Page 87 of Desperate Creed

Creed’s stomach took a nosedive. Did that mean everyone was okay, or that no one made it out? He tried to see over the hoods of vehicles in front of them.

“A couple of our friends were trapped in the basement of the restaurant,” he told Sykes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“How bad is it?”

The trooper straightened to his full height and glanced in the direction of where the restaurant used to be.

“Pretty bad.”

“Mind if we go take a look?” Creed didn’t like pressuring law enforcement to do him any favors. But he was already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door before Sykes could respond.

“Jason you mind staying with the dogs?” he asked as he closed the door

Sykes didn’t argue. Instead, he looked back in at Jason and said, “If they ask you to move there’s an empty lot right behind you to the east.”

Creed remembered the phone and handed it back to Jason through the window.

“You sure you don’t want to keep it?”

“No, that’s okay.” He stopped himself from saying the obvious. That Maggie and Frankie weren’t texting or calling because they couldn’t. One way or another, he wasn’t going to leave until he found them.

“Come on,” Sykes told him. “I’ll take you in.”

65

The storm finally stopped, though Maggie’s ears were still ringing. It was dark and quiet, so very quiet...until the moans began.

She could hear the others shoving out from under the rubble. Objects skidded and banged. Someone was whimpering. Slices of white light flashed as cell phones were turned back on.

“Maggie?”

It was Frankie’s voice, but she couldn’t see her. Then she realized why. Only now did she feel the suffocating weight of debris on top of her. She arched her back. Pieces slid off. Something heavy still pinned her down.

Don’t panic, she told herself.

Her knees were on the concrete. Water sloshed against her thighs. With the weight holding her down, she couldn’t adjust herself to get her feet under her. She started to reach up. A sharp pain in her left arm stopped her. She tried again, and this time the pain shot down all the way to her fingers.

“She’s over here.”

Frankie was directing someone. And just then, Maggie felt the weight being peeled off of her, layer by layer. She pushed up, using her back and her right arm, helping shove off chunks. She heard and felt the objects. She still couldn’t see. Little by little, her vision adjusted. The last layer was removed, and she finally stood straight. She was gasping for breath when she turned to find Hank and Ronald tossing aside a section of the floorboard. Both of them were covered in dust. Blood ran down Hank’s bald head.

“You good?” he asked as he blinded her with his flashlight beam, running it over her to see for himself.

She started to answer and realized her mouth and throat felt like cotton balls were stuffed inside. She nodded, instead. Without a word, the two men moved on to the next pile of rubble where someone else was trying to crawl out.

It was almost impossible to move without slamming into something. Maggie looked up and every muscle in her body tensed when all she saw was murky black. And yet, she swore she could feel a breeze. The air felt different. How could the ceiling collapse down on top of them and not leave a gaping hole? Was it possible the storm sealed it back up with the wreckage from up above?

“Maggie, are you okay?”

In the dim light, she tried to follow Frankie’s voice.

She coughed and managed to croak, “I’m okay. How are you doing?’

“Over here.”

Maggie saw her waving her hand on the other side of the wooden shelf. She reached for her cell phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Her T-shirt was drenched. She’d lost her buttoned shirt, exposing her shoulder harness. A quick check made sure her revolver hadn’t also been stripped away by the wind. Just lifting her left arm to adjust the holster sent a new wave of pain.