Chapter 6 #4
It took every bit of his strength to get the truck door open, then he all but threw her into the seat. The wind slammed the door shut for him as he circled the truck, hanging onto it to stay upright, and then finally he was inside.
“Hang on,” he shouted above the roar of the wind, shifted into gear, made a U-turn in the driveway, and flew back onto the street.
Briar took one look at his face and the white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel and started silently praying. He’d risked his life for her. Please God, don’t let his sacrifice be in vain. Don’t let us die.
Tate’s heart was pounding, and the back of his leg and his shoulder were on fire, but he had her with him. Now the responsibility of getting them back home and into the storm shelter was utmost. Whatever blew away didn’t matter, as long as they were both still alive when it was over.
“Where the hell is your father?” he shouted.
She was shaking so hard it was difficult to speak. “Gone to Savannah to be with Mom.”
Then before Tate could comment, a blue trampoline came flying through the air in front of the windshield, barely missing them.
Briar gasped as Tate stomped the gas pedal all the way to the floor, and then they were speeding through the streets, dodging flying debris and tilting power poles.
Moments later, he skidded to a halt beneath the carport at his house, grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her across the seat and out the driver’s side door. They ran back into the house, then into the utility room to the aboveground shelter at the far end of the room.
With one swift jerk he opened the door, pushed her inside, then jumped in after her, pulling the door shut behind him and locking them in. But for the bits of light visible through the air vents on the sides of the shelter, they were in total darkness.
“Briar, honey…are you okay?” Tate asked, and then she was in his arms, shaking and crying. A huge wave of relief rolled through him as he wrapped his arms around her. They were soaking wet, but standing heart to heart within the confines of the shelter.
“Yes, yes, I’m okay, thanks again to you.
Oh my God, Tate. I can’t believe this is happening again.
Eleven years ago, when the lights went out in the school basement, I thought that meant we were going to die.
And then you suddenly crawled up beside me and whispered.
‘Don’t cry, Briar. It’s me, Tate. I’m beside you.
’ Now here I am again, in the dark, in your arms.”
“Last time, you were the one with a bleeding knee that needed stitches. This time, I think I might. I know my right leg is bleeding, and maybe my left shoulder. I felt something sharp hit me as we were running. I need to find the flashlight. It should be on one of the benches or beneath one. Help me look.”
“Oh my God,” she moaned. “You don’t move. I’ll find it,” she said, and pushed out of his arms.
He could feel blood running down his back and arm now, and into his shoe, and was trying not to panic and scare Briar even more.
He could hear her patting the benches as she felt for a lantern or a flashlight, and then he thought he saw her drop to her knees as she began searching beneath the shelves. Almost immediately, she cried out.
“Found it!”
The flare of light was nearly blinding. He saw the blood on his arm, but he still couldn’t see what caused the wounds and started to reach for the back of his leg when Briar shouted again.
“Don’t touch it. There’s a shard of glass sticking out of the back of your leg about halfway between your knee and ankle and your jeans are black with blood, and there is another shard of glass in your shoulder. We should not pull them out, because it will make them bleed more.”
Tate’s heart was still pounding. The pain was getting worse. The roar of the tornado was overhead now. They could hear it through the vents. He didn’t know if his home would even be standing with this was over, but they were in the safest place they could be.
“I need to make a tourniquet,” Briar said, and pulled her T-shirt over her head, twisted the sopping fabric into a rope and tied it above the glass in his leg as tight as she could get it, then swung the light within their enclosure, looking for something to use as a lever to tighten it further.
That’s when she saw a small toolbox in the corner beneath the other bench.
She dropped to her knees, opened the toolbox, chose the longest screwdriver, then grabbed a folded blanket and spread it down on the floor.
“Tate, you need to lie down. Your leg is bleeding more than your shoulder, and I need to tighten this tourniquet to slow the bleeding.”
He was feeling dizzy as he knelt, then stretched out on his belly.
He’d never passed out before, but he felt it coming.
“As soon as the storm passes, if the cell phones don’t work, you’ll have to get help.
Don’t try to drive. There may be downed power lines, and I’m betting there will be too much debris in the streets to drive through. ”
“I’ve got you,” Briar said, and deftly slid the screwdriver between his jeans and the rope she’d made of her T-shirt, then began twisting it.
Tate groaned as it tightened.
Briar was crying. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“Don’t cry, Briar. You’re saving my life.”
“When you hurt, I cry, and this wouldn’t have happened if I could have gotten into the basement.
That door is never locked, and yet today it was.
I don’t understand why they locked me out of it.
” She paused, tested the tourniquet, then stopped turning it.
“Let me know if that hurts too much. I don’t know anything else to do until the storm has passed. ”
Tate reached out until he felt her beside him, trying to focus on anything but the pain. “You’re doing good, honey. Real good. Just wait until the storm passes before you leave the shelter. Promise.”
“I promise,” she said, trying not to look at how much blood he was still losing. Tate…my Tate…please don’t die.