Part 8 (1/2)

Sitting up against the bar and using his legs, he leveraged the pool table away. Bits of dirt and broken gla.s.s, like glitter, rained down on his head. ”Can anybody hear me?” he shouted. His heart was still hammering and his breathing was as labored as if he'd run a marathon. On his hands and knees now, he crawled out of the tiny s.p.a.ce that had saved his life and, using what was left of the pool table for balance, managed to stand. At the shocking sight that met his eyes, his jaw fell slack, and he swore under his breath.

As if it had been in a four-lane car crash, the building was totaled. Beyond repair. No, make that beyond recognition. Slowly, Bob Ray turned in a circle, trying to take in the unbelievable devastation. Rubble was the only word he could think of to describe what had become of Low Places. Everywhere he looked there were piles of splintered wood and broken bricks.

His gaze flitted from one unrecognizable pile to the next until something had him doing a double take. Knees buckling, Bob Ray stumbled back, recoiling and gasping as his heart clawed its way into his throat. A body. A dead body.

He knew this guy was deceased. Didn't take a rocket coroner to figure that one out. Still, he forced himself to venture forth to feel for a pulse. He'd been right. Dead. When he stepped back, he saw another body. And then another.

Tears coursed down his cheeks. He knew these guys. Played pool with them mere hours ago. Scoped out the women with them. It could have been him. It should have been him. Why wasn't it . . . him?

A cry sounded from somewhere amid the rubble. Bob Ray was afraid to move for fear he'd step on somebody. ”Is anybody else in here?” he shouted.

”Here!” The m.u.f.fled cries of several men sounded from where the bathroom used to be. ”Here! Over here! We're under here!”

Bob Ray was glad that the sun was still high enough to give him a little light. Driven by terror, he was able to muscle far more weight than he'd have thought himself capable of, even on a good day. He tossed aside several heavy timbers and more than a little brick. Beneath the wreckage was a pocket, supported by toilet stalls. Huddled inside, there were at least four men and two women crouching in various stages of shock.

Bob Ray reached in and pulled a woman out first, and soon they were all upright and had staunched the blood flowing from various wounds. The folks that were able began an organized rescue effort and were soon frantically helping Bob Ray search the debris for more of the lucky ones. The second restroom yielded another half dozen survivors, several of whom needed to be transferred to the hospital as soon as possible. One man quickly cleaned out an area for triage, and the badly wounded were able to lie down while being tended to by those more fortunate.

Eventually, working together, the men were able to lift a ceiling beam and dig out the closet that Bob Ray had been beating on and begging Renee to let him enter. Once the door was removed, the men who'd arrived reached in to begin pulling people out. One at a time, bodies emerged until all three were laid out side by side.

”They're all gone,” one rescuer p.r.o.nounced. ”Dead. Beam got 'em.” He gestured to the huge timber they'd pulled off the closet.

Trembling, Bob Ray stared at the ghoulish scene. If the redhead who lay staring sightlessly up at him had had a heart, Bob Ray wouldn't be standing there right now. Turning, he braced his hands on his knees and wretched until his stomach was empty.

Using her head, as well as her arms, Heather pushed back the lid of the baptismal and peered out into the sanctuary. The first thing she noticed was that the beautiful stained gla.s.s windows were gone. Such a pity. But, beyond some corner roof damage, the old stone building seemed to be amazingly solid.

Gently pulling her T-s.h.i.+rt over Robbie's head, she unzipped him and left him asleep where he lay. Then, Heather climbed out of the baptistery and moved to the gaping arch where a beautiful stained-gla.s.s rainbow, dove and olive-branch pattern window had once been the building's crowning glory. Ironically, a real rainbow had taken its place, off in the distance. As near as she could figure, her single-wide mobile home lay somewhere in that unrecognizable pile of rubble.

Her heart clutched as she wondered . . . what had happened to Danny?

The last time Selma had ridden out a tornado, their house had spun off like a scene out of the Wizard of Oz. So, she didn't have very high expectations when she and Guadalupe ventured up out of the storm shelter that Clyde had labored over so many years ago. Weeks later, she'd tell people that the only word that would cover her reaction now was shock.

For not only was the house still standing, but the electricity was on. The stack of magazines she'd left on the table was still arranged in a tidy pile. Every drop of her chamomile tea was still waiting for her in the delicate, bone china cup. Beyond the front window, aside from the car parked on her neighbor's roof, her entire block seemed to have been largely spared.

”Dios mio,” Guadalupe murmured, lapsing into her native language, ”Gracias, gracias, gracias.” Together, the women moved to the porch to join the neighbors already congregating in the streets and comparing storm notes.

”They're saying on the radio,” said the woman who owned the new rooftop garage, ”that Old Town is gone.”

”No!” Selma pressed a fist to her chest. She didn't want to believe it, but knew it must be true. Her precious quilt shop was her livelihood. No. No. Forgive me, Father. You are my livelihood. The quilt shop was just a hobby.

”The high school?” Guadalupe demanded. ”Was the high school damaged?”

The neighbor nodded. ”News is still coming in on the casualties.”

”Madre, madre mia . . .”

Selma reached to steady Guadalupe, who rocked on her feet. ”Now, Guadalupe,” she said, matter-of-factly, ”let's not borrow trouble. Instead, you start praying, and I'll get the Olds and drive us down there.”

”Uh . . . Abby?” Jen's voice had an odd quality that had Abigail and Justin turning around. She'd walked away from the group and was standing by herself.

”Jen? Are you okay?”

”Well . . . I'm not sure, being that I'm new to all this and everything, but I'm thinking my water just broke.”

11.

7:34 p.m.

Jaw slack, Abigail glanced first to Jen, then to Justin, and then back at Jen.

”You are kidding, right?”

”Well,” Jen admitted with a sheepish grimace, ”I was definitely scared enough to wet my pants, but I'm reasonably sure I didn't.”

For Jen to have to endure labor pains, out here in the dark and the dirt and the danger and this . . . this . . . she brushed her hands on her pants . . . stuff, was unthinkable. There would only be enough light for another hour at the very most. The batteries in their flashlights wouldn't last all night long either.

”We gotta find Danny,” Justin muttered and glanced at his watch.

Over in the parking lot, the homeless guy had spotted a lawn chair perched on top of-or at the bottom of, depending on the viewpoint-a rolled minivan. Seemingly without a thought for his personal safety, he climbed the wobbly rig, slip-sliding as he fumbled his way to the top. There, he doggedly worked the lawn chair loose from a tangle of wire and tree limbs. When he returned, he planted it on solid ground a good distance away from the rest of the group, where worries about loved ones and personal property were being hashed out, and small children fretted and cried.

”My lady? Your throne awaits.” He stepped back with a flourish and bowed.

As she hobbled over to take a seat, Jen played along with him and asked, ”What is your name, good sir?”

”Bernard, ma'am. But you can call me Bernie.”

”Thank you very much, Bernie.”

”Anytime, Missus.” He held his arms out. ”The world is my castle. So, you just sit and take a load off. That's what I always do after a long day.” It was clear he was trying hard to cheer her up.

Jen reached out and clasped his filthy hand. ”You're a real blessing to me, Bernie.” Her sweet words took Bernie aback. Chin quivering, his smile revealed a number of missing teeth.

”Well now, don't that beat all? And here I was, a-thinkin' that 'bout you.”

There was a lump in Abigail's throat as she smiled over at Justin. Expression soft, he winked at her as the old guy shuffled off, no doubt to unearth more treasure.

Justin reached for Abigail's hand. ”Can I have a quick word with you?” He smiled down at Jen. ”You relax while we try to figure out what to do now.” Jen nodded as they walked over to join Desh, Haruo and Chaz, who were deep in a conversation about safety issues and where they should all go from here. So far, the chances of getting help right away seemed pretty grim.

”Jen is in labor,” Justin told them.

The men all exchanged worried glances.

”Isuzu and Mieko have been dialing 911 nonstop and can't get through on any of our phones,” Chaz said and rubbed his jaw. ”The storm must have taken a cell tower down, because I can't seem to get a hold of anybody about getting Jen out of here. I don't know what else to do. The streets are filled with trees and cars and . . .” he gestured off to the street, ”and . . . buildings . . .”

Desh cast a worried glance out to where Chaz pointed and said, ”Since we've been standing here, not one vehicle of any kind has pa.s.sed. Perhaps this is because all the roads around here are backed up with debris.”

”I'm sure you're right,” Justin agreed and absently ran a hand over his chest. ”My truck is missing, but even if it was here and worked, we'd still have to wait for the heavy equipment to come and clear the roads before we could actually go anywhere.”