Page 89 of Desperate Creed

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The black sedan was exactly where Rex said it would be. But where the hell was Rex?

Braxton kept to the shadows and weaved around the line of response vehicles. All of them were empty now. Sirens filled the air. Pieces of crap drifted on the breeze. His eyes felt like he had glass in them. The entire scene looked like a bomb had gone off. It reminded him of his past life. Something from El Salvador, Lebanon, Kosovo. And for a second time in as many days, he told himself that he was getting too old for this.

He opened the driver’s door, reached in and popped the trunk. The blue duffle bag had been stuffed in a corner, and Braxton leaned all the way under the trunk lid to grab it. But he didn’t pull it out right away. Instead, his eyes darted around. No one paid attention to him. He unzipped the bag and found what he wanted.

He needed a new strategy. One thing he’d learned all those years ago was how to change quickly, adjust and recalculate at a moment’s notice. He had learned how to survive under the most impossible of circumstances.

Survival of the fittest.

The man Braxton worked for was a politician, and he had a sterile vision of what that phrase meant. The man was used to ordering others around. He hired people like Braxton to clean up his messes, so that he never got his hands dirty. He was so far removed from the carnage that the blood wasn’t even real to him anymore. In his little world, he asked for something to be taken care of, and it was done. No questions. No consequences.

But after all these years, it never occurred to Braxton that his own loyalty and dedication would be paid back with betrayal. He didn’t expect a gold watch, but he certainly didn’t expect to be considered collateral damage.

That might be how you treat dinosaurs, but it wasn’t how August Braxton was going to be treated.

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Willis’ drive down from Birmingham had been mostly a blur of urgency mixed with scattered downpours. He joined the WACL news crew outside their television van. This close, the wreckage looked so much worse than it did on the station’s monitors. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

They’d already heard that his wife was one of those trapped under the restaurant debris. Instead of exchanging looks of pity, they filled him in on what they knew so far. He appreciated that so much, he was moved speechless. His emotions were already running high. Just before he left the station, Paul told him he’d located Simon, the college storm chaser. Simon from Kansas. Someone had found his battered vehicle. He’d been taken to an area hospital, but his condition was critical.

The air was now so chilly Willis wished he had grabbed his jacket. He rolled down his shirtsleeves and accepted the take-out container of coffee, though his stomach churned with acid from a day filled with too much coffee.

“We’re hearing there may be bodies,” the news reporter named Chelsea told him.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Lawrence shot her a look over his shoulder as he raised the camera higher on its stand.

Willis had been told they were still filming, though the audio had been turned off. The station was carrying the live feed of the rescue while Mia continued with damage reports as they continued to come in.

At last count, seventeen tornadoes had been confirmed in Alabama alone, but Willis knew by the end of the night they would have reports of others. The fact that this area had been hit twice in the same day was not unusual, but it was always heartbreaking when it happened. They already knew of victims who had survived the first hit, only to die in the second. So he expected to hear it might be true at the restaurant site as well.

His eyes were glued to where the firefighters had brought two people up on a ladder they’d extended down into the hole. He couldn’t stop thinking about his last conversation with Beth. He’d never heard her so frightened. What was worse was the humbling remorse in her voice. It was almost as if she thought she deserved this.

“Mr. Dean.” A firefighter came around the van. He put up his hand to block Lawrence’s camera and asked Willis to step aside with him.

Willis ran nervous fingers through his thinning hair. This was it. They must have found Beth. But how did they know she was his wife?

“Come with me, please,” he told Willis.

Then he led him through a crowd of by-standers. He lifted the yellow perimeter tape and gestured for Willis to duck under.

“Your wife saw that you were with the news crew.”

“Is she okay?”

“No broken bones. She has lots of bruises. A few cuts and scrapes. We’re recommending she go to the ER. Make sure there’s no internal bleeding. She insisted she wouldn’t go without you.”

“Really? Okay.”

Willis didn’t know what else to say. He was suddenly shaking, and not sure it was just the chilly air. In all his years as a kid fascinated by the weather then a storm chaser and a meteorologist, he’d never lost someone close to him. It occurred to him that he still loved his wife...very much. He wasn’t ready to lose her. To a storm or to a divorce.

“You okay, Mr. Dean?”

“I’ll be fine,” Willis said. He pushed back his shoulders and followed the firefighter to the waiting ambulance.

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