Chapter 8 - Forty-Three
They reached the gallery as another section of hillside broke loose.
The sound rolled over the building like a train passing too close.
Harris stopped them at the annex entrance while the outside team checked the trestle.
Clare stood beside Amos, keeping her flashlight low enough not to shine into his eyes.
He was breathing harder.
She spoke to him quietly.
“Tell me about the first thing you’re eating when this is over.”
“Pie.”
“What kind?”
“Depends who’s buying.”
Brooks let out a short breath that might have been a laugh.
“Put it on my bill.”
Amos turned his head.
“You officers always say that.”
Through the radio, the trestle team gave clearance to continue.
They moved into the annex.
The building smelled of wet concrete and old detergent.
A broken window let rain sweep across the floor.
Beyond the outer door, floodlights marked the pump station.
So close.
Clare refused to count the distance.
She watched the people in front of her.
The patient.
The rescuers.
The next safe place to stand.
Halfway through the annex, a sharp crack came from the gallery behind them.
Lionel’s old service connection shifted away from the main building.
For a moment, Clare saw open darkness where a wall joint had been.
Harris’s voice remained controlled.
“Keep moving.”
Nobody ran.
The team reached the trestle.
Across the ravine, Ruiz stood beneath the pump station lights.
She was counting.
Clare could see her lips move.
Amos.
Brooks.
Harris.
The rescue team.
Clare.
Then a violent gust struck the passage.
A piece of damaged siding tore loose from the annex and slammed against the outer barrier.
Clare flinched.
Her boot caught against a raised edge.
For one terrible instant, she lost her balance.
Brooks reached toward her, but she caught the handhold before he touched her.
She froze.
The ravine roared below.
In her mind, she saw Noah’s name on a folded program.
Ava waiting at Ruth’s kitchen table.
The empty space where the bridge catwalk had fallen.
“Clare,” Brooks said.
She could hear him.
Could not move.
“Look at me.”
She turned her head.
He stood where the rescue team had directed him, steady and close enough to help without crowding her.
“One step,” he said.
She took it.
Then another.
At the pump station doorway, Ruiz reached for her arm.
Clare crossed the threshold.
Warmth hit her face.
Diesel exhaust.
Wet blankets.
Coffee.
A hundred human sounds layered over one another.
Amos was already inside.
Malik leaned over Samuel.
Rose slept.
Elias looked up when Clare entered and raised their joined hands.
Jessa stood beside the master chart.
Her cheeks were wet.
“Forty-three,” she said.
Clare stared at her.
Jessa held up the sheet.
“Forty-three residents received. All staff accounted for. Rescue personnel check is complete.”
Clare took the paper.
Read the names.
Every mark.
Every line.
Arthur Bell.
Rose Mercer.
Elias Mercer.
Samuel Ellis.
Amos Reed.
Forty-three.
Outside, the nursing home made a sound nobody in that room would forget.
Through the open doorway, they watched part of the eastern wall fold inward.
The second-floor windows dropped unevenly.
A cloud of dust and rain rose above the roof.
Then darkness swallowed the outline.
No one spoke.
Clare looked toward the narrow gallery.
Gone.
The route that had carried them out no longer existed.
Her legs weakened.
She sat down abruptly on an empty chair.
For several seconds, she could not stop shaking.
Jessa knelt in front of her.
“Clare?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re hurt?”
She looked down.
A scrape crossed her hand.
One knee ached.
Everything else seemed to belong to someone far away.
“I don’t think so.”
A medic came over to assess her.
For once, she let someone else ask the questions.
Brooks stood near the doorway, watching the vanished building.
Ruiz approached him.
“Sir. All accounted for.”
He nodded.
Once.
Then again.
As if the words needed somewhere to settle.
Clare fumbled for her phone.
There was a weak signal.
Enough.
She called Ruth.
Her aunt answered before the first full ring.
“Clare?”
“I’m safe.”
On the other end, someone began crying.
Then a smaller voice came through.
“Aunt Clare?”
She pressed the phone closer.
“Hi, baby.”
“Did your bracelet work?”
Clare looked at the blue yarn on her pack.
Across the room, Amos was telling a medic that a commander owed him pie.
Jessa was laughing through tears.
Brooks had covered his face with one hand.
“Yes,” Clare whispered.
“It worked.”
She listened to Ava breathe.
May you like
Then she made the promise she had wanted to make all night.
“I’m coming home.”
