Fuel the Fire

by Jamie Garrett

She looked up at the sky but had no idea what she was really looking at. There was no funnel cloud, just a huge bank of dark, purplish-blue clouds. They looked stacked, one atop the other, in constant motion, but not circling as she expected. Flashes of lightning lit them up from deep inside, turning them into bruise-like shades of yellowish-green, and then fading into a stark gray. The power of the wind surprised her. Sure, she’d been in high winds before, but nothing like this. Out here, no tall buildings blocked the force of it. Occasionally, streaked lightning shot down toward the ground, but other than the gusting winds, which seemed to be growing worse by the moment, she didn’t see the telltale signs of a tornado. The clouds weren’t swirling in an obvious circle, still no sign of a funnel anywhere.

  “Jeremy, is it a tornado? Where is it?”

  Just as he opened his mouth to reply, all hell broke loose. There was another crushing boom of thunder, and then over that, a sharp, snapping sound. She froze and then spun around. One of the trees surrounding the property had crashed to the ground, its trunk split in half. Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth. Oh, God, that tree had been at least three feet thick.

  Gigantic white splinters jutted upward where the tree had broken. It seemed impossible. The uppermost branches of the other trees surrounding the property, the pines, elms, and a dogwood swirled madly, first gusting one way, then the other, like they couldn’t make up their mind which way to blow. Over them, the sky continued to darken, filling with a massive cloud that erupted, growing outward and looming from the horizon itself.

  “A wedge!” Jeremy shouted above the gusting wind.

  Wedge? What was he—

  Residents of the complex moved faster now, holding tight to friends, family, or loved ones, repeatedly looking toward the sky as they too headed for the basement laundry room. The wind whipped her blouse, tugged at her pants, and blew dust, dirt, and debris toward them. Only her hair remained in place, pulled tightly into its braid.

  A few slabs of asphalt roofing tiles sailed past, and she turned toward her building, spotting tarpaper. Oh, Lord, would her roof come off?

  “Watch out!” Jeremy grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to the ground, covering her body with his as a road sign came out of nowhere and shot toward them. The piece of metal slammed into the side of one of the apartment buildings and stuck there, the wind pressing it against the stucco. Screams erupted from around them, and then, from beneath Jeremy’s shoulder, Rachel saw people running now toward the cement stairs leading down into the laundry room that serviced her side of the complex.

  Jeremy swore, pulling her to her feet. She barely caught her balance before he broke into a trot, tugging her behind him. The wind didn’t just roar now, it screamed. Shrilly. Her head felt funny, as if it were being squished. They darted toward the laundry room entrance, their shoulders bent into the wind, her breath taken away by the force of it. If Jeremy hadn’t been holding onto her, would she have sailed away? For an instant, she imagined Winnie the Pooh hanging onto a balloon as the wind carried him away. Could the wind take her up, toss her into its path, and carry her away?

  Both their heads swiveling, watching for flying debris, she focused on reaching the laundry room. She had heard that one of the most dangerous things about tornadoes was not just the tornado itself, but the flying debris caused by demolished buildings, infrastructure, and trees. Pieces of shingles, tree branches, road signs, two-by-fours that had the power to punch through car doors and building walls, all propelled by the wind.

  It seemed to take forever with the wind battering at them, but they eventually reached the cement stairs leading down to the basement of the building. Her heart sank when she realized she’d left the laundry room key in her apartment. She turned to Jeremy, eyes wide. “My key! I forgot my key!”

  A middle-aged man quickly took the steps down to the door behind them, his key in hand. “I’ve got it.”

  Quickly, the three of them darted inside. The laundry room was already crowded but surprisingly quiet. People stood calmly, side by side, making room for newcomers. One of the dryers was going, and on the other side of the room, a couple of washing machines. Most everyone in the room, which was maybe twelve feet by thirty, looked upward toward the ceiling. The lights flickered. The dryer stopped. The washing machines gurgled, ka-thunked once or twice, and then they too stopped. The lights flickered again but stayed on. There were several gasps, a moan, and then everything in the room grew silent again. Everyone stood there, listening with bated breath, Rachel included.

  Her heart pounded. Tension rippled across her shoulders despite Jeremy’s comforting hands on them. She’d never been through a tornado before. Nor an earthquake, nor a flood. How did people do with this? How did they—

  The lights went out.

  Rachel stood frozen beside Jeremy, the sudden blackness nearly overwhelming. The silence inside the room was pervasive, while outside, it only got louder. The gusting wind, whining and screaming, a rumbling sound, not thunder. No, this was a rumbling sound like an approaching locomotive. As if on cue, there was movement inside the laundry room. Jeremy grabbed her shoulders tighter and pressed down on them, prompting her to squat. “Cover your head!”

  He pulled her closer to his body, her head pressed against his shoulder, his arms, elbows out, protecting her neck while he covered his own head the best he could. The door to the laundry room rattled violently in its frame. Was everyone safe? Had everyone in the complex taken shelter? She hoped so.

  The roaring grew louder, but even above the bellowing of the shrieking wind, there were sharp cracks and crunching sounds. Trees? Cars being tossed this way and that? Rachel didn’t know. Her fingers ached. She realized she was clutching at Jeremy shirt with both hands, stiff with tension and fear.

  The rumble of the wind grew louder, like a monster seeking to destroy everything in its path. She had seen movies with tornadoes, of course. The Wizard of Oz. Tornado. But those were just movies. What she heard outside seemed so much worse. So real. So close. The air seemed to literally crackle around her, the pressure growing, so much so that it felt like someone was sitting on her head. Her ears popped once, twice, and then when she swallowed, once more. The sound of the wind in her ears grew louder, so loud, incredibly loud, to the point that she winced against it. How could anything be so loud? Over the sound of the wind, thudding sounds came from above, sometimes shaking the building, prompting one of the ceiling tiles to crash down onto the floor. A short yelp echoed in the dark room.

  Surprisingly, the entire room wasn’t in panic, at least from what she could tell in the dark. Jeremy held on to her tight, her literal shelter in the storm. She pressed herself against him tighter still. She wanted to meld with him, to sink into his body, to soak up his strength. Then, with one mighty whoosh of sound, there was silence again. Sudden, unbelievable silence. In the laundry room, you could have heard a pin drop.

  After several seconds, a low murmur of voices invaded that silence. Mothers comforting children. Couples asking each other if they were all right. A child’s voice expressing both wonder and innocence as he gasped “Cool!” Rachel slowly lifted her head, heart still pounding, hands trembling as she continued to clutch at Jeremy.

  “Is it over?”

  “Maybe,” he said grimly. “Either we just caught the edge of it or we’re in the eye. If that’s the case, we’ll need to ride through the other end.”

  The seconds passed, then the minutes. Every one seemed to pass slowly until Rachel truly believed they’d been hunkered down in the basement for hours. Finally, more talking, shuffling, and movement. Somebody opened the door to the laundry room, letting in a wave of dust, casting the frightened group of residents in dull shadows and prompting coughing. Someone sneezed, followed by a nervous giggle.

  Jeremy clasped her hand tightly and slowly rose to his feet, holding her close to him. “Looks like we just caught the edge of it. Come on. Let’s go see how much damage was done.”

  She followed Jeremy up the stairs, foll
owing those in front. A mother standing nearby, tightly clasping her two children’s hands, offered them comforting words. Rachel was amazed at how calm everyone had remained. Herself? If she hadn’t been with Jeremy, would she have even thought to come to the laundry room basement? She liked to think she would have, but this was her first tornado—

  “Oh God . . .” someone at the top of the stairs whispered.

  Voices from outside filtered downward, accompanied by a moan, a stifled sob, a gasp of amazement. She and Jeremy emerged from the basement stairway and all the air left Rachel’s lungs. Cars were tipped over onto their sides in the parking lot, and trees were down everywhere. One car at the far end of the parking lot had either rolled over onto its roof or been flung from only God knows where by the tornado. She opted for the latter, considering the damage. There was no one inside, thank God.

  Rachel looked toward her building and clapped her hand over her mouth in dismay. The bough of a five-inch thick tree branch had shot right through her living room window, shattering the entire thing, leafy branches dangling inside as well as outside of her apartment. Without a word, Jeremy tightened his grip on her hand, and they moved toward the parking lot, taking in the damage to the apartment complex. Nearly every building sported shattered windows, window blinds or curtains dangling. Tree branches littered the sidewalks and the common areas. There was glass everywhere. Pieces of paper, broken pieces of furniture, and roof shingles lay scattered throughout the property.

  She and Jeremy looked each other at the same moment.

  “I’d better get to the hospital,” she said, her voice low.

  “I need to head over to the fire station. This’ll be all hands on deck, but I’ll take you to the hospital in my truck first. Your car won’t make it over the debris.”

  She didn’t argue. What did the rest of the town look like? How had Jeremy’s house fared? Was it over? The sky was still dark and angry looking, clouds roiling in every direction.

  8

  Jeremy

  Jeremy pulled himself into his truck and then reached for the radio. “Engine 81, this is Miller. Over.”

  Nothing. He tried again. Beside him, Rachel sat still and silent in the passenger seat, trembling as she took in the scene around them. He too watched through the windshield as residents of the complex assessed the damage, walking warily among the debris, many of them on their phones, only to shake their heads in disgust.

  “Engine 81, this is Halstead.”

  “Jeremy, this is Shane. Where are you?”

  “Near the intersection of Magnolia and Blanchard. What’s it look like over there?” His firehouse was a mere 2.5 miles from Rachel’s apartment, but tornadoes were tricky, obliterating one house while the one next to it weathered the storm without a scratch. One side of the street decimated while the other remained untouched. Two miles was nothing. There was no telling what had happened on the north side of town.

  “It’s a complete mess. A portion of the station house roof ripped off, but everyone is okay. Emergency communications systems just coming on now, so we’re gonna be busy.”

  Jeremy turned to Rachel as he spoke into the receiver. “Gonna drop Rachel off at the hospital, and then I’ll head over. Hopefully, the roads won’t be too bad.”

  “Don’t count on it. Power lines are down across the street. A tree snapped right in half. The electric company will probably shut everything down in this grid for repairs. You be careful.”

  “You too,” Jeremy said, then slid the mic back into its slot. “You okay?”

  Rachel nodded jerkily. “I’ve never . . . that was a first for me.”

  “Me too,” he muttered. “We’ve had tornadoes before, there was a bigger one in 2011, but nothing like this.” He shoved the key into the ignition and started his truck. It let out a large belch of dark exhaust, rumbled deeply, then evened out as he shifted from park and into drive.

  “Was it a bad one?” she asked, gazing out the window, staring at the debris littering the front lawn of the apartment complex. “Like this? It looks like there’s some roof damage but none of the buildings, other than the windows being broken . . .”

  “Don’t you go inside anywhere until they give the all-clear. There may be structural damage. I’ve seen buildings that look just fine blow over with a mild breeze. Plus ripped fuel lines, leaking gas lines, explosions . . .” He turned to catch her gaze. “Just promise me you won’t go back into your apartment for the next few days. You can come stay at my house.”

  “And what if yours is damaged, too?”

  He had no idea how his house had weathered the storm. Or not. He shrugged, striving for calm and coolly collected, even if inwardly he was shaking from the fury of the storm. “We’ll find someplace to go.”

  “Do you think the damage is worse than this . . . I mean, in other parts of town?”

  “Hard to tell,” he said, weaving the truck around a fallen tree branch. He could roll over anything five or six inches thick, but even his 250 and all-terrain tires weren’t impervious to anything larger, or glass, or metal, or—

  “Oh my God . . .”

  Jeremy didn’t have to ask what Rachel was talking about. He saw it for himself as soon as he pulled onto the road fronting Rachel’s apartment complex. Downed power lines shot sparks from the broken ends of wires as they dangled over damaged cars, lying in the middle of the road, jerking erratically. As he crept along, watching for debris, dazed residents of Monroe wandered the streets, some moving toward neighbor’s houses, others calling for lost animals. A few hundred yards ahead at the intersection, two cars had collided. No, it actually looked like one car had been lifted and tossed onto the other car’s hood. Two sedans crumpled together. Two youngish women stood near the door of the nearly crumpled car, struggling to get the driver’s side door of the other open.

  “Jeremy, stop! We have to help!”

  He was already stomping on the brakes, throwing the truck into park and opening his door in one swift move, Rachel right behind him. He ran toward the cars, then spotted a downed power line on the asphalt not two feet from both cars. Fuck, was it still live? Had they cut the power? He held up an arm to hold Rachel and the two women back. “Get away from the car! There’s a power line down on the other side!”

  “A woman’s stuck! We’re trying to get her out!” one of the younger women told him, as he quickly assessed the situation.

  An elderly woman struggled with the door, eyes wide with fear as she shook it. She didn’t appear to realize anyone was outside, trying to get her out, her mouth open with silent dismay. Her perfectly coiffed white hair was stained by blood that ran from the top of her scalp down her forehead, stark against wrinkled skin. Her windshield had shattered, but her airbag hadn’t deployed. Then he realized why. The car was an older model Acura, likely from the 1990s before airbags were required.

  “Ma’am, can you hear me?” Rachel called to her, knocking on the window.

  The knocking prompted the older woman to stop moving, and she focused on the four of them, standing outside her window. She blinked.

  “I can’t get out,” she said, voice raised, thin, and shaky. She appeared to calm a little as she realized help had arrived.

  “Rachel,” Jeremy said, turning to her. “I have a crowbar in the bed of my truck. Let’s try that.”

  While Rachel raced back to the truck for the crowbar, Jeremy kept trying to yank open the driver’s side door. He angled his body to use more power in his good arm, but he couldn’t avoid using his injured shoulder entirely. It didn’t budge. The left front fender had crumpled back toward it, jamming it shut. He tried the rear passenger door. It was locked. He asked the woman to unlock the door, but she didn’t respond. Was she confused? A concussion? Hard of hearing? The possibilities were endless. Besides, he couldn’t very well pull the old woman from the front seat into the back seat without assessing her for any injuries.

  “Here!”

  He turned to find Rachel running toward him, crowbar
in hand. He took it and in a matter of moments managed to jam the end into the seam of the door and started pulling on it. His muscles bunched. He tried not to think about his shoulder. He’d been doing fine with it lately, but in the back of his mind he was still fearful of tearing the newly healed muscles. He cursed. Rachel seemed to sense what was happening and grabbed the crowbar as well.

  “Go easy on your shoulder,” she warned as she tugged on the crowbar with him. “You tear it and you’ll find yourself on my table again.”

  What a lovely thought. Not the injured part, but the lying on her table part. Rachel’s voice yanked him from sexually wayward thoughts.

  “Are either of you hurt? That your car?” she asked the two women standing anxiously behind them.

  “No, we just came from our basement and saw the old lady trapped. If you don’t need us . . .”

  “No, we’ve got this. We’ll take her to the hospital. Thanks.”

  The two women moved off as Rachel and Jeremy finally managed to get the door open. The old woman stared up at them with a smile.

  “Aren’t you a cute couple,” she said, speaking loudly.

  Jeremy spotted a hearing aid half fallen from her ear. He grinned. “Thanks. Don’t move around too much—”

  Before he completed his sentence, she had swung her legs from the car, lifted her hands, which he and Rachel grabbed, and hoisted herself from the car. She gazed down at the old car with a tsking sound. She wobbled a bit, and Rachel placed an arm around her waist.

  “Let’s take you to the truck over there. I’m a nurse. We’ll get you to the hospital—”

  “But my car!” the older woman protested. “What’s going to happen to my car?”

  “Damaged cars will be taken care of,” Jeremy assured the woman. She walked slowly between him and Rachel. The woman’s eyes widened when he opened the door and gestured up to the bench seat. Her head came up to the door handle. Without a word, he bent down and swept the woman into his arms, then lifted her to the seat. “Upsy daisy,” he said, grinning at Rachel, who laughed at the older woman’s squeal of surprise.