliant contrast to the one they had just left. Kate touched the light switch, and three table lamps glowed softly, illuminating warm peach and russet furnishings, polished fruitwood tables, gleaming hardwood floors accented by small hooked rugs in assorted shapes and patterns. The ceilings and upper walls were artificially beamed against a white paint that was textured to look like plaster, and a collection of paintings by unknown but talented artists endowed the room with character and warmth. Kate's personality was imbedded deeply in this room, and whenever Kevin thought of her, he imagined her here.
"I've always loved your house," he commented now, looking around appreciatively. "It's so cheery. It looks as if someone really lives here."
Kate supposed that was a compliment. She paused to place her medical bag in the closet and responded only with "At least it has electricity. And a phone." She pointed meaningfully to the telephone on the table near the fireplace.
Kevin ignored her, wandering into the kitchen. "Too bad we left the steaks back at my house. We could have them done in half an hour. Look at that—you've got an open gas grill. When did you have that put in? I've always wanted one."
"Kevin—"
He opened a cabinet. "What are you having for dinner? Those crackers were okay, but I'm really starving." He took out a couple of cookies and opened the refrigerator. "Say, is your dad home? Let's give him a call and have him over, okay? You know that goulash he makes—"
Kate strode past him and pushed the refrigerator door closed. "No, we're not calling my father to cook for you; I'm not cooking for you. Just make your phone call and go home. That was the deal."
He shrugged, unconcerned, and popped a cookie into his mouth. "There's no hurry. My driver won't be here until eleven."
Kate spared him one condemning look and then swung away back to the living room. She snapped on the television set, intent on ignoring him.
That was easier said than done, however. She hadn't realized it was eight o'clock, and the familiar theme song of Code Zeroprovided the background for Kevin's winning grin, Kevin's long legs, Kevin's bare chest, Kevin looking intent and determined with his fists wrapped around the butt of a revolver. With a smothered groan, Kate turned away.
The music stopped abruptly. Far in the distance, above the faint rustle of the rising wind outside, she heard a dim and unfamiliar whining. It took her several seconds to realize that what she was hearing was the civil-defense siren.
She glanced back at the television screen just as the sharp, piercing tone of the high-frequency warning began. The screen now was a brilliant blue; written against it in stark white letters were the words EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM.
It was the single most terrifying moment in Kate's life. She had been raised during the Kennedy years, in an era where civil-defense drills and emergency broadcast tests were weekly affairs, grim reminders of an uncertain age in which bomb shelters were part of every school and hospital, as well as of many homes, and that siren, that piercing whine, had been developed to announce only one specific event: first strike.
Her reaction was deep and primal and completely paralyzing. Everything within her seemed to freeze; the entire world seemed to come to a standstill in a single second that would be etched on her memory forever. The familiar, cozily lit room of her own house, with its patterned draperies, white beamed walls, brick fireplace, was branded in every detail on her brain with stark clarity. And she herself, in the middle of it, stood helplessly staring, transfixed, at the blue screen and the words EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM.
Kevin was standing in front of the big bay window in the kitchen; he had pulled back the curtains and was gazing out curiously. Dimly Kate was aware of another noise above the sirens, a sound she couldn't identify-something strange... deep and rumbling and totally alien, like an approaching train or a low-flying jet...
"God, Katie, you should see what the wind is doing to those trees. They're whipping around in circles."
Suddenly it all snapped together for her, more from instinct than reason, and she screamed, "Kevin get away from that window!"
As if in slow motion, he turned toward her, his face surprised and curious, and she remembered thinking what a beautiful face he had, after all, and how she would miss it, how horribly she would miss it, as she had a sudden, terrifyingly clear vision of glass exploding inward, sharp projectiles flying through the air and Kevin standing just inches away.
Kate launched herself at him. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away. The lights went out as she dragged him, stumbling, through the room, and she heard the crashing of glass just as she pushed him down onto the floor in the hallway and flung herself on top of him. It had seemed like hours, but barely ten seconds had passed since she had first heard the sirens.
Kate would never be able to describe
adequately what happened next, and neither would any of the other twelve thousand residents of Victoria Bend who lived through the disaster. The roar was deafening. The house shook; supports cracked and creaked and screamed like something dying. The air smelled of wet dust and fear. A lash of cold, piercing rain cut through her clothes and stung her thigh, suddenly, briefly, like the rake of fingernails, and was gone.
She heard the sounds of crashing, of walls falling, of trees splitting. Something hit her hard in the center of her back. Kevin was facedown on the floor beneath her, and she was clutching him, her face buried in his shoulder, her arms, for some reason, covering his head and not her own. She felt Kevin grab her hand and hold it hard. She thought he was shouting at her, and then he was trying to shift away from her, to push her down on the floor and arrange himself to protect her, but with supernatural strength she fought him and kept him still. She might have been screaming or sobbing; she didn't know which. She couldn't hear anything over the shrieking, clamoring, roaring sounds of the world coming to an end.
And suddenly everything was still. So horribly still. Kate heard the echo of rain splattering against her kitchen tiles—she knew it was her kitchen tiles because once she had had a broken pipe and it sounded just like that. A branch fell with an anticlimactic rustle outside. She could hear Kevin's harsh breathing, and his heartbeat—or was it her own?—shook his entire body. The fingers of one of her hands were wound fiercely and almost inextricably into the wool of his sweater, and her other hand was caught in his bone-crushing grip. He gasped, ''Katie, my God! What the hell?''
He shifted; she rolled off him and collapsed against the rubble of plaster and wet insulation on the floor. Her own breath sounded like sobs. His face was a white and shiny blur of fear and shock in the dark; his hands were cold as they gripped her shoulders. "What was it? My God, Katie—"
"Tornado." Her words came out in broken syllables between dragged-in breaths. "Had to be. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
Kevin went limp and his hands fell away. He sank back against the wall and stared at her. For a long time they said nothing, just breathing, just trying to get used to the fact that they were alive.
The moment spun out in a dark kaleidoscope of horrors, a hundred nightmares demanding her attention at once. She thought about her house, her beautiful house, in pieces around her, and her mind darted in ridiculous directions, wondering if this memento or that favorite item had been spared. At the same time, a deep and awful panic rose up inside her while she wondered about her father—if he was all right—and her neighbors, her patients, and how extensive the damage had been. She could imagine in that moment that the entire town lay leveled around them, that she and Kevin were the only two people left alive in the entire city, perhaps the entire world...
She couldn't believe it. It was like living out a scene in a movie or a book; surely such things did not happen in real life. Her father. She had to find her father. People might be hurt. How could it have happened so quickly, without warning? How could it have happened to her?
She knew she had to move, to get up and at least inspect the damage. She tried to think like a professional, to remember everything she had ever learned in disaster training, to remind herself that people needed her. But inside she was a small and terrified child, and all she wanted to do was to crawl into Kevin's strong arms and hold him tight and cry.
It was the sound of fire engines that pushed away the fog of encroaching shock. Abruptly, her attention shifted from personal tragedy to her responsibility to others, and she pushed shakily to her feet. Every muscle in her body ached. "I've got to see how bad it is," she said hoarsely, and extended her hand to Kevin. "Can you stand up?'*
He nodded, but he took her hand, and she saw him wince as he pressed against the wall to stand up. "Are you all right?" she demanded quickly, and was certain she must have asked him that before.
"Yeah." He rubbed his arm absently. His face was shadowed, and he was breathing hard. "Must have pulled a muscle. God Almighty, Katie, will you look at this?"
His voice had taken on a note of low wonder, reverberating with the kind of hollow shock she felt inside, as they made their way cautiously out of the protective hallway. Kate stumbled up against something in the dark, and he bumped into her; she bent to push the obstacle aside and realized that it was the lamp table that used to be on the far side of the living room. The lamp on top of it had not even fallen off.
The filtered darkness showed them a scene of wanton destruction worthy of any screenwriter's imagination. The entire bay window had been torn away; the floor was littered with glass, and a gentle rain pattered on the countertops. Her appliances were completely upended, but her dishes were still on the drainboard. In the living room, beams hung crookedly from the ceiling, and the furniture was gathered in a random pile in the center of the room, as though some playful giant had scooped it all up, tossed it about and let it fall again. Every window was blown out, but the draperies were still hanging. The fireplace poker was embedded hke a spear in the wall across from the fireplace.
It was to this amazing phenomenon that Kevin was drawn, murmuring exclamations as he examined it. Kate stood where she was, staring dumbly at the light sheet of silvery rain that was screening her open front door. She could hear voices outside, crying and shouting, and now more fire engines. The sound of others in need broke through the last of her shock; adrenaline began pumping in waves and propelled her forward toward the open door.
Kevin began to sort quickly through the rubble, tossing aside sofa cushions, scrambling through bits of Sheetrock and torn magazines.
Kate stared at him. "What?" she demanded. "What are you looking for?"
"The telephone," he explained patiently, without looking up. "We've got to—"
Kate didn't know whether Kevin was speaking from shock or from habit. Never in his life had he been faced with a situation a single phone call couldn't fix. "Are you crazy?" she said, a little shrilly. "Half the damn town's been wiped out. Who the hell do you think you're going to call?"
He stared at her, his eyes dark and not entirely comprehending in a very white face. One of the artificial beams, which had been hanging by a thread, tumbled to the floor on the other side of the room, and she grabbed his arm, wrenching him forward. "Come on; it's not safe in here."
The scene outside was even more devastating than what Kate had seen inside. The sheer magnificence of it overwhelmed her. Huge trees and power poles blocked the street. From where she was standing, she could see two houses reduced to matchsticks. She tried frantically to remember whether those houses had basements, who lived there, whether anyone had been at home when the storm struck. The roof had blown off the house next door, and pieces of it lay in the street; her neighbors stood on the front lawn, staring at it, and the sound of a woman's soft sobbing seemed anticlimactic. There were other people moving around through the rain, calling out to each other or just crying, looking with unbelieving eyes at what nature had wrought.
In the few seconds Kate stood there, her mind ticked off an urgent list of priorities and possibilities. She had never imagined anything this catastrophic; she had never in her wildest moments imagined how to deal with something like this. There would be injuries. She had to get to the clinic. Please, God, let the clinic be standing. She thought of the drugs and instruments that would be so desperately needed, and she thought surely God would have been merciful and spared some of them. She had to find her father. He lived three blocks away; perhaps the damage had not been so extensive in his part of town. Please let him be all right.
Kevin said lowly, "God, Katie, look at your car."
Her car was flattened and buried beneath the seventy-five-year-old oak that once had shaded her house. She looked at the car, and all she thought was Well, I guess we won't be driving to the clinic.
Someone called shrilly, "Dr. Larimer! Dr. Larimer, thank God you're here! Come quick, please."
She said over her shoulder to Kevin, "See if you can
get in the hall closet and get my medical bag. Hurry!" And she began to climb over the broken trees and scattered debris that separated her from her patients.
In the next few minutes she treated a broken arm, a minor head injury, some nasty scrapes and contusions, and one case of shock. It quickly became apparent that this was only the beginning.
"It was worse on the west side of town," someone was saying excitedly. "I saw it touch down there; barely got to the basement—"
"I heard there was more than one—"
"Does anyone have a radio?"
"Won't do any good; the transmitter's out."
"We need some men to help search those houses over there. There must be people inside.''
"Dr. Larimer, what are we going to do?"
The voices were babbling around her and blurring together, and Kate was thinking dully, mechanically, I can't deal with this. I wasn't trained to deal with this.
And then she looked at Kevin, kneeling beside her in the rain, watching her and waiting for her answer, and she suddenly became aware of two things. The first was that for the only time in their lives the crowd was turning to her and not the luminescent Kevin Dawson. The second was that she had to deal with it.
She snapped her medical bag closed and got to her feet. Her words were clipped and decisive. "Stay out of your houses. We'll have the disaster plan in operation as soon as we can get organized." She wasn't even sure the town had a disaster plan. "Meanwhile, form search parties to locate the injured and get them to the chnic if you can. That's where I'm going now. And use flashlights, not candles—there may be broken gas pipes." She couldn't think of anything else. There was too much to think of.
Those few words, issued with authority and confidence, were all it took to galvanize her neighbors into action. The human spirit was an amazing thing, and tonight she would see it at its best and its worst. She took off at a semirun across the slippery grass and broken streets toward the clinic, her mind working in rhythm with her steps.
After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi) Page 4
