Sizzle (St. Martin Family Saga): Emergency Responders (6 page)

As she sat riding out the storm with her neighbor, Eve thought there was a good chance they might die.

Fate was a funny thing. She’d escaped her abusive husband, who surely would have killed her and still would, were he to find her. But she’d only escaped him to die in a storm. At least she would die by natural causes and not at the hands of another human.

Minutes passed with no way to know how many. Thank heavens Ruth had fallen asleep. Eerie noises were taking their toll on Eve, and she was in no mood to continue to be motivating and reassuring. Hell, she wasn’t sure they’d even survive—she doubted she’d convince anyone else that they would. Rain and debris relentlessly pelted the house and windows, nearly driving her crazy. Thank heavens she had them set up in the den where there were no windows. She hadn’t done it intentionally, but now she was utterly relieved. Like a child afraid to face monsters in a dark bedroom, she didn’t want to see what was happening outside. She prayed for the safety of those caught out in the turbulent elements.

A huge crash from the living room woke Ruth, and had Eve clutching at her chest.

“Wait here,” Eve said. It wasn’t as if Ruth could go with her to check out the noise, but it made Eve feel better to talk to someone.

She gasped when she shined the flashlight into the living room. A huge branch had crashed through the bay window, pulling down the curtains and crushing the couch. She wondered what to do now. Water was pouring in faster than she imagined possible. The rain was actually coming in diagonally. The smell of wet, musty wood and carpet told her the room and everything in it was already drenched and there was no use moving anything to cover the window’s three panels. Plus she would never be able to move the huge limb out of the way.

She told a worried Ruth that it was nothing, just a small limb that had punctured a window. She needed to keep the woman calm. In the den, she sat in the recliner nearest the hall so she could keep an eye on what was going on in the living room. She thought reading might keep her and Ruth calm, but the truth of it was that she felt far from calm and she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on reading. They had one flashlight between the two of them—three sat on the table in her own kitchen, but no way would she try to retrieve them—so she lit a candle on the coffee table to save the batteries. They sat and listened to the storm for what seemed like hours. Her heart raced and she held her breath with every creak of a tree, every rumble, every rustle. So many sounds pelted her senses that she eventually sat dazed, focusing on the swirling vortex around her. When it quieted almost instantly, she shook herself, not understanding what had happened.

She took a deep breath. She could breathe again.

She walked toward the living room, and her bare feet met water. She looked to the window, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness. She went back for the candle, then turned and followed the water down the hallway. It got higher as she made her way deeper into the house. It was up to midcalf now. She opened the back door and heard rushing water, but she couldn’t see anything. Holding the candle out as far as she could, she peered into the darkness. Then she inhaled a gasp. What she saw froze her and had her shivering at the same time.

The bayou that was usually more than a hundred yards from the house was pushing at the back door.

Trembling, she closed the door. She knew there was no use looking out the front of the house. The street had been flooded before the storm even got started. She walked in and sat next to Ruth. Possible solutions pelted her thoughts. The storm was over, so at least that was something. She hadn’t lived in the area very long and didn’t know much about drainage. But she did know that whenever stats of the flooded bayous were related on the news, those stats always rose after the storm. Eve had thought that was strange since the storm had ended, but with that information in her head, she wondered what that might mean for her and Ruth.

She stood to get her cellphone. “I’m going to see if I can reach anyone.”

She dialed 911. The circuits were busy or down—whatever the situation, the call didn’t go through. Sheer desperation had her dialing Don Howard from the landline. The result was the same. She knew the neighborhood had evacuated, but she wondered if anyone had ignored the evacuation order and if she should leave Ruth and go in search of help. She thought about the large brusque fireman who’d come earlier. She wondered if he’d even give them another thought. Closing her eyes, she saw him standing before her, conflicted, eyes churning like the storm. She inhaled deep and slow and decided she would at least wait until daybreak before going in search of help so that Ruth wouldn’t be left alone in the dark.

***

6

A
s more of
the storm made landfall, conditions worsened. The mayor called off all rescues for the time being. The firefighters and paramedics were hunkered down in the firehouse to ride out the storm.

Clay couldn’t stop thinking of the old woman and the girl.

She’d flinched when he’d shifted his weight and crossed his arms—he knew she had. Had she been afraid of him? The notion bothered him. He wouldn’t hurt a woman—God, he was in the business of rescuing people.

It had been hard for him to ignore her beauty. Hers wasn’t the kind of pretty one got to see every day. She had long, yellow-blond glossy curls, pewter-gray eyes, and the kind of mouth that drove him crazy. Her lips were puffy clouds—light pink clouds—that had never seemed to meet but stayed parted to reveal the white teeth within her mouth. She had a little button nose and God, he hadn’t wanted to blatantly stare at her chest, but it was huge and her breasts naturally shaped—they’d be soft and pliable. When she’d cleared her throat at him, Clay thought he’d been caught red-handed, but he’d lucked out. Still, she should change her wardrobe choices if she didn’t want to attract stares. He didn’t think she’d been wearing a bra but was comfortable in a soft and very thin white tank top with another loose top over it. The knit shorts she wore were, in his opinion, too short. Of course, she’d been inside, not flaunting herself, but still…

And she’d been brazenly checking him out too. Given her gasp, she seemed to have liked what she saw. Clay was used to being scoped, but he’d been shocked that she would rather check him out than take care of her sick mother. Of course, the woman
wasn’t
her mother and now that Clay thought about it, she seemed no more than twenty-five while the woman was clearly in her eighties. He’d been wrong about the girl. She’d sacrificed her needs and safety to stay with her infirm neighbor. That wasn’t something just anybody would do. Hell, it wasn’t anything even a handful of people would do. She’d even remained brave and chose to stay behind when he’d related the dire stats. She’d demonstrated more courage than most of the men he worked with.

Reports coming in over the radio were not good—bayou and street flooding were delaying rescues. One report mentioned Simms Bayou and how it had already passed the record set for the last hurricane. Clay’s chest tightened; at those levels, some houses would be under water. He’d seen it so many times before, families driven higher and higher until they were forced to await recuse on the roofs of their homes. Many times the rescue never came. He grunted when he thought of the yellow-haired beauty with the expressive gray eyes and Mrs. Howard making their way to the roof.

He knew they’d only endured the first half of the storm, the better half. The worst was yet to come.

He gathered his gear. He’d take their biggest, highest truck. Maybe he could at least get the girl. Or he could get stuck trying and be reprimanded, or worse, for breaking protocol. Still, he had to try. Mrs. Howard was a large woman, and he suspected she couldn’t walk very well. Big as he was, he didn’t think he could carry her out and through the water and debris. He’d have to pray for inspiration.

When Jack spotted Clay dressing to go out, he jogged over to him. “Hey, you going after the girl?”

Clay pulled on his boots. “Yeah, I have to. I can’t just sit here. We’re in the eye right now, so maybe I can go and get back before it kicks up again.”

“Wait up; I’ll go with you.” Jack ran to grab his gear.

He was grateful; Jack might have just saved one of their lives.

They boarded the ladder truck and drove toward Mrs. Howard’s home. The truck was big, and heavy enough not to easily get pushed around by debris and high water. Without the truck to worry about, they could focus on the problem of disorientation. Even though they’d lived in the area their entire lives, they were having trouble finding their way. To make matters worse, there were no lights since the power had been cut. Slowing but staying diligent to keep the gas pumping so the truck wouldn’t stall, Clay gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“I can’t see a damned thing.”

Jack leaned closer toward the windshield. “The whole town’s been plunged into darkness. I don’t recognize a thing. I’ll get the portable searchlight.” Jack turned onto his knees and began a crawl to the back of the truck.

“Be careful; I can’t stop the truck or we’ll stall.”

Jack climbed through the window to access the back. If Jack were compromised, he’d stop. But if they stalled, that meant the mission was over, possibly along with the lives of the two women.

Moments passed with no movement or sound from the back of the truck. Clay yelled for Jack, but didn’t hear anything. He lifted his foot from the gas and was about to press the brake when Jack swung himself back into the cab. Clay let out the breath he’d been holding and hit the gas pedal. Jack flipped on the spotlight and pointed it out across the landscape. The water had engulfed the roads, so there weren’t any of the usual landmarks. Debris piled up where it couldn’t pass freely or push itself through. Power lines hung lifelessly and tangled in the debris and water.

Leaning halfway out of the truck, Jack said, “Thank God they cut the power.”

Their world tilted and the left side of the truck rose higher than the right.

“Shit! I think I’m on the sidewalk,” Clay said. “Hang on.” He turned the wheel, but it fought him. The truck was wedged, and he had no choice but to continue on at an angle. The wheels rutted and the metal strained and then suddenly they dropped down hard. He swung the steering wheel and the truck was freed. He felt the tires make contact with the waterlogged road.

Jack anxiously said, “I think that’s the neighborhood over there.” He gestured across what appeared to be a bay but was actually what they knew to be a six-lane street with median.

“Fuck, we’re on the opposite side.”

Jack pointed the spotlight up. “Look at that, see those traffic lights?” He gestured with his head. “It’s an intersection. We can make the turn.”

Clay approached the intersection with caution and turned the steering wheel slowly to the right. The truck responded, powering through the deep water. He kept the steering angled so the truck straightened itself out without too much effort. “Shine the light at the street signs; it won’t do to pass up the street. We won’t be able to turn around, so that only gives us one shot at this.”

Jack nodded and lifted the upper half of his body out the window. He leaned out as far as he could and hit the reflective signs with the light. “The streets are in alphabetical order and we’re to
C
. They’re on Hightower, so five more streets.”

They proceeded cautiously, using the spotlight to ensure the alphabet was going higher. When they hit Glen Eagle, Jack shined the light on what they knew should be the bayou that ran between the two streets. “Look,” he called back to Clay.

Clay’s spine tingled at what he saw. The bayou was indistinguishable from the flooded street water because both were rapidly flowing. “Fuck.”

Jack pointed to the street where he needed to turn. “This is Hightower.”

Clay turned cautiously onto the narrow street. The headlights shined and revealed the mayhem to their eyes. Huge oaks and debris—tree limbs, fencing, gutters, cars, and power lines—were everywhere. It looked like a war zone with this neighborhood on the losing side. They were stuck and could go no farther. He turned to Jack, out of suggestions. Given the amount of water in the street, water had to be in the houses at least two feet deep, maybe more.
That
wasn’t too bad. The main problem was the streets were sitting under at least that much water and the water wasn’t still; it flowed moderately fast. With the added debris, someone could easily break a leg walking through the river that had been Hightower Avenue.

“Hey, we’ve got the ladder.” Jack’s voice pierced Clay’s circling thoughts. Jack leaned out the window, shining the light on the houses. “It’s the third house there.” He bobbed the light at the house. “We can crawl to it on the ladder.”

It might be possible. They had to try, and Mrs. Howard was in no condition to make the journey on foot.

“Okay… I’ll climb into the bucket and you get me as close as you can. I hope to come out with Mrs. Howard first.”

Jack nodded, confirming the plan.

Clay climbed through the truck and onto the ladder. As he was settling into the bucket, he felt the wind and rain start to kick up, eviscerating his hopeful mood.

*

Eve had Ruth’s feet up on the coffee table, free of the water. She had hers tucked under her on the couch. She wondered how high the water might rise. Eve wasn’t worried about herself; she could climb. But Ruth—No, the more she thought about it, the more she recognized that it would be impossible to move her. For starters, Ruth was already exhausted, lethargic even, and she was a tall and overweight woman, probably over two hundred fifty pounds, and Eve was only five foot five and weighed one twenty. She wouldn’t be able to help Ruth any more than she already had.

Despair struck hard. She couldn’t just let the woman drown. Her body started trembling as the eerie hush heightened all the other sounds she could hear. Unfamiliar sounds such as hissing, chirping, and swishing. The swishing disturbed her the most. It sounded like something was swimming in the water, maybe a fish. She hoped for a fish. She refused to think what else might be in the water as she climbed up to hunch on the back of the couch.

Ruth looked at her when she moved. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’ve lived my life, but you’ve yet to live yours. You shouldn’t have stayed here with me.”

“We’re not dead yet.” She tried to lighten the grave mood, but there was no hope to share since she herself had none.

Eve cocked her head, certain she was hearing things when she heard a whistle. But then she heard it again.

“Hello? Ladies?”

Eve jumped down from the couch and water hit her knees. “We’re here.” She waded through the house to the living room. She went to the door and pulled hard, but couldn’t get it to budge.

A piercing whine cut through the silence. A saw? She pressed herself against the hallway wall.

“Stay back!” a male voice called out.

The huge limb in the living room was moving. After a few seconds, it snapped, half falling into the water inside the house and the other half dropping out the window. Then in the window frame she saw
him
on a ladder, and she started to cry so hard, her body shook. The big fireman had come back for them. She didn’t even know his full name and he didn’t know hers but in that moment she would have given him her firstborn child. She cleared her throat and shouted, “We’re in here.”

He shined the light on her. “How’s everyone?”

“We’re good.” She was crying so hard, her words came out as a sharp whine.

“I’m just gonna knock out some of this glass, okay?” His brow rose as he waited for her response. All she could do was nod.

“Go into the other room and keep out of the water.”

She did as she was told, climbing up to reclaim her spot the back of the couch. “Ruth, they’ve come for us. You’re going to be okay.” They were both going to be okay.

They heard the glass break that he warned her about. Then Eve heard what she thought to be him jumping into the water. The sounds of swishing grew closer, and she sat half hopeful, half desperate. She prayed the increased movement and waves were due to the big man wading toward them and not to something else slithering through the water.

He pushed into the den and shined a spotlight, finding them on their dry perches. She released the breath she’d been holding.

“I think it’s high time we exchange full names. I’m Clay St. Martin.”

“I’m Eve Ivey, and this is Ruth Howard.”

“Very good. Everybody okay?” He shined his flashlight from Ruth to Eve, careful not to blind them.

“Yes, I think so.” Eve’s voice quivered.

“Here’s the plan. First, I’m going to take Ruth out to the truck.” He spanned the area with the light and looked through the opening to the kitchen. “Eve, I’m gonna take you to the kitchen. I need you to wait for me on the countertop.”

She stood and started making her way to the kitchen.

“Eve! I told you to stay out of the fucking water.”

Clay dropped the spotlight onto the console table and pulled her forcefully back. Then he threw her over his shoulder caveman style, picked up the light, and strode in the direction of the kitchen. Once inside he set her on the countertop and reached down, pulling a small flashlight from his cargo pants. Twisting the barrel to turn it on, he shined the dim light at her. He placed one firm hand on her shoulder.

“Listen to me, Eve. I’m going to take Ruth to the ladder. From there it’ll be slow going to get her into the truck. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more. You should be fine here. Take this flashlight.”

She nodded at his directives and tears filled her eyes.

“Look at me.” He put his finger under her chin to lift her gaze to his eyes. “I’m coming back for you, but the storm is picking up again. You can expect more wind and rain, but I will be back.”