“Who’s injured? Sound off!”

The grating static of a two-way radio crackled until the team responded.

“Staunton here. I’ve got Trellis and Davidson with me. All uninjured.”

“Nguyen here–all good.”

“Richards and Stewart are with me–Cruz. Stewart might have a twisted ankle. Otherwise, fine.”

Firefighters and first responders found their feet amidst the glistening wet rubble of the Paradise. The air smelled of freshly poured concrete as the downpour mixed with dust. They moved with careful precision, not wanting to spark another shift. The rain battered their helmets and reduced their vision to blurry stripes through their faceplates.

Their captain, Adam Fitzpatrick, wiped the moisture with his sleeve but only smeared it. “Shoot,” he muttered and lifted the protective plastic.

“Fitz?” his radio chirped.

“Go ahead.”

“We have an ETA on the crane. About five minutes.”

“Copy.” Adam, more often known as “Fitz,” peered through the torrential precipitation to spot the promised crane. Nothing yet. Five minutes, my butt. His team often teased him about his “aw shucks” vocabulary, but he detested foul language. He took stock of the transformed landscape. The further collapse had opened new crevices and possible means of entry.

He pulled his flashlight from his belt, clicked on the intense beam and sent it into the nearest recent fissure. It looked deep. This might be the way in.

“Lexi, NO!”

Fitz jerked toward the sound and saw two women sprinting through the sand below. The lady in the lead was small and skinny, her blonde hair matted and dripping. She wore a green Paradise housekeeping smock. The heavier, curly-haired woman chased her but wasn’t able to keep up.

His curiosity turned to alarm when Skinny launched herself up the sloping pile of the ruined building, and scrambled over loose debris.

“Ma’am, stop!” he called over the pounding rain. “You can’t come up–,” but before he finished his sentence, she had spotted the opening near him and dropped into it, wriggling out of sight.

The noise echoed everywhere. Simon clamped his hands over his ears to block out the unwelcome symphony. Loud sounds had always been his enemy. And now he was trapped in the middle of a hundred indistinguishable notes.

Drip, drip, splash.

Cling, clang, BANG.

Voices…

That lady had yelled so loud before she finally stopped. Loud, loud, loud. She hadn’t made any more noise. And then everyone started talking, talking, talking. Until the crashing cacophony took over, and everything lurched and shook.

“Simon!”

He uncovered one ear tentatively and peeked upward.

“Y’okay?” Matty asked

Simon shrugged and nodded, resuming his earmuff position.

His mama had brought him here. Why did she do that? Simon knew his mother hated him. She didn’t hide it. But he never thought…

“–I-MON!”

Peering up once more, Simon saw Matty gesticulating, motioning him upward. “You can come up here now! The cave-in made a path!”

Hands still clamped tight, Simon’s eyes narrowed. He inspected the way up to his new…friend. It looked scary. And dangerous. He shook his head and fixed his gaze on his feet. Between them, he could see through a gap in the rubble. The pitch-black void tugged at his curiosity, and he reached one hand tentatively toward the gap, closing the distance with hesitant caution.

Simon slipped his fingers through the opening and gasped. He snatched his hand back. The water was right there.

Rain dripped everywhere and rolled down his skin, but he couldn’t get much in his mouth. His tongue felt like sandpaper. Who should he ask for a soda? When no answer to this question came to him, a burning tendril of anxiety crept into his belly. Simon rocked forward and back rhythmically, a tight groan punctuated each movement.

***

“Any luck?” Esme asked through clenched teeth.

“No,” Marcus said. “Matty was knocked out cold but woke up pretty quickly. Bella’s crying, thank God. The other kid–”

“–Simon.”

“–is just rocking after Matty spoke to him. You said he’s on the spectrum?”

“I think so. Can you reach them?” Esme asked Marcus.

Marcus squatted and shifted, trying to find a sightline to the kids.

“I dunno,” he said. “I need to check you out first.”

“Don’t. Just get the kids out. Leave me for last.”

“They seem fine. You need a hospital.” Marcus eyed his wife’s legs. The rubble shift had knocked off the concrete slab that pinned her, and he could see her injuries. He almost wished he hadn’t.

Below the knee, both legs were flattened and distorted. Her swollen skin shone a mottled purple and blue. Her toes were gray. Not good. He glanced at her face, white and sweating.

“Pain?”

“It’s not terrible,” Esme said. “Pushing Bella out was worse.”

Marcus quirked a pained grin at the memory.

“So, Sofia’s safe?” she asked for the third time.

“Yes,” Marcus repeated. “They evacuated her.”

“Wait, what? Where?”

“I’m not sure.”

Esme’s mouth fell open. “You’re not sure where our daughter is?”

“Geez, Es, she went with the authorities. To the evacuation center.”

“You sent her off alone? With no one? With strangers? To an unknown location? Why would you do that?”

“I had to try to save you and the littles. I had to.”

“Mierda, Marcus,” Esme hissed.

Marcus felt a humiliating blush rise over his neck and face and, with it, familiar anger. “What was I supposed to do?” he snapped. “Abandon you? Leave you to die? My babies to drown?”

Esme’s jaw set as her glare pierced him.

“Screw you.” Marcus met her gaze. “I did what I had to do. Would you rather I ditch her on the open beach as the hurricane blew in? She’s at an evacuation center. She’s safe.”

The echoes of a thousand voices buffeted Sofia, who sat on a bare cot with her goose-pimpled arms crossed tightly across her bikini-clad chest.

“Got some!”

Jax pushed through the milling crowd with a cloth bundle. He stopped in front of her with a triumphant smile and dropped the clothes into her lap. “Shirt and pants, milady,” he said with mock formality.

Sofia laughed, relieved. She felt naked in her swimsuit, although plenty of people close by wore similar attire. The rough cotton scratched at her skin as she pulled the large collared top over her shoulders and started on the buttons.

“Don’t go too high,” Jax smirked. “Leave me somethin’ to look at.”

Sofia chuckled, but a twinge of unease pinged in her gut.

The loose sweatpants billowed around her ankles, but she didn’t care: she was grateful to cover up and get warm. The air conditioning in the arena still blasted icy air despite the storm outside.

A petite woman in scrubs darted from person to person nearby, handed out flashlights and water bottles. “We may lose power soon. Keep these handy,” she said to each new group.

Jax plopped onto the cot beside her, his hip brushed hers. Anxiety curled around her throat and squeezed.

“Are you still in school?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sophomore.”

“Cool.”

“In high school,” she added.

“Sexy!” Jax laughed, elbowing her side.

Her throat squeezed tighter, and her laugh sounded forced. She scooted over a few inches, and masked the movement with a cough.

The rain pelted the metal roof with the ferocity of a championship drum line. I wish I had my earbuds…

“Here’s a flashlight,” said the nurse, handing the couple one light and a bottle. “The power’s not gonna last much longer.”

“Can I have my own?” Sofia blurted.

Jax glanced sideways, frowning. “I got you, girl.”

Sofia’s gaze bored into the nurse’s brown eyes.

Her brow furrowed as she opened her mouth to reply and then shut it again, thinking. “Do you want to help me pass these out?”

Sofia nodded and jumped to her feet.

“I can help, too,” said Jax, rising.

“Don’t need two,” the nurse said, brusquely heaved the box into Sofia’s arms.

“Well, I’m sure–”

“–C’mon,” the nurse said. She gestured for Sofia to follow and walked away.