Page 64 of Desperate Creed

Creed watched the man’s face and within seconds he knew the bathtub was, in fact, a coffin.

He joined Jason under one of the other oaks, far enough away to give the family and the firefighters room to assess, to work, to grieve. The dogs were taking a break in the rare patches of shade. Jason had already given them water and retrieved their reward toys. Both of them lay with their hind legs kicked back. They watched the action and chaos around them, curious but at the same time, disinterested, almost as if they knew they had already done their jobs.

Jason pulled out his cell phone. With one hand he was holding and scrolling. His prosthetic fingers were capable of intricate touch, but the kid had gotten so used to doing many things with one hand. It was almost as if he forgot he could use the other.

“What was the name of that restaurant where we were meeting up with Maggie?”

“Southern Blessings.” He glanced back at Jason. His thumb was still scrolling. “Why do you ask?”

“One of the firefighters said it took a direct hit.”

“What?”

“I’m looking to see if there’s any information on-line.”

Creed patted down his pockets in search of his own cell phone.

“Are you sure that was the name?” he asked, hoping Jason may have heard it wrong.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Creed found his phone and had to turn it on.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I kept thinking it was ironic that a place with blessings in its name would get hit by a tornado.”

Creed’s phone was finally ready. He tapped a text message to Maggie:

ARE YOU OKAY?

Then he waited.

47

Maggie knew she wasn’t good at this. Crime scenes. Dead bodies. No problem. But victims, injured and bleeding with glass sticking out of their flesh and steel beams on top of them? That was a problem. She wasn’t a first responder. She remembered CPR, but that was all.

The gas fumes were making her lightheaded. She couldn’t think straight.

Hank couldn’t get the door open at the top of the stairs. There was something blocking it. While both of them called for help, she could see Hank was getting a better response. More of them were interested in getting the door opened than aiding those who had gotten injured.

Two of the men were trying to ram the door with one of the fallen beams. The guy in the designer polo shirt had stayed at the foot of the stairs, constantly checking his cell phone. He looked anxious to get back out the door ever since they’d come down. Maggie had heard Hank call him Max.

The other man, Maggie had nicknamed Loverboy. Perhaps it was a misnomer, because ever since the storm began, the man had nothing to do with the woman he’d been so enthralled with earlier over lunch.

The beam that had fallen on Frankie had taken part of the ceiling down with it. For a brief moment, Maggie thought it might be a possible escape route. But on closer inspection, she could see that a metal object had sealed the hole. Right now, all she cared about was getting this beam off of Frankie. The longer it crushed her legs, the more likely the woman might lose them both. But Gus didn’t seem to share her urgency.

“I think I could help,” Ronald, the truck driver, still offered. “I can use my one arm.”

That was yet another dilemma. Does she leave the shard of glass in? She knew from personal experience that taking a knife out could cause a victim to bleed out quickly. Was it the same for a big-ass piece of glass?

And where the hell was everyone else? The older women stayed praying close to the stairs. The other lovebird? From what Maggie could tell she was texting on her cell phone. Maybe, hopefully, she was getting them some help.

Finally, the waitress came over to take a look at Ronald. She removed her apron and tried sopping up the blood dripping down his arm. To Maggie she said, “Do you think he needs a tourniquet?”

Maggie noticed her nametag and asked, “Do you know how to do one, Val?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said and she started ripping the ties off of her apron.