by Lou Cadle
The thought made her struggle to free her arms. Maybe she could pull herself out with her arms somehow. The right arm seemed to have more freedom of motion. She yanked, and pressed, and wiggled it back and forth, trying to shift something so she could get it free. Even if she could just reach back and feel her neck, make sure her spine wasn’t broken. She pushed down onto the wet tile with all her might with her left forearm, trying to lever herself up far enough to free her right arm.
A crunching sound stopped her. She had shifted something over her body, but suddenly—belatedly—realized maybe she shouldn’t. What if her struggles brought something else down on her?
Or pinned her hands tightly too? She didn’t think she could stand that, being pinned from fingertip to toes. She eased back down and realized her ear was resting in the puddle. At least the water seemed to be getting shallower, not deeper.
“It’s draining away somewhere,” she said to herself, and being able to think that through logically made her feel better. Good, on the draining. At least she wouldn’t drown in a puddle while she was pinned here.
“Meek?” It was Adam again.
“I’m here. Alive, but stuck tight.”
“It’s a bus.”
That made no sense. Maybe her head was damaged worse than she knew. “What’s a bus?”
“A school bus, one of the small ones, slammed into the wall of the building outside. The wall came down, and some of the roof, too.”
“Is the bus on top of me?”
“No, but it came a couple feet through the wall.”
“Like in driver’s ed.” One of their classmates had famously put a driver’s ed car into a brick retaining wall last year.
“Geez, Meek, I hadn’t thought of that in a year. But yeah, like that.”
“By the Hand of God, though, not a student driver.”
“Something like that. I’m going to go get you help.”
“No! Don’t leave me here.”
“I can’t get you out on my own. There’s—” She could almost hear him thinking through a nice way to say something unpleasant. That was Adam for you. “A lot of stuff piled up. And it’s like a maze, like that kid’s game, you know, pick up sticks?”
“Sure,” she said. “I remember it.”
“I don’t want to touch the wrong stick. So I have to get someone—or a few people.”
“Please. Don’t go.” Had he said that to her earlier today? And she had turned and gone, hadn’t she? “Stay and talk to me.”
“But—”
“They’ll be coming. Adam, it’s a school. There’s been a tornado? Fire, police, they’ll be here, walk around the whole school, see the problem.”
“Well…,” he said, hesitating.
“They’ll have equipment, right? You and even a dozen other kids won’t be able to get me out any faster than one fireman with the right equipment.”
“I can’t do nothing.”
“Talk to me. That’s a lot more than nothing, I swear.”
“Aww, Meek.” He sighed, a shaky sound. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m talking to you, right? So not awful bad.”
“Can you move?”
“No. Not a lot.”
“Are you bleeding?”
God, she hadn’t even thought. “Not that I know of. It’s kind of dark in here.” What if the puddle beneath her was partly her own blood? Or all her own blood? The idea made her dizzy. She pushed that aside and clamped onto consciousness, holding to it like a life raft.
“At least you’re talking. Making sense, even.”
Was she? Good. “Thank you for staying.”
“Look, every few minutes, I’m going to run outside and call for help, okay? I can’t just do nothing at all. Couldn’t stand to. I’ll run right back here, I swear.”
“Okay,” she said. “That’s okay. Just…don’t leave me. Please.”
“I’m right here,” he said. “I’m staying right here until they get you out.”
*
Sherryl struggled out from under Jim. The wind was howling now, and she heard, at a distance, the sound of something hitting the roof or wall of the care center. The thing was nearly upon her. She shoved the wheelchair away and crawled out, leaving Jim half under the bed.
Best place for him.
She grabbed the blanket and tossed it over Jim then tried to wrestle the mattress off the bed. She’d fall down with it over the both of them and hope for the best.
The noise of the wind grew louder, and when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, louder still, a shriek of a noise. The mattress was stuck or—maybe it was locked down somehow.
She glanced down at Jim, saw he was fully covered, even his head. He was batting ineffectually at the blankets.
And the next thing she knew, she was getting hurled through the air.
Flying. Like Peter Pan, she thought.
And then, as the glass from the window exploded without a sound, her back slammed against the far wall.
The shriek of the wind was deafening. She realized the glass must have crashed noisily when it exploded, but it couldn’t be heard because of the wind. She pulled her T-shirt over her face, hoping to minimize any damage from the swirling glass, and closed her eyes. She heard a wrenching sound, and could see light through her T-shirt.
She risked a peek upward with one eye, and she saw the roof had come off. As she watched, the outer wall collapsed inward.
She felt herself lifting from the floor, the tornado—for that’s surely what this was—trying to pull her out of the room, and she grappled blindly behind herself, trying to find purchase. Her hand caught the edge of the closet door, a thin metal folding one. The force of the wind was pulling her across the carpet now, the friction shoving her pants legs up, and then her shirt. The closet door lurched out of its tracks and she slid three feet in a split second, the door coming with her. Then the left side wall to the room fell outward, and then the one to her right, at the head of the bed, fell inward like a second domino.
She was screaming by then, screaming so hard her throat felt raw, but she couldn’t hear herself over the wind.
And then her body quit sliding. The wind died. She clamped her mouth shut and let go of the door, which moaned as it settled back, one connection to the track still in place. She glanced back. It had twisted itself into a modern sculpture.
She was alive. The wall back here, the one against the hallway, hadn’t fallen. The side walls had come mostly down, leaning toward the east side of the building. There was drywall and a long thin board across her feet.
She kicked them away and inventoried her body. Back still hurt. Carpet burns just above her waist. She patted her face quickly and looked at her hands. No blood.
But there were nail-studded boards and broken glass all around her. If she wasn’t careful in what she did next, she would be bleeding.
Jim.
The wall had fallen onto the bed. And onto the floor on both sides of it.
I should have gotten him further underneath the bed.
The bed was still there, miraculously, pulled out from the wall, but still pointed the same direction. It must be really heavy to have withstood the tug of the wind.
Shedding bits of glass, she stood. She let her head fall forward and shook it, trying to get all the glass shards out of her hair. Then she brushed her hair with cold fingertips, brushed off her shoulders.
She could hear screams and shouts behind her.
It was easier to back up into the hall than to go forward, toward Jim, where she wanted to go. Okay, so she’d go out and find someone to help her get Jim out from under the fallen wall. She picked her way to the door and looked out into the hallway.
The entire wing of the nursing home was a scene out of a nightmare. The central hallway stood, but the roof over it was gone. Cloud-filtered sunlight illuminated a hallway filled with debris. It looked like a sloppy construction sight. Voices came from the other side of the hall, from frightened patients, ca
lling out, and she could hear a man weeping piteously. She could see into one door over there. The walls hadn’t seemed to have fallen in the rooms on that side of the hall. So they were probably better off on that side. Maybe roof bits had fallen on them, but from the sound of many voices, most of them had survived. They were just scared.
Who could blame them?
There were twenty rooms on this side, gutted as far as she could see, like Jim’s, and probably more damage on the other wing of the building. The central area with all the windows and the cafeteria had probably taken a lot of damage.
Some nurses and orderlies were going to be hurt too. She couldn’t see any. The chance of her getting any help in the next few minutes? Miniscule.
It was up to her to find Jim and get him out from under the fallen wall.
*
After five minutes had passed, Greg began to hope that they were safe. After ten minutes, he knew they were. He put down Holly and apologized to the screamer he’d threatened on his way past her—not that the apology would stop her complaining to everyone she knew and probably to the chief, but whatever—and apologized again to the teacher with the special needs kid, who seemed fine now, chattering with a neighbor like nothing had ever been wrong.
At the bottom of the staircase, he clapped for silence and told everyone to stay put until he or the other policeman told them it was safe. Then Greg jogged up the steps into the hallway, stopping at the fire door to listen before opening it. The hall was peaceful. He slipped into the first room and looked out the windows. No hail, very light rain, and a much brighter sky.
He thumbed on his radio and got Massey. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said, “In the cafeteria. Where are you?”
“Upstairs. I think it’s passed us by. Meet me at the front door.”
“Roger that.”
They met there and went outside, stopping under the overhang out of the light rain. Both looked to the southwest across the street. Nothing there. No tornado, no black debris cloud. In fact, it looked lighter in that direction, as if the storm was clearing. Any hail that had fallen had already melted.
Massey radioed in to the dispatcher. He got nothing but static. “I’ll try the car radio.” He trotted off toward it.
The streets looked normal, except for extra paper trash tumbling along the curbs. A stream of water moved slowly toward the drains. All the abandoned cars of parents were lined up, some of their doors still open, looking like something out of a Hollywood zombie film. But then a car passed on the road, swerving around the cars still lined up in the street, and then a second car came along. Behind him, the door opened and a chunky young woman came out.
He turned. “You a teacher?”
“A mom. Is it safe now?”
“Looks like it missed us. Would you go down to the cafeteria and make the announcement that it’s all clear? I’ll do it on the other side.” He realized all the parents from the cars must have gone down the other side of the basement with Massey and the principal—he’d only had children and teachers on his side.
Massey had shut off lights and siren. He got out of the patrol car and trotted up, calling, “It’s gone.”
“The tornado?”
He came up, wild eyed. “The station. The police station is gone.”
Captain T
We’re coming up about a mile, I think, behind the tornado, which is still impossible to see. It’s a real rainy sucker, this one, so we’re showing you the debris field instead as we literally chase it, from behind, taking care not to overtake it. All the roads here are north-south or east-west, so we’re having to turn up and down streets to follow its path. So right now, we’re coming up on the high school, according to our GPS.
Here’s a couple of kids now. Let me roll down my window. “Guys. Did the tornado hit you? Hit the school?”
“Took out our stadium and the parking lot. My car is like totally wrecked. Piled on another car. My dad is going to kill me.”
“Any students hurt?”
“I don’t know.”
Well, viewers, we’ll drive on up and see what has happened. Rest assured, we’ll stay out of the way of the rescuers, and lend a hand the moment they ask us to. Okay, here, on this street about six houses look pretty much destroyed. Felix is filming his side of the street, but it’s just as bad on my side. I hope they had cellars, or were someplace else this afternoon. We need to turn right again here to keep to the debris field.
Yeah, look at this, viewers—can you tell this is a wider path here than it was right at the edge of town? The way these houses are mowed down, the width here, I’m guessing it was an EF 3 or 4 when it hit. There’s the school parking lot, over there. Wow, we’re going to need to get off this street—too much debris in the middle of it. I think we’ll park, Felix, and walk through the hammered town of Fidelity, following the twister’s path for now, interviewing anyone who feels like talking.
Catch you later, loyal viewers.
Chapter 6
Greg said, “The station is gone? You mean they’re dead?”
“No, the dispatcher says they made it down to the EOC.” That was underground. “But the building is totaled, and the stairs are blocked. They’re fine, but they can’t get out yet.”
“What else is hit?”
“Not all known yet. Downtown, though. Just like that guy told you would happen. Went almost exactly through the crossroads of the two highways. It’ll be stores, city hall, the courthouse.”
“Holy shit,” he breathed. He shook off his shock. “We have to get over there.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess the chief was smart to put us out on patrol.” He thought of what it’d be like if all the town’s police force were stuck inside the basement right now.
“I wonder how many were out like us,” Massey said.
“However many, we’re it now. You, me, whoever else. Is the fire department okay?” The fire station was newer, and on the west side of town, out of the probable path of the tornado.
“I didn’t ask, but they didn’t mention, so let’s assume so. They’re going to have to effect the rescue of the people in the EOC.”
“We gotta figure this out.” He had to find something to do with Holly. He couldn’t take her along on patrol.
Massey must have read his mind. “They’ll have to keep the kids right here. Parents will have been—” his mouth twisted as the thought hit him “—hurt, some of them. Others, the ones with cars here are going to go home and find their houses gone. Maybe they’ll come back here, for lack of anywhere else to shelter.”
“I imagine they’d want to look through the damage at home, try to save a few things.”
“With a little kid in tow? I hope they think smarter than that. Anyway, it’ll take some time to sort out. So you can leave her here, I think.”
“I’ll talk to the principal, make sure she gets something organized, has someone to supervise the kids—maybe until nightfall.” Maybe all night. The school might end up a community shelter.
Massey said, “At least they have food in the cafeteria. They can serve dinner there if they need to. Breakfast, even.”
“Yeah. You get back on the radio and try and contact Fire, talk to Chief Stephens, have them decide where to use us best, all that. I’ll find the principal and get this shelter thing started.”
He turned and went indoors, through a stream of children and adults. They seemed to be hesitating at the door before going outside. Greg raised his hands for quiet, and he got it surprisingly fast. “The storm has passed, so you can go outside to your cars. There’s been some damage in town, though. Be careful driving. There is going be stuff on some roads, and you don’t want to get a flat tire. If you need to, moms and dads, you can come back here, or bring your children back for a short time if you can’t find your regular sitter. Who’s a teacher here?”
A young man with John Lennon glasses came forward. Greg lowered his voice to speak to him. “We’re going to have to organize this. There are
houses down, stores down, all over town. Not all these kids will have a home to go to. If any child doesn’t have an adult show up, let’s keep them here for now, where we know they’re safe.”
“What if they walk home every day because they live right by here?”
Greg hesitated. “Let me think it through. I suppose if it’s within two or three blocks, they’ll be safe. The storm struck six blocks south, it sounds like. What would happen if they didn’t follow their routine and walk home?”
“We’d have parents or babysitters calling and showing up. Well, I guess if they’ve heard about the tornado, they’ll start showing up any second now anyway, panicked.”
“Okay, then keep the kids all here. Let children leave only with parents or known guardians. Get the security guard at the door and don’t let any unaccompanied kid wander out, okay? Check ID of adults coming in. Will you organize that with the guard?”
“Sure.”
Greg caught sight of the principal, surrounded by a gaggle of adults. “Do that, and thanks,” he said to the teacher. He walked over toward the principal and held his hand up until she looked his way. “I need to talk with you. In two minutes,” he called, holding up two fingers.
She nodded and turned to answer a question.
Greg walked back to his staircase, where a few teachers stood along with the receptionist, obediently waiting for his okay. “Everyone can come upstairs now,” he said.
The receptionist turned to go back down and he leaned forward to touch her shoulder. “I think the principal probably needs you.”
“Right. Thanks,” she said, and hustled off toward the offices.
“Do the cell phones work?” one of the teachers asked.
“No idea. Possibly some towers are down,” he said. “Give it a try.”
He waited at the end of the hall nearest the central area and blocked people from swarming the front door. When they seemed to all be in the hall, chattering excitedly, he dug out his whistle and blew it. It took twice, and finally they shut up.
