Chapter 22
“Tad, just lie still. I’ll go and fetch help.”Emotion choked Ifor to such a degree that he could hardly get the words out.
His father, pale and weak, lay on the ground, unable to hold himself up any longer.
Ifor glanced around. “You’re far enough away from the house. You’ll be safe here. I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right? You just stay here and rest.”
He turned to go, then hesitated. Turning back to his father he stroked the man’s cheek. “I love you, Tad. I’ll be back soon, right? Just rest.”
His father squeezed his hand—weakly—and Ifor stumbled into motion. The farther he walked, the more his heart sank. The houses close to his were in ruins, too.
Focus, he told himself. Where should he go?
The sheriff’s office. Sheriff Clifton would know what to do.
He hurried into town, his legs shaking.
As he reached the main street he froze. Half the buildings in town had fallen, too.
A man staggered down the street, weeping.
Ifor’s throat tightened. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked, steadying the man.
“They’re gone... My family... They’re all gone.”
Grief coursed through Ifor. “I’m so sorry.”
The man, almost insensiblein his grief-induced daze, mumbled something Ifor couldn’t make out, then shrugged out of his grasp and shuffled down the street.
How many had perished? Again, his thoughts turned to Susan. He had to find out if she was all right.
Turning a corner, he saw the sheriff’s office, half of itstillstanding.
A small crowd of people had gathered in front of it.
“Now, we need orderly teams to work from one end of Lone Pine to the other, checking for damage, rescuing the injured, and noting the deceased,” the sheriff said. All those physically able for this undertaking, please form an orderly line here.” Sheriff Clifton motioned with his hands and people moved into formation.
“Sir, my father is injured,” Ifor said, rushing forward and seizing the sheriff’s forearm.
“Dr. Reed is already inside the hotel making rounds, doing his best to treat any survivors. All injured folk are to be brought to it, as it was only partially damaged, and the structure is still sound. Can your father walk?”
“He could initially, sir, but he’s weak. He’s older, see. Part of the ceiling fell on him and injured him. He’s losing strength by the minute, and I think he’s lost a fair amount of blood.”
The sheriff frowned kindly. “Stay here. I’ll see if someone can go with you and help you walk your father over.”
The sheriff made a beeline for the men who were waitingimpatiently in a line, spoke to one of them, then brought him back to Ifor. “This is Mr. Larson. He’ll help you move your father to the hotel.”
Ifor thanked both men, and he and Mr. Larson turned to leave.
A tall man—covered in dust and earth—strode over to the sheriff. “I’ve checked all the houses out that way,” he said, pointing toward his right. “No survivors. Bodies all counted against the town records.”
Ifor’s heart stuttered. No survivors—out that way? But, that would mean?—
Ifor stopped. “Are you sure?” he asked the dusty man, his heart thumping.
The man looked him up and down as though insulted. “Positive.”
“No...”
Opal’s house was out that way.
No survivors.
He and Susan had been sitting drinking coffee with her not even a full day ago, talking about Heaven and how much she was looking forward to going.
And, now, she was there.