Turner stared at the TSP building in horror, less than an hour after the ambulance had pulled in to the FCGH parking lot. He’d been rushed to the front of the line by the chief of medicine—ostensibly so he could get out there and lead the city.
He’d be fine. Bruises, just bruises.
His next stop had been to hoof it toward the TSP. Half of it was gone. The new annex that had been built after the older one had been bombed was nothing more than rubble. He looked at the man next to him. Daniel McKellen, second in command of the post, had stitches through his left eyebrow, and his arm was in a sling. And he’d taken the least of the injuries.
“How many injured?” Turner asked.
“Fifty-two, including the chief. Four are still in the hospital,” Daniel said.
“How many lost?”
As Daniel gave him the details, Turner fought the nausea. They had five road officers still out missing. One detective had been killed when caught in the parking lot. He’d been hit by flying concrete and died instantly.
He'd been set to retire in a matter of days, to spend time with his wife, kids, and sixteen grandchildren.
“We lost two of the forensics techs,” Daniel said, quietly. “Both women in their thirties, married with children. They were caught on a scene in the southern part of the county. Direct path of the storm. And we lost two officers inside the annex. We’re pulling auxiliaries from every post close enough to send us numbers to help on the streets.”
Turner nodded. He’d already put in calls to the national guard for bodies to patrol the streets to prevent looters from getting their kicks. But it would take a few hours to get things in place. “I’ll need to talk to the chief.”
“He’s at the hospital now. Took a hard hit to the head.” Daniel stepped over a pile of what Turner thought were clothing lockers. “He was in the lobby making certain everyone who could took cover did; he didn’t get out of the lobby in time.”
Turner swore. “I’m heading that way myself to check on the woman I was with.”
“Heard about that. You doing ok?”
Turner nodded. “Bruises, mostly. A strained back. The woman with me took the brunt of it. I landed on her. She was impaled.”
“Just glad we got you out.”
“Do we know the death toll yet?”
“Thirty-eight, last I heard. And growing by the hour.” Daniel paused and looked at him. “Turner, the sheriff of Value and one of his deputies…they haven’t been found yet.”
Horror had Turner jerking to a stop. The sheriff of Value was his older cousin. “Clay?”
Daniel nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep you in the loop. I have people out looking for them, but I can’t spare the resources for too long. We are hoping they took cover and just haven’t made contact. They…the storm wasn’t as strong in Value as it was in this county. They could be anywhere, and just fine. I just wanted to let you know since you’re family.”
Turner grabbed his phone. His first instinct was to call his cousin, make certain Clay was ok. To call all his cousins and his brothers and do a damned roll call. Make sure the people he loved were ok.
“Towers are still down. You won’t get through.”
“How are you keeping in contact with people?”
“Satellite internet. There’s a damned Facebook page for the FCTSP. Brynna Marshall and Haldyn Harris are coordinating it and getting some of her sister Mel’s staff to help.” Daniel kept walking toward the rear parking lot. A huge canvas tent stood in the center. People were clearing debris to make paths around it. “Brynna knows what she’s doing. She’s going to pull people for social media duty as soon as she can. From what I understand Houghton Barratt’s wife is coordinating everything—charities, Red Cross, private search-and-rescue groups—through Houghton’s satellite phone system.”
“Yeah, he installed a system at his home to play with its capabilities a year or so ago. He and a friend in St. Louis have been experimenting with satellite features as part of their research and development projects.”
“Well, his wife is using it for the city now.”
No doubt Mel had commandeered years of Houghton’s work, and his cousin had just let her. “I hope this works.”
“Until we get the TSP communications systems back online, it’s all we have. The TSP, in the hands of volunteers.”
“At least they are both former TSP.”
“They’re all we have.”
Those were words Turner would hear far too many times in the next several hours. But his city was pulling together to make what they had work.
They would pull through this.
No matter what Turner had to do to see that it happened.