Chapter 32
Hope held her breath, fearing the worst. Living in Tornado Alley, she knew full well that sometimes tornadoes would hop scotch from house to house or hit one side of the street and not the other, seemingly with no rhyme nor reason. She wanted to peek through her fingers like a young child. The older homes in the mature neighborhood weren’t in the best of shape to begin with.
Her heart pounded as they neared the massive front doors and thought about the school’s sweet—albeit occasionally cranky—neighbors. She hadn’t met many of them and chuckled about the few neighbors who predictably called the school to complain about the Kiltie Drum Corps practicing early in the mornings or grumbling about track players running along their sidewalks and disturbing their early morning walks. Still, cantankerous or not, they were neighbors. They were people who were living a normal life until this morning.
As the faculty members stepped outside, Hope gasped. Several houses across the street had been decimated. The large brick school had withstood the heavy winds but at least three of the older homes were crushed like crackers. Cars were overturned and furniture was scattered on the lawns and street. Many trees were pulled out by the roots or stripped of bark.
Hope blinked through tears as she surveyed the damage. The coaches ran toward the houses and immediately began lifting huge fragments of lumber, likely in case someone was trapped underneath. Hope was right on their heels and cursed her chubby legs for not moving faster.
She stood in a neighbor’s yard to assess the damage. Massive, stout oaks had been uprooted. The twister had literally stripped the bark off almost every other tree. It was as if the trees were naked. Some trees were broken down to stumps.
A lump formed in Hope’s throat as she looked east to west and north to south. She couldn’t believe three houses were completely gone. Gone. Brushing a tear from her cheek, she stared at the concrete foundations of what were, a mere hour earlier, family homes. Homes where people gathered to relax over dinner, maybe a glass of wine, play board games with kids, or watch a movie. Homes where new babies were welcomed with blue or pink walls and teddy bears. Homes where birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays were celebrated. Homes that held treasured memories—scrapbooks, photo albums, vacation mementos, concert tickets, and school yearbooks. Now everything was scattered to the wind. But most importantly, where were the people?
Hope could barely wrap her head around the dismal scene. She stepped over boards, shingles, and insulation. Glancing at the other faculty members, she noticed they each had the same look on their pale faces. Even the strong, broad-shouldered coaches were grim-faced.
She heard a moan and practically jumped out of her skin, as she rushed toward the sound. Coach Williams beat her to the site and tugged on a caved-in wall. Hope motioned for the others to help.
Everyone ran over and worked together to upright the wall which revealed a gray-haired, bun-wearing woman who sat seemingly frozen in a recliner. She wore soft, pink pajamas and was curled in a fetal position. A delicate white coffee cup with red roses was amazingly intact on the ground beside her. The woman stared wide-eyed as though she were in shock. I’d be in shock, too. She just withstood a twister and her house was destroyed.
Hope ran toward the survivor, bent down, and gently touched her arm. “Ma’am. Can you hear me?”
The woman didn’t respond. Her eyes were large and glassy. She stared straight ahead as if she weren’t aware of the chaos.
Hope held her hand. “My name is Hope Truman. I’m a counselor at Hilltop High School.” Still there was no response. Hope heard one of the coaches calling the police as she attempted to communicate with her again.
“Ma’am, we’ve called nine-one-one. Paramedics will be here any minute.” Hope patted her shoulder. “You’ll be okay.” She thought she detected a partial nod. “I’ll stay with you until the ambulance arrives.”
Still holding the elderly woman’s liver-spotted hand, Hope stood and whispered to the coach, “Why don’t the rest of you look around for others? Maybe she was married or—” Hope’s voice cracked.
Coaches Williams and Renner were already on it lifting large boards and limbs and dragging them toward an empty lot.
Soon blaring sirens and swirling lights filled the neighborhood. Three ambulances and two police cars raced to the horrific scene. The police used orange cones to block off the street, likely since rubbernecking citizens had already begun driving up and down the road. They left one lane open for emergency vehicles.
Paramedics jumped out of the back of the first ambulance and brought a stretcher to the scene. A tall paramedic barked, “Give us some room.”
Hope and the teachers gave him a wide berth as he put a stethoscope in his ears and listened to the woman’s heart. The EMT checked her pulse and shouted, “Can you hear me?”
The obviously confused and shocked woman simply stared ahead.
The paramedic raised his voice, still gentle but direct. “Ma’am. Your house was hit by a tornado. You’re lucky to be alive. Do you understand?”
She gave a barely detectable nod.
He continued as he waved to another paramedic for assistance. “We’re taking you to the hospital. You may have a concussion.” He reached for her hand. “Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.” He nodded toward the other paramedic and asked, “Do we have your consent to take you to the hospital? If so, squeeze my hand again.” He smiled. “We’ve got her consent. Steve, help me get her loaded.”
Hope didn’t realize she had been holding her breath. She let it out as paramedics gingerly loaded the frail woman into the ambulance. Hope ran her fingers through her unruly hair, wishing she could do more, do anything.
Staring at the destruction, she knew she just had to begin and walked around the house lifting pieces of lumber, broken windows, chunks of insulation, and tree limbs looking for anyone who might be buried under the rubble.
More teachers joined in the effort as well as several neighbors. The growing crowd worked solemnly and tirelessly searching for victims. They didn’t bother picking up housing items like toasters or chairs. That would come soon enough. Everyone seemed to understand today’s mission was searching for survivors.
The wail of a baby made Hope bristle. She ran toward the sound. A young mother had passed out and a young child, maybe one, crawled on top of her.
Hope rushed over and picked up the little boy. His feet were barefoot and his clothes were drenched. She smoothed his black, curly hair and kissed his cheek, telling him “Mommy’s okay. Mommy’s okay,” but the child wouldn’t stop crying. Hope waved madly toward her teacher friends. The two coaches arrived and one checked the woman’s pulse. “She’s alive.”
“Thank God,” Hope said. “Get another ambulance over here.”
Apparently an officer overheard her. She glanced in his direction as she bounced the toddler on her hip, trying anything to get him to stop crying. The cop talked into his shoulder microphone and requested another emergency vehicle STAT.
Willow and Larry-Mac ran over. “Is the child okay? Larry asked. Without asking permission, he reached for the tot, made silly noises, and held him in the air like an airplane. The young boy stopped crying.
Hope’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a way with kids.”
Larry-Mac grinned. “I’ve always loved ‘em. Too bad I never had any.”
Hope’s face—and heart—fell.
Willow patted Larry’s arm. “That’s too bad. You would have a made a wonderful father. Just look at that kid. He can’t take his eyes off you.”
Thankfully, sirens blared, so no one could hear Hope’s heart shattering. She glanced back at the janitor who made car revving and honking noises. The toddler was all smiles and trying to mimic the sounds, as if there had never been a tornado and as though his mother weren’t out cold. Maybe Larry does have a twin brother. This isn’t the dad I remember.
After paramedics loaded the young mom and toddler into a second ambulance, the group worked until the sun set. Eventually, authorities ran them off due to a downed power line. A police officer announced he and others would take shifts throughout the night to patrol the area and avoid looting. A tall, broad-shouldered officer thanked the volunteers and asked them to go home.
Hope left the destruction in a daze. This day feels like a dream, or rather, a nightmare. After trudging to her office, she unearthed Britney’s now-dry crinkled homework from earlier that day and found her phone underneath the paperwork.
At a stop light, she turned on her cell. Sure enough, Alex and Suzy had left half a dozen messages asking if she was okay. She smiled to herself. I love my friends and they love me but I don’t have the energy to call them. I’ll text later. They must be worried sick.
Once she arrived in the safety and solace of her home, Hope texted, explained the school wasn’t hit, but several neighbors’ houses were destroyed. She considered mentioning finding three survivors, getting hit on the head, and discovering her thought-dead hippie dad, but deleted that part of the text. It was information overload, plus she didn’t have an ounce of energy left for a long back and forth conversation. They’ll find out soon enough. She simply said she was safe at home and loved them.