The Fear of Letting Go (12 page)

“I don't know how much we can do while it's still storming like this,” a man says. I don't recognize him, but Preston seems to know him. They shake hands. “It's getting darker and the rain doesn't seem to be letting up any.”

“We have to try,” Preston says. He looks to the couple near the door. “Mr. And Mrs. Powell,” he says, shaking the man's hands. “I'm so sorry about Anna. We're going to find her safe, okay?”

Mrs. Powell tries to smile, but sobs instead.

“How are the rest of your little ones?”

“They're doing okay. A little shaken up,” Mr. Powell says. “They're over at my sister's for now.”

“Good,” he says. Everyone on the porch is now looking to Preston, as if he has suddenly outranked them and taken over as the natural leader of the situation. I'm impressed with how quickly he's taken charge. “Do you have any idea which direction the wind may have carried her? Where do you think we should start looking?”

“I don't know,” Mrs. Powell says. “It all happened so fast.”

“It's okay. Let's try to figure this out. Anyone know which way the storm was traveling?”

“It came from the northwest, I think,” a redheaded man says. “And if you look out across the farm over that way, you can clearly see the path of the storm in the pattern of the debris.”

“Good,” Preston says. “Thank you, Dale. I think we should head that way, then. Southeast, after the direction of the storm. Let's form a straight line starting here at the edge of the property and walk through slowly. Keep your eyes on the ground in front of you, pick up any easy-to-move debris to make sure she's not hiding underneath, trying to get out of the rain. Make sure nothing's got her caught or trapped. Let's get moving before it gets too dark out to see anything. Does everyone have a flashlight and an umbrella?”

“We have a few extra flashlights,” Mr. Powell says. “I'll go fetch them.”

Preston quickly divvies the supplies among the group and gets us into a line on the southeast side of the property.

Within ten minutes of our arrival at the house, we are actively searching for the little girl. I keep my eyes glued to the ground, squinting through the rain, but my thoughts are locked on Preston.

I'm impressed and surprised by the way he took charge and moved these people to action so quickly. How long had those men been standing on that porch doing nothing but talking about how tough this was going to be?

He's a natural leader, a role I haven't seen him in before. It makes sense considering he's had his father to watch and take after all his life, but it still surprises me how easily he stepped into the role.

My feet sink into the ground with each step. Water falls so fast it's running like a river all through this stretch of farmland. There's debris everywhere. Pieces of the torn roof. A broken windmill. Branches from nearby trees. The field is a landmine of hiding places and dangers. She could be anywhere.

I lean down and lift up a big piece of wood that might be large enough to hide the body of a small child, but after almost an hour of walking in a straight line, I'm starting to panic. What if we don't find her?

What if she's hurt or bleeding? What if she hit her head and needs immediate medical attention?

We could be running out of time.

Preston walks beside me, and I take a moment to look over at him. He senses my eyes on him and meets my gaze. I see he's just as worried as I am.

“We've got to find her soon,” I say, trying not to raise my voice too much. The girl's father is at the end of the line. He looks terrified.

“I know,” he says. “I'm really worried, and it's getting very dark out here. This rain just isn't letting up.”

“Maybe we should spread out more?” I say. “Cover more area faster.”

“That's not a bad idea.”

He calls everyone in, and they stop and gather in a crowd around him.

“It's getting dark real fast, and I'm thinking maybe we'd do better covering more space,” he says. “Mason, Leigh Anne and Knox, why don't you three keep on this path but spread out a little. Dale, Mr. Johnny and Felix, you three take Mr. Powell and head down to the south side of the field. There seems to be a lot of downed trees over that way. Jenna and I will take a look over in the wooded area on the other side of the field.”

“Should we meet up at a certain time?” Dale asks.

Preston looks at his watch. “Let's give it another good hour and head back to the farm house and regroup around eight-thirty,” he says. “If we still haven't found her by then, we'll make some calls and see if we can get some more help out here. Things should be a little more settled in town by then.”

Everyone spreads out toward the assigned spots. Preston and I track our way through thick mud toward the tree line.

“What's going to happen if we don't find her in the next hour?” I ask.

“God help us,” he says. “I don't know. I saw a few more cars pull up over at the house, so hopefully we can get more people looking and cover more ground. I've heard stories of people carried half a mile by a storm like this. There's no telling where she is.”

I have to double-skip to keep up with him. We're both completely soaked from head-to-toe. I've stopped using the umbrella. It wasn't helping anyway, and I wanted my hands free.

But as we reach the trees, the rain begins to let up. We both look toward the sky.

“Whew, that's our first break,” he says. “Maybe we can look faster without the rain.”

He props his umbrella against a tree and starts walking.

It's darker here in the woods and we swing our flashlights across the forest floor, looking for any sign of the little girl. I call her name several times, but hear no response.

Half an hour later, though, I see a tiny blue shoe stuck in the mud.

Preston

Jenna calls my name, and I turn and run. We've been making our way through the woods for half an hour, spreading out just far enough that I can still see the light of her flashlight through the trees.

I run full force, my heart pounding, pRobing she's found the girl.

When I get to her, her eyes are full of fear and hope. She's pointing to the ground where a little blue shoe is peeking out from the sludge. I don't know whether to be scared or hopeful.

I reach down and grab the shoe from the mud. “This has to be hers,” I say. “It's about the right size, don't you think? And what else would a shoe be doing out here in the woods?”

“Do you think she might be close?” she asks. She's out of breath and frantically shines her light all around us. Her hands are shaking.

“I hope so,” I say. “Come on, let's look around this area.”

We move faster, fueled by this new discovery. My eyes can't hold to one spot long enough. I feel jittery and anxious. I wonder if we should call out to the others, but if we're on the wrong track, I don't want to stop their search. A shoe could have been lifted from the house and slung over here by the storm.

Or she might have been wearing it.

Our lights scan the forest floor all around us. A few feet beside me, Jenna gasps and takes off at a full run.

The wind roars through the treetops overhead and pine needles fall all around us.

“Anna,” Jenna cries out.

My eyes quickly follow her light to a large pine tree about twenty feet away that has fallen over, it's roots ripped from the ground in one large clump.

In the jumping light as she runs, I catch a glimpse of dark blue denim fabric covered with mud, a pale chubby leg sticking out, lifeless.

My heart tightens as we run toward the little girl. I cry out for the others as we run, but it's too dark to see anyone from here. We're too deep in the woods now, and the wind is picking up again.

I get there first and fall to my knees, sliding through the mud and pine straw that coats the ground.

The child is on her belly, her head tilted to the side. Her eyes are closed.

I put my hand on her back, sending up a pRober that she's still breathing. Hot tears spring to my eyes as cold rain stings my face.

“Anna?” I say softly, leaning down close to her. Her back rises against my hand and I let out a sigh of relief. “She's alive,” I say to Jenna.

She kneels next to me, her hand over her mouth. The little girl's arm is twisted at a terrible, unnatural angle and it's easy to see that it's broken. I'm scared to lift her in case there are other, unseen injuries, but I can't leave her here either. The storm is getting worse and we need to take cover.

In my pocket, my phone beeps a new alert. I take it out and curse.

“What?” Jenna asks.

“Another tornado warning,” I say.

A warning means one has been spotted in the area. Not good. There's no way I can carry her in this storm all the way back to the farmhouse. By now, that has to be at least half a mile away, if not more. I don't want to risk being out in the middle of the flat field when it hits.

“What do we do?” Jenna asks. “Can we make it back to the house?”

“I don't know,” I say. I look around, searching for any place we might take shelter.

“The tree,” I say, nodding to the downed pine. “Pine trees have very shallow root systems and when they fall, the roots come up with them, usually leaving a hole in the ground. We can take shelter there until this passes. It's better than being out in the middle of the field, and if another tree falls, we'll be safe slightly below ground level.”

Jenna nods. “Do you think it's okay to lift her?” she asks.

“We don't have a choice,” I say. In the distance, I hear a sound like a train whistle raging through the wind. “Hear that?” I shout. “We need to take cover. Now. Go over to the tree and make sure there's nothing in that hole,” I say. “If there's debris, clear it out as best you can. I'll get the girl.”

I slide both my arms under the child's body and lift her as gently as I can. She stirs slightly, moaning as I press her tiny body against my chest. I try to keep her arm as stable as I can against my chest and carry her toward the fallen tree.

Jenna climbs down and helps me lower the child into the hole. We settle ourselves on either side of her, creating a shield with our bodies, pressed close to the muddy wall of the hole. As the wind whips around us, Jenna holds on to me and we lower our heads over the girl.

The tornado passes dangerously close. Above our heads, tree branches fly through the air, cracking against the sides of other trees.

I don't dare look up to see what might be coming. I put my arm over Jenna's head, protecting her from anything flying around. We crouch low in the ground, our bodies soaked completely with red Georgia clay. The night is dark and unforgiving.

It lasts about five minutes. The five most terrifying minutes of my life.

Trees move and shake. A few nearby pines topple to the forest floor. The storm is loud and angry, dumping rain, leaves, and pine needles all over us. A limb breaks off a nearby tree and lands on my back, scraping across my neck and arm. I can hardly breathe, clutching tightly to Jenna's hand.

When it's over, the area grows calm, the rain gone and the wind still.

Jenna lifts her head, her face streaked with tears and mud. “Is it over?”

“I think so,” I say. I turn my flashlight back on and shine it around. The forest is a mess of trees and branches, but getting into the hole was a good idea. Other than a few small limbs that landed on us, we are safe and alive.

“Are you hurt?” I ask Jenna. There is a deep scratch on her neck that is beaded with red blood.

“I'm fine. It's just a tiny scratch,” she says. “Do you think it's safe to move her now?”

“Yeah, I think we need to try to get back as soon as possible. She needs medical attention.”

I pull my phone back out and type out a quick text to Mason. I pRob he and the others were able to find shelter. “We found the girl in the woods. She's alive but hurt. Meet at the house.”

Together, we lift the girl from the muddy hole. I carry her in both arms, Jenna close by my side as we make our way back through the woods. My phone dings in my pocket and I ask Jenna to get it and check the message.

“It's Mason,” she says. “He says they are back at the house. Everyone is safe. They're heading our way to help. He says there's doctor at the house.”

“Thank God,” I say.

We move as fast as we can without jostling the child too much. Mercifully, she's still unconscious, and hopefully unaware of the pain she's in.

It takes us twenty minutes to find our way out of the woods and when we do, Mason and Knox are both there at the tree line with a four-wheeler.

They drive over to us and Knox carefully takes the child from my arms.

“I think her arm is broken,” I say. I can't help the tears in my eyes as I watch them ride off with her.

I run a hand across my cheek and let out a deep sigh. I pull Jenna to me, her head resting against my chest as we both cry tears of relief. I kiss her forehead and she puts her hand in mine.

We walk in silence all the way back to the farmhouse.

Jenna

Mason drives us back to the Fairhope Building, but we're all too exhausted to talk. We stayed at the Powell's house for a little while waiting on news of how Anna was doing. She was taken by ambulance to the hospital here in town, but the doctors say it's a miracle. Other than her broken arm and a few scrapes and bruises, she's going to be fine.

As exhausted as I am, I don't want to leave Preston, after the night we've had. Something is growing between us, and even though it's unexpected, I don't want to say goodbye.

But at the same time, I'm terrified. I had decided to stay away from him at all costs, but somehow, fate keeps bringing us back together. It sounds stupid, but it's real. I feel it deep down in my bones.

We stand together beside my car, neither of us saying a word. The night air is strangely still and quiet after the storms. The power is still out through most of the town.

“I'm so glad—”

“You were really—”

We speak at the same time, stop, and then laugh. Conversation has been so easy between us the past few days, but now that we're alone again, there's a tension here that wasn't there before. A feeling of things unsaid, like we're standing at a line, trying to decide whether or not to cross it.