Nameless Night (31 page)

44

Carman’s room was directly beneath the largest section of the fallen tree. By the time the tree got to her room, it had expended most of its energy on the back side of the house. Took him half a dozen tries to kick in the lower door panel. He stuck his head inside the room and called her name. It was quiet enough to hear Helen talking to someone downstairs, telling them they were all right and waiting for a bus to arrive.

“Carman,” he yelled again. Nothing. He called again and thought he might have heard the smallest of voices, so he crawled inside the room, tearing out pieces of the fallen ceiling, clearing a path.

“Here” came to his ears as something less than a whisper. It occurred to him that Carman wasn’t going to yell and scream, no matter what. She’d made a life being humble and keeping her mouth shut and wasn’t about to be climbing up onto the radar screen now, not even to save her own life.

The room looked strange. Took him a minute propped up on his elbows to figure it out. At the south end, everything had been crushed to dust. If she’d been at that end of the room when the tree struck, they’d have been picking her up with a squeegee. At the north, it looked like it always looked, neat and clean. The noise was coming from the bathroom. He once again had to break off and remove parts of the fallen ceiling in order to crawl in that direction. The impact had flung the bathroom door wide open. Carman was bending over, peering out the bottom half of the opening. He could see her upside-down face as he crawled across the floor. She was smiling. Carman was always smiling. He used to wonder if she was having a good time or whether her face was just stuck in that position.

“New Face Paul,” he said when he got close. She smiled so hard her eyes closed.

“New Face Paul.” She repeated it three times before the wind returned in earnest, forcing them to hunker down in silence, waiting to see what might happen next.

When things calmed down a bit outside, he said, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Have you got a jacket or anything warm in this half of the room?”

“Downstairs closet,” she said.

“Okay then, we’re going to have to be brave.”

“New Face Paul.”

“Give me your hand,” he said. She complied. “Now careful coming through the hole. Some of the edges are sharp and splintery.”

Carman extruded herself through the opening an inch at a time. Outside in the hallway something heavy hit the floor. “Okay,” he said. “Good job. Now all we’ve got to do is crawl down the hall to the top of the stairs and then we’re home free.”

“Home free,” she said emphatically. Randy took her hand and pulled her along behind until they cleared the doorway. The hallway looked like a deranged slalom course. The tree had crossed the house at a forty-five-degree angle. At their end, several of the larger branches had gone all the way through the floor, but still kept the trunk propped up. Down by the landing, the smaller branches had shattered on impact, allowing the trunk to fall nearly to floor level.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re going to get down on our hands and knees and crawl out of here. You ready?”

“New Face Paul,” she said.

“Follow me.”

In order to avoid the forest of limbs barring the way, negotiating the passageway required a zigzag path, crossing under the tree trunk several times, passes that became increasingly narrow as one approached the second-floor landing.

They moved slowly, taking one section at a time until they’d negotiated about three quarters of the way. The next-to-last place where they had to squeeze under the trunk was a tight fit. He had to grind himself down into the sodden carpet as hard as he could to inch his way beneath the tree. He was directly beneath the hole in the roof. Above, he could see the sky, gray and angry, throwing a torrent of rain down into his face as he wiggled his way forward, the rough bark scouring his chest as he moved forward and came out the other end.

He motioned Carman forward. The wind was pushing her hair around. The fury of the storm frightened her. She didn’t want to move. “Come on,” he said. She caught the impatience in his voice and glued herself to the spot. He took a deep breath and modulated his tone. “Come on, Carman. We’re almost there.”

Once again she inched forward, crawling beneath the trunk on her belly. She stopped halfway through, right where it got tight.

“Can’t,” she said. He didn’t argue. Instead he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her through the opening. He didn’t know why he was surprised, but she came through smiling.

“Just like that,” he said.

“Just like that.” Big smile.

The last section of carpet was a breeze. He put her in front of him and pushed her under the tree one last time. She came out standing on the far end. “Just like that,” she said. He grinned at her.

“Just like that,” he repeated.

Randy rolled over onto his back and began to inch his way under the tree. He managed to force his head and shoulders through, then exhaled and held his breath as he wiggled his chest under the tree trunk. At that moment the trunk shifted downward, pressing against his chest with ungodly force, driving the air from his lungs with a strangled groan.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but wait. His vision began to cloud. The ache in his chest began to get cold and dull and the idea of closing his eyes and going to sleep became progressively more appealing.

“Come on,” he heard Carman say.

He tried to tell her he was stuck, but nothing came out. The blood rushing to his head seemed about to explode his skull. And then she was next to him, looking into his eyes as his vision became dark and narrow. “New Face Paul,” he heard her say, and then he felt her grab his hands and begin to pull. He wanted to help but couldn’t muster the resolve.

Her efforts to free him threatened to pull his arms from the sockets, and then . . . he moved an inch . . . and then another as his sternum passed beneath the tree and his body got smaller. He gulped a mouthful of air and then another, before he was able to reach up and put his hands on the rough bark of the tree and lever himself forward until he was out from beneath the tree altogether and Carman was looking straight down onto his face.

“New Face Paul,” she said. “Got to be brave.”

Randy pushed himself up onto his knees and then used the nearest limb to help himself stand. He stepped gingerly over several branches, and next thing he knew, they were on the landing. Carman threw an arm around his waist and helped his shaking legs as they descended the stairs. Helen met them halfway. “The bus is here,” she said.

“Go,” he said.

“Eunice?”

“I’ll find her next.”

“Are you—” “Go,” he said. “Lock the door behind you.”

“They’re taking us to the shelter at St. Dominic’s,” Helen said.

“We’ll find you,” he assured her.

Carman turned his way. “You find Eunice,” she said. He said he would.

“The driver wants to go,” Dolores said. “Come on.”

Helen and Carman hurried down the stairs. He heard Helen’s voice giving instructions and then sat on the stair and looked out through the banister rails, watching as she pulled open the door and a thousand camera flashes exploded as she pushed her reluctant brood out the front door. The storm had quieted for the moment. He stood up. His knees nearly buckled. Wasn’t until then that he realized Kirsten was sitting beside him. “You better hurry,” he wheezed.

“I can’t go out there,” she said. “Not with all those cameras.”

“It’s not safe here.”

“I don’t care,” she said with a gaze that made it clear there was no sense in arguing.

“Your job must be pretty important to you,” he said. She looked at him like he was crazy. “I am my job,” she said.

“No,” he said solemnly. “No, you’re not.”

45

She’s not in her room,” he announced.

“You’re sure?” Kirsten asked.

“Once I hacked my way through the door, I could walk around standing up. Believe me, Eunice isn’t in there.”

He handed Kirsten the fire ax he’d commandeered from the case on the wall and then eased himself down from his perch on the tree trunk. She leaned the ax against the wainscoting and helped him steady himself.

“What now?” she wanted to know.

They walked around two corners into the parlor, the only room in the house unaffected by the hole in the roof. They sat down on the couch together. The wind had calmed a bit but the rain was still hammering the windows.

“I guess I’ll start down in the basement and then work my way up to this floor, see if I can’t find her.”

Kirsten got up on her knees and peeked out through the curtains. “Street’s still jammed,” she announced. “Looks like the power company has showed up.”

Randy sat for a second and then got up on his knees next to her. Three or four police cruisers were doing their best to keep the street clear. The weather had driven most of the reporters to drier ground. Directly out front, a power-company truck’s pulsing amber light bounced off the houses at regular intervals. A big thick guy in AG&E coveralls was coming up the front walk toward the door. He mounted the stairs and knocked on the front door. Randy climbed from the couch and ambled over to the door. He cracked it an inch and peered out with one eye. The laminated power-company ID card carried the guy’s likeness and his name.

“We’re not going to be able to get you back online,” he said. “At least not till this weather clears up and we can do a damage assessment.”

“Okay,” Randy said. “They took the residents down to St. Dominic’s. We’re just holding down the fort.”

“And you’d be?”

“James,” he said quickly. “Randall James.”

The guy smiled and nodded. “Probably a good idea,” he said.

“Keep folks from robbing you guys blind.”

He turned to walk away, but Randy stopped him. “Hey,” he called. The guy stopped and turned around.

“You suppose you could get the cops to clear the street?” Randy asked. “Tell them a transformer is about to blow or something?”

He thought it over. “You know . . . that’s a heck of an idea,” he said. “Lemme see what I can do.” He gave Randy a one-fingered salute from his hard hat and walked back down the walkway. Randy relocked the door and rejoined Kirsten on the sofa. “He’s going to see if he can’t get the cops to clear the street.”

“What about Eunice?”

“I’m going to make one last sweep of the place,” he said. “With Eunice, there’s no telling where she might be. She doesn’t do any-thing she’s told to do. She might be anywhere. She might have gone out, for all we know.” He pointed toward the street. “If he manages to get the street clear, we can maybe get out of here after that.”

“What if we don’t find her?”

“Then we call Helen and see what she wants to do next. In the meantime, we hang around and see if maybe she doesn’t show up.”

“And then we get out of here while the getting’s good.”

“Right on.”

He picked up the flashlight and started back toward the kitchen, Kirsten hard by his elbow. The rain had begun to work its way through the ceiling. The carpet squished and sloshed beneath their feet. They searched methodically, every room, every closet, every cupboard, calling Eunice’s name all the while. Nothing. After that, they headed for the basement and did the same thing. Still nothing. Twenty minutes later, they were back on the sofa. The flashlight’s batteries were beginning to fade. Outside, the street was clear. Randy poked his head out for long enough to ascertain that the cops had blocked it off at both ends.

The power-company van was out front. He looked around for the guy, wanting to thank him, but he was nowhere to be found. Randy closed the door and wandered back into the parlor. Kirsten had pushed the curtains back and was staring distractedly out into the street. She turned her eyes his way as he entered the room.

“You were right,” she said.

His face said he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about.

“About my job,” she said.

“A person is a lot more than a job.”

“It’s easy to get caught up in it,” she said. “Easy to use what you do as a . . .”—she searched for a word—“as a balm for other parts of your life that don’t work as well.”

“Nothing wrong with feeling good about yourself.”

She nodded. “But your job shouldn’t be a be-all and end-all.”

“No. It shouldn’t.”

She considered the matter some. “I’m thinking about resigning.”

“Why would you want to do a thing like that?”

“How can I work for someone I can’t trust?”

“Who can you really trust? Be honest.”

“. . . what do you . . .”

“I mean really trust. No matter what. How many?”

They never got to the answer. A loud boom echoed throughout the house.

They held their breaths and waited. “Must have been another part of the ceiling falling in,” he tried.

“You think so?”

“No.”

Without all the media lights out front, the place was pitch black. They moved slowly back into the main body of the house, following the dim yellow cone of light into the foyer. Ahead in the gloom, something on the floor stirred. He pointed the flashlight that way. It went out. “Shit,” he said. He shook the flashlight. It flickered and then went out entirely.

Kirsten looped her arm through his as they crept across the floor. The flashlight flickered again. Long enough to make out a body on the floor. Randy kept shaking the flashlight trying to get a little light on the subject. No go.

They knelt on opposite sides of the body. It was splayed on the floor almost in the running position, as if the person had been treading air in the seconds before impact. Instinctively, they both looked up at the banister fifteen feet above their heads. Carefully Randy lifted the head and turned the face his way. Eunice. She groaned and coughed a mouthful of blood. “Better get an ambul . . .”

But it was too late. As Kirsten got to her feet, he heard a rustling of feet and sensed another form in the hall. And then a sound came . . . like the twanging of a spring.