CHAPTER 62
Scott ignored Trish's phone calls. He turned the cell phone off and threw it on the embalming table.
She wanted him to get to her father's house. She couldn't find her dad. Couldn't get in touch with her sister. She was panicked again. Earlier he had told her that he needed to stay at the funeral home to make sure everything was okay. If a window blew out he wanted to be here to board it up so there wasn't any water damage. She didn't understand. After all, he hadn't lifted a finger to protect their brand-new home.
'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?'
