Page 13 of Desperate Creed

He talked directly to the camera, having trained himself to imagine he was speaking to those watching or listening. The ongoing challenge was to persuade his audience without making them panic.

“Don’t park under a bridge or overpass,” he continued. “Again, this is a very dangerous tornado that is now on the ground. In minutes it will start to pass over the interstate and is headed directly toward Smith Crossings. Also on the other side of the path, you should be taking cover, too. Anyone in Midway, Honoraville, Black Rock and Ruthledge.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mia. She had a piece of paper in one hand and with her other, gestured toward the radar screen. He invited her to join him.

“The National Weather Service has now issued a tornado warning,” Mia announced “for Butler County and also Crenshaw County.”

Willis found it on the screen and pointed it out, highlighting the area.

Mia continued, “Golf ball sized hail was reported by one of our storm chasers who is at the interstate rest area close to the Highway 10 junction. Along with strong winds and heavy rains. Be on the look out for flooding across roads.”

As Mia described the conditions, Willis couldn’t help noticing the storm on the radar had just swallowed up that same area where Interstate 65 met Highway 10. At this time of morning, that was a busy junction. A knot twisted in his stomach. It was the worst part of his job, knowing that dozens of people would be injured. And despite his best efforts, there would be deaths.

9

Chicago

Frankie left her car in the parking garage of her new apartment building. The morning was chilly and she’d grabbed a lightweight jacket. Most of her clothes were still packed along with seventy-five percent of everything she owned.

Now she felt like she was sleepwalking as she scurried from room to room. The stacked boxes only added to her disorientation. She found her red backpack, the one she used for work every day. While her colleagues showed off trendy leather messenger bags or fashionable totes, Frankie found comfort in the soft, well-worn canvas that easily conformed to whatever contents she stuffed inside. She wandered around her bedroom and bathroom, filling the bag with items she might need. At the last minute, she slid her laptop down the middle, cushioned between underwear and running shoes.

In the back of her mind she kept playing her friend’s instructions. “Just come on home,” Hannah had told her, slipping easily into her role of big sister from their childhood. The summers Frankie had stayed with Hannah and her grandparents were some of her best and most cherished memories.

From her dresser top Frankie grabbed a raggedy Teddy bear, another childhood treasure that was almost as old as Frankie. She considered stuffing it into the backpack. But that was silly. She was acting like she’d never be coming back. With careful fingers, she undid the stitching on the bear’s bottom until there was a three-inch opening. She poked up around the stuffing and pinched the solid item, pulling it out carefully so she didn’t rip the loose threads of the bear.

The wad of cash was fatter than Frankie remembered. And for the second time in a single day, she found herself grateful for her father’s lifelong paranoia. She unrolled the bills, split the bundle in two then turned them into two tightly rolled wads. She put one into a zippered pocket inside the backpack. The other wad she zipped into the interior of her handbag.

Her father would be scowling at her. She could hear him in the back of her mind, “You lose your bags you’ll lose all that cash.”

“It’s the best I can do, Daddy,” she said out loud as she checked her watch. Tapping the faceplate, she noticed that she already had 4,575 steps for the day. It had to be all of her pacing.

She pulled the backpack over her shoulder along with her handbag, just like she did every day when she left for work. Neither felt heavier, and a bit of panic kicked in her stomach. She really hadn’t packed well. Before she closed and locked the apartment door, she took one last look around at the sum of her life: boxes on top of boxes and her few bits of furniture. Last night she thought her life had become unmanageable with all the changes: the move, the new assistant. And she was alone, again, for the first time in years. But now, all those worries seemed small.

Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Tyler would show up at an emergency room, injured but safe. Maybe the men waiting for her at McGavin Holt simply wanted information.

Frankie walked three blocks to catch the train.

Walked, not rushed.

One of the things she loved about her new neighborhood was that it would cut her commute. No more crawling through Chicago traffic to get downtown every day. Instead of driving, she could take the train. She glanced at the schedules and kept an eye on the other people waiting on the platform. No one seemed to pay attention to her.

She turned on her cell phone, ignored the messages and typed one quick text to Angela:

IN TRAFFIC. BUT ON MY WAY. ARE THEY STILL WAITING?

Almost immediately came the reply:

YES. I GOT THEM COFFEE.

Frankie realized she needed to sound as normal as possible. And because they had been working so closely together, she decided to ask:

IS TYLER IN?

She held her breath, waiting, hoping that one question didn’t backfire. That Angela wouldn’t come back and ask if Frankie knew why he wasn’t at work yet. She glanced around as the platform began to fill. It seemed like she waited forever before the response came:

HE TEXTED EARLY THIS MORNING THAT HE WOULDN’T BE IN TODAY.

Frankie stared at the phone. How was that possible? Why wouldn’t he have texted her? The second part from Angela came, and Frankie felt as if ice had been injected into her veins.