Please dont leave me, the woman said.
Kate took her hand and sat with her while calling for help.
I was in the office, the woman said. Everything outside went black. The whole office twisted off the ground, the windows exploded, the walls started wobbling like rubber. I was hurled around like a doll in a blender. The desk, the chair, smashed into me. Broken glass flew like bullets. I was going to die. Tears were streaming down the womans face. Bless you for helping me.
Kate consoled her until paramedics arrived.
As Kate continued to the Saddle Up Center she spotted a satellite truck for WFGG-TV News, reminding her that she needed to get a story to Chuck at the bureau.
I need to file now, before I get to the center.
She sat near two crushed cars with Xs, paged through her notes and began writing on her cell phone. She had the story structured in her head and her fingers moved fast. The screen smeared with blood as she typed, finishing at the five-hundred word mark.
Theres no cell service. How will I get this to the bureau?
The answer was in the distance.
She hurried to the WFGG-TV satellite truck with its dish extended on the pole above. Satellite phones didnt need cell phone networks, they worked anywhere. No one was around. She pounded on the doors. A man in his mid-twenties with a stubbled face opened a side door. Jaw clenched, he stared at Kate.
Theres no cell service. How will I get this to the bureau?
The answer was in the distance.
She hurried to the WFGG-TV satellite truck with its dish extended on the pole above. Satellite phones didnt need cell phone networks, they worked anywhere. No one was around. She pounded on the doors. A man in his mid-twenties with a stubbled face opened a side door. Jaw clenched, he stared at Kate.
What is it?
Im Kate Page, a reporter with Newslead.
Yeah, so? Im busy.
Whats your name?
Fitch, but Im busy.
She saw the array of small monitors, computers and equipment.
You guys have a satellite phone, right, Fitch?
Weve got satellite everything.
Theres no cell service. I need your help now. I need you to take a file off my phone and send it to my desk over your sat system.
Sorry, Im busy.
Fitch, please, Ill give you twenty bucks.
He looked at her, considered the deal.
Thirty.
Come on, wheres the professional camaraderie?
Thirty.
Okay, thirty. Deal.
Let me see your phone.
Kate gave it to him. He examined the ports.
I should have a transfer cable for that. What is it you need to move?
Kate took the phone, showed him her file named Storm-1.
Just text? He turned to his workstation, rummaged through a box of wires and adapters, fished out a cable, connected one end to Kates phone, the other to a laptop.
Yes, no images.
He typed a few commands, and seconds later Kates story appeared on his laptop.
Wheres it going? he asked. You can email it.
Kate gave him the newsroom email address for filing stories.
Type Urgent from Kate Page in the subject line.
Fitch angled the laptop to Kate.
You go ahead, write what you need. Keep it short.
She stepped inside, set her things down and typed:
No phone service at the flea market. WFGG let me use their satellite. Will file more soon, Kate Page.
After sending her story, Kate typed another email to her friend Heather in Ohio.
Hey, whats that?
Just letting my daughter know Im okay.
Kate was fast, hit Send then went through her wallet. All she could find were twenties. She checked her pockets. No cash there. She passed Fitch forty dollars.
I need the change, buddy.
He slid his hand into his jeans and pulled out a five.
Thats the best I can do. Sorry.
Whatever. Thanks for helping me, Fitch.
Otherwise you wouldve hurt me. I sensed that about you.
Ha-ha.
Kate collected her things then took several steps from the truck.
Hold on! Fitch called. Youve got a reply here. Take a look.
Kate returned and read the email.
Kate: You shouldve tried to reach us sooner. Can you find anything stronger? Your story has no reference to the Saddle Up Center, which you were told to focus on. Benny Lopez, one of our photogs, is on scene, you should find him fast. AP has already filed.-DP.
What a hard-ass, Fitch said. AP has satellite phones.
Kates face flushed at Dorotheas remarks.
Want to respond? Fitch asked.
No.
Kate slammed the door like a gunshot when she rushed out of the truck.
6
Wildhorse Heights, Texas
Help! Somebody help!
What?
Jennas ears pricked to the sound of a faded response.
Someone was out there, far off.
She looked and felt around, clawed at the debris. The stroller was gone. The red-haired woman was gone. The man with her was gone.
No, this isnt real!
Caleb! Anybody? Help!
This cant be!
Help! Somebody, over here! Help!
Hello!
Someone was out there and getting closer. Jenna thrust her hands up to the wooden beams that were sealing their tiny cell like pickup sticks. She couldnt budge them.
Her mind reeled; her head spun.
Help! Somebody help!
Something tugged at her shirt.
Mommy, that ladys scaring me, Cassie said.
What lady?
In there.
Jenna repositioned herself to go as far as she could behind Cassie. She stopped at a bushy mass of white hair belonging to an old woman.
Jenna shot back. Bile gushed along the back of her throat as she battled nausea. A corpse! Oh, God! Jenna touched the back of her hand to her mouth, fought to regain her composure. All the while her scalp tingled.
Im sorry.
The woman was in her seventies. Her head, shoulders and arms were sticking out from debris as if shed attempted to swim out. One side of her face was torn off, revealing tissue, her teeth and skull. She was not moving, or breathing.
Oh God, dont look, honey.
Jenna took the womans hand to feel for a pulse.
Nothing.
Is she dead, Mommy?
Shh-shh, Jenna took Cassie into her arms.
Wheres Caleb? Are we going to be dead, too?
Dont worry, honey. Somebodys going to help us. Well find Caleb.
Will Daddy come?
Well call Daddy.
Adrenaline-driven fear vibrated through every part of Jennas body.
Youre shaking, Mommy.
I know, everythings going to be o-
Can anybody hear us?
A mans voice, very close.
Yes! Jenna shouted. Over here! Please help us! My babys missing! We have to find him! Please!
Can you move something to signal your position?
Jenna found a length of pipe, shoved it straight up and wiggled it while shouting.
Here! Over here!
We see it. Hold tight.
More voices and muted radio talk filled the air along with the noise of debris being moved piece by piece. It took time before searchers, about six in all from a Dallas rapid-rescue squad, cleared their way to Jenna and Cassie and lifted them from the ruins.
Please help me find my baby boy! Jenna sobbed, pulling Cassie to her. Hes five months old, hes in his stroller. A lady was helping me hold him in the storm. I cant find him! I cant find her! Jenna scanned the area, hysterical. Help me!
Jenna suddenly lunged toward the area where she and Cassie had been trapped, grabbing, kicking at pieces of wood, metal, plastic, tossing them wildly, causing small sections to shift then collapse, forcing new jagged spearlike sections to dangerously jut from the ocean of debris.
Caleb! My baby!
Members of the rescue team pulled her back.
Maam, said the thirtysomething man who held her shoulders. Maam, my name is Steve Pawson, the squad leader. Try to take it easy. Its not safe. Were here to help. Your heads bleeding. How badly are you two hurt?
My daughters got cuts on her face. I got bumped, but Im okay.
Anybody else in there with you?
A woman. I think shes dead. I have to find my baby!
Pawson nodded to other members of the rescue party, who were still searching the area where theyd found Jenna and Cassie, while a female team member studied Jenna with calm concern.
Maam, Id like to take care of your wound.
Maam, Id like to take care of your wound.
The woman took a pressure bandage from her backpack, wrapped Jennas head. Let me help you and your little girl. My names Nancy. Can you tell me your names? she asked while assessing their conditions.
Jenna, Jenna Cooper and this is my daughter, Cassie. My baby son is Caleb. Hes missing. Jenna looked frantically in every direction. We have to find him now! Please!
All right, Jenna, Pawson said. Were going to search everywhere for him. Nancy here will take you and your daughter to the first aid station.
No, I need to stay and look for my baby!
Jenna Pawson was firm and looked directly at her. Its not safe. Youre in shock. I give you my word well keep searching everywhere. We have dogs coming to help us find people.
Jenna stood there, numbed, not moving, not speaking.
Go with Nancy, Jenna. Pawson softened his voice. Theres more help at the first aid station, people to take more information about your son.
But I have to look for him. Her voice trailed. Im his mother. He needs me.
I know this is hard, he said. But you have to trust us.
Tears rolled down Jennas blood-streaked face as she, Cassie and Nancy moved through the debris. With every step, Jenna concentrated, searching intensely for any trace of Caleb, but it was futile as the horror of the Saddle Up Center unfolded around them.
7
Wildhorse Heights, Texas
It was slow going for Jenna, Cassie and Nancy, trying to step through the wreckage of the Saddle Up Center without stumbling.
In every direction, more rescue teams sifted through endless heaps of smashed walls, remnants of vendor stalls, chunks of the buildings roof. The voices of those still buried and hurt called out as search-and-rescue dogs led their handlers, probing the destruction to pinpoint pockets of life. Workers carefully disentangled debris to extricate survivors.
Nancy led Jenna and Cassie to a canvas canopy erected at the edge of where the center had stood. Dozens of bleeding victims were being treated at the busy first aid station. Paramedics loaded those suffering the most serious injuries onto gurneys, hurried them to ambulances and on to hospitals. Victims in critical condition were being rushed to a landing site nearby to be transported by helicopter to hospitals.
Where is my baby?
Jenna scoured the activity for any sign of her son, all the while thinking how this couldnt be real, this couldnt be happening.
Maybe they found Caleb and took him to a hospital? she said to Nancy.