She looked up at the lights. “Good. You’re thinking right, because these people will be desperate for protection sooner or later.” Callie looked around. “Any chance of some hot water?”
Grinning, Wes nodded. “Yeah, Bob’s got a hot plate set up over there.” He pointed across the street. “We found a huge steel pot, and Corporal Stevens found a leak from a water main that had been pushed above ground by the quake. He’s keeping us supplied with water and is in charge of boiling it. Boiled water means no germs, so we can safely drink it and make MREs with it, too. Right now, the civilians are coming over to get the water and things are moving along pretty smoothly in that area.” With a grimace, Wes added, “Of course, if one of those aftershocks busts up the underground water pipe, then we’ll go into an emergency situation, because there is no other water source around here.”
“We’re lucky to have that pipe,” Callie said. “And I wouldn’t count on it giving us water in the future. The aftershocks around here are hitting 6.0, from the feel of things.”
“Yeah,” Wes said unhappily, “I agree with you. I’m feeling helpless, Callie. If we lose this water source…well, so far, there’s five hundred survivors we’re dealing with, and I don’t know what we’ll do if that happens.” He took off his cammo cap and ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated by that very real possibility.
“The Hueys could possibly carry in a load of water,” she suggested.
“Yes, they’re already doing that for other grids in the basin.” He gestured broadly. “I’ve talked to Logistics about getting a plastic pool liner set up so water can be dumped in it, but I’m not hearing that there are any more available. The support people at Camp Reed have an emergency call out for liners that are used by volunteer fire departments, and they’ll get them.”
“It’s a question of when,” she murmured, “and if it will be soon enough.” Though there were many concerns to be dealt with still, Callie cherished the moment standing and talking with Wes. He looked exhausted. In part, she knew, it was simply from lack of sleep, as well as all the demands of leading the detachment. The other, more insidious and tiring facet was the emotional toll this disaster took on everyone. No one was immune to the suffering. And it was only going to get worse. Callie knew firsthand how the general panic would escalate sharply after the first three days. Food and water resources might hold out for that time, but after that, things became dicey. The look in Wes’s eyes told her that he was more than a little aware of the crowd mentality, and that when, not if, survival mode kicked in, the most placid civilians could become an unruly, perhaps even savage mob, ready to steal, lie, cheat and maybe kill to get supplies in the tents nearby. The team was armed, but Callie knew that not one of the marines wanted to hurt anyone, especially desperate civilians. No, it was going to get a lot worse as the nightmare continued to unravel. She was sure Wes’s crew was equally tired and knew the potential problems to come, as well. In a disaster like this, there was little time to rest for those on a rescue team.
Wes could see that Callie was punch-drunk with fatigue. He took her MRE from her and gripped her elbow. “Come on,” he urged her quietly, “come and sit down over here and I’ll make up this meal for you. You’re in need of a little care right now yourself….”
Callie was touched by his generosity and sensitivity to her plight. Never one to complain of how she felt, she realized Wes had seen her own exhaustion and wanted to help. Callie felt the strength of his hand on her elbow as he guided her across the rubble-strewn street. “I’ve got to feed Dusty first,” she protested.
Giving her a slight smile, Wes said, “Does he eat MREs, too? They didn’t bring any dog food in on that Huey flight—just a lot of crates of MREs.” He guided her to a section of the curb that had survived, next to their makeshift kitchen arrangement. Locating a beat-up tin cup, Wes opened the food packet, dipped the cup into the boiling water and poured steaming liquid into the pouch.
Callie sat and Dusty laid at her feet, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “Yes, he can. Actually, out on a site, he’ll eat anything that doesn’t move.” She dug into her thigh pocket and took out the last of the dried dog biscuits. Leaning down, she placed them before Dusty, who eagerly lapped them up. The hard physical work they did required they eat on a regular basis, but Callie hadn’t eaten since noon today, and it was now 9:00 p.m. She watched gratefully as Wes prepared the MRE for her. When it was done, he handed it to her, along with plastic utensils.
“I’ll get one for Dusty,” he told her. “You just stay put.”
Too tired to speak, Callie saw that she had the chicken and noodles meal. Dusty was giving her a longing look. He could smell the luscious odors drifting out of the opening.
“You’ll get yours in a minute,” she promised him with a pat on his shoulder.
Spooning a bite of food into her mouth, Callie tried not to think of possible survivors somewhere in that heap looming darkly above them. In the distance, she saw the crane swinging into place, its huge steel legs extended so that it wouldn’t tip over and kill someone when lifting a heavy concrete slab.
Meanwhile the bulldozers and front-end loaders were working away relentlessly. At the moment one was trundling loudly down the chewed up boulevard, heading for the area Callie had just covered. Instead of tearing into the hotel ruins indiscriminately, they waited until she and Dusty had thoroughly searched a grid. If no survivors were found, they would begin to dismantle the hotel to locate bodies of the dead and bring them to the surface.
It was gruesome work. So far, with her and Dusty’s help, twenty bodies had been recovered. Wes had started a morgue of sorts on the other side of the hotel, near where she had been working. He didn’t want people to see the bodies, and tried to keep the area sealed off from the populace. The odor, however, was becoming worse. As Callie worked the rubble, the breeze would often bring the smell of decay to her and she would gag. Between the dryness of the concrete dust plugging her nostrils continually, the odor drifting up from the rubble, and the morgue nearby, her stomach was roiling.
As she ate the food, which was tasteless to her, Callie watched for Wes. Her heart expanded with euphoria when he came toward her out of the shadows, another MRE in hand for Dusty. The look on his face made her pulse speed up. Again, that mask, that officer’s veneer, was gone. He was allowing her to see him—all of him—the human being behind the marine. The man. There was nothing to dislike about him, Callie realized. As he approached, she said, “Are you sure you aren’t a throwback to the knights of yore?”
Grinning, Wes opened the pouch and poured hot water into it. “Maybe. But what about you? You’re the one out there climbing around on that hotel. You’re the real rescuer.” And then his mouth curved. “Maybe an angel of mercy?”
Wrinkling her nose, Callie avoided his probing look. “Angel…”
“That’s what I’ve been calling you in my mind—Angel. You look like one,” he said conspiratorially as he sat down next to her, their elbows brushing momentarily. He tested the contents of the packet, wanting to make sure it wasn’t too hot for Dusty to eat. The dog didn’t need to have his sensitive mouth burned on the food, so Wes opened the MRE wider to allow it to cool.
“That’s a nice compliment,” Callie murmured shyly.
Wes’s mouth crooked. “And it wasn’t a line, either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He saw her give him a tired smile. “I’m beginning to think your compliments are genuine, not lines, okay?”
His smile increased and he held her dark, exhausted gaze. “Good, because they are. They are inspired by my desire for you.” He refused to use the word heart because he wouldn’t—couldn’t—give his heart to Callie. It was simply impossible because of his past loss.
Heat rushed up Callie’s neck and into her face. Unable to keep holding his warm stare, she turned her attention to her meal, despite the fact that she could barely taste it. Just being close to Wes made her heart open up like an icy pond being showered
with sunlight and warmth. She warned herself that he’d used the word desire, not love, and she mustn’t under any circumstances mistake one for the other. “Once, when Dusty found this older man in Turkey buried in a three-story apartment building, and they rescued him, he called me an angel. Of course, he was English, from Britain. Most of the people in Turkey are Muslim. I don’t know if they have angels or not in the Muslim religion. But as they brought this man out and put him on a stretcher, he gripped my hand and called me an angel.” She sighed. “That was nice. It made my whole week.”
Nodding, Wes set the MRE, which had cooled enough to eat, in front of the dog, who promptly started gobbling up the contents. “I’m sure it did.” He scowled and studied the hotel. “What do you think, Callie?”
She liked the way her name rolled off his tongue, and she felt her cheeks turn pink with pleasure. “About the hotel? The possibility of survivors?”
“Yeah. I have no experience with this stuff.” Wes gave her a wry smile. “I build bridges and highways for the Corps, I don’t usually tear into buildings destroyed by earthquakes.” In the lights that chased the darkness away, he noted that Callie’s cheeks were flushed. He liked the dancing lights in her eyes when he’d called her Angel. Yes, she was an angel—to him and a lot of other people. Her hair was disheveled and he had the maddening urge to slip his fingers into the gold-brown strands and tame it into place. He resisted, barely.
Wes was discovering that Callie’s quiet, unassuming presence was prying loose all his bad past experiences and tempting him to try again in a serious relationship—with her. He laughed to himself. Impossible. That’s why he was such a party animal at the O Club. Dancing, dining, a few stolen kisses…well, that was okay. That was desire. Not love. Somehow, Callie was different from most women he met. Very different. And he found himself eager to reach out, make a connection with her, find out who she was and create an ongoing dialogue with her. That scared him. Usually, at the O Club, he was the king of social patter, his glib tongue always ready with a comment or a line. Around Callie, he couldn’t give a damn about polite, empty talk. He wanted to dig into her background—find out who she really was. She was endlessly intriguing to him. No woman had ever triggered this desire in him before, so Wes was very, very wary of it…and her.
“When I’m done eating, I’m going to take advantage of the lights over here and explore grid number twenty-four, on this side of the hotel.”
“You need to rest, Callie.”
Shrugging, she finished the MRE. Placing the plastic bag and spoon on the ground nearby, she said, “If you were trapped in the rubble, Wes, would you want me going to sleep right now? What if Dusty finds someone? We’ve got the equipment, the person power to help extricate them.” She looked up and searched his scowling features. Callie felt his concern. “Thanks for caring…. It’s a nice feeling. Usually, everyone is telling us just the opposite—get out there, keep looking. They forget we’re human and animal—that we need to eat and sleep, too.”
Wes nodded and looked glumly at the ruined building. “I don’t know how anyone could survive that quake, Callie.” He gestured toward a lone figure working near the base of the hotel. “I feel sorry for Morgan Trayhern. The man is fanatical about trying to locate his wife.”
“He loves her, that’s why. Love drives you to do anything for your family. I’ve seen this so often….”
“Yeah…I found a woman like that once….”
Callie frowned. She heard the wistfulness in Wes’s voice as he watched Morgan digging in the rubble. She wondered what had happened. Wes James was so handsome, articulate and intelligent that Callie felt amazed he didn’t have a wife or significant other. The golden boy of the O Club must have a lot of women who desire him. So why hadn’t Wes married one of them? Or gotten engaged? That didn’t make sense to Callie. “So why didn’t you marry her?”
Taking off his cap, Wes rubbed his short, dark hair self-consciously. “Time for some honesty, I guess,” he muttered. Giving Callie a dark look, he said, “I was engaged to be married several years ago. Allison was a firefighter.” Wes grimaced and then went on in a low tone. “I fell in love with her. But she had a risky job, and I found myself worrying about her constantly. Allison just laughed it off.” Shrugging painfully, Wes said, “She died in a fire about four months before we were to be married.”
“Oh, no…” Callie’s voice cracked. “How awful. I’m so sorry, Wes. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone you loved like that….”
“Yeah…it wasn’t the best part of my life, believe me.” Throwing back his shoulders, he said in an off-key voice, “I’m over that now, though. I’ve sworn off women in dangerous professions. Maybe that’s why I have the reputation of being a party animal. I like women. I enjoy them tremendously. I just don’t want to give my heart to anyone, that’s all.”
“I see.” And Callie did, with stunning clarity. Wes had used the word desire with her. Not heart. Now she knew why. And she realized the rules to any relationship he might want with her. She, too, was in a dangerous profession, which explained his worry about her climbing over the Hoyt. Maybe he cared more than he would admit. But then Callie shrugged the thought off. She shouldn’t mistake his worry as anything other than one human caring for another. No, since he’d lost the woman he obviously loved, Callie could understand clearly where he was headed with her in their budding relationship.
“Well, you’re doing better than I am,” she said wryly as she got to her feet. Maybe her own dark honesty would make him feel better. Leaning over, she made sure that Dusty’s leather boots were firmly in place, and then took the dog’s MRE pouch and put it with hers. As she straightened, she saw Wes give her a perplexed look. Pointing to her face, she said, “This isn’t a big secret, you know? I’m plain looking. Guys go for the glitz and glam gals, not someone like me. I don’t wear makeup. I don’t wear fancy clothes.” She gave him a silly grin and pointed to her hair. “And I don’t do a thing with my straight, mousy hair.” She settled her cap back on her head. “I gotta get back to work. Since the lights are shining over the end of the site, I think I’ll join Mr. Trayhern.”
Wes sat there as Callie walked back across the street, her golden retriever at her side. She picked up her helmet and put it on, then turned toward the hotel. He felt her hurt even though she’d said the words teasingly.
How could Callie think she was plain? That was a revelation to him. There was so much about her that was beautiful to him. As he slowly got to his feet, Wes wished the times he spent with Callie could last longer—a lot longer. He craved having privacy with her, to talk on a personal basis. But that was nearly impossible under the present circumstances.
Sighing, Wes knew it was time to get back to work. Callie was right: rescuers were expected to work twenty-four hours a day….
Morgan looked up from where he was climbing across the rubble. “Lieutenant Evans?”
“Hi, Mr. Trayhern.” Callie watched him steady himself between two slabs of concrete. “We’re done searching the grids over there. Now, we’re starting over here. I thought I’d come over with Dusty and search this grid with you.” She patted the head of her dog and smiled up at Morgan. “Maybe that will help you. If Dusty doesn’t find anyone in this square, you might try another area.”
Gratefully, Morgan nodded and straightened up, one hand on the corner of what had once been a piece of floor to steady himself. “Yes, that would be great, Lieutenant. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” Morgan had already learned that rescue work was done in search grids. It was systematic and thorough. That way, no section of a structure was accidentally missed, no survivors left undiscovered. He had no idea where Laura might be and was grateful for Callie’s help. Having her with him buoyed his hope of finding Laura.
“Call me Callie, sir. And it’s an honor to try and be of help to you. Us folks in the Corps have gotta stick together.” She gave him her most hopeful smile, though inwardly she didn’t think anyone w
as likely to have survived this carnage. Still, on former searches it wasn’t unusual for her to find one or two people alive every day, for the first few days, at least. Then the challenge was getting to them fast enough to pull them out alive.
Callie didn’t share any of her thoughts with Morgan Trayhern. The man’s eyes burned with sudden hope when she’d come over to help him. Callie didn’t want to take that hope away from him. Still, her heart bled for him because she knew the odds of finding anyone alive at this point, were diminishing rapidly with each day.
“I’m grateful, Callie,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Callie eyed this section of the structure, where at least three floors had pancaked down upon one another. To her left was the dark void beyond the reach of the floodlights set up near the Humvee. She called to Dusty and the dog leaped up on the rubble, scrambling for purchase. Callie followed, being careful where she placed her gloved hands and booted feet.
They worked from the top left side of the area and began to crisscross it slowly, one step at a time. Callie was careful where she walked for a fall could send one of those twisted steel rebars, which stuck up like needles, into her body, or that of her dog. Dusty, too, moved with careful precision as he hunted and sniffed through the rubble.
They spent the better part of an hour covering half the grid. The other part was bathed in shadows or darkness. Morgan walked behind her and occasionally helped her to gulf the chasms between concrete barriers, because she was short and didn’t have long enough legs to span the space. She was grateful for his help.
As they reached the top, Dusty suddenly lunged forward. His move nearly toppled Callie, for the leash snapped taut in her hand, jerking her forward unexpectedly.
Dusty began barking. He strained on his leash.
Morgan helped Callie up. “What is it?”
Clambering to her feet, she grinned. “Dusty’s on the scent! He’s found someone alive! He only barks if he sniffs someone living. Let’s go!”
The Heart Beneath Page 8
