Retribution (33 page)

“Jimmy, stay still, sweetheart. Grandma can't hold these limbs off you if you move around.”

The sound of Sandra's voice added to the tension that roared around in Bill's body.

Lillian had prevented the limb from crushing Sandra and Jimmy, but at what cost?

He turned his head toward the house. “Jimmy, just relax in there, big guy. Give us a few more minutes. Try counting to a hundred, can you do that?”

Pat ran toward him with the flashlight. He grabbed the light and shoving his weight through the thicket that still separated him from the car. Reaching the car, he focused the beam through the broken window. Breath escaped his body.

Lillian lay against the seat belt, her body skewed toward the passenger door. Blood dripped from a gash in her forehead. Red streaks stained the deflated airbag and smeared a path across her limp arm.

~*~

This had to be the best day of his life. Ted's smile stretched his face until he thought it would rip out his cheeks. And then he grinned even wider.
A son! I have a son!

The doctor had come and gone, declaring their boy a perfect specimen, and praising Lillian for her cool head.

While Trina was examined, he had held his son, now clean and wrapped in a blue-and-pink striped hospital blanket. He could have stayed forever, just holding his child, but Trina had pushed him out, worrying about the house, the mess she must have created, and their houseguest.

Mrs. Blackman apparently had weathered out the storm somewhere else. The roads might be too impassable for her to get back to Darlington that night, but just in case, someone needed to be at the bed and breakfast to greet her and provide a light for her bedroom.

Lillian had already done enough, and most likely Bill would be at Sandra's.

Deciding to hike home from Wilson Hospital had been easy. He couldn't reach Bill and it was only a couple of miles. It was the darkness he hadn't considered. The hospital was functioning with a generator, but the rest of Darlington still lacked electricity. Windows from most of the houses winked kerosene lamps or candles, but the light didn't filter to the streets.

He stepped over dozens of branches before falling prey to one, landing hard on his hands and knees. His good pants ripped. Trina would be ticked. In spite of the pain in his knee, the smile returned as he lumbered up the hill and past the barking dogs that irritated him most nights. Finally, he reached his house.

No glow shimmered in any of the windows. He had expected Bill to have some type of light rigged up. Most likely, he had gone to Sandra's, but he had expected his father-in-law would provide light for Lillian. Limping up the front stairs, he let himself into the house. Groping around, he found candles on the kitchen counter, then his flashlight. No notes lay on the counter or table. Where was everyone?

He placed a candle on the kitchen table, in the parlor window, and kept the flashlight with him. His tasks done, loneliness settled over him. The old house was always full of sounds: talking, motors from the furnace or refrigerator, radio or television. But now only silence kept him company.

Deciding to examine the damage from the fall, he found his khakis had two small tears. Maybe Trina could turn them into shorts. His knee felt stiff, but was only scraped. Nothing to worry about.

Out the kitchen window, black shapes lay hunkered in the silence. Focusing the beam of the flashlight, he noticed that Lillian's car was missing. Most likely, she had gone to Roger's. Chuckling, he noticed that he had parked Bill in. His father-in-law had done some walking, too. No doubt, he gone to Sandra's to share the news about the baby.

There wasn't much for him to do. He would give Mrs. Blackwell the big flashlight, and he would manage with Trina's smaller one. There was another flashlight in the bedroom. He always kept a spare in his nightstand. And surely, Bill would have one or two either in his car or his room.

With the situation under control, he spread a thick layer of peanut butter on top of bread. No need to open the refrigerator. Filling a glass with water from the tap, he headed to the den to wait. What was his baby doing? He imagined him bundled in his blanket asleep either in the plastic crib or in Trina's arms.

The grin returned.

~*~

Bill's chest tightened. “Lillian!” He stretched his arm through the broken window and reached for her neck. “She's alive!”

“Pull those limbs away from the door after I cut them,” Pat called. The chain saw roared to life and soon both men were covered with sawdust. The smell of oil and fumes quickly replaced that of damp sand.

Fear strengthened Bill‘s hands as he pulled free one thick branch after another and heaved it over his back. He glanced again at Lillian's still form, and guilt tightened his already heavy chest. Surely, this was not what God's message had meant. Yes, God revealed that Lillian was shrouded in danger, but he never once thought he was supposed to
protect
her.
God, You need to make these messages more clear, or take them away!
The faster he worked the tighter his jaws clenched his teeth. As soon as he pulled away the last thick branch that blocked the car, Bill grasped the handle and jerked. The door refused to open.

“Let me help you.” Pat's hands felt hot on top of his.

“On three.” With loud grating of metal against metal, the door let loose and hung awkwardly on one hinge.

Bill groped for the seat belt, released it, and pulled Lillian against his chest. As her head fell backward, she moaned. As his arms supporting her tightened, he felt the steady beat of her heart against his chest. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

~*~

Her head hurt. Bad. She tried to lift her arm toward the throb but it flopped back to her side.

“Steady girl,” a voice murmured. “Just sit here a few minutes while we try to get you out of the car.”

The voice had quivered. Was she hurt?

She took a breath and coughed against the pain in her chest. With the fuzziness clearing, she moved her arm again, and brushed against a strong, hairy one. Turning her head, at first all she saw was darkness with streaks of harsh light. Then she saw Bill supporting her body, his face smeared with sweat and sawdust and tension. “The tree limb?” she asked.

“On top of your car.”

She smiled. “Better than on top of Sandra and Jimmy.”

“Can we get her out yet?” Pat asked.

“How about it?” Bill looked at her. “Can you move at all?”

Her legs were squeezed between the seat and the steering wheel. She couldn't feel her feet. “I don't think anything is broken.” She waved a hand over her head, hitting the gash at her hairline. Fresh blood dribbled from the wound. “Ouch. How bad is the cut?”

“Not bad. Let's get you out of there.”

Between Bill and Pat, they managed to compress the seat cushion and spread the metal enough to slip her from under the steering wheel. She dangled her legs out the door, letting the sensation return and the wooziness that gripped her stomach to settle.

“Bill! Pat! What's going on out there?” Sandra's voice filtered like ghostly ribbons across the space.

Bill looked from Lillian to the spot that confined Sandra, indecision etching his face.

“I'll hold on to the little lady. You go calm Ms. Sandra.” Pat's bony ribs replaced Bill's soft chest. “Nasty gash on your noggin. Gonna need stitches most likely.”

“Bill said it wasn't too bad.”

“Yeah, well, on second thought, it's not all that bad.”

“I think I can stand now.” She shifted toward the edge of the seat.

As Pat steadied her, she stood on her feet and the queasiness returned. “Down.”

Back on the seat, she rested her head on her legs. “OK, let's try this again.”

Pat extended his arm and she reached for it. He pulled her up gently as she wobbled back and forth.

Taking a few breaths, she smiled. “I'm all right. Let's go see about Sandra.” She walked slowly, still clutching to Pat's arm. Darkness forced her to lift each foot with exaggerated height as she waded through the mass of discarded limbs. Stopping to catch her breath, she glanced back and groaned. The flashlight, propped in the branches where the men had placed it, reflected light off the crumpled metal. “Look at my car.”

“Yep, it's a goner.”

Her stomach clenched. She was lucky to be alive. “Well, the car did what it was supposed to do.”

Once she reached the side of house, Bill indicated the thick branch close to the opening and she sat. “Sandra, this is Lillian,” she called.

“Hey, honey, how are you? Bill said you saved our lives.” Sandra's voice hitched. “I want to hug you.”

“I'll take that hug when we get you out.”

“I think I can crawl through here,” Bill examined the reconfigured hole into the house.

While she called encouragement to Sandra and Jimmy, Bill and Pat ran back to the demolished car for the flashlight and chain saw.

“Miss Sandra, you and Jimmy will need to keep your eyes closed,” Pat said. “The chain saw makes a lot of dust.”

Jimmy began to whimper.

“Are you doing all right, big guy?” Bill called into the dark cave.

“Bill, you need to hurry.” Sandra's voice sounded thin. “I don't know how much more of this Jimmy can stand.”

“Uncle Bill…I want out.”

The two men glanced at each other. The chain saw sprang to life. Brambles flew as Bill tugged against each limb blocking his path to Sandra and Jimmy.

Bill held up a hand and Pat shut down the chain saw.

Jimmy's excited voice called out. “I see something!”

Lillian wiggled the beam of the flashlight back and forth. “Do you see that, Jimmy?”

“I see it!”

“It's my flashlight.”

Pat scratched his belly. Wood chips fell off his arms and shirt. “You think one of us can fit through there yet?”

Bill took Lillian's flashlight and shoved his body into the opening. Left in darkness, cracking limbs shared his progress. Soon he backed out of the hole. “I can't get all the way in. We need to make the opening bigger.”

Lillian bent over to stand. Her head pounded from the movement. “I'm smaller than you, Bill. I can make it.”

“No way. You're hurt. We'll get it.”

Snatching the flashlight, Lillian crawled into the opening. The light bounced off crushed limbs and stabbed her eyes. Squinting against the light and falling bits of dirt, she grabbed the limbs in front of her and used her feet to move forward. Progress came in inches, and soon sweat dripped in her eyes. At least it stung like sweat. Breaths came in pants, each one stabbing her chest. “I can see the edge of the tub!” she called.

“Are you coming to get me?”

“Jimmy, lay still.”

Lillian laughed. “I'm coming. Can you stick a hand out of the tub, Jimmy?”

“No, Grandma's got me trapped.”

“I can put a hand out,” Sandra said. “Does it matter which one?”

“Either one is fine.” Branches snapped in front of her, and soon the light illuminated the soft hand of her friend.

“Lillian, do you need help?” Bill's voice boomed through the darkness.

Directing the light, Lillian examined the maze around Sandra's hand and the branches that still covered the tub, one in particular that seemed to be responsible for most of the pressure on the tub. “I'll be right back,” she called to Sandra. She ran a hand along the thick branch as she backed her way out.

Still gripping the offending branch, she allowed Bill to help her from the opening. Fresh air filled her lungs, and she shivered as the cold air met her damp skin. “This limb is holding the others in the tub. Once we cut it out, we should be able to get them out.”

Pat wiggled his way into the tunnel. His voice echoed back. “Miss Sandra, cover your eyes. Let me know if I make things worse.”

As the chain saw roared to life inside the tunnel, the branches outside shivered against the vibration. Soon the shape of the tunnel changed as the large branch compressed the wood beneath it.

The chain saw quieted. Pat backed out of the tunnel. With Bill in front and Pat behind, the men wrapped their hands around the log and pulled.

Unable to see their faces in the dim light, Lillian listened to the grunts as they applied pressure to the log.

Nothing happened. Then the sound of cracking wood filled the air.

When the sawed end of the log cleared the opening, Bill ran toward the hole. Within seconds he returned and grabbed her flashlight, a sheepish grin spread across his face.

Pat focused the second light on the newly enlarged hole. Lillian hugged her arms, both against the chill and in anticipation. She hardly noticed the throbbing head or painful ribs as she focused on the illuminated space.

Sandra's voice, then Jimmy's filtered from the dark.

More limbs cracked, and Bill released Jimmy to Pat.

“Hey, there you are.” Pat smothered the boy in a hug. The man's voice had an unexpected husky overtone as he brushed twigs off Jimmy's hair.

Soon Sandra emerged, followed by Bill. She straightened her back and smiled. “Y'all can't begin to imagine how good this feels.”

Feeling out of place in the intimate scene, Lillian stood to the side.

Sandra spotted her, ran and wrapped arms around her shoulders. Sandra's tears felt wet against her cheek. The older woman pulled away and dabbed her eyes. She scanned Lillian's face. “You got hurt.”

“It's nothing. Bill said so himself.”

“Bill,” Sandra called over her shoulder, “the girl has a gash on her head. How can you say that's nothing?”

“It's not bleeding, is it?”

“Not right now.”

“Well then, it's nothing. You can wash it later if you want.”

Sandra sank to one of the logs. “I'd offer y'all iced tea, but I'm not sure what shape my kitchen's in.”