SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (73 page)

What if there wasn’t sufficient air to breathe down here? Taking several tiny inhales through her nostrils, she was fully aware now there might only be enough oxygen to last her a few hours.

If she didn’t bleed to death first.

Suddenly, she heard horrible popping and cracking sounds all around her. She felt herself shaking, slowly at first, then violently. With terror, she realized what was happening and threw her arms over her head. In the darkness, she held her breath and curled into herself the best she could to ride out the aftershock. Dust rained upon her head and choked out the oxygen. And still the world shook.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the hotel crashing completely on top of her. She was going to die.

Please God, save me!

As quickly as it came, the shaking stopped. The hotel continued to creak and moan over her head, but the rattling was over. Ysabeau laid there with her arms over her head and waited for the crushing blows. The creaking subsided too. After a few minutes, she took deeper breaths.

“Help! Please! I’m down here.” Her voice was getting softer and softer. She was slipping away into unconsciousness. “Help…me.”

‡

G
rann held her
nose while blood poured through her fingers. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Deo! For the love of all that is holy, answer me! Where are you?”

Was her best friend in all the world dead on the other side of that caved-in wall? Grann trembled at the thought. She was alone. No one could help her save Deolina. No one. With all her might, she tried to move a piece of rubble. She tugged and pulled, shoved and heaved. Nothing happened. She moved on to another piece and had the same outcome.

She groaned with the effort. Sweat dripped off her cheeks and blood from her nose splattered the concrete. And nothing moved. It was all too heavy for an old lady. Desperation, coursed through her veins. What was she going to do?

“Deo!”

The damned woman wouldn’t answer. Any other day, she’d talk a person’s ear clean off. Grann shivered. She didn’t want to think about all the reasons why Deolina was silent now. Still…she had to believe she was breathing in there. Wouldn’t she feel something if Haiti’s black magic Vodun had moved on? She made herself believe that.

Grann couldn’t stand around and let her friend die inside Ysabeau’s broken house. She needed help. Fast!

Sitting on a chunk of concrete the size of a watermelon, she closed her eyes and began to chant. The breezes picked up, circling her head, trying to lift the hairs sweat-plastered to her cheeks. She concentrated all her powers on Tico’s image. She could see dreadlocks draping a fearful face. He was alive!

“Tico! Come quick! Bring the van,” she ordered.

She let her mind drift out across Port-au-Prince, hovering over the Bay. She could see Gochi’s fishing boat, rocking on the waves. “Gochi! Bring your fishing ropes. Come now.”

Over and over she called to her friends. If they were able, they’d come.

She didn’t bother calling the American. She’d given Luke a promise to stay out of his head, and she was a woman of her word. And Ysabeau…well, if Ysabeau was safe, she’d be coming home any minute.

Grann cast a sad look at the disaster behind her.

“There are worse things than losing a home,” she whispered into the winds. “Dear God, keep my girl safe. And help us get Deolina out of that damned house.”

If she lost Deolina…no, she couldn’t think that way. She’d hated Deolina for fifty years, but she’d loved her much longer. At seven months her junior, Deolina was the little sister Grann never had. And that mouth of hers, well, it was always too big for anyone’s good. The past roared back and Grann saw two little girls dancing in the yard and giggling so loudly Gran’s momma threatened to beat them with a wooden spoon if they didn’t hush up. Gran’s father had to work two jobs and was cranky when awakened too early.

And in church? Shee-ya, Deolina could get them both into so much trouble. On more than one occasion, Grann got a slap upside the back of her head because she burst out laughing during Mass. It wasn’t her fault. Deolina thought the priest had a funny way of speaking, which was true since the man had come from Ireland. Most people chose to ignore the way Father Michael butchered their language. Deolina was not most people. She got the giggles every time Father Michael opened his mouth and flashed his crooked yellow teeth. Since she had been warned in no uncertain terms to be silent during Mass, Deolina had resorted to silent laughter, which meant her entire body, which was already on the large side for a ten-year-old girl, shook uncontrollably. Who could sit straight-faced while the pew wiggled beneath your bottom?

They had remained the closest of friends until, big surprise, Deolina noticed boys. And not just any boys, Deolina seemed to want the worst of the bunch. She was drawn to the bad boys like a
papiyon lanp
to a flame. One particular no-good-boy was deeply into black magic and larceny. Grann saw the writing on the wall—that boy was going to be dead, or jailed within the year—but Deo wouldn’t listen to Gran’s warnings. Deo had gotten sassy, calling her jealous and telling her to go find her own boyfriends. She watched helplessly as her best friend was sucked up into black magic and all sorts of foulness she shouldn’t have been playing around with. Grann never had any use for fools, so she walked away and didn’t look back. And then Deolina stole her husband and tore the past to shreds with her long painted fingernails.

She sighed. That was a lifetime ago and over the past ten days Grann had come to realize the truth about Deolina.

“She is the sister I had.” Gran’s lips twitched. “Back off, you old hairy wolf! I won’t let you take her. Deo’s not moving on until I say so.”

Pushing herself up, Grann did her best to move concrete and steel.

*

Luke had been
making pretty good time before the sun went down. Now he was in the dark, running through streets littered with glass, and sharp, jagged pieces of broken buildings. Worried about breaking his legs and not being able to get to Ysabeau, he slowed his pace to a jog, and at times a fast walk. To avoid falling debris, he steered clear of the sidewalks and tried to run in the middle of the streets. It was a dangerous proposition, as the few cars that came down the road were driven by madmen. Twice he had to jump out of the way to keep from getting run over. He didn’t fault the crazy drivers speeding to the hospital, or off to find loved ones. The earthquake had changed everything.

More and more people clogged up the streets not wanting to go back inside their busted homes. He didn’t blame them. There were deep fissures in the pavement and huge cracks in foundations, walls, and up the sides of buildings. Corners had been ripped off multi-story apartment buildings and tossed aside like a kid does his bread crust. He could only guess about the walls and supports, but he suspected that no building was safe to be inside.

He saw a group of five or six men and women warming themselves around a trash fire, sharing comfort. That sight warmed his heart as he jogged by. The fire was a flicker of light in the dark, vibrating night.

On every street he witnessed a man or woman, young or old, wailing their grief and screaming their anger. Luke felt special kindred with them. If he had time to slow down, he would howl too. He’d curse at the universe and demand retribution for these people. He’d rant and rave and beg and plead, but there was no time. Ysabeau needed him, so he kept his heavy feet and even heavier heart going.

And when another body was placed on the side of the road with a sheet over its head?

Luke would creep over and check the person’s shoes. When he was sure the dead body wasn’t wearing Ysabeau’s sandals, he’d swallow the bile in his throat, say a little prayer of thanks, and whisper, “Rest in peace, my friend.”

And move on.

The night was a living hell. An endless, test of…who knew what? But he felt like he was being tested and failing miserably. God, if he could just get to Ysabeau’s home already, he would be forever grateful.

He came to a nasty spot in the road. He uttered a string of curses when he realized he was going to have to “rock climb” over a building that had tumbled all the way across the street. There was no getting around the thing. He started climbing, digging his toes into questionable toe-holds and clinging to concrete rocks that shifted under his weight. He cut his hands and took a slice to his cheek, but finally he made it over and eased himself down the other side. Once there, his heart plummeted. Tangled up in the rubble was something he never wanted to associate with all this death and destruction—a swing set.

He opened his eyes wide, trying to peer through the dark and make out the spooky shapes. Next to the swing set was the mangled remains of a jungle gym very similar to the one Sunny used to climb on at the park in San Francisco. The metal slide had been twisted like a used piece of aluminum foil. Toys were strewn in the gutter. A Tonka dump truck, a yellow bucket, a plastic shovel…

This had been a preschool. Now it was leveled.

With his heart in his throat, he wandered around the demolished building yelling, “Hello? Anyone here?”

There weren’t any answers.

Suddenly, he remembered his iPhone. Last month he had downloaded the flashlight app. and was impressed by how much light it produced. He turned on the light and pointed it at the rubble.

He was sick to his stomach. Were children inside the flattened building? If his daughter’s preschool looked like this one? He’d want some foreign guy to do everything in his power to ensure no one was trapped inside. Everything.

“Please, if you are here make a sound!” he yelled.

He pressed his flashlight phone into nooks and crannies, searching for…an arm, leg, clumps of hair…any part of a person, living or dead.

He cupped his hands and yelled directly into a hole. “Hello? Anyone?”

Into every crack he flashed his light and yelled, over and over again. He stepped back and slowly swept his light over the horrifying landscape. No one moved. No one answered his calls.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to rip this building apart with his bare hands to search for survivors. The other part reasoned that in all likelihood no one was inside. He didn’t know anything about the preschools in Haiti, but remembered Sunny had come home by lunchtime. Surely, three and four-year-olds in Port-au-Prince would have been home long before the quake unleashed its fury at four fifty-three.

Taking the picture of Sunny out of his wallet, he shone the flashlight on it. He sucked in a breath and found strength in his daughter’s eyes. He kissed the picture and put it back in his wallet. It was time to move on. Ysabeau might need him and Lord knew he needed Ysabeau. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, breathe in her tropical sweetness, and tell her how much he loved her.

The earth rumbled under his feet.

“Another aftershock?” He yelled toward the stars. “Can’t you give it a rest already?”

He was angry and tired and so damned afraid. Glancing at the houses, toppled trees and smashed cars, he realized nothing looked familiar. He had the sinking feeling he wasn’t making any headway. How far had he gone? How much further to go? He had no idea. He identified with Sunny’s gerbil. The stupid creature would run his furry legs off while the ball under his little toes spun in place, trapped and going nowhere.

Luke kept running too.

He hurtled over a downed tree and almost landed on an old woman squatting by the roadside. “Dear God…sorry! I didn’t see you.”

The old woman’s sunken eyes met his in the glow of his iPhone flashlight. She was far too thin and looked ill. Reaching for him with tooth-pick arms she opened her hands and uttered a string of words. Luke noted that she owned very few teeth. He didn’t understand her words, but he recognized hunger when he saw it. This old woman was starving.

“Hold on,” he told her.

Earlier he’d decided that keeping his hands free from encumbrances was a good idea in order to lift junk out of the road and protect his head from falling objects. He’d ripped Talitha’s homemade bread into two chunks and shoved them into the back pockets of his jeans. Now was as good a time as any to break bread. He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a large hunk. “Here. Please take this.”