Damaged (27 page)

“This is different,” he tried to explain. This was their livelihood. They could stay in a hotel if their home was destroyed. But if the funeral home was damaged, they would have no money coming in. How could she not understand the difference?

He’d just finished washing his hands. He couldn’t get rid of the smell of decomposing flesh. He checked cupboards. Washed down the embalming room. Sprayed disinfectants. Still the smell persisted. He’d heard about olfactory hallucinations at one of the funeral-director conferences. At the time he thought it sounded ridiculous. Now he wondered if, in fact, that’s what was happening to him.

Outside the world grew dark. Power lines danced in the wind. The sporadic downpours left water flooding the streets. Pine trees had already snapped in half. With every wave, the storm grew more intense. From the radio Scott learned that once the hurricane made landfall there would be no break for six to ten hours. Twelve to fifteen if the backstorm was just as intense.

He had to admit, now that he’d seen a piece of the pre-storm, he was frightened. As a kid he had fought claustrophobia after being locked inside the trunk of a neighbor’s car—his punishment for mouthing off to the older, stronger kids. This storm renewed his claustrophobia.

A crash brought him to the window.

“Son of a bitch.”

A branch from the huge live oak outside the back door had been ripped off. The heavy part tumbled to the ground but power lines held up the other end. Sparks flashed. The lights in the funeral home blinked a couple of times but stayed on.

He realized the tree could end up coming through the roof. If windows exploded and branches flew in, he might not be safe inside. Trish had said that earlier, but he hadn’t listened.

He grabbed a flashlight and started looking for cover. The utility closet? On the radio they had said an interior room with no windows was best. He paced the hallway. Then suddenly he stopped and turned around.

Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? The walk-in refrigerator was stainless steel. Nothing could rip that apart.

He turned on the light and pulled a chair inside. He shoved the table with Uncle Mel to one side. Joe Black had left two shelves filled with body parts. The other table was still occupied by the young man that Scott had imagined moved.

He closed the walk-in refrigerator’s door and made himself sit down. This was perfect. No way this hurricane would touch him.

The lights blinked again. He heard a click, followed by two more. The electronic locks on the walk-in refrigerator’s door had just engaged. He raced to the door just as the lights went out. His stomach sank. He wouldn’t be able to open the door until the electricity came back on.

CHAPTER 63

Liz wiped at her goggles. It didn’t help. Just as she could see, the spray clouded her sight, again.

The wind yanked her up and down, whipping her from side to side. Once she almost made contact and Kesnick pulled too far up. Finally, her feet hit the deck. Kesnick slackened the cable. She dropped and rolled as a wave swallowed the boat. It almost pushed her overboard. She felt the cable go taut just as she grabbed on to a railing. Before Kesnick could change his mind, Liz waved that she was okay.

Communication would be tough. Almost impossible. Her hand gestures might become invisible as the rain intensified. But if the boat swirled out of control, she was still connected to the helicopter. And at the first sign of trouble Kesnick would pull her up.

She crawled along the deck, grabbing on to hooks and cables attached to the boat. She couldn’t see anyone at the helm. She focused on her task. She was in control. There was no room for panic.

Liz pulled at the cabin door. The wind fought her. She hung on and ducked just as another wave came crashing over the top. The hoist cable tugged at her waist. Kesnick was impatient, nervous. She took the time to wave up at him. Could he see her thumbs-up?

The time between crests grew shorter. She had maybe a dozen seconds. She yanked at the cabin door again, using all her strength. It popped open.

No one was at the wheel. The engines were turned off. The owner must have realized there was no fighting the waves.

“Hello,” she yelled and stood still, listening for a response.

Nothing. Static behind her. The radio.

“Anyone down there?”

She pulled off her goggles. Let them dangle around her neck. She waited to catch her breath then she started down the steps.

The gun was pressed against her left temple before she even saw it.

CHAPTER 64

“She’s in,” Pete Kesnick said, but Maggie didn’t hear any relief in his words. If anything he sounded more on edge. Their swimmer was out of sight and they still didn’t have any idea what the situation was down below.

“If the medical condition or injury is serious, she may not be able to use the quick strop.” Kesnick practically hung out the open doorway. He leaned against his own cable, fighting the rain and wind, trying to watch for Liz.

He had double-checked the cable. A good thing, because Maggie was certain she wouldn’t be able to help this time. Not with the wind violently shoving the helicopter around. The roar made it difficult to hear even the voices inside her helmet.

“She’s gonna need to hurry.” Wilson sounded as tightly wound as the cable. “We gotta go. Command center is telling me ten minutes. Tops.”

“We can’t do this in ten minutes,” Kesnick told him. “She might be stabilizing someone on board.”

“I’m watching the clock. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Can someone go down and help her?” Maggie asked.

Silence. It was as if they didn’t want to acknowledge her presence.

Wilson had already put up a fuss about her being on his craft. He had complained to Liz as they geared up. Didn’t care that Maggie was standing right there.

“No one else is authorized to deploy except the rescue swimmer,” Wilson finally told her. “We can send down anything she needs. Anything that might help her. But we stay in the helicopter. Or we have to leave and send a cutter back.”

“You’d leave her down there?”

More silence.

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice. You follow the rules. I have a responsibility to the entire crew.”

“But the hurricane—”

“Exactly,” was his one-word answer. A pause, then, “Seven minutes, Kesnick.”

“You can’t just leave her.”

“Agent O’Dell, you do not have any authority in this craft. I do. Understand?”

“I don’t see her,” Kesnick yelled.

“Give her a tug.”

“Nothing.”

They waited.

Maggie’s heart pounded against her rib cage, the rhythm the same as the thump-thump of the rotors. Sweat rolled down her back and yet she felt chilled. She watched Wilson’s profile. Jaw clamped tight. His visor prevented her from seeing his eyes, but his hands were steady, fists clenched on the control. Beside him, Ellis was an exact contrast—head bobbing and twisting around, trying to see below.

“This is the Coast Guard,” Ellis yelled into the radio.
“Restless Sole
, can you hear me?”

“Five minutes,” Wilson said. “Where the hell is she?”

“Restless Sole
, can you hear me?” Ellis shouted but only got static in response.

That’s when it hit Maggie.
Restless Sole
. Wasn’t that the name of Joe Black’s boat?

“No one’s answering,” Ellis said.

“Kesnick?”

“I don’t see her.”

“We have got to get the hell out of here. Pull her up, Kesnick. PULL HER UP NOW.”

Kesnick obeyed. The cable whined and spun. Maggie waited to see Liz come over the doorway. Instead, she saw Kesnick grab the cable and spin around to his pilots. He didn’t say a word as he held up the cable. It had been cut.

CHAPTER 65

Liz couldn’t do a thing as the cable whipped away from her and flew out of the cabin. Her lifeline was gone.

But she wouldn’t have left now anyway. Not without her dad.

She asked if she could bandage his hand. He held it up and against his chest, the front of his jumpsuit already drenched in blood.

“I’m okay, darling,” Walter insisted.

She recognized the woman from the beach. She had never seen the man who casually introduced himself as Joe Black, never letting the revolver slip from her temple.

“We’ll just all stay put for a while and the helicopter will go away.” Joe didn’t sound fazed.

“They won’t leave their rescue swimmer,” Walter said.

Liz couldn’t tell her dad that wasn’t the way it always worked. It had happened once after Katrina. The helicopter had been dangerously low on fuel and packed with injured survivors. Liz had told them to go ahead while she waited on an apartment rooftop with a dozen others, angry and impatient for their turn. It was nightfall before her aircrew was able to return.

“I’ll end up with three healthy specimens,” Joe continued to rant. “I don’t have enough ice but I suppose I could tether a couple of you to the back of the boat. Put life jackets on.”

“Specimens.” The woman spit it out like she was disgusted and certainly not afraid. “You’re gonna nickel-and-dime my body parts? Is that what you have in mind, young man?” She was holding her ankle but it didn’t stop her. “I’ll have you know that my husband was murdered for millions of dollars. Millions.”

Joe Black ignored the woman. He stood, braced inside the stairwell, blocking their way but also able to keep an eye on all of them. He’d tethered himself to the railing and was able to ride out the boat’s pitching back and forth. When Liz almost fell, the revolver swung down with her.

The boat rocked more violently, climbing and falling with the cresting waves. The noise was deafening. There was a crash somewhere up above them. Something had come down hard on the deck. Their eyes lifted to the ceiling. That’s when they heard the helicopter rotors moving away. Within seconds the sound grew faint. They were leaving.

Liz’s eyes met her dad’s across the cabin. She knew her crew couldn’t stay. A cutter would take forever to find them in these conditions. It probably wasn’t even safe to try. This wouldn’t be like her Katrina rooftop experience. This time her aircrew wouldn’t return.

Joe Black was grinning.

“So who wants to go first?” he asked.

If Liz rushed him, he’d shoot her before she could get the gun away from him. What had she told Maggie O’Dell? It wasn’t about being brave; it was about surviving. Fighting against crushing waves or dangling from a cable didn’t scare her. Even when survivors challenged
her, she’d count on her training, redirect her adrenaline. Maybe she could talk this guy off his ledge.

Joe Black pointed the gun at Liz as though he could hear her thoughts.

“A cutter’s on its way,” she lied. “The helicopter probably had it in sight. That’s why they left.”

She saw him consider it. Something crashed above again, and his eyes shot up but only briefly. Another wave slammed the boat. There was a high-pitched screech of something skidding across the deck.

“The boat’s being ripped apart,” the old woman yelled.

“Shut the hell up,” Black screamed at her, repositioning himself in the stairway and taking aim.

“NO.” She heard her dad yell, followed by the blast of a gunshot.