Page 39 of Desperate Creed

“Just a hunch.”

Creed expected the sheriff to push for more of an explanation. Instead, he said, “Come on.”

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The name Roscoe was embroidered on the man’s sweat-stained blue shirt. Gray dust clung to his trousers and ball cap. The scratches on his arms looked like he’d wrestled his way out of a tiger’s cage. When he greeted Creed and the sheriff, Roscoe still had that glazed look in his eyes that Creed had seen in others who had escaped death and knew it.

He was packing plastic containers with packaged food items from the shelves that appeared untouched by the storm. Bags of chips and candy bars had stayed on an end-cap, not a single wrapper torn. The shelf stood surrounded by bricks, ceiling tiles and pieces of drywall. Everywhere Creed stepped he heard glass crunch beneath his feet, and he was glad he’d put Grace inside his Jeep.

It didn’t take much to get Roscoe talking.

“Out here there’s no sirens,” he told them. “My building faces the east. We never saw the damned thing coming. The wind picks up. Thunder. Lightning. Downpour. A little bit of hail. It’s crazy. People pulling in off the interstate. They’re putting gas in. Still running inside to buy crap.”

He tugged his ball cap off and swiped his arm across his sweaty forehead. Plopped the cap back on and started again. “Then it calms. Y’all know how it is. That freaky, eerie quiet. And then it’s right there. Wind blasting. Debris flying. It’s throwing around stuff it picked up a mile away. The doors blew open. Glass shattered.”

He shook his head and gestured to what must have been the front of the building. “I yelled for people to move inside. Told them to get to the back. Pile into the restrooms. Those are made of cinder block.”

He looked back at the area, a portion of it still standing. A door hung from its hinges in a doorframe that was no longer connected to anything.

Suddenly, Creed’s Jeep started up, the engine roaring to life just ten feet away from them. The sheriff looked at the vehicle then back at Creed.

“Your dog knows how to drive?”

“Heat alarm system. It’s backed up with it’s own auxiliary battery,” Creed explained. “Turns the ignition and the A/C on when it reaches a certain temperature inside the vehicle.” He wanted to get back on track. To Roscoe, he said, “I know it was crazy during that time, but do you remember a woman...”

Then he stopped himself. He realized he didn’t know what she looked like. A name wouldn’t matter. They didn’t even know if the vehicle had been a car or an SUV. Some of the paint had been peeled away. He did remember seeing the Ford emblem. And the only remaining tire was small.

“She may have been in a white Ford sedan,” he finally told the man. “Virginia license plates. She was with a man and a baby.”

“You the one that found that baby?” he asked Creed.

“Yes sir. My dog did.”

“Now you’re looking for its momma, huh?”

“We’re hoping.”

“Let me think.” Roscoe squinted, adding creases to a brow already filled with lines. “The place was going nuts. Pumps were full up. Cars pulling in just to get under the awnings.” Then he blinked a few times and pointed like he was trying to get his finger on an image. “Wait a minute. There was a woman in line to pay. She was anxious to get back out. I think she may have said something about a baby.”

“Did she go back out?” the sheriff asked.

Roscoe was quiet. Still thinking. He pulled his cap off, again, and did the swipe through his sweat-plastered hair. Tugged the cap back on and seesawed the brim like it helped him concentrate.

“Y’all know, I can’t say for sure.” Then he looked at the sheriff. “First paramedics took about five people just from around here. Maybe she was one of them?”

The sheriff looked from Roscoe to Creed. He turned around and Creed knew he was assessing how far away the vehicle was.

He looked back at Creed. “What makes you think they were here?”

“Gut instinct. And the gas cap was off. I know tornadoes do weird stuff but can they screw a gas cap off?”

The sheriff didn’t reply. Instead, he fished his cell phone out of his breast pocket. By the time he walked the short distance to his patrol car he was barking out instructions.

28

Florida Panhandle

The lightning spiderwebbed across Brodie’s bedroom wall. A rumble of thunder followed. Rain started tapping against the roof, a soft pitter-patter. It was a comforting sound, almost a lullaby helping her fall asleep.