Beyond The Storm Part 7

little boat.

-C. H. Spurgeon.

9.

7:03 p.m.

It was five very difficult yards to traverse between the Quick In Go and the Sakura Gardens in the buffeting wind, especially with such horrendous debris flashing by, but they all made it into the restaurant. Haruo locked the doors behind them and began to herd everyone with his arms, the way he might a flock of geese. "Go to the back! To the kitchen. This way!"

All of the food had been unloaded from the large, walk-in refrigerator and was sitting in metal roller carts around the kitchen. Isuzu and Mieko held the door open and shouted for everyone to hurry. Abigail grabbed Isuzu in a quick hug. "I forgot you were here tonight," she cried, relieved to have Isuzu near.

"And I did not know you were at Quick In Go!" Something crashed into the roof directly above. "Start praying," Isuzu ordered and pushed her inside the walk-in with the others. The sound of shattering gla.s.s had everyone crying out and squeezing inside.

The power was off and the darkness was complete once the big door was shut and tied and blockaded. The children shrieked and wailed. Some adults made nervous noises. The absolute lack of vision made all other senses pop with clarity. Bodies, hands, hair, the dank aroma of fish and ginger, the chilled air, feral winds, and crashing debris had them all in the throes of terror.

"Please, people," Desh's disembodied voice filled the void until he found his flashlight and illuminated his chin. "Carefully, find a place to sit down. If you can, lie down flat and as close together as possible. Gentlemen, shield the women and children," he instructed. Everyone fumbled to comply. "Lock your arms around each other. Hands gripped tightly at the elbows or wrists."

Abigail heard Chaz taking Jen under his wing. "I've gotcha, Jenny girl. You just don't tell Kaylee about the way I'm hugging you, now, you hear?"

Jen's game reply was m.u.f.fled by his shoulder.

The beam from Desh's flashlight found Jen, and Abigail could see that Chaz was wrapped around her like a tortilla. "Danny's not gonna kill me, now, is he?" Chaz joked, trying to lighten the mood. "n.o.body take pictures, okay?"

Handing Justin the flashlight, Desh climbed in on Jen's other side and tried to shield as much of her body as he could. "I will not tell a soul," he promised Chaz, "because I know this woman's husband. He is a fine man who would do the same to shield my own pregnant wife."

Using the flashlight's beam, Justin located the young mother who'd arrived with her three children. His voice was compa.s.sionate, but firm. "You can't hold them all."

Sobbing, she nodded as Justin lifted one of the howling preschoolers and pa.s.sed him to Haruo and Mieko. He took the other in his arms. "I promise to do everything I can to keep her safe."

Again, she nodded and burrowed, with her baby, into the arms of the homeless man.

"I had a little boy like you, once upon a time," the vagrant crooned to her baby. To the mother he vowed, "Ma'am, don't you worry one bit now. That storm is gonna hafta come through me to get your little guy." She wept into his filthy shirt.

Justin handed the wailing girl to Abigail. She was probably only about three, all rounded belly and sticky cheeks topped by a mop of bright red curls.

"Shhh, honey," Abigail soothed, though her voice was tight and strained with fear. "Your mama is right over there, okay, sweetheart? We're just going to keep you safe. Hush now. It's okay . . ." The kid kicked and flailed, but Abigail held her tight.

Justin settled down next to them and to Abigail, he said, "Lay down, on your side, facing me." When she'd done that, he mirrored her and, pushing the child between them, wrapped them both tightly in his arms. "Don't let go," he cautioned as she looped her arms around his neck and drew his face against hers. His arms were locked at her waist and he settled a leg over her hip. "Tell me if I am hurting you by holding you too tight."

"You can't hold me tight enough," she whispered, her voice clogged with emotion. She tried not to cry, but it was hard and she could feel a tear roll into her ear.

"Shhh," he murmured and then began to pray. Her eyes slid closed as she listened to his low voice begin to comfort her. "Jesus, Lord, have mercy on us now, please. And wherever Danny and the rest of our families are, be with them. Lord, of heaven and earth, Your will be done. Give us peace, Father G.o.d."

Abigail was nodding and murmuring in agreement, and the child in their arms grew quiet and still as she listened to the soothing cadence of his voice. All around them, people murmured rea.s.surances to each other that they were all present and accounted for and that everything would be okay. Stay calm. Don't panic. Hold on tight. I love you.

I love you, too.

Outside, the polar express that everyone always claimed delivered a twister came barreling at them with an incredible roar rarely heard on this earth. And then, in the restaurant's dining room, Abigail could hear gla.s.s shattering as the violent winds blew the windows out. All at once, she felt her ears pop, the way they did when she crested a mountain pa.s.s in her car, only far, far more painfully. The babe in her arms shrieked.

Justin's grip tightened at her waist and he used his leg to pull her and the child ever closer. If possible, the noise increased as out in the dining room, all h.e.l.l broke loose. In the freezer, everyone was yelling and screaming now.

"G.o.d in heaven, save us!" someone, probably Isuzu, shouted. "G.o.d! Please, G.o.d! Can You hear me? Jesus, please be with us. Father, G.o.d! Have mercy on us!"

The babies were screaming and wailing. Beyond the walk-in's walls, debris crashed and thudded, and the air grew thin and hard to catch.

"It's okay! Don't panic! Stay where you are!" Desh cried. "It will leave us in a minute! It is almost over!"

"Hold on tight!" Justin curled Abigail into a ball over the shrieking child and covered her head with his shoulder. The gla.s.s that shattered now was just beyond the fridge's heavy door in the kitchen, and consisted of dishes and gla.s.sware most likely. The clanking of flying pots and pans, the crashing of spinning furniture, and screams, the kind usually heard on a roller coaster, rang out all around. Again, Abigail felt sudden, sharp pain in her eardrums-as though she was descending way too fast in a plane.

"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Please be with us! Stay with us! Father G.o.d, have mercy! Don't let even one of us die! Save us, save us, save us!" The shouts from Isuzu and Jen to G.o.d swirled all around and Abigail began to echo them.

"Jesus, Jesus, please listen! Please . . . please . . . hear us . . . please forgive me . . ."

The wind was roaring in the room with them now, and the walls were huffing, like breathing bellows. Out in the parking lot, it sounded as if the Boeing factory had fired up several hundred test models and was gunning jet engines to see if they could break the sound barrier. And then, just when the sound was at its apex, the roof took off.

The walls taxied across the parking lot in hot pursuit.

The spinning wind ripped the refrigerator door out of Bob Ray's hands and flung it up and over the top of the bar as if it were the useless wrapping paper on a birthday gift. His legs were sucked out of the confined s.p.a.ce first, and then he felt himself being pulled onto his back and then up and out.

This is it. I'm dead. The thought was surprisingly clear as he clawed at the sides of the refrigerator and slowly lost his grip. "G.o.d, oh, G.o.d! Help me!" he shouted. He was levitating. Flying with all the other debris, clawing, gasping, grabbing for all he was worth at anything that wasn't airborne. Dirt and mud sprayed his face and filled his eyes and mouth. He was choking. Something hard, could have been a pool ball, or five, hit him in the side and back, knocking the little wind that was left, clean out of him. Arms flailing he found the padded armrest of the bar and grabbed it and held on.

Once, a long time ago, when he was eleven, or maybe twelve, Bob Ray's uncle had flown him out to California for the summer to give his mother a break. One of the things Bob Ray had loved most about his trip was body surfing at the beach. He spent every day that he could, riding the waves, until . . . one day.

One day, Bob Ray was caught by the undertow. That current picked him up like he was a ragdoll and smacked him face first into the beach. He'd seen stars. Couldn't breathe. His nose bled, and he'd learned a healthy respect for the forces of nature more powerful than his body. Luckily, that day, the ocean had grown tired of slamming Bob Ray around like a dog with a chew toy and spit him out on the beach to contemplate the idea that there were some times in this life when he was simply out of control.

This was one of those times.

Time suspended for Abigail, as she lay coiled in a ball and wrapped in Justin's arms. Her heart was thrashing so hard her temples throbbed. She tried to think rationally, but she'd never been so terrified or so sure that her life was over. And even if she wasn't killed, life as she knew it-the life she'd so carefully constructed-was certainly over forever. Lacing her fingers together with Justin's, she pressed their hands over her mouth to shelter it from the sucking current enough to catch a breath. She was desperate to cry, but the wind was a cruel thief, stealing her tears, her sobs, and robbing her of self-pity and even the ability to breathe.

Shoulder forward, she hunched over the child's head, hoping to provide a pocket of air, and a little refuge from the battering they were taking. At one point she'd managed to pry her eyes open long enough to see a blizzard of mud and missiles, no doubt made of everything from kitchen utensils to car parts, which meant there was a hole in the walk-in. Which also meant that the funnel could reach in and grab them and turn them into so much shrapnel. Justin was still there. Clutching her. Protecting her. Taking the brunt of the a.s.sault. Abigail had heard it said somewhere that in times of unbelievable stress, a person's true personality came to the forefront. If that was true, Justin was a wonderful man. When all this was over, if she ever had the chance, she was going to tell him. Thank him. Guys like Justin were rare. Especially in her life.

When Abigail considered her own father in that microcosm of time, her biggest regret was that she had not accepted his apology. Humbly, he'd come to her, hat in hand, to mend fences. And when he'd told her of his sorrow over choices made and told her how dearly he loved her and carried the weight of terrible guilt over not being there for her as she grew up, she'd rebuffed him and closed her door in his face. The moment of satisfaction she'd enjoyed, watching him shuffle, shoulders stooped, out to his car where he sat for several agonizing minutes before driving back out of her life, had been fleeting.

That had been five years ago. Yet, even now, Abigail would still wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, wrestling with the issues of her relationship with her father. How she still tended to be ultra-defensive with men. How she was inclined to view her Father in heaven through the imperfect lens of her father on earth. How she rejected G.o.d because of her father's human frailty. How she distrusted men in general. How she distrusted G.o.d, specifically.

If she made it out of here alive, she had some serious stuff to figure out.

Justin figured it had to be that wartime syndrome that caused men and women who barely knew each other to get married right before they shipped out to active duty happening to him right now. Because at this moment, nothing on this earth, not even his own life, was as important to him as keeping the woman he held in his arms alive and safe. He couldn't explain it, but as they lay, praying together, he knew there was more to this woman than he'd first thought. Enough, in fact, that if they lived through this storm, he might finally be able to consider the Midwest as more than just a temporary stopgap on his way back to the East Coast and to home. Not that dinner and Wheel of Fortune with his grandparents wasn't a hoot, and he was glad he could help them out when they needed their gutters cleaned or their furniture rearranged.

But he'd longed for the simple, familiar things he'd left behind. Fireflies at twilight. Sand between his toes when he played football with his buddies at the beach. A seagull's cry and the smell of the ocean. Rolling, tree-covered hills, a white church steeple in sharp contrast to autumn's brilliant leaves, friends and family. All this, he'd taken for granted. Here in Rawston, Danny was the only thing that had kept him from losing his marbles. But even Danny's stellar friendship could never make up for the companionship of a good woman. As he cradled Abigail's head beneath his shoulder, he prayed that G.o.d would spare them both so he could ask her out on a date and hopefully discover who she really was.

10.

7:13 p.m.

After what felt to Abigail like infinity and beyond, the storm finally retreated in search of a new battlefield to conquer. The quiet was almost as loud as the wind it seemed, for the ringing in her ears was deafening. Everyone must have been suffering because it was at least a minute before they all trusted that the twister was really gone and attempted to sit up. Carefully, they disengaged from each other's grip, shook off the rubble, and began to a.s.sess the damage.

"Are you okay?" Justin asked as he slowly released her from the tight hold he'd had on her and the child.

Abigail pulled back a fraction, reluctant to move. "Yes. You?"

She could feel him nod. "So far so good. A few b.u.mps and bruises but nothing that a little time won't cure."

The child between them squirmed. Her cries of protest were m.u.f.fled by their bodies. Slowly and gently, Justin rolled off them and helped the sobbing child to sit up. "Shh, sh, sh. It's okay now. Mama is right over there," he comforted the child as she squalled in fear and indignation. "She's fine," Justin called out, thinking of the mother's worry.

"I'm here, Elizabeth! I'm here, Eric!" The young mother was weeping with joy over the healthy cries of her children.

"Is everyone all right?" Haruo asked and dragged himself to a quasi-standing position in the battered and squashed refrigerator. It was still too dark to see much, but it was obvious the damage was severe. It suddenly dawned on Abigail that she was shivering. Could have been trauma. Could have been the fact that they were, after all, hiding in a refrigerator. The chilled air was mostly gone but the floor still felt icy and now, slick with something that smelled fishy.

"How are you, Jen?" Abigail was worried about her friend and the unborn baby.

"Thanks to Chaz and Desh, so far, so good," Jen called. "Although I think I might be off sushi for a while."

In spite of everything, Abigail managed a smile as she asked, "Zuzu?"

"I got wings," Isuzu grunted.

Abigail sat close enough to feel Justin's chuckle. "It's a Wonderful Life?" he asked.

"Yes," Abigail said, referring to Zuzu's line from the movie.

"Who are you people?" Chaz asked. But there was a smile in his voice, too. Some laughter twittered in the darkness and suddenly, there was a lot of excited discussion as everybody took stock of the situation. Thanks to Haruo's quick thinking, they were all alive. Miraculously, but for some minor injuries, the entire group had come through the nightmare relatively unscathed.

"n.o.body move just yet, okay?" Desh instructed. "It will be better not to stand until there is sufficient light. Much of this debris is probably very dangerous."

Desh and Haruo were the first to find their feet. She couldn't be sure in the faint light, but it almost seemed as if the refrigerator was half as tall as it had been when they entered. It took a few minutes of shifting objects around in the dark, and the sounds of metal sc.r.a.ping against metal, but eventually, Haruo was able to force the walk-in refrigerator's door open. A shaft of light had Abigail squinting and she ducked her head to give her eyes a moment to adjust. After Justin had the wailing toddler standing and balanced, he helped Abigail stand up next to him. When she could focus, her gaze traveled first to Justin and then to the child at his knee. Like Justin's head, the toddler's beautiful red curls were mud spattered and matted.

Abigail shifted her gaze out the door. Where there had once been ceiling, sky now filled the vista. The reality of what they'd just endured was slow to sink in.

Hard to believe. Almost . . . dreamlike.

Dully, Abigail's gaze drifted back to Justin. "Do I look as alien as you?" she asked, touching first the layer of mud on her face and then, the toddler's curls.

Squinting, he studied her. With the back of his finger, he reached up and stroked her jaw and up over her cheek. Then, he plucked some straw out of her hair. "Wow." He glanced around. "Wow."

She followed the path of his gaze with her own. "Yeah, wow," she breathed. It was as if a colossal sledgehammer had attacked the restaurant and flattened everything but the reinforced refrigerator.

Haruo was the first one to venture out the door. It seemed as if he had to climb through a maze that was something akin to a child's fast-food restaurant jungle-gym, before he finally called back that he was standing on solid ground. After a full minute, he returned and peered back into the refrigerator. "You will want to be extremely careful when you come out. It is not-" there was a catch in his voice, "-it is not . . . the same."

Desh decided it would be prudent for him to go next. That way, Chaz and Justin could help the women and children from behind, and he and Haruo could a.s.sist from outside. Jen made it out first. Then, one at a time, everyone else traversed the twisted exit, only to emerge gasping at the sight that met their eyes. Abigail waited for Justin and they came out together. Their entire group stood in silhouette against the setting sun, a bedraggled collection of shock and awe, taking in their first glimpses of the holocaust.

Abigail fumbled for Justin's arm, which he slipped around her waist, correctly sensing that she could use the support.

"Gone," she gasped, and stared agog at the ruin that evoked images of Hiroshima.

"Yeah." Slowly, they turned in a full circle and were stunned to discover that they'd stepped out of a time machine and onto another planet. For there, as far as the eye could see, was nothing but a flat, sprawling field strewn with rubble.

"Look," she whimpered and pointed and then pressed her face into Justin's chest.

The Quick In Go was gone.

Not flattened. Not in tatters.

Gone.

Only the concrete pad remained. If Haruo hadn't come for them, they'd all have certainly perished. Abigail could feel Justin's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Thank G.o.d," he breathed into her hair and held her ever tighter.

The rest of the Rawston Market strip mall's shops were in various stages of carnage. The refrigerator was all that was left of the Sakura Gardens. Tantastic had a partial interior wall left standing. Across the parking lot, the front wall and roof of the Tripoli Cleaners was missing, but Chaz said his brother had decided not to come in to work, because of the storm, so for that, he was praising G.o.d. The Pump was a pile of rubble.

Not one car that had been in the parking lot was drivable. Most were upside down or on their sides. Some were just plain gone. Storm sirens were still sounding and security systems and car horns blared, waiting for their wires to be cut or their batteries to die, whichever came first. The smells of splintered lumber and broken gas lines were the most powerful. Twisted metal, shattered gla.s.s, mud and slime everywhere. Whole buildings looked as if they'd been put through a wood chipper.

It completely short-circuited Abigail's brain. Her ability to think a rational thought was gone, rendering her capable of uttering only squeaks and gasps and guttural sobs as she clutched Justin's shirt and attempted to remain vertical. Her knees felt like rotting tomatoes, and even blinking had become a ch.o.r.e. Eyes gla.s.sy with shock, she stared at pieces of what had once amounted to someone's life. The hours and energy it took to build-shattered in a matter of moments.

She felt . . . violated. As if she'd been robbed of the padding between life and death. Now, there was simply a razor's edge, it seemed, between her . . . and this.

What was the point? Build and work and study and for what? For this?

The tornado may have gone, and the sky may have cleared, but it left its darkness behind and took her confidence with it.

Dazed, Abigail bent down and pulled a sc.r.a.p of tattered white lace from where it was caught on a shard of metal and absently wondered if it had come from the cleaners. Could it be a piece of Kaylee's dress? The beadwork was beautiful. An hour ago, it had been something that someone cherished. And now? Now it was a picture of their lives.

Shredded hopes. Shattered dreams. Something once bright and shiny and full of promise. She swallowed at the lump in her throat that was leavened and rising with depression. Over here was the sc.r.a.p of a red and gold silk curtain from the Sakura Garden. She plucked it up and ran her fingers over the dragon pattern. Over there was a baby's blanket. Where could that have come from?

Everywhere, tatters of the fabric of life fluttered. Drawn to them, Abigail gathered and grieved. To whom had they belonged? What had become of their lives? How would they begin to recover? To replace? To rebuild? It all seemed so utterly hopeless.

She tucked the sc.r.a.ps into her pockets and tried to calm the panic that swirled in her stomach with deep, measured breaths. Justin moved to her side and instinctively rubbed the knotted muscles in her neck. She leaned into his hands, thankful for the strength and warmth. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and the wind had died. And to add to the surreality, a bright, double rainbow arced against the huge black cloud that had packed up and headed east.

Kaylee was relieved to discover the Rawston Common's apartment complex bas.e.m.e.nt stood the test of time, and everyone who had taken shelter there would live to deal with the ma.s.sive clean-up. Mama and Aunt Lydia had been amazing, singing gospel tunes in their beautiful two-part harmonies to boost the morale of Kaylee's neighbors just before the storm hit. And, when the storm arrived, they'd clung to Kaylee and prayed over her and all the good folks who were weathering this tempest down there with them.

Kaylee had never been so glad to be in her mama's arms as she had when she'd heard the twister slam into the building. As it was, she was in great shape, unless she counted getting smacked in the side by a slab of slate on her way across the parking lot. Her arm hurt like the d.i.c.kens, and Mama was certain it was broken, possibly in several places.

Everyone had insisted that the laundry room was the best place to weather the storm. But, miraculously, the fact that her landlord hadn't gotten around to fixing a leaky washing machine had probably saved their lives. The floor in the laundry room had been wet for several weeks and begun to smell seriously rank, like a pile of damp towels that had been left in a wad for a week. It was because of the smell and inconvenient dampness more than anything that all fifty-three units' worth of tenants who'd been home at the time had chosen the opposite end of the bas.e.m.e.nt to gather and huddle. Chaz had been right. The windowless furnace room had been the only safe spot. And, though they'd been clobbered with the ceiling tiles and insulation, the floor above had not caved in.

Not the way it had in the laundry room.

When the wind had finally let go of Bob Ray, it dropped him like a bowling ball, and he'd scrambled back under the bar to avoid being pummeled by debris. There, he'd crouched while the storm completed its demolition and moved on down the road. After a brief inventory he decided that-aside from a pretty intense headache and some serious sc.r.a.pes and cuts-he was good. Physically, anyway. Over the ringing in his ears, he could hear water rushing. And then, someone crying out for help. Somehow, a pool table had ended up on its side and boxed him in. It had probably protected him from the mirrored walls that had been the Low Places's trademark.