Chapter 30 - Jensen #2
“It’s superficial,” I say. “We’re fine. Mrs. Barclay and her son are back at the auto shop. They’re okay, too. Can we help? How bad is it?”
“I don’t know,” Jefferson swipes a hand down his face.
“We’ve got units responding, but it’s too early to say.
My job is to clear the outer streets. The damn twister waltzed right through Main Street like it owned the joint and then veered east and continued barreling down Route 3 without a care in the world. ”
Everything inside my body goes cold. “Wait . . . did you say Route 3?”
Jefferson nods. “We’ve got crews headed out that way.”
Route 3. The very road I drive every single day, the road that leads me home to the farmhouse. Jefferson is still talking, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. My mind is only focused on one thing.
Callie .
Callie.
Callie.
Callie.
I run back toward the auto shop. I have to get home. Frank is yelling at me to stop, but I can’t.
I beeline for a the first untouched vehicle I see, a big, black pick-up truck sitting in the parking lot.
It’s not mine, but I know for a fact the keys are sitting in the cupholder.
I put them there myself after finishing a brake pad replacement a few hours ago.
The truck is covered with hunks of building material and tree limbs, but thankfully, nothing that will prevent it from running.
I fire the engine, yanking the gearshift into drive so fast there’s a screeching sound, and whip it around and out of the parking lot.
I can’t take my usual route through town, so I aim for the side roads, weaving around branches and downed telephone poles as quickly as I can. Once I’m out of the city limits, it’s only a short drive before I hit Route 3.
Callie. I have to get to Callie.
I press down on the gas pedal, going as fast as I can.
The trees on both sides of the road have either been bent in half or snapped in two confirming the twister’s path.
The sight of those trees, of the force it must have taken to leave such a trail of destruction behind sends terror through me like I’ve never known.
The road is practicably impassable, but I pop the truck in four-wheel drive and keep going, finding alternative paths that let me pass. I don’t let myself think about anything but the obstacles in front of me. I have to keep going.
I’m only a quarter of a mile from the turn-off that leads down to the farmhouse when I hit a dead-end. A massive pine has fallen, blocking the road, and there’s no going around it.
I throw the truck in park, climb over the tree, and run.
I don’t care that I left the truck’s engine running. The only thing that matters is getting to Callie.
Please let her be okay, please let her be okay, please let her be okay.
The words spurn me onwards. I force my muscles to work harder, to move faster. My lungs burn in my chest, aching for more oxygen, but I don’t care. I nearly wipe out on the slick asphalt as I hurdle over a piece of wooden fencing, but I keep going.
Please let her be okay, please let her be okay, please let her be okay.
The narrow lane opens up, and I look to where the farmhouse should be, but it’s not there. It’s just—gone. Only a pile of rubble remains. The brick fireplace and a single wall stripped down to the studs stand like sentries, while the remaining structure has been reduced to something unrecognizable.
The wraparound porch is crumbled into a mangled ball, and were it not for the cement stairs, I wouldn’t even know where the front door used to be.
There’s no sign of the roof. It must have been ripped clean off, and it looks there’s been some kind of massive explosion with pieces of the farmhouse scattered like confetti across the grass.
A strangled cry rises in my throat as I stumble, almost falling to my knees. “Oh my god,” I wheeze, chest heaving. “Oh my god, Callie!” I scream her name, but the sound is hoarse and weak. “Callie!”
I throw myself into the wreckage, flinging aside hunks of brick and broken tile. I yank at whatever I can get my hands on, tossing it behind me, shoving away anything I can move. Broken nails and slivers of fractured pipes slice and tear at my skin as I dig, but I don’t care.
“Callie! Callie, can you hear me?”
Fiberglass coats my forearms as I claw at soggy pieces of drywall.
I ram my shoulder into a thick oak dresser, but it doesn’t budge.
Beneath my boots, the floor feels spongy, soft in places where it shouldn’t be.
I shuffle to the side, trying a different spot to tunnel through, but it’s as if the pile of rubble has grown strong spindly arms to shove back at me, to keep me from getting inside.
“Callie! Callie!”
I keep digging, even though every muscle in my body screams in agony.
My vision is hazy, clouded with sweat and dust, and every time I inhale, it feels like my lungs are filling with sawdust. The farmhouse, my home, my sanctuary has become a tangle maw of jagged teeth and crooked claws ripping me apart as I fight against it with everything I have.
“Please,” I rasp. “Please.” The word flows out of me like the blood dripping from my skin. I don’t know if it’s the house I’m begging or time or maybe even God, but that single word pours from my lips with every swipe of my arm, with every kick of my leg.
The farmhouse lets out a groan, the ominous sound grating against my spine like the scraping of fork tines against a ceramic plate. Whatever is holding what’s left of it together is about to give.
A warped and cracked cabinet from the bathroom catches under my foot, and I fall face-first, slamming my knee into a twisted floor joist. I cry out, howling as spikes of pain shoot up and down my leg.
Stars dance across my blurry eyes, but I push myself back up.
I don’t care if I break every bone in my body, if I lose every ounce of blood within these veins, I will find her.
Even if it takes the very last beat of my equally mangled heart, I will not let this destruction win. I will find her.
Shep.
Kase’s voice booms in my ear, louder than my panic. I slow down, chest heaving. “Kase?”
Shep.
Just my name again, nothing more.
“Please, Kasey. You have to help me. It’s Callie. She’s—”
Shepherd. This time it’s barely more than a whisper, but the urgency is loud and and clear. I stay still, breathing in and out slowly to still my heartbeat. I won’t be able to hear him if I don’t calm down. I have to be quiet, I have to listen, I—
A noise from just below me makes my pulse spike. It’s not Kasey’s voice, but I’d recognize that sound anywhere.
It’s barking.
“Peaches!” I scream her name. “Callie? Can you hear me? I’m coming for you, baby. Just hang on.”
I wait for some kind of response, but there’s only Peaches. I limp closer to the sound, targeting the debris in that area, moving it as fast and as safely as I can.
“Come on,” I encourage, even though I know she can’t hear me. “Keep barking, girl.” I have no idea how Peaches knew I was here or what made her bark, but it doesn’t even matter as long as she keeps doing it.
I dig and dig, shoving my way through the remnants of my home, until finally, I recognize the stairwell leading down into the basement.
I spot a flash of white and nearly begin weeping when my eyes land on Peaches, dirty, but unharmed, standing at the bottom of the steps and barking her precious little head off.
I fly down the steps, throwing my arms around Peaches who leaps into my embrace, her tongue lapping at the dirt and blood sticking to my forehead. I give her a quick kiss on the head and set her aside, my eyes darting around the room.
“Callie!”
The sound that comes out of my throat is guttural as I spot her lying on her back in a pool of blood a few feet away. Half of her face and neck are covered in blood, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
“Baby? Can you hear me?” Seeing her like this, so pale and unmoving, makes my stomach flip over.
I run my hands along her body, careful not to touch her left leg which is twisted at an unnatural angle, and reach for the soft spot just below her jaw.
Her pulse flutters underneath my fingertips, but it’s very faint.
She’s breathing, though, and my own lungs nearly seize up with the realization that she’s unconscious, but alive.
Over our heads, the farmhouse cries out, the snaps and groans a warning to me that we can’t stay here for much longer.
It’s risky to move her. I don’t know how badly she’s hurt, and if there’s injury to her spinal cord, the worst thing I could do is jostle her around. But I don’t have much of a choice. If I wait any longer, the remains of the farmhouse will crush us both.
Ignoring the throbbing, stabbing pain in my knee, I bend down and scoop Callie into my arms as gently as I can, cradling her to my chest.
“I’ve got you. Just hold on, okay? I’m getting you out of here. ”
Following the path I carved through the wreckage, I move slowly. Callie is limp in my arms and it terrifies me, but I stay calm, relying on my military training. I have to get us out of the house.
Peaches sticks close to my side and I talk to her as we climb, hoping she can at least pick up on my energy. “You’re a good girl, Peaches. That’s it, just follow me.”
Digging my way to Callie felt like it took hours, but in what seems like only a handful of minutes, I’m stepping out into the night air with her in my arms.
Red and blue sirens illuminate the darkness as a police cruiser and an ambulance fly toward us, dust flying up from the tires.
“Over here!” I yell, trying to flag them down. “We’re right here!”
The cruiser reaches us first. It’s Jefferson Carmichael with Frank in the passenger seat. “When I saw you take off back there, it wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d gone.” Frank gets out of the car and hurries over to me. “How is she?”
“She’s breathing, but we need to get her to the hospital immediately.”
The ambulance pulls up next to the cruiser and the EMTs jump out, pulling a gurney out from the back of their rig.
“Her name is Callie Dawson. She’s twenty-six years old. I’m pretty sure her leg is broken, but I can’t tell where all the blood is coming from.” I rattle off information I think will be helpful as the paramedics gently take Callie and lay her on the stretcher.
“I know I probably shouldn’t have moved her but the house isn’t stable.”
As if to back up my claim, the farmhouse emits a mighty groan and the whole pile of rubble shifts, the entire thing collapsing in on itself, sending a plume of dust, dirt, and fiberglass particles into the sky.
I step back, swaying on my feet as the EMTs stabilize Callie for transport to the hospital. She hasn’t moved at all since I brought her out of the house.
The adrenaline that kept me moving has waned, and my limbs feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds each.
“Callie,” I call out her name, but it sounds like I’m speaking underwater.
Frank moves into my field of vision as black spots appear, blotting out his face. I think I hear him call my name, but it’s distorted, muted. I try to reach for Callie, to tell her that she’s going to be okay, but the world around me swirls, colors mixing together.
Callie.
Her face is the last I see before I sink into darkness.