Mammoth Secrets (20 page)

A trio of adults hunkered close to listen, and Luke joined them.

“What a difference ten years makes, huh, Luke?” Mr. Marshall clapped him on the shoulder. “Luke here was the basketball star, class of two-thousand-ancient-history. There was a time you'd be steering that game of ‘horse' over there in your favor.”

Luke ducked his head at the attention. “Time was.”

The others jabbed about the lost state championship game—the one that got away.

Luke's thoughts drifted. Part of him still regretted the decisions made by a boy in love, the stupidity of youth, and all the dubious consequences that came along with one fateful choice.

He watched four high school kids jab and jeer at each other, wistful at how blissfully oblivious of the storm they were, ignorant at how quickly their confident little universe could end.

The radio found purchase, spat out a weather report through whining static. “...missed northern Fulton county…Thayer was hit hard by what area experts are claiming was a class four tornado. Damage is still being assessed...”

“Class four?” Quentin straightened and hitched his belt loops up.

“Yeah,” agreed Scott, who matched Luke in size, but outweighed him. “Day I asked Emma to marry me? That class five came through. Took out farms and houses, tore through the Hardy theater.”

“Probably God telling the angels to cover their eyes,” Quentin ribbed. “As you two were off to overpopulate the planet.”

Luke caught Scott's warning glare that no one else noticed.

“Thayer's built of strong stuff,” Scott continued in even tones.

“Tell that to the folks who got hit.” Luke headed over to the doors. “I'm trying dispatch again.”

Outside the gym, howling wind still raged. He eyed the parking lot up the slight rise of hill, surveying trees knocked down. Cars parked every which way—the ambulance boxed in by folks in a panic to find shelter. Squinting into the wind, he pressed the button on the radio at his shoulder. “Jenny, this is Luke. Come back?”

Static.

“Anything?” Jeremy stuck his head out.

Luke shook his head.

“We may as well stay here, man.” Jeremy scanned the massing crowd with bulldog intensity.

Luke nodded. “Let's see if any of the landlines have service.”

“I'll go.” Jeremy disappeared inside and Luke followed. Jeremy, in the graduating class behind him, knew as well as he did where the phone bank was located.

Inside, the gym resonated with innocent laughter echoing from the kids playing basketball. Their naiveté bounced from the rafters around the room. No worries past Friday's game.

He unclipped his walkie, laid it on a bench, sauntered over to them, and held a palm out for the ball.

“Give it to him, see what he's got.” A kid in gym shorts seemed the alpha player. With shrugs and some “old man” comments, the lanky kid in possession bounce-passed it to him and leaned over, gripping an imaginary walker.

The leather filled Luke's hand, its rugged surface a familiar fit. He dribbled once, twice, three times, passing one hand to the other. He eyed the square above the basket, then one-move swished the ball through. “That's
H
.”

He caught the ball on the rebound and winked at the kid who'd been walker-mocking. “I'll just be a sec.”

He made it to “
S”
without missing a beat. Or breaking a sweat.

The boys exchanged surprised glances as he swished “
E
.”

Luke dribbled out of the paint and back, and when he faced the bucket, the teenagers had shut their mouths and now gathered in a half-circle, cheering and waving their arms to distract. Luke held the ball aloft, eyeing the angle, when he heard a thud and shriek. He hesitated, ball still eye level.

“Come on, man,” the short, heavyset kid called. “Shoot!”

“Just a sec.”

Luke rolled the ball on his palms, spun around and surveyed the crowd, ears tuned for signs of distress.

“He just knows he's gonna miss,” Alpha jabbed. “I'll give you five bucks if you make that shot.”

Luke's chest brewed with the challenge, but his ears perked. Someone was crying. He scanned the room and caught sight of a small girl in the back of the room. Two adults—her parents, most likely—hunched over her. The mother looked worried, bordering on frantic.

“Be right back.” Luke bounced the ball to the short kid and trotted toward the family.

“If you quit, you lose, man!” Short kid wedged the ball under his arm.

“Yeah,” the other ones agreed, but their jibes died as they watched him hurry off.

Luke made it to the couple in quick strides. “Now what happened here?”

“Our Bethie slipped. Cut her head.” The mother pressed a napkin to the wound already seeping with her daughter's bright red blood.

The girl sobbed hysterical gasps.

“Hey, kiddo.” Luke knelt in front of the child. He turned to her worried mother with a nod. “I've got a first aid badge with your name on it, if you let me guess your name.”

“You know my name?” The brown-haired girl hiccupped.

He dragged his bag over, assessed the injury, and darted a glance at her mother, who mouthed at him. “Sure. It's—Mildred, right?”

“No.” She frowned at him and hissed as he dabbed ointment.

“Gertrude?”

That brought a giggle. “Guess again.”

He kept her distracted while he cleaned and dressed her sliced forehead, and then proceeded to wrap a sling around her arm.

“My arm's not hurt.” She laughed, proving it with an elbow flex.

“Oh, then maybe it was your big toe.” He reached a hand out to her foot, and her giggles doubled. A few minutes later, he wrote Bethie on a sticker and pasted it to her shirt. He pointed at his nameplate over his pocket. “Just like a real paramedic.”

The girl threw her arms around his neck and squeezed, as did her mother.

Across the gym, the boys finished the game. Shorty won. Alpha spun the ball on his finger, shot, and missed another basket. A series of ribs and jabs met the air ball.

This was why he quit.

After that fateful night, witnessing three totaled cars at the bottom of Deadman's Curve, helping the medics on scene, how could he do anything else? No double-double could ever match the feeling of helping someone in need. He might not wear an army uniform, like the guys she favored, but he did his share of good in this world.

The gym doors opened and Eden appeared in a slice of daylight, dressed in pink shorts and a white work blouse, eyes wide, searching. She needed something. He steeled himself for the force of her, watched her scan the room, seeking familiar faces out and giving them a squeeze, celebrating together that the worst of the storm had passed.

She was a whirlwind of hugs and well wishes. The doors opened behind her, folks milled about, gathered their belongings and headed home.

The five carnies milled together. One poured a little something extra into her Gatorade cup.

Luke stepped to them. “Storm's over.”

“Just like that.” The older man raised an eyebrow. “We could have ridden that out in our camp, Maya.”

“Better safe than sorry, Dad.” The girl—sixteen if she was a day, with curves of a twenty-year-old and makeup to match—turned back to him. “Thanks for bringing us here.”

“You never know with these storms.”

“Still, I know how the townies feel about us.” Maya dipped her gaze and then stared up through long lashes. “You're a good man, Luke.”

“Thanks.”

“What's all this about?” Eden marched up, hands on her hips. A little limp in her progress; he spied her wrapped ankle.

“I was just thanking one of Mammoth's finest.” Maya stood tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth.

Luke pushed the girl back, startled, and blotted his lips as if it would wipe away Eden's obvious disapproval. “I'm not a cop.”

“Who said you were?” Maya swished her way back to her father and the rest.

His gaze remained glued to her backside, though it was the last place in the world he intended on staring. He hazarded a glance and met Eden's withering gaze.

“I'd ask who the blazes that was, but she's just a child, so it shouldn't bother me none.”

“Shouldn't bother you none, anyway.” Luke rubbed his jaw. Inside, his heart skipped just knowing Eden was safe. Outside, he fought to maintain an even keel to his expression. “You OK?”

She held out her foot, gave it a flex. “Just an old war wound.” She blew at her bangs. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, she reached and squeezed his hand. “We're still friends, right?”

“No reason not to be.”

“Fine…” She inhaled a tirade, exhaled through it. “Sounds like Thayer got hit hard.”

Luke scowled through the worry, scanned the crowd for Jeremy, and spotted his driver at an impromptu table covered with cookies and scattered paper napkins. “We'd better go out there, see what we can do to help.” Luke scooped up his walkie and reattached it. Tested the squelch.

“Can I ride along?” Eden looked so hopeful. “I still have my first aid badge from your class.”

“I'm sure I could use you.” He took in the loop of worry at her forehead. The regal slope of her nose, the subtle pout of full lips, and drank in the long, cool sight of the girl of his dreams. Mammoth's should-have-been homecoming queen. The one he'd let slip away an age ago, the night she met her first soldier. The one who'd never let him forget what he'd lost.

Jeremy appeared at his side, cookie crumbs on his lip. “You ready?”

“Let's go.” Luke held a hand out to Eden. “All of us.”

 

~*~

 

“How much longer?” Jake asked as they bumped around another tree fallen across the road. Downed power lines lightninged across their path. He drove onto the shoulder to avoid the sparking wires and splintered wood.

“High school's down the hill, across that little bridge, next to the water tower.” Lilah pointed the way.

Jake followed her finger down Riverview, across Main, on the other side. He scanned the oak-covered hill and the nest of neighborhoods he'd yet to visit. He bumped his truck back onto the rutted drive and along the direction that Lilah pointed.

From behind mottled clouds, fingers of sunlight angled down from heaven. The sphere of the water tower shadowed toward the high school.

“There it is.” Lilah breathed, her relief evident by the curve of her shoulders.

Folks filtered out of the open doors, including Eden, Luke, and his partner. In the glutted parking area, the ambulance sat, boxed in by cars, a bus, and a crisscross of downed trees. Luke scowled over the puzzle of vehicles, as Jeremy wrote down license plate numbers.

“No way they'll get that mess sorted out any time soon.” Jake wrapped his hands tighter around the wheel. “We've gotta get help.”

“Eden!” Lilah called out the window, waving.

Her sister glanced up, then tugged Luke's arm.

“Anything we can do?” Pulling over, Jake stepped out just beyond the mess of hastily parked vehicles. “I've got a winch.”

All of them stared at the ambulance, obviously thinking on ways to extricate it from the crowd of cars.

The radio on Luke's belt squawked, startling them all.

“Base to Nine. Come back, Nine. Luke? Can you hear me?”

“Nine, here. I copy, Jenny.” He spoke into his shoulder mike, staring at Jake, then back at the ambulance unit buried behind cars and debris that could take hours to clear. “Can we take your truck? Thayer's slammed.”

Jake nodded and Jeremy jumped into the unit and began dragging out supplies as Luke listed what they'd need. “Neck braces. Spinal boards.”

Luke shoved a large yellow container lettered across the top “AED,” at Eden. “Remember how to use this?”

She nodded, eyes wide with worry, but she took the handles, obviously set with resolve.

Others came over, and they formed a human chain and ferried the equipment down the sidewalk from the blocked ER unit to Luke's truck parked on the road.

“We'll go with you.” Luke straddled the gate, one foot in the liner, the other on the bumper, and rattled several cases onto the truck bed. Loaded up, Luke opened the king cab door and scooted inside, followed by Jeremy and Eden.

Jake matched Lilah's attention with his own determined look. “I'll drive, you navigate.” With a twist of the key, the reliable truck chugged back to life. He followed her directions back to the road, to the rural route, as the voice on the radio told of the mess that was Thayer, Missouri.

 

 

 

 

 

28

 

Jake navigated the twist of the four-lane rural highway around downed trees. On either side, power lines drooped, sagged.

The white electric company rig cruised along the frontage road with the cherry picker doglegged up. Orange-vested workers stepped out into the misting rain.

He slowed the truck and rolled down his window. “How long 'til power's back up?”

“In Mammoth? Probably tonight.” The barrel-shaped man apparently in charge tromped over wet grass in his rain boots and slid his hat back on his head. “Thayer'll be up in a day or two. Hey, Luke. Where's your ride?”

“Blocked in at the high school.” Luke gave Jake's shoulder a solid pat. “Reggie Willis, meet Pastor Gibb. His ole truck can get through most anything. He's my chauffeur today.”

“Head out to Steadman's farm first.” He pointed over the rain-soaked hill. “Got hit pretty hard.”

“We'll go straight there.” Luke waved as the truck rumbled over the carved road, through the hills, past the scar of rusty Ozark boulders, stripped of their leafy-green kudzu by the wind and rain. Fences had toppled along the rural road. Long grass bent, sodden with water and blown leaves, even now fighting to right itself in the growing sunlight.