Turner had to think. Had to find a way out of this.
Drywall was on his back. There was a 2x6 or something pressing against his arm. Boards pinned his legs beneath something, but nothing was broken. He wiggled his toes just to check.
Everything worked as it should. He was just pinned.
He was on top. She’d landed on insulation and broken building materials.
They were sandwiched in. The first floor had held, but the walls had caved in around them. When he’d wrapped his arms around her to protect her, he’d sheltered her from the walls themselves.
They’d gotten damned lucky not to be buried by the old bricks from the exterior.
Turner could see the outside if he turned his head to the far left.
Rain trickled in from somewhere.
They were in the center of the building, at least. As far away from the exterior walls as they could possibly get.
He had no idea where the basement was now. How far they’d been pushed by the storm.
Or where the security personnel were. Turner yelled, as loudly as he could.
Annie flinched beneath him. He shined his cell at her face again.
Those gorgeous blue eyes were still closed.
He wasn't about to move even an inch. If he did, he risked jarring her. The metal rebar impaling her shoulder was about as thick as his pinkie finger and at least two feet long. Even the slightest bump could shift it. He didn't know what kind of damage that could do, but he wasn't ready to find out.
An inch to the left, and it would have impaled him, too. And then he wouldn’t have been able to help her at all.
He checked his phone again, hoping, praying, there would be signal. He had two bars, whereas he usually had the full five. Some of the towers must have been hit.
He kept trying. It was his only hope to get her help.
A busy signal.
There was no way in hell 911 should be giving a busy signal right now. They'd upgraded the city's system six months ago to prevent that very thing from happening.
The only way this could be happening was if it had been...bad. Really bad. And not just for him and Annie.
How many people had been hurt out there? In a town of fifty-seven thousand, it could be…thousands.
He tried again. And again. Nothing.
He kept dialing every number he could think of, just hoping to get through to someone, for at least half an hour. No one.
Turner bit back the panic.
He was going to have to find a way out. If he could get out, he could get help for Annie. Somehow.
Yelling for help hadn’t done a damned bit of good, either. The security guards were probably trapped themselves. Or dead.
He shone the light on Annie’s face again, just needing to see her again. See how she was.
Annie was still out. He did his best to pull his shirt off without jarring her. He was lying to her left side, his legs tangled with hers. He had just barely enough room, but he managed it. Turner had carried his great-grandfather's pocketknife since he was twelve. He used it to cut his shirt into strips. He balled several up. As gently and carefully as he could, he lodged them around the metal to keep it in place.
It was all he could think to do. If no one was going to get them out, he would have to find a way to do it himself.
He was a Barratt. They didn’t just exactly sit back and wait for life to come to them.
Or rescue, for that matter.
And he wasn’t about to leave this woman behind. He was getting her out. No matter what he had to do.
He grabbed his phone again. Dialed.
Nothing but a buzz. He disconnected and tried someone else. All of his top contacts were busy. Nothing. Signal had to have been lost completely throughout the city. Just how bad his city had been hit was sinking in.
They could be facing thousands of lost lives. He had to get out there. Help his city.
Help Annie.
Resolve hit him, smothering out the panic that was on the edge of his consciousness. He would not break down now.
Turner had too much to do.
He cursed, kept trying. Kept saying whatever he could to her, even though she couldn’t hear him. Making promises he was going to keep.
Until the buzz ended and a ringtone sounded. Nothing had ever sounded as good to him as that ringtone.
The five rings until someone answered took the longest moment of his life.
Turner yelled, the instant someone answered. “Get help!”
“Turner?” Houghton asked. “Where the hell are you?”
“Get someone to city hall. Hurry. I'm trapped. Near the rear stairwell. There's a woman with me. Right next to me. She's been impaled. I can't move her. We can't get out. We’re sandwiched between debris, still on the first floor. My legs are trapped, and she’s been impaled. Just get help! She's bleeding! Hurry!”
His cousin swore, but Turner knew the other man would move a mountain if he had to in order to help someone in need. “I'm getting people there now, Turner. But the whole town has been hit. I'll dig you out myself if I have to. I’m at the hotel now, with my security team. I’m not that far away, I promise. Help is coming. I swear. We’re coming for you.”
“I’m ok, Houghton. It’s her that’s not. It’s her. You have to get her out.”
Turner kept praying over the next ninety minutes. His father had been a minister Turner’s entire life. He knew how to pray. And he knew miracles existed.
He hoped there was one in the queue for Annie.
He prayed the shaft kept the bleeding to a minimum. Prayed that help could get to them quickly. Prayed that it wouldn't be too late for her.
She was in and out, almost incoherent. All he could do was tell her help was coming. Then he heard something that gave him hope.
Voices.
Near.
He yelled as loudly as he could. The woman next to him jerked at the sound. He grabbed her, using his strength to hold her still, to keep her from hurting herself. “Shhh, honey. Just hold still, Annie Belle. You must stay still right now. Help is coming. I promise. I promise.”
He kept reassuring her until hands pulled him from the rubble so they could get to her.