Everyone Knows It's Windy, 3/?
Title: Everyone Knows It's Windy, chapter three
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,546
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Supporting Characters: Double Trouble
Summary: The second storm is drawing closer, and the guys are not ready for it at all.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Three
Scott sighed to himself as he limped over the debris-strewn grass. His leg had been growing to be more of a bother the further he walked. More and more he had to make sure to keep his weight off of it. But without the aid of some kind of crutch, he was favoring his other side so completely that now it was starting to hurt too.
He was still traveling with Brenda, trying to find the nearest shelter where they could stay. Or more precisely, where she could stay. He would keep going until he found the others---and until he made sure that he had helped everyone in his power to help.
Brenda had mostly fallen silent since they had discovered poor Mrs. Miller. Scott was uncomfortable by the silence, but he could certainly understand it. He would not push her to talk, unless he needed to ask a question about who else might need aid in the remaining section of the trailer park and the surrounding area.
The dog walked beside him, studying him with its soft brown eyes as it gave a low whine of concern. It could tell that he was upset, though it did not know the reason.
Scott paused, a sad smile flickering across his features for a brief moment. "You kind of remind me of El, you know that?" he said low, patting the dog's head. "He can always tell when something's bothering me." He stared off into the distance as he started walking again. "Now I . . . I don't even know if he's okay. . . . Or Sean, or Barry, or Jeff. . . . And I know they're worried about me."
He fell silent. If only he could let them know he was alright and find out if they were okay too!
". . . I know you're ACME."
He started, blinking in surprise as he looked to Brenda. She was not facing him; instead she was absently petting the dog, gazing off into the distance.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
She nodded in his direction. "I recognize the Triangle of Excellence on your coat," she said. "My brother . . . he was an agent too."
The sadness in her voice, along with speaking in the past tense, let Scott know that all had not ended well. "'Was'?" he repeated.
"He was killed during a raid on a criminal's hideout."
Scott ran his tongue over his lips. "I'm sorry," he said.
She shrugged. ". . . He always wanted to be a hero," she said, a vague, rueful smile creeping over her features. "He idolized ACME from the moment he could talk. He ran off to join as soon as he was the qualifying age for a Gumshoe. I always worried. . . . I knew something would go wrong someday . . . but he was so happy."
She gave him a sidelong look. "I'm curious. Why did you join ACME? You don't look much younger than he was when . . ." She trailed off.
Scott looked away. ". . . I joined with my friends," he said at last. "The Chief of the New York branch offered us positions after she hired another friend and he mentioned us. Before that, well . . . we were just kind of kicking around the city, getting into trouble, wasting time. . . ." Now he shrugged. "Joining ACME was something to do with our lives."
"I see." She brushed her hair away from her eyes. "I've heard that Chief often takes in strays."
"We're just lucky she does." But Scott sighed, not feeling like elaborating.
"So is that all ACME is to you---something to do with your life?" She turned to face him again. "You seem like a genuinely kind person."
Scott smiled a bit. "I try." He pushed back his hat. "Maybe it started out like that for us, but it was because we didn't really understand what we were getting into. As time went on, and we started to realize how serious it was, well . . . our attitudes started changing too."
She nodded. "Are your friends here too?"
"Yeah." Scott stared at the darkening horizon. The next round of the storm was getting closer. A chill ran up his spine. What if it brought another tornado with it? And what if they were even less prepared for it than they had been for the first one?
"But you don't know where they are," she surmised.
Scott shook his head. "They were on Main Street, last I knew," he said. "They'd be long gone by now . . . probably looking for me."
She sighed. "I don't have a cell phone, or I'd let you use it to call them," she said.
"Thanks for the offer anyway." Scott looked to the last demolished mobile homes. "How far away is the nearest evacuation center?"
"There's one at the middle school," she replied. "Usually everyone either goes there or to that church over there." She pointed to a building in the distance and to the right.
"We'll go there first," Scott said.
He could not help hoping that they would meet the others there, safe and sound. But it was highly unlikely. They were probably still in the heart of the downtown area, desperate to find him. And here he was, probably clear across the small town, relatively fine but unable to let them know.
The wind was beginning to blow again as they drew closer. Scott gritted his teeth, pulling his coat tight around him as he held onto his hat. He had to admit, he was nervous, even fearful. What if the wind picked up so much that another tornado would indeed come? And what if he still did not know if the others were safe? What if they weren't? He had to keep looking. But if it was so windy that there was a second tornado, would he be taken away once more? Maybe he would not be as lucky a second time.
The dog barked, barreling ahead with wagging tail as they arrived at the church. The pastor came to the doorway, looking to the canine and patting its head before glancing down the road to where Scott and Brenda were coming.
"Hurry!" he called with a gesture back inside the building. "There's people gathering in the storm cellar."
Brenda increased the speed of her gait as the wind howled past in the opposite direction, trying to force her back. She looked to Scott, concern in her eyes.
"You're coming, aren't you?" she demanded.
Scott hesitated, swallowing hard. "I can't," he said then.
She looked at him in disbelief. "It's suicide to stay out here!" she cried. "Look at those clouds! There's going to be a thunderstorm in a few minutes, and it's probably a supercell!"
"I know that," Scott called over the sound of the wind. "But there's not a tornado yet. I need to see if anyone else is in trouble from the first one." A raindrop landed on his nose.
"Like your friends," Brenda deduced. She struggled up the rest of the path to where the pastor and the dog were waiting.
Scott nodded, still walking with her to make sure she got to safety. "Yeah," he said. "Or anyone else." He could not stand the thought of being protected while the others might be suffering. Even though at the same time he knew they would not want him to put himself in unnecessary danger.
"You won't be able to help anyone if you're swept away," Brenda snapped. "You really are like my brother. He didn't know his limits, either! That's why he's dead! Do you want to leave your friends to bear that burden? That's a great legacy!"
Scott froze, slowly clenching his hand into a fist. She was clearly releasing her own pent-up pain left from her brother's demise, but did she have a point? What was the right decision? Was it selfish of him to blindly put himself in danger? Maybe the others were just fine, praying that he was staying safe too. Maybe braving the storm was foolish and would not serve any purpose.
But what if there was a purpose and they needed him to come?
"Do you feel you must go?"
Scott started, looking to the pastor who had been overhearing everything. He shook his head, suddenly feeling helpless. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted. "I thought I did, but . . ."
"You must make a decision," the pastor told him. "The storm is here. I have to shut these doors before it gets worse."
Scott stiffened, his heart gathering speed. And as he stood there, considering all the angles in that brief instant, his earlier convictions returned to him. He had grown confused momentarily, but he knew what he had to do.
"I can't," he protested. "No . . . I can't stay." He looked to Brenda, silently pleading for her to understand. "My friends are out in this, and who knows who else. I can't just leave them! . . ."
Brenda narrowed her eyes, holding onto the dog's collar as the animal whined. "Then we won't be seeing you again," she said. "And I doubt if your friends will."
The pastor held up a hand for silence. "We, and they, may," he said. Looking back to Scott he said, "Do as you must. And may God go with you." He began to pull the heavy doors closed.
Scott watched, giving a shaky nod before turning away. The doors shut with a bang, sealing his fate. He took a deep breath, staring at the various scraps being blown about the streets in the furious gusts.
"I sure hope He will," he muttered to himself.
Still holding onto his hat, he ran back along the path as fast as his legs could carry him.
****
As Barry hung up with Sean, he turned his attention back to Jeff. The boy had froze, staring in shock and horror at the woman he had dug out of the debris behind the counter. Barry frowned, making his way over to the scene. The form was still, dust and plaster coating her face and mingling with an ominous crimson that leaked from a deep gash in her scalp. Jeff was trembling, staring blankly at the sight.
"She looks like she's asleep," he choked out. "She looks like she'll wake up. . . ."
Barry laid a hand on his shoulder. Was she the mother of the little girl Sean and Elliott had found? Even if she was not, she had family and friends somewhere, people who would be horrified and grief-stricken to learn of her death. . . .
Without warning Jeff snapped to, pulling away from Barry as he lunged at the mess. "Someone has to be alive in here!" he cried. "They can't all be dead! They can't!" He dug his bare hands into the splintered wood and mortar and plaster, frantic as he began to throw chunks of it left and right.
Barry winced, diving out of the way just in time to avoid a flying piece of board. "Jeff . . . !" he tried to say. "Jeff, this won't help. . . ."
But the apprentice P.I. continued to dig, growing more panicked the further down he went. There had to be someone! There had to be . . . !
He grasped hold of a limp hand. His heart leaped into his throat as he cradled it, searching in desperation for a pulse. But it was still and cold, the life long ago suffocated out of the owner. He slumped back, blankly staring at the sight. The adrenaline rush had passed, leaving him numb and deadened. He did not want to dig out the rest of the person.
Barry approached him again. "We should go," he said, his voice quiet now. "There's still your uncle and those women to see about."
At last Jeff gave a weak nod. He started to push himself up, brushing the plaster off of his pants.
Barry stood as well. They were completely exposed to the elements here, with the front of the building gone, and the harsh wind that was starting to sweep through was making him uneasy. The next storm would be upon them within a very few minutes, if the blackish-green clouds in the sky had anything to say about it. And then . . . would another twister come? The rest of this town could be leveled before they had a chance to do anything about it.
But then Jeff stiffened. "Wait," he said. "Do you hear that?"
It was doubtful that the kid meant the howling of the wind. Barry strained to listen for something, anything else. Was it his imagination? It almost sounded like a faint voice pleading for help.
Jeff ran to the left. "It's over here!" he called, kneeling down as he began to dig again.
Frowning, Barry followed. He knelt too, pulling aside pieces of beams and blocks. One brick came away wet with blood. He narrowed his eyes, looking at it for only a moment before setting it aside. Now he could see part of a floral-print dress, the side stained crimson. It was moving up and down, the trapped person gasping for breath.
Jeff threw aside a nearby piece of wood, revealing the woman's scratched and clammy face. Perspiration rolled down her cheeks and over her eyes as she stared in disbelief and awe at her rescuers. She had not expected anyone to hear her feeble cries.
"You're going to be okay!" Jeff exclaimed, overjoyed that they had found someone still alive in the horror. "I promise, we're going to get you out of this and you'll be just fine!"
Barry pulled back the cloth of the woman's dress to examine the severity of the wound. His expression turned grim as he saw its depth. Quickly he dug out a pocket first aid kit and pressed a clean cloth over the gash. They were not equipped for this at all. They did not have enough materials to really be able to do much for these people.
And now he was not sure that both he and Jeff should go back to the cars. The other people here could perhaps be safely left for a few minutes, but he doubted that this woman could be unattended. Someone needed to stay here to try to stop the bleeding. But . . . who? Jeff would surely not be able to turn their car right-side up from where it was laying on its side. On the other hand, could he handle staying here while Barry left to try? And what about the fact that they had been going to check both cars?
Jeff seemed to only be thinking of the current moment. "Can you tell me your name?" he asked, clearing away more debris in order to free the rest of the hapless victim.
"Candace," she said with great effort.
"Is there anyone we can call for you?" Barry wanted to know.
She grimaced as the pain shot through her side. "I . . . I need to know if . . ." She gasped. "My husband and daughter are safe. . . ." She clenched her hands into fists, struggling not to jerk away from Barry's firm touch.
"Is your daughter named Brittany?" Barry persisted.
Jeff looked at him, confused. "Brittany?" he repeated with a blink.
But Candace's eyes lit up with hope. "Yes!" she said. "D-do you know . . . ?"
Barry nodded. "She's safe, for now," he said. "She was found by two of our other friends. They're taking her to find her father."
Relief shone in her eyes for a brief moment before they were clouded by pain. "H-he teaches at the middle school," she said, her chest heaving. She groaned, beginning to go limp on the damaged floor.
Jeff gripped her shoulder, suddenly panicked. "N-no!" he protested. "You need to stay awake! . . ."
She gave a weak shake of her head. "It hurts," she whispered, her eyes glazing.
"I know," Barry said. "I'm sorry." He could not get the bleeding to stop. Had they freed her only to have her bleed to death? No! He would not give up, not yet. They could still save her. She had hung on all this time. She would not surrender now.
He looked to Jeff. "She's going into shock," he said. "We need to cover her with something and raise her legs."
"Cover her with what?!" Jeff exclaimed, grabbing the pocket first aid kit and going over the contents. He frowned, pulling out a wrapped emergency blanket.
Barry sighed. "That's all there is," he said. "It will have to do." He looked to Jeff. "One of us is going to have to stay here with her while the other goes for the car."
Jeff froze in the process of unwrapping the blanket. But then he drew a shaking breath. Barry was right. Candace was in no condition to be left alone. Barry had managed to push that other woman's dislocated shoulder back into place, but she was not well enough to stay here trying to stop the bleeding. It had to be one of them.
". . . I'll stay," he said.
Barry looked at him carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked.
Jeff nodded. "I'm sure." He draped the emergency blanket over Candace, then moved to elevate her feet. "If only one of us is going to the car, it should be you."
Barry continued to observe him while still applying pressure to the serious wound. "Will you know what to do?"
Jeff hesitated. ". . . I took a first aid course," he said at last. "My parents thought I should when I went to work for my uncle." He looked to Barry. "And anyway, it'll just be for a few minutes. Right?"
Barry sighed. "We can hope." He glanced around the open space. The wind was still blowing, picking up speed even more. Dust and debris were flying at them from all sides. Barry hunched forward, trying to shield Candace from the worst of it.
"I can help."
They looked up as the woman with the previously dislocated shoulder made her way across the disaster zone. She was gritting her teeth in pain, clutching her sore shoulder, but determination shone in her eyes.
"I can try to keep the flying particles away while you work on stopping the bleeding," she said to Jeff.
At last he nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Thanks. A lot." And he meant it. They needed all the help they could get.
Barry nodded too, finally pulling back as Jeff immediately traded places with him, holding his hands over the wound. "If I find out the car still runs, we'll have to take Candace to it first," he said. "I'll bring it as close to here as I can."
And herein lay one of the problems. They could really only fit one person onto the back seat. Whoever sat up front would have to not be as seriously injured. They seriously did need both cars, because otherwise Jeff's uncle and the woman tending to him would have to wait to be helped until they could return with the first car.
And Jeff realized it. He gritted his teeth. He wanted his uncle to be helped right now. But this woman was in more immediate danger.
"Yeah," he said then. "We'll be waiting."
Barry recognized the immense sacrifice it took for Jeff to put someone else above his family, especially when they were not even sure of the severity of Mr. Gordon's injuries. He rose, giving the scene a last look before stepping over the rest of the debris and onto what was left of the sidewalk.
****
The smell of smoke had been carried on the wind for some time now, along with the scent of rain. The clouds continued to release only a scant few drops here and there, teasing the people in the town below. The storm would be unleashed, but there was no telling when that would be or how long there would be false alarms instead.
Scott narrowed his eyes as he continued to advance towards the ominous reddish-orange glow in the distance. Was it a house? Some other building? Even a vehicle?
"Hello?" he called, though as always, his voice was lost on the winds. "Elliott?! Sean?!" He coughed as a bit of smoke was carried by the wind and happily leaped down his throat. "Barry?! Jeff?!"
He stumbled, his arms flying out as he fought to regain his balance. What if one or more of them were trapped in whatever that was? What if they were burning to death, but they would have lived if he could have forced himself to move just a little faster?
He gritted his teeth, pushing himself to take another step, then another. If he focused on the burning mass ahead, he should be able to forget about the pain. Third step, fourth step. . . .
Please give me the strength I need to get there . . . !
Maybe no one was there. Maybe it was abandoned and he did not have to worry.
Now he was close enough to see that it was some kind of building. A store? . . . No, a gas station. He swallowed hard. The pumps out front had been torn free by the tornado. Then something had apparently ignited the gasoline and it had set fire to the entire structure.
"Hello?" he called again as he approached.
Someone was definitely there. A panicked "Help!" reached his ears.
He ran over, shielding his face from the searing heat. The glass in the door had blown out, whether from the tornado or the explosion he was not sure, and he stepped through into the black smoke.
"Where are you?" he called, groping in his pocket for his flashlight. But as he clicked it on, it was not much help. He could barely see two feet in front of him.
"Over here!" came the reply to his left.
Now he recognized the voice. He stiffened in disbelief. "Double Trouble," he said under his breath. Louder he said, "I'm coming! What's wrong?" Had they recognized his voice yet? He was in terrible danger now---and not just from the flames. But surely if they were in trouble, they would not harm him. . . .
"My brother's trapped!" the twin called back. "This shelf thing fell over and pinned him down, and I can't get it up!"
Scott's eyes narrowed. As he fought his way to the left, a bit of light from outside shone through the thick smoke. They were near a corner window. He squinted, finally making out the form of one of the felons struggling with a heavy metal shelf. Hurrying over, he took hold of the other side.
"Let's both try," he said. "On the count of three. One, two . . . three!"
He and the twin strained with all their might, at last managing to shove the thing back into an upright position. Scott dropped to his knees, examining the other crook.
"He's unconscious," he frowned, "but he's got a pulse here." He took his hand away from the guy's neck. "I can't feel that anything's broken."
"We've gotta get him out of here!" the conscious twin exclaimed. If he had realized who their rescuer was, he did not give any indication of it.
"We sure do," Scott said. Keeping his hand inside his coat sleeve, he reached for the window. Not entirely to his surprise, air rushed at him. This window had blown out too.
"We can take him right through here," he said. "But first we have to move the stuff in the way." He pushed aside a crate of some kind of soda, then grabbed another. As the thief joined him he asked, "Do I really want to know why you two were in here?"
The twin frowned, shoving aside another crate. "We just . . . came in to look around," he said. "And then there were all these fireworks and everything went boom outside! It was crazy."
Scott sighed, highly doubting that they had come in "just to look around." He pushed the rest of the containers aside. Now there was a wide enough space that they could walk through to the window. And just in time, too---the fire was coming closer. The shelves that had slowed its approach would no longer be any help.
He hurried back to the limp form on the floor, where the guy's brother was already crouching. "We'll have to be careful lifting him," Scott cautioned. "Even though I couldn't find anything broken, there's lots of other things that could be wrong."
"He'll bounce back from whatever it is," was the somewhat defensive reply as they managed to stand up with the limp form between them. "We always do."
Scott resisted the urge to say that they would be "bouncing back" from it in the prison hospital.
Somehow it ended up that he was the one walking behind. As they came to the window and the twin began backing out, a loud cracking overhead froze Scott's blood. Something was tearing free.
"Look out!" he screamed, diving forward with such velocity that the felon yelped in surprise. But he could not leap far enough. At the same moment he pushed the unconscious twin fully out the window, something hard and heavy slammed onto his head. He cried out, crashing to the floor. Now he was half-in, half-out of the window, the weighty beam pinning him in place. And the fire was lapping at him. With bleary eyes he reached out, desperately grabbing onto the stunned party animal's vest.
"Please . . . help me!" he implored. He had helped them get out at the expense of his own safety, but would that mean anything? Especially now that his identity could be clearly seen?
The twin kept staring. "You . . . it's you!" he gasped. "The Dying Informant. . . ." But then he brushed off the shock, reaching down to pry the shaking fingers off of his vest. "You should've known better than to try to help us," he jeered, his manner changing altogether. "All I care about is my brother's life. What happens to you isn't my problem. I'm not risking my neck for you!"
Scott slumped further against the wall, unconsciousness swiftly descending. He should have known, alright. Maybe Brenda had been correct. He should have just stayed behind at the church. But . . . could he have let even these creeps die? No . . . he was not that kind of person. He was not like them.
"Hey, bro . . ." Vaguely Scott was aware of the second twin's weak voice. "We should help him . . . just this once. He didn't have to come in after us."
The first twin whirled, relieved that his brother was awake but unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're not going soft, are you?" he said. "Maybe that shelf falling on you really jarred you up."
"We don't have to take him with us or something," the second twin said. "Just get him out of there. . . . Having something pin you down is no party."
"He's probably already a goner anyway," said the first twin.
"You didn't think that about me," said the second twin.
"Well, of course not! You're family." The first twin frowned. "We're wasting time."
"He doesn't have time." The second twin tried to rise but fell back. "The fire's coming at him right now!"
Scott groaned, his hand going limp as it fell back to the windowsill. He could not stay awake long enough to learn what the outcome of this would be.
But he really doubted it would be in his favor.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,546
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Supporting Characters: Double Trouble
Summary: The second storm is drawing closer, and the guys are not ready for it at all.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Three
Scott sighed to himself as he limped over the debris-strewn grass. His leg had been growing to be more of a bother the further he walked. More and more he had to make sure to keep his weight off of it. But without the aid of some kind of crutch, he was favoring his other side so completely that now it was starting to hurt too.
He was still traveling with Brenda, trying to find the nearest shelter where they could stay. Or more precisely, where she could stay. He would keep going until he found the others---and until he made sure that he had helped everyone in his power to help.
Brenda had mostly fallen silent since they had discovered poor Mrs. Miller. Scott was uncomfortable by the silence, but he could certainly understand it. He would not push her to talk, unless he needed to ask a question about who else might need aid in the remaining section of the trailer park and the surrounding area.
The dog walked beside him, studying him with its soft brown eyes as it gave a low whine of concern. It could tell that he was upset, though it did not know the reason.
Scott paused, a sad smile flickering across his features for a brief moment. "You kind of remind me of El, you know that?" he said low, patting the dog's head. "He can always tell when something's bothering me." He stared off into the distance as he started walking again. "Now I . . . I don't even know if he's okay. . . . Or Sean, or Barry, or Jeff. . . . And I know they're worried about me."
He fell silent. If only he could let them know he was alright and find out if they were okay too!
". . . I know you're ACME."
He started, blinking in surprise as he looked to Brenda. She was not facing him; instead she was absently petting the dog, gazing off into the distance.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
She nodded in his direction. "I recognize the Triangle of Excellence on your coat," she said. "My brother . . . he was an agent too."
The sadness in her voice, along with speaking in the past tense, let Scott know that all had not ended well. "'Was'?" he repeated.
"He was killed during a raid on a criminal's hideout."
Scott ran his tongue over his lips. "I'm sorry," he said.
She shrugged. ". . . He always wanted to be a hero," she said, a vague, rueful smile creeping over her features. "He idolized ACME from the moment he could talk. He ran off to join as soon as he was the qualifying age for a Gumshoe. I always worried. . . . I knew something would go wrong someday . . . but he was so happy."
She gave him a sidelong look. "I'm curious. Why did you join ACME? You don't look much younger than he was when . . ." She trailed off.
Scott looked away. ". . . I joined with my friends," he said at last. "The Chief of the New York branch offered us positions after she hired another friend and he mentioned us. Before that, well . . . we were just kind of kicking around the city, getting into trouble, wasting time. . . ." Now he shrugged. "Joining ACME was something to do with our lives."
"I see." She brushed her hair away from her eyes. "I've heard that Chief often takes in strays."
"We're just lucky she does." But Scott sighed, not feeling like elaborating.
"So is that all ACME is to you---something to do with your life?" She turned to face him again. "You seem like a genuinely kind person."
Scott smiled a bit. "I try." He pushed back his hat. "Maybe it started out like that for us, but it was because we didn't really understand what we were getting into. As time went on, and we started to realize how serious it was, well . . . our attitudes started changing too."
She nodded. "Are your friends here too?"
"Yeah." Scott stared at the darkening horizon. The next round of the storm was getting closer. A chill ran up his spine. What if it brought another tornado with it? And what if they were even less prepared for it than they had been for the first one?
"But you don't know where they are," she surmised.
Scott shook his head. "They were on Main Street, last I knew," he said. "They'd be long gone by now . . . probably looking for me."
She sighed. "I don't have a cell phone, or I'd let you use it to call them," she said.
"Thanks for the offer anyway." Scott looked to the last demolished mobile homes. "How far away is the nearest evacuation center?"
"There's one at the middle school," she replied. "Usually everyone either goes there or to that church over there." She pointed to a building in the distance and to the right.
"We'll go there first," Scott said.
He could not help hoping that they would meet the others there, safe and sound. But it was highly unlikely. They were probably still in the heart of the downtown area, desperate to find him. And here he was, probably clear across the small town, relatively fine but unable to let them know.
The wind was beginning to blow again as they drew closer. Scott gritted his teeth, pulling his coat tight around him as he held onto his hat. He had to admit, he was nervous, even fearful. What if the wind picked up so much that another tornado would indeed come? And what if he still did not know if the others were safe? What if they weren't? He had to keep looking. But if it was so windy that there was a second tornado, would he be taken away once more? Maybe he would not be as lucky a second time.
The dog barked, barreling ahead with wagging tail as they arrived at the church. The pastor came to the doorway, looking to the canine and patting its head before glancing down the road to where Scott and Brenda were coming.
"Hurry!" he called with a gesture back inside the building. "There's people gathering in the storm cellar."
Brenda increased the speed of her gait as the wind howled past in the opposite direction, trying to force her back. She looked to Scott, concern in her eyes.
"You're coming, aren't you?" she demanded.
Scott hesitated, swallowing hard. "I can't," he said then.
She looked at him in disbelief. "It's suicide to stay out here!" she cried. "Look at those clouds! There's going to be a thunderstorm in a few minutes, and it's probably a supercell!"
"I know that," Scott called over the sound of the wind. "But there's not a tornado yet. I need to see if anyone else is in trouble from the first one." A raindrop landed on his nose.
"Like your friends," Brenda deduced. She struggled up the rest of the path to where the pastor and the dog were waiting.
Scott nodded, still walking with her to make sure she got to safety. "Yeah," he said. "Or anyone else." He could not stand the thought of being protected while the others might be suffering. Even though at the same time he knew they would not want him to put himself in unnecessary danger.
"You won't be able to help anyone if you're swept away," Brenda snapped. "You really are like my brother. He didn't know his limits, either! That's why he's dead! Do you want to leave your friends to bear that burden? That's a great legacy!"
Scott froze, slowly clenching his hand into a fist. She was clearly releasing her own pent-up pain left from her brother's demise, but did she have a point? What was the right decision? Was it selfish of him to blindly put himself in danger? Maybe the others were just fine, praying that he was staying safe too. Maybe braving the storm was foolish and would not serve any purpose.
But what if there was a purpose and they needed him to come?
"Do you feel you must go?"
Scott started, looking to the pastor who had been overhearing everything. He shook his head, suddenly feeling helpless. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted. "I thought I did, but . . ."
"You must make a decision," the pastor told him. "The storm is here. I have to shut these doors before it gets worse."
Scott stiffened, his heart gathering speed. And as he stood there, considering all the angles in that brief instant, his earlier convictions returned to him. He had grown confused momentarily, but he knew what he had to do.
"I can't," he protested. "No . . . I can't stay." He looked to Brenda, silently pleading for her to understand. "My friends are out in this, and who knows who else. I can't just leave them! . . ."
Brenda narrowed her eyes, holding onto the dog's collar as the animal whined. "Then we won't be seeing you again," she said. "And I doubt if your friends will."
The pastor held up a hand for silence. "We, and they, may," he said. Looking back to Scott he said, "Do as you must. And may God go with you." He began to pull the heavy doors closed.
Scott watched, giving a shaky nod before turning away. The doors shut with a bang, sealing his fate. He took a deep breath, staring at the various scraps being blown about the streets in the furious gusts.
"I sure hope He will," he muttered to himself.
Still holding onto his hat, he ran back along the path as fast as his legs could carry him.
****
As Barry hung up with Sean, he turned his attention back to Jeff. The boy had froze, staring in shock and horror at the woman he had dug out of the debris behind the counter. Barry frowned, making his way over to the scene. The form was still, dust and plaster coating her face and mingling with an ominous crimson that leaked from a deep gash in her scalp. Jeff was trembling, staring blankly at the sight.
"She looks like she's asleep," he choked out. "She looks like she'll wake up. . . ."
Barry laid a hand on his shoulder. Was she the mother of the little girl Sean and Elliott had found? Even if she was not, she had family and friends somewhere, people who would be horrified and grief-stricken to learn of her death. . . .
Without warning Jeff snapped to, pulling away from Barry as he lunged at the mess. "Someone has to be alive in here!" he cried. "They can't all be dead! They can't!" He dug his bare hands into the splintered wood and mortar and plaster, frantic as he began to throw chunks of it left and right.
Barry winced, diving out of the way just in time to avoid a flying piece of board. "Jeff . . . !" he tried to say. "Jeff, this won't help. . . ."
But the apprentice P.I. continued to dig, growing more panicked the further down he went. There had to be someone! There had to be . . . !
He grasped hold of a limp hand. His heart leaped into his throat as he cradled it, searching in desperation for a pulse. But it was still and cold, the life long ago suffocated out of the owner. He slumped back, blankly staring at the sight. The adrenaline rush had passed, leaving him numb and deadened. He did not want to dig out the rest of the person.
Barry approached him again. "We should go," he said, his voice quiet now. "There's still your uncle and those women to see about."
At last Jeff gave a weak nod. He started to push himself up, brushing the plaster off of his pants.
Barry stood as well. They were completely exposed to the elements here, with the front of the building gone, and the harsh wind that was starting to sweep through was making him uneasy. The next storm would be upon them within a very few minutes, if the blackish-green clouds in the sky had anything to say about it. And then . . . would another twister come? The rest of this town could be leveled before they had a chance to do anything about it.
But then Jeff stiffened. "Wait," he said. "Do you hear that?"
It was doubtful that the kid meant the howling of the wind. Barry strained to listen for something, anything else. Was it his imagination? It almost sounded like a faint voice pleading for help.
Jeff ran to the left. "It's over here!" he called, kneeling down as he began to dig again.
Frowning, Barry followed. He knelt too, pulling aside pieces of beams and blocks. One brick came away wet with blood. He narrowed his eyes, looking at it for only a moment before setting it aside. Now he could see part of a floral-print dress, the side stained crimson. It was moving up and down, the trapped person gasping for breath.
Jeff threw aside a nearby piece of wood, revealing the woman's scratched and clammy face. Perspiration rolled down her cheeks and over her eyes as she stared in disbelief and awe at her rescuers. She had not expected anyone to hear her feeble cries.
"You're going to be okay!" Jeff exclaimed, overjoyed that they had found someone still alive in the horror. "I promise, we're going to get you out of this and you'll be just fine!"
Barry pulled back the cloth of the woman's dress to examine the severity of the wound. His expression turned grim as he saw its depth. Quickly he dug out a pocket first aid kit and pressed a clean cloth over the gash. They were not equipped for this at all. They did not have enough materials to really be able to do much for these people.
And now he was not sure that both he and Jeff should go back to the cars. The other people here could perhaps be safely left for a few minutes, but he doubted that this woman could be unattended. Someone needed to stay here to try to stop the bleeding. But . . . who? Jeff would surely not be able to turn their car right-side up from where it was laying on its side. On the other hand, could he handle staying here while Barry left to try? And what about the fact that they had been going to check both cars?
Jeff seemed to only be thinking of the current moment. "Can you tell me your name?" he asked, clearing away more debris in order to free the rest of the hapless victim.
"Candace," she said with great effort.
"Is there anyone we can call for you?" Barry wanted to know.
She grimaced as the pain shot through her side. "I . . . I need to know if . . ." She gasped. "My husband and daughter are safe. . . ." She clenched her hands into fists, struggling not to jerk away from Barry's firm touch.
"Is your daughter named Brittany?" Barry persisted.
Jeff looked at him, confused. "Brittany?" he repeated with a blink.
But Candace's eyes lit up with hope. "Yes!" she said. "D-do you know . . . ?"
Barry nodded. "She's safe, for now," he said. "She was found by two of our other friends. They're taking her to find her father."
Relief shone in her eyes for a brief moment before they were clouded by pain. "H-he teaches at the middle school," she said, her chest heaving. She groaned, beginning to go limp on the damaged floor.
Jeff gripped her shoulder, suddenly panicked. "N-no!" he protested. "You need to stay awake! . . ."
She gave a weak shake of her head. "It hurts," she whispered, her eyes glazing.
"I know," Barry said. "I'm sorry." He could not get the bleeding to stop. Had they freed her only to have her bleed to death? No! He would not give up, not yet. They could still save her. She had hung on all this time. She would not surrender now.
He looked to Jeff. "She's going into shock," he said. "We need to cover her with something and raise her legs."
"Cover her with what?!" Jeff exclaimed, grabbing the pocket first aid kit and going over the contents. He frowned, pulling out a wrapped emergency blanket.
Barry sighed. "That's all there is," he said. "It will have to do." He looked to Jeff. "One of us is going to have to stay here with her while the other goes for the car."
Jeff froze in the process of unwrapping the blanket. But then he drew a shaking breath. Barry was right. Candace was in no condition to be left alone. Barry had managed to push that other woman's dislocated shoulder back into place, but she was not well enough to stay here trying to stop the bleeding. It had to be one of them.
". . . I'll stay," he said.
Barry looked at him carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked.
Jeff nodded. "I'm sure." He draped the emergency blanket over Candace, then moved to elevate her feet. "If only one of us is going to the car, it should be you."
Barry continued to observe him while still applying pressure to the serious wound. "Will you know what to do?"
Jeff hesitated. ". . . I took a first aid course," he said at last. "My parents thought I should when I went to work for my uncle." He looked to Barry. "And anyway, it'll just be for a few minutes. Right?"
Barry sighed. "We can hope." He glanced around the open space. The wind was still blowing, picking up speed even more. Dust and debris were flying at them from all sides. Barry hunched forward, trying to shield Candace from the worst of it.
"I can help."
They looked up as the woman with the previously dislocated shoulder made her way across the disaster zone. She was gritting her teeth in pain, clutching her sore shoulder, but determination shone in her eyes.
"I can try to keep the flying particles away while you work on stopping the bleeding," she said to Jeff.
At last he nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Thanks. A lot." And he meant it. They needed all the help they could get.
Barry nodded too, finally pulling back as Jeff immediately traded places with him, holding his hands over the wound. "If I find out the car still runs, we'll have to take Candace to it first," he said. "I'll bring it as close to here as I can."
And herein lay one of the problems. They could really only fit one person onto the back seat. Whoever sat up front would have to not be as seriously injured. They seriously did need both cars, because otherwise Jeff's uncle and the woman tending to him would have to wait to be helped until they could return with the first car.
And Jeff realized it. He gritted his teeth. He wanted his uncle to be helped right now. But this woman was in more immediate danger.
"Yeah," he said then. "We'll be waiting."
Barry recognized the immense sacrifice it took for Jeff to put someone else above his family, especially when they were not even sure of the severity of Mr. Gordon's injuries. He rose, giving the scene a last look before stepping over the rest of the debris and onto what was left of the sidewalk.
****
The smell of smoke had been carried on the wind for some time now, along with the scent of rain. The clouds continued to release only a scant few drops here and there, teasing the people in the town below. The storm would be unleashed, but there was no telling when that would be or how long there would be false alarms instead.
Scott narrowed his eyes as he continued to advance towards the ominous reddish-orange glow in the distance. Was it a house? Some other building? Even a vehicle?
"Hello?" he called, though as always, his voice was lost on the winds. "Elliott?! Sean?!" He coughed as a bit of smoke was carried by the wind and happily leaped down his throat. "Barry?! Jeff?!"
He stumbled, his arms flying out as he fought to regain his balance. What if one or more of them were trapped in whatever that was? What if they were burning to death, but they would have lived if he could have forced himself to move just a little faster?
He gritted his teeth, pushing himself to take another step, then another. If he focused on the burning mass ahead, he should be able to forget about the pain. Third step, fourth step. . . .
Please give me the strength I need to get there . . . !
Maybe no one was there. Maybe it was abandoned and he did not have to worry.
Now he was close enough to see that it was some kind of building. A store? . . . No, a gas station. He swallowed hard. The pumps out front had been torn free by the tornado. Then something had apparently ignited the gasoline and it had set fire to the entire structure.
"Hello?" he called again as he approached.
Someone was definitely there. A panicked "Help!" reached his ears.
He ran over, shielding his face from the searing heat. The glass in the door had blown out, whether from the tornado or the explosion he was not sure, and he stepped through into the black smoke.
"Where are you?" he called, groping in his pocket for his flashlight. But as he clicked it on, it was not much help. He could barely see two feet in front of him.
"Over here!" came the reply to his left.
Now he recognized the voice. He stiffened in disbelief. "Double Trouble," he said under his breath. Louder he said, "I'm coming! What's wrong?" Had they recognized his voice yet? He was in terrible danger now---and not just from the flames. But surely if they were in trouble, they would not harm him. . . .
"My brother's trapped!" the twin called back. "This shelf thing fell over and pinned him down, and I can't get it up!"
Scott's eyes narrowed. As he fought his way to the left, a bit of light from outside shone through the thick smoke. They were near a corner window. He squinted, finally making out the form of one of the felons struggling with a heavy metal shelf. Hurrying over, he took hold of the other side.
"Let's both try," he said. "On the count of three. One, two . . . three!"
He and the twin strained with all their might, at last managing to shove the thing back into an upright position. Scott dropped to his knees, examining the other crook.
"He's unconscious," he frowned, "but he's got a pulse here." He took his hand away from the guy's neck. "I can't feel that anything's broken."
"We've gotta get him out of here!" the conscious twin exclaimed. If he had realized who their rescuer was, he did not give any indication of it.
"We sure do," Scott said. Keeping his hand inside his coat sleeve, he reached for the window. Not entirely to his surprise, air rushed at him. This window had blown out too.
"We can take him right through here," he said. "But first we have to move the stuff in the way." He pushed aside a crate of some kind of soda, then grabbed another. As the thief joined him he asked, "Do I really want to know why you two were in here?"
The twin frowned, shoving aside another crate. "We just . . . came in to look around," he said. "And then there were all these fireworks and everything went boom outside! It was crazy."
Scott sighed, highly doubting that they had come in "just to look around." He pushed the rest of the containers aside. Now there was a wide enough space that they could walk through to the window. And just in time, too---the fire was coming closer. The shelves that had slowed its approach would no longer be any help.
He hurried back to the limp form on the floor, where the guy's brother was already crouching. "We'll have to be careful lifting him," Scott cautioned. "Even though I couldn't find anything broken, there's lots of other things that could be wrong."
"He'll bounce back from whatever it is," was the somewhat defensive reply as they managed to stand up with the limp form between them. "We always do."
Scott resisted the urge to say that they would be "bouncing back" from it in the prison hospital.
Somehow it ended up that he was the one walking behind. As they came to the window and the twin began backing out, a loud cracking overhead froze Scott's blood. Something was tearing free.
"Look out!" he screamed, diving forward with such velocity that the felon yelped in surprise. But he could not leap far enough. At the same moment he pushed the unconscious twin fully out the window, something hard and heavy slammed onto his head. He cried out, crashing to the floor. Now he was half-in, half-out of the window, the weighty beam pinning him in place. And the fire was lapping at him. With bleary eyes he reached out, desperately grabbing onto the stunned party animal's vest.
"Please . . . help me!" he implored. He had helped them get out at the expense of his own safety, but would that mean anything? Especially now that his identity could be clearly seen?
The twin kept staring. "You . . . it's you!" he gasped. "The Dying Informant. . . ." But then he brushed off the shock, reaching down to pry the shaking fingers off of his vest. "You should've known better than to try to help us," he jeered, his manner changing altogether. "All I care about is my brother's life. What happens to you isn't my problem. I'm not risking my neck for you!"
Scott slumped further against the wall, unconsciousness swiftly descending. He should have known, alright. Maybe Brenda had been correct. He should have just stayed behind at the church. But . . . could he have let even these creeps die? No . . . he was not that kind of person. He was not like them.
"Hey, bro . . ." Vaguely Scott was aware of the second twin's weak voice. "We should help him . . . just this once. He didn't have to come in after us."
The first twin whirled, relieved that his brother was awake but unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're not going soft, are you?" he said. "Maybe that shelf falling on you really jarred you up."
"We don't have to take him with us or something," the second twin said. "Just get him out of there. . . . Having something pin you down is no party."
"He's probably already a goner anyway," said the first twin.
"You didn't think that about me," said the second twin.
"Well, of course not! You're family." The first twin frowned. "We're wasting time."
"He doesn't have time." The second twin tried to rise but fell back. "The fire's coming at him right now!"
Scott groaned, his hand going limp as it fell back to the windowsill. He could not stay awake long enough to learn what the outcome of this would be.
But he really doubted it would be in his favor.