Storm Rising

by Sara Driscoll

  “No. I was lucky. It could have been worse.”

  “Sure could have. Seems fine, but I want you to take these just to make sure you don’t have any issues tomorrow when you need to depend on being full strength.” He dug in a bag and pulled out a pharmacy bottle. He opened it and tapped two pills into her outstretched palm, watching as she dry swallowed them. “Why don’t you go get changed into whatever you want to sleep in?” Webb extended her overnight bag. “You must want out of those clothes.”

  Meg looked down at her filthy search gear. “Yeah, I do. I’ll be back in a few.”

  The community center had a pool, so it had multiple spacious changing rooms with showers. Meg was tempted to grab a quick shower, but found she simply didn’t have the energy for it. She changed and brushed her teeth, and then returned to the gymnasium wearing sleep pants and a T-shirt. The lights had been dimmed and parents were busy getting their overtired children to bed so they could find their own rest.

  Meg found Webb already tucked between the sleeping bags and gratefully slipped in with him. He pulled her in, settling her against his chest. She let out a deep sigh of contentment as she finally allowed herself to let go of the day. There would be more tomorrow, but she couldn’t meet it head-on if she was exhausted.

  A weight settled near her feet and she cracked open one eye to find Hawk sprawled against her legs. She reached down and ran a hand over his back, smiling as she heard his overexaggerated exhalation.

  Everyone was safe for now.

  Sleep claimed her, quickly spinning her into the dark.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nose to the Ground: The method used by a tracking dog to follow a specific scent.

  Sunday, July 23, 6:27 AM

  I-64

  Chesapeake, Virginia

  Webb whistled along with the radio while he stared out the window as the countryside flashed by. When they drove away from the coast, they left the worst of the devastation behind them, so while this inland portion of the county showed the lashings of a powerful storm, it had suffered significantly less flooding. Now the eerily denuded trees gave glimpses of the white statuary of the Roosevelt Memorial Park cemetery through Webb’s window.

  Meg slid him a dark, sideways glance. “You seem pretty chipper.”

  “It’s a beautiful day. I enjoyed a cozy night with a beautiful woman in my . . . uh . . . bed”—Webb playfully waggled his eyebrows at her, cheerfully exaggerating a too short interlude that involved nothing more than unconsciousness—“and I’m headed out to do some good in the world. Why not be chipper?”

  Meg reached for her coffee cup, took a silent sip, and then threw him a venomous glare. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?” The words “morning person” dripped acid.

  They drove onto the high-level bridge crossing the Elizabeth River. Below them, the river sparkled in the morning sunlight. Beneath the glints of light, the water held an unhealthy brown hue, saturated with unsettled silt and flood debris.

  “When you’re a first responder you learn to wake up at any time of the day at a moment’s notice and be ready for anything,” Webb said. “I’m the type who hits the ground running.”

  “I may have to break up with you. I’m the type who takes a full hour and three cups of coffee to be coherent enough in the morning to form actual sentences. Luckily Cara is the same, so we can stand each other in the morning. We get up and do what we have to do and only talk to the dogs.”

  “You seemed okay yesterday morning at three thirty.”

  “That’s because I hadn’t had enough time in bed yet. That wasn’t morning. That was still night.” Another sip of coffee. “I may have to kill you if you’re always like this in the mornings.”

  “I can make coffee.” His grin was full of sly enticement. “I also can make breakfast and bring it to you in bed.”

  She took a long, considering sip, and a few more beats of silence passed as she carefully set her cup back down in the holder. “I may keep you then. You sound . . . useful.”

  “In more ways than one. You just haven’t had the chance yet to enjoy that aspect of—STOP THE CAR!”

  “What?”

  “Pull off the road!”

  Meg didn’t ask for more explanation. She simply shoulder checked rapidly and pulled off onto the emergency stopping lane that was bordered by a guardrail, braking as quickly as she dared without knocking Hawk off his feet in the back, and turned on her four-way flashers. They stopped with a jerk, wrenching forward and then back into their seats. She did a quick visual check into the back to check on Hawk. “What happened?” She looked out the passenger window but all she could see were flooded marshlands.

  Webb already had his seat belt undone and his door open. “There’s a van submerged in the far side of the Elizabeth River. That section of marsh we just crossed. That last twenty or thirty feet probably turned into the low-water crossing from hell during the storm surge. If someone tried to cross it while the river was peaking . . .”

  “They’d have been washed away. We need to check and see if anyone survived.”

  “Yeah.”

  Meg watched the cars speeding by, the SUV shuddering with the wind draft from each one. When a break appeared, she quickly got out of the SUV and ran around the back. She popped open the hatch and grabbed her SAR pack and Hawk’s leash, and then slammed the hatch shut. Hawk was already in his work vest, so when she opened the door on the passenger side to let him out, she quickly leashed him as soon as he hit the ground at her feet. “We’re going to have to get across this highway.”

  “We’ll be fast and careful. There’ll also be less traffic on the roads today than usual, since it’s early on a Sunday after a major storm. We can make it.” He looked down at Hawk. “He’ll stick with you?”

  “Like glue.”

  Standing at the back of the SUV, they watched several cars zoom by.

  Webb took her hand, gripped it tight. “There, right after the black sedan. That’s our chance.”

  Meg looked down at her dog, but needn’t have worried; his head was high and he was bright-eyed, alert, and ready for anything. “Hawk, ready, boy. Stay . . . stay . . . now, come!”

  Together they sprinted across one-half of the divided highway, stopping at the far side to size up the vehicles coming from the other direction. There was more traffic driving toward the coast as first responders and volunteers arrived to start the day’s search, rescue, and recovery operations. They had to wait a full ninety seconds before they could cross, but then they were on the far side, looking out at the Elizabeth River, bounded by flooded marshland on both sides.

  Meg tipped a hand over her eyes, shading them from the sun’s glare. “Where is it?”

  He turned her head to the right and pointed over her shoulder, toward the water. “Down there, way down there. Look for the splash of white. It’s mostly submerged, in that marshy area.”

  “I see it. It’s going to be tricky to get to.”

  “We can do it.”

  “We sure can. But first . . .” Meg dug out her cell phone, checked for a signal, and speed-dialed Craig. “Craig, I’m going to be late joining you. I was on the way to drop Todd off and then get to the Norfolk meet site when he spotted a van washed away down the Elizabeth River. We have to check it out in case there are survivors, so we’ve pulled off the road and are going in.”

  “Do you need me to arrange any assistance?” Craig asked.

  “Not yet. I don’t want to waste resources if the van is empty and I don’t know what we’re looking at yet. We’re at a low-water crossing that was likely a raging torrent during the storm, so there were likely occupants in the vehicle. I’ll let you know.”

  “Keep me in the loop.” Craig ended the call.

  “Craig will send help if we need it.” Meg looked out through a single line of scraggly pines and out over the flooded marshlands. The normally six-foot-tall grasses were flattened and caked with mud, with many of the long stems completely submerged in the st
ill-flooded river. Sturdier bulrushes stood at a drunken angle, their tops shredded into fluffy white puffs. “We can see the van from here, but it’s going to be a tough slog through that marsh, and possibly dangerous, especially for Hawk’s shorter legs. I suggest we go down the highway a bit and cut across where we can stick to solid ground as long as possible. It looks like the forest goes out partially from there, so that’s our best chance for speed.”

  “Agreed. We won’t be on solid ground the whole way, but the longer we can stay on it, the better.”

  They set out at a light jog down the highway, ignoring the perplexed looks of drivers as they flashed by.

  “There.” Meg pointed to a small break in the trees lining the highway that led into deeper forest. She loosened up on the leash and pointed. “Hawk, jump.”

  Hawk took the guardrail in a single leap, cleanly sailing over the metal boundary. Meg planted one hand on the sun-warmed metal and vaulted over the guardrail, Webb hurdling over behind her. They pulled up in the shade of the trees.

  “Damn,” Webb murmured.

  It was like a tornado had spun by, sheering off treetops and dropping razor-sharp branches randomly all over the forest floor. Many small and medium-sized trees were entirely uprooted, toppling over until their progress was halted by the remaining forest. Green leaves coated the undergrowth, ripped from their branches months before autumn’s color would have spiraled them to carpet the forest floor.

  Meg unclipped Hawk’s leash and tucked it into her pack.

  “Better for him to run free at this point, now that we’re away from the cars. We’re going to have to pick our way through here.”

  “Keep your eyes open, some of these trees don’t look stable. A bigger one falling could be a killer.”

  “Agreed. Hawk, come.”

  They entered the forest, going deeper into the stand of trees. It was a surreal experience, being so deep inside the forest and yet being in full sunlight with little foliage to block the sun’s rays. They clambered over fallen trunks and broken limbs, and circled around any tree that looked unstable, giving each a wide berth. Soon, the flash of sunlight on water grew brighter.

  They broke from the trees, and there, thirty feet into the marsh, a large white cargo van lay on its side, half-submerged in the swampy water.

  Meg eyed the muddy ground beneath her boots. “Let’s see how close we can get with Hawk. I don’t want him getting stuck in the mud. It’s going to be hard enough for us.”

  “He’s lighter than us. That will play in his favor.”

  “It may. Hawk, heel.”

  They tromped into the marshlands, pushing partly flattened grasses farther down to use the thick stems as a carpet to stay out of the mud. Still, the saturated ground sagged beneath their weight and water flooded up over their boot tops. They left depressions in their wake, each one filling with boggy water, marking their trail in a series of silvery boot prints.

  The force of the river’s flow had spun the van so it lay with its roof facing them, the rising sun a bright, fractured ball reflected in the half of the cracked windshield still above water. It was a white panel van with no windows on the sides, what Meg and Cara would have called a “pedo van” as teenagers.

  Meg scanned their surroundings, and found a small section of flattened marsh grass that was mostly above water. “Hawk, come here. Sit. Stay.” She slipped out of her bulky pack and set it down beside him.

  “We need to wade into the river at this point,” Webb said. “No other way to get in.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m leaving Hawk behind. Lord knows he swims like a fish, but we don’t need his special skills here. It’s safer for him to stay back. Ready?”

  Webb nodded and waded into the river, headed for the front of the van and their only easily accessible window into the inside. Meg followed, her stomach knotting in anticipation of what they might find.

  The river came to mid-thigh on Webb, upper thigh on Meg, and was a hard slog. The water was opaque and dense with silt, the bottom uneven and stirred into an inches-deep soft, sucking sludge. Cold water poured into Meg’s boots, freezing her feet and making each step harder with the added weight.

  Webb got to the van first and cupped two hands around his eyes as he leaned into the windshield. “I was afraid of that. I see someone. We need to get in there. Give me a hand for a second, then stand back.”

  He slipped out of his DCFEMS jacket and Meg helped him wind it over his laced hands. Then Meg took three steps back while Webb swung with all his might at the section of the windshield with the heaviest cracking. The window gave beneath the blow, the laminated glass shattering into tiny shards as the window bowed but didn’t break.

  Shaking his hands free of his jacket, he turned back to her. “It’s not going to give easily.” He slipped his jacket back on, and then linked his hands and bent toward her. “Up you go. See if you can get in through the passenger door or window.”

  Bracing a hand on his shoulder, she set her boot into his cupped hands and pushed upward, his strength lifting her the rest of the way to scramble onto the van.

  Webb backed off a few paces, shading his eyes from the early morning sunlight. “Can you open the door?”

  “Not a chance. It’s bashed in from when the van rolled. But the window has a big shattered hole. It’s almost big enough for me already, so I can knock it in further, enlarge it, and get in that way.”

  “I’m going to see if I can get the back doors open, but if they’re not open by the time you’re into the back of the van, then they’re locked and you need to try from the inside.”

  “Will do.” Using her boot, she kicked away the loose, pebbled shards of laminated glass. Then she sat on the passenger door and swung her feet into the empty space below. She peered in to make sure no occupants were beneath her. “Going in.” Holding on to blunted edges of the window frame, she lowered herself into the gloomy interior. Instead of landing on the solid glass of the driver’s window, her feet instead sunk into soft river muck. She caught her balance and got her first look around the inside.

  She was standing in the lee of the front bucket seats, the steering wheel jutting into the backs of her knees. The back of the van was essentially an open space lined with long bench seats on either side. Seat belts dangled from a now suspended bench seat, except for the belt that caught the single woman who hung limp in midair, her high-heeled feet dangling inches from the water.

  One look at the bloody head wound and the haze over her open eyes told Meg they were too late. They probably would have been too late if they’d come across the van when they arrived in the area yesterday morning. This woman had likely died the night before that, at the height of the storm.

  She nearly missed the second person on a quick scan, but then a blurry smudge of red below the water drew her attention toward wispy ends of floating hair and she realized another victim was submerged beneath the water. She was long gone, but were there others? She needed to get the back doors open to let in more light. Carefully inching her way around the front seat headrest, she picked her way through the tumbled van, tripping over unseen obstacles in the dark water. Conscious of the submerged body, Meg hugged the roof of the van, trying to avoid stepping on any hidden victims.

  Finally reaching the suspended woman, Meg realized her initial estimate was seriously off. While her face was made up to look mature, and the skintight strappy top she wore showcased her breasts, this was a girl, not a woman. Meg swore under her breath. She reached up and pressed two fingers over the pulse point in the girl’s throat, but the skin was cold and waxy, and no heartbeat met her touch.

  It was then that she realized that while the girl’s legs dangled, her arms did not. Closer inspection revealed why—the girl’s hands were restrained by cloth-covered buckles, binding her to the seat. The implication took her breath away.

  Truly trapped.

  Her head jerked as the rear doors rattled but didn’t open. A fist pounded twice. “Can’t get them op
en. They must be locked.” Webb’s voice was muffled through the metal doors.

  “Hold on,” she called. “Let me try.”

  She made her way to the back of the van and studied the single visible door. No handle; it must be below the waterline. Meg ran her flattened palm along the door, searching blindly beneath the water, and was rewarded with a lever handle. She pulled the handle and the doors shuddered as if released, but they stayed in place. “It’s unlatched, but the doors are stuck,” she called. “I’m going to kick them open.”

  The doors held through the first kick, but exploded outward with the second. Meg nearly lost her balance as momentum carried her sideways, but she caught herself on the side of the open door as light flooded into the enclosed space.

  Webb caught her arm, steadying her as she straightened, then pushed up into the van to stand hunched in the enclosed space. “Any survivors?”

  “No.” The word shot out, clipped and biting.

  Webb’s head tilted slightly in question as he stared at her with assessing eyes. “We expected that. But something’s got you riled. What don’t I know?”

  “She’s a child. And she couldn’t escape, because she was restrained.”

  “You mean belted in?”

  “I mean restrained. Buckles and straps at her wrists.”

  The fury roaring to life in his eyes relaxed some of the rage building in her chest. She needed to remember that they weren’t helpless and that good people would find justice for these victims.

  Webb’s gaze swept the van, taking in the suspended girl and then dropping to the water.

  “She’s long gone by now, but . . .” Meg carefully shuffled over toward the floating hair. It was fine and blond, and when she got closer she realized it had a streak of pink in it. Her throat constricted.

  She put color in her hair for fun, and now she’s dead.

  Jaws clamped together, Meg thrust an arm into the water, searching for the victim. It only took seconds, and then her fingers brushed silky fabric. She closed her eyes and focused on identifying what was beneath her fingertips. A shoulder, small and delicate. Another child. Running her fingers to the left, she found the throat, so she ran them the other way, down the arm, over the bent elbow.