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“Yes, no images.”
He typed a few commands, and seconds later Kate’s story appeared on his laptop.
“Where’s 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, what’s that?”
“Just letting my daughter know I’m 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.
“That’s the best I can do. Sorry.”
“Whatever. Thanks for helping me, Fitch.”
“Otherwise you would’ve hurt me. I sensed that about you.”
“Ha-ha.”
Kate collected her things then took several steps from the truck.
“Hold on!” Fitch called. “You’ve got a reply here. Take a look.”
Kate returned and read the email.
Kate: You should’ve 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.”
Kate’s face flushed at Dorothea’s 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?
Jenna’s 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 isn’t real!
“Caleb! Anybody? Help!”
This can’t 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 couldn’t budge them.
Her mind reeled; her head spun.
“Help! Somebody help!”
Something tugged at her shirt.
“Mommy, that lady’s 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.
I’m sorry.
The woman was in her seventies. Her head, shoulders and arms were sticking out from debris as if she’d 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, don’t look, honey.”
Jenna took the woman’s hand to feel for a pulse.
Nothing.
“Is she dead, Mommy?”
“Shh-shh,” Jenna took Cassie into her arms.
“Where’s Caleb? Are we going to be dead, too?”
“Don’t worry, honey. Somebody’s going to help us. We’ll find Caleb.”
“Will Daddy come?”
“We’ll call Daddy.”
Adrenaline-driven fear vibrated through every part of Jenna’s body.
“You’re shaking, Mommy.”
“I know, everything’s going to be o—”
“Can anybody hear us?”
A man’s voice, very close.
“Yes!” Jenna shouted. “Over here! Please help us! My baby’s 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. “He’s five months old, he’s in his stroller. A lady was helping me hold him in the storm. I can’t find him! I can’t 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.
“Ma’am,” said the thirtysomething man who held her shoulders. “Ma’am, my name is Steve Pawson, the squad leader. Try to take it easy. It’s not safe. We’re here to help. Your head’s bleeding. How badly are you two hurt?”
“My daughter’s got cuts on her face. I got bumped, but I’m okay.”
“Anybody else in there with you?”
“A woman. I think she’s dead. I have to find my baby!”
Pawson nodded to other members of the rescue party, who were still searching the area where they’d found Jenna and Cassie, while a female team member studied Jenna with calm concern.
“Ma’am, I’d like to take care of your wound.”
The woman took a pressure bandage from her backpack, wrapped Jenna’s head. “Let me help you and your little girl. My name’s 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. He’s missing.” Jenna looked frantically in every direction. “We have to find him now! Please!”
“All right, Jenna,” Pawson said. “We’re 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. “It’s not safe. You’re in shock. I give you my word we’ll 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. “There’s 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. “I’m his mother. He needs me.”
“I know this is hard,” he said. “But you have to trust us.”
Tears rolled down Jenna’s 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 building’s 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 couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening.
“Maybe they found Caleb and took him to a hospital?” she said to Nancy.
“That’s possible. Let’s get you both checked more thoroughly.” Nancy took them to a table where a patient had just been cleared by the nurse there.
