Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

HELLER

After the devastation of the latest hurricane, we have been working endlessly to try and give the people of western North Carolina some semblance of their lives back. It’s going to take months, hell even years, before anyone in this region would possibly feel any kind of normal again. We’ve been here since daybreak, just two days after the storm ended. It’s been a grueling day, but we know the initial days after a storm are the most important. Especially to find the missing souls we still have the opportunity to save.

Lifting another section of log from the tree I’m currently cutting up, I strain to see if I’ve made any progress. I’ve been here for hours, and it seems like I’ve not done a damn thing at all. While this should discourage me, it only picks up my adrenaline to try and get things done faster. And by faster, I mean more efficiently, not faster as in sloppy and half-heartedly where I’ll have to work double in order to correct the mess I made. Doing things right in a good cadence the first time means not correcting your mistakes and taking longer than was necessary. Double work would do no one any good.

Captain is out here, along with the rest of our search and rescue crew. Busting his ass just as hard, if not harder, than those of us under his command. Normally, on calls, he’s the leader who assigns us what needs to be done and assesses everyone’s progress, but he knows how important it is that we get way too much done in as short amount of time as possible.

“Hel,” my teammate and friend Carlos hollers from my left, gaining my attention. “Cap says it’s time to wrap it up, we’ve been here 12 hours and he’s mandating we get some grub and rest.” He doesn’t look too pleased to advise us we are cutting out already, hell, none of us are. But if we don’t get nutrients and rest, we won’t be any good at completing what needs to be done.

“Shit,” I reply, running my hands down the back of my head, ripping my hair out of the tie I put it up in earlier. It was getting in my way and if I had not had that elastic band, I likely would have taken my knife and just cut it all off. “I feel like we were just starting to make some progress,” I finally reply with a shake of my head.

“Yeah, it seems no matter how long we’re out here, not enough it is happening,” Carlos agrees looking around, reassessing the aftermath and the amount of work our crew has already put in.

We stand next to one another, looking around at the absolute devastation surrounding us. How anyone made it out of here alive is truly a wonder. We know there are still a lot of people missing, who haven’t been able to get out of where they are with the raising waters and the debris, and I am normally not a praying man, but I do find myself asking someone, anyone, to let the missing be found. Safe and sound.

Just as we begin to walk away, I swear I hear what seems to be a cry or whimper. I know Carlos hears it as well, as we both frantically look around to see where the sound may be coming from.

A little up the road from where we are standing, I see an SUV, half buried in what appears to be debris. The windows are cracked open slightly and suddenly I can see something appears to be moving inside. Taking off on a run, we raced to the car, hoping with all hope, we’re not too late. When we get to the car, we see that there’s definitely someone trapped inside. They appear to be trying to move around, to find an escape.

Immediately, I grab my radio, “Cap, we need SARs on the corner of 10 th and Wilcott. Victim trapped in white SUV, debris burying bottom half of the vehicle. Vic is moving and seems to be aware of their situation. Garsona and I are on scene, going to try to extricate them.” With that, I drop to my knees on the hood to look into the window of the vehicle.

“She appears to be struggling,” Carlos remarks and I have to agree with his assessment.

“Ma’am, I’m Lt. McCormick and this is Lt. Garsona. We are here with Chatham City Search and Rescue. We’re here to help you. If you’re able to, please respond.”

“My son,” she says lowly, seemingly struggling to speak, “he fell asleep, and I can’t wake him. My seatbelt is locked, and I can’t get out. Please, help him.”

Her words shock us, and Carlos gets to the back, wiping down the window in order to see inside. “Was he injured, ma’am?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. We both know how bad this could possibly become.

“No, he was laughing with me. Said nothing hurt. He got upset because he messed himself and then cried himself to sleep. I’ve been trying for a couple of hours to get out of my seatbelt. We got stuck in a landslide. I was able to get the windows cracked, so we could get some air before the battery died, and I always carry snacks and water in case of emergencies, but I never thought we would have a bathroom emergency. I didn’t know what to do.” She’s crying now and I can’t even imagine how she’s feeling.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, and as she turns around and looks at me to say something, all words die appear to in her throat. The look of shock clear on her face.

“Katrina,” I manage to choke out. No, it can’t be. Not her. Not now.

Shit. Fuck. Jesus Christmas, why is she here? She has a son?