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KIM BALDWIN. After another brief silence Erin hollered back
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on helping me F nd you.”
After another brief silence Erin hollered back. “The door is a couple of feet outside the house. About a third of the way down from the corner nearest the driveway.”
“That’s great. Hang in there.”
The area Erin described was covered by a large pile of wreckage, topped off by the stove. Gable cleared what she could, then put her back to the appliance to shove it out of the way.
“Is more help coming?” Erin shouted.
“As soon as they can.” Gable gave the stove another push, putting her long legs into it. A jagged edge tore her jeans, cutting into the f esh of her thigh. It wasn’t deep. She ignored it.
The stove toppled off to one side. She dug through the rubble beneath it, spotted the edge of the big metal storm door, and cleared a space around it. The door was dented in and wouldn’t budge, despite her best efforts. She had to run back to the Jeep for her tire iron to get the job done.
Several steps led downward, out of the rain. Following them, Gable found herself in a concrete basement about F fteen feet wide and thirty feet long. One wall was lined with shelves containing home-canned goods—peaches and pears and tomatoes in jars, undisturbed.
Cardboard boxes and large plastic storage containers were stacked high along the opposite wall, each one carefully labeled—“Old dishes,”
“Winter clothes,” “Christmas ornaments,” and the like.
Two-thirds of the room was untouched by the tornado. Farther in, much of the ceiling had given way, toppling onto a desk and F le cabinet. It caved in right over the only door. It had to be the bathroom.
She knew she couldn’t move the enormous beam that blocked her way, and even if she could, doing so might bring the rest of the house down on top of both of them. It would take more than human hands to get the woman out of there.
Picking her way through the rubble, she got as close to the door as possible. Creaks and groans from over her head were frequent, as though the remaining wreckage would collapse upon her at any moment. It was a scary, precarious situation. Her mouth was dry.
“Can you hear me, Erin?”
“Thank God.” A muff ed response F ltered from the other side of the wall. “I’m here. In here.”
• 20 •
FORCE OF NATURE
“How you doing?” Gable glanced upward. A bit of sky was visible through a three-foot-wide hole above her, and she felt a mist of rain against her face.
“All right, I guess. I’ll be F ne as soon as I’m out of here.”
“The door is blocked on this side,” Gable said. “It’ll take heavy equipment to move everything out of the way safely, so you’ll have to be patient. It may be a while before anybody can get to you.”
There was another long silence.
“Erin? Keep talking to me. How you holding up?”
“How much longer do you think it’ll be?”
“I’ll see what I can F nd out.”
Gable stepped back into the untouched half of the basement. She had turned her radio down, but she’d heard no letup in the turmoil of voices and static. Unclipping it from her belt, she increased the volume to listen to what was happening.
Another tornado had touched down. Three homes were destroyed and six people were injured. Resources were stretched thin. When there was a break in the voices, she radioed in with an update.
The dispatcher told her it would likely be morning before the required manpower and equipment could be spared to her location. But she wasn’t needed elsewhere at the moment, so she was free to stay and do what she could for Erin, at least for the time being.
Amid more groans and creaks from overhead, she made her way back to the bathroom door and called, “Erin? You’re gonna have to be patient. We probably won’t be able to get to you until morning.”
“Morning? You have to get me out of here! I can’t wait until morning!” There was a manic desperation to Erin’s voice.
“Look, I know you’re scared. But you should try to stay calm.”
“You don’t understand! I have claustrophobia! Really bad claustrophobia, know what I mean? I have to get out of here!”
Oh great. What do I do now? Gable thought for a moment. Oddly enough, having Erin’s discomfort to focus on dispelled some of her own unease.
“And there’s another problem,” Erin said, in a much more subdued voice.
A chill ran over Gable and her arms puckered with goose bumps.
Something about Erin’s tone told her this would not be good.
“I’m terriF
ed of the dark. It’s worse even than my
claustrophobia.”
• 21 •
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