Grits And Glory. Ron Benrey

look after Carlo.”

      “You did that by walking from the parking lot to the church.” She pushed him back down. “When you rang the bell, I was already at the side door. I heard the steeple fall and I wanted to see what happened.”

      “What happened is that it hit our van, and some big pieces of wood plowed through our windshield.” Sean recalled the noise of glass breaking…

      “Don’t fall asleep,” Ann said. “Keep talking.”

      “Carlo and I were sitting up front, watching the storm. I’d lowered the outriggers, so the wind wouldn’t tip the van…”

      “And?”

      “There were two strong gusts. The first one knocked out the electricity. The second made a big ‘boom,’ glass and wood flying everywhere. Carlo got the worst of it. He was in the passenger seat.”

      Ann said something into her radio, but he only caught one word: paramedic.

      “You’re drifting,” Ann said. “Stay with me.”

      “I want apologize on behalf of the Storm Channel.”

      “Apologize for what?”

      “You won’t be on television tonight. Our satellite antenna is smashed. No more live broadcasts from Glory.”

      “And here I went to all the trouble of acquiring this soaking wet look.”

      Sean gazed at Ann. Her hair was drenched and makeup had run down her cheeks.

      “You’re pretty.”

      “Now I’m sure that you need medical attention.”

      Sean knew he had chuckled, but he couldn’t remember what was funny.

      He felt another shake. “Talk some more. Tell me about Gilda.”

      “There’s not much to tell. She zigged to the east.”

      “What does that mean?”

      Sean couldn’t remember. He told himself to focus. His thoughts abruptly sharpened. “Gilda’s track shifted, so Glory’s out of the bull’s-eye. The storm’s weaker southwestern quadrant is blowing through town. The last time I checked, the wind speed was down to eighty-five miles per hour.”

      “Glory won’t be flattened?”

      “Nope. There’ll be less wind damage and a much smaller storm surge.”

      “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Ann said.

      “We weather forecasters try to please.”

      He watched Ann step away from him when a man dressed in yellow magically appeared at his side.

      “This must be our patient,” the man said.

      Ann nodded. “Sean, meet Dave. He’s an emergency medical technician.”

      Sean tried to look at Dave, but all he could see was a bright light shining in his right eye.

      “He might have a concussion,” Dave said. “I’ll transport him to the hospital, too. Trouble is I can’t use a gurney right now because the rest of the team is working on Carlo Vaughn.” The light blinked off. “Sean, do you think you can walk to the ambulance?”

      “Absolutely!” Sean began to stand—and staggered into Ann.

      “Not so fast,” Dave said. “I’ll support your right side. Ann, you grab his left arm.” He continued, “Sean, take a step at a time. Tell us if you feel faint.”

      “How’s Carlo?” Ann asked.

      “Yeah,” Sean muttered. “How is Carlo?”

      “He’s conscious, but barely.”

      “Oh, my!” Ann said.

      “Oh, my,” Sean echoed, and then he said, “I feel dizzy.”

      “That’s what happens when you get whacked in the head.” Dave spoke to Ann. “I’ll handle the door, you prop up Sean.”

      “Yummy!” Sean said when he felt the rain against his face. He lifted his head. The light poles were dark but three powerful floodlights on the ambulance provided enough illumination to see most of the parking lot. The ambulance was positioned on the left side of the van—the side away from the fallen steeple. The wind was still roaring, but less loudly than before.

      “Sheesh!” Sean said to Ann. “Your steeple looks like a stack of firewood.” He tried to move toward the pile of rubble.

      “Slow down,” Dave said. “Take one step at a time.”

      “I must be seeing things in the dark,” Ann said. “Don’t those look like red boots sticking out from beneath the white boards?”

      “Yep,” Sean said. “They look exactly like fake boots.”

      “Except…” Ann began, then went silent.

      Dave took over. “Except those are real boots, attached to real legs. Someone else was hit by the falling steeple.”

      Sean felt uneasy when Ann left his side, ran toward the mound of shattered wood and began to yank the boards away.

      “Be careful!” Dave shouted. “Those boards are studded with nails.”

      “Shouldn’t you help her?” Sean said to Dave.

      “I will—after I get you to the ambulance.”

      They’d reached the back of the broadcast van when Ann screamed, loudly enough for Sean to hear her over the wind.

      “Dave! It’s Richard Squires!”

      Sean remembered. The man who fixes generators…

      And then everything went black.

      THREE

      Ann stood behind Dave as he kneeled down and felt for the artery in Richard Squires’s neck. She knew Dave wouldn’t find a pulse. The way Richard’s body lay under the shattered boards and the empty expression on his face declared he wasn’t alive.

      She sucked in two deep breaths to stop the churning in her stomach and glanced up at the clouds that were barely visible against the inky sky. She saw distant flashes of lightning and heard the rumble of faraway thunder.

      Both the wind and the rain had subsided considerably since her last sojourn outside, but Gilda was still roaring loudly enough to make conversation difficult without yelling.

      “Shift your flashlight a little to the right,” Dave shouted. Ann recalled with a shiver that this was the second occasion in less than three hours that she’d held a light for Richard Squires.

      Only this time he was dead. All because he had done a good deed for the church and repaired the generator.

      She moved her flashlight beam to the right of Richard’s head, revealing a glistening pink pool of blood mixed with rainwater. She felt like throwing up but managed to resist the urge. Instead she murmured a quiet prayer asking God to comfort the many people in Glory who knew and liked Richard.

      Dave aimed his penlight into Richard’s eyes. “No pulse, no pupil response. He’s gone.” Dave climbed to his feet and added, “Richard must have been walking toward his car over there.” Dave pointed toward a compact sedan near the back of the parking lot. Ann could hear the anguish in his voice. “A board smashed the back of his head when the steeple fell.”

      Ann switched her flashlight off. “Should we—” The question caught in her throat. She tried again. “Should we move him to the ambulance?”

      “We don’t have a second gurney. I’ll come back for Richard’s body after I transport Carlo and Sean to the hospital.”

      The ambulance’s rear door was open,