Update 4: Uh… still more shocks.
Andy reached down and grabbed the icy partition, carefully peeling it back from the crumpled pile and tossing it behind him, making sure not to block the drain in the center of the floor. He was standing in several inches of frigid water, and his feet were freezing. Whoever was under this mess was lying in this water, probably freezing to death, and the a faint pinkish hue suggested they might have even bigger problems. He worked quickly, but carefully, encouraged by the occasional faint moan.
The little guy behind him couldn’t seem to hold the light still. A bundle of jangling nerves, he kept jerking it back to the door. Andy’s heart jumped every time, thinking he’d heard something, but he kept his head down. He kept working.
Gently lifting the last twisted sheet of steel and pressboard, Andy finally got a look at the man he’d been digging for. He recognized him from the donut shop: that bookish looking executive type. Only he wasn’t looking so bookish any more. His nose was obviously broken, and probably his shoulder and some ribs too. He was bleeding pretty badly from a nasty looking wound on his side. He was barely conscious, and Andy worried he might be bleeding to death.
First things first. He had to get him out of the water. Andy and the little guy lifted him off of the floor and, using a more-or-less intact stall door as a stretcher, started maneuvering him out of the bathroom. Moving through the shattered bathroom with something as big as a stall door would have been difficult under the best of circumstances, but the only light being the flashlight awkwardly clutched under the little guys arm, it was slow going. Dropping this guy clearly wouldn’t do him any favors.
Suddenly, half-visible in the bobbing light, a figure appeared in the doorway. Andy’s heart leapt into his throat before he realized it was the priest. His hair was covered in snow and he held a big box in his arms: a roadside emergency kit. He must have gone out to his car. Going outside in this weather with whatever was out there was, frankly, more than Andy would have been willing to do, but he was grateful as he and the little guy gently lowered the makeshift stretcher in the doorway to let the priest take a look at their burden. Thank god someone here seemed to know a little first aid. And the last rites, he admitted to himself. That wound looked pretty nasty.
***
The boy was clearly in a state. Even as he struggled for a better grip, Father Ryan whispered soothing words. Promising everything was going to be alright. That there was nothing to worry about. He shifted his grip on the struggling boy yet again, and wished there was someone around to say those things to him.
He’d barely managed to catch the kid as he streaked by. The other two were having some trouble getting their makeshift stretcher through the bathroom’s doorway without dumping its contents on the floor. Father Ryan had been able to stabilize the man and was busy supervising the transfer when he’d seen movement out of the corner of his eye. The boy in the red apron – his name tag said Danny – had come running from the direction of the video games, past the bathrooms, and was obviously on his way, frantic and irrational, out the front door and into the storm. And most likely into the arms of whatever was waiting outside.
As he was struggling to keep the boy from rushing to his death, Father Ryan noticed a certain wetness on his leg. He shifted his grip again and closed his eyes. Admittedly, it was some time ago, but he was pretty sure that no one had warned him about this when he was preparing to take his orders.
With the kid tucked under an arm as best as possible, Father Ryan followed the others back to the donut shop, kicking the box of emergency supplies in front of him.
***
The suicide patrol was back, and no one new seemed to be dead. That, at least, was good news, Mary Katherine supposed. They’d found some towels and blankets for the suit, and had made him as comfortable as was possible. At least he was breathing evenly now.
Danny, on the other hand, seemed to be getting worse. The priest had been talking to him for around fifteen minutes, and, if anything, his shivering actually seemed to be intensifying. She stepped up behind Fr. Ryan and placed her hands gently on his shoulder.
“Could you get us some cocoa?” she asked.
Resigned, he nodded and rose. She slipped into his seat, and gently covered Danny’s trembling hands with her own.
“It must have been horrible,” she said, sympathy oozing from her very pores. Or, at least, she hoped so. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, pulling away from her, his voice rising, tremulous. “You can’t possibly.”
He pulled the blanket up over his head, his eyes peering out like two glittering jewels.
“It. looked. at. me.”
***
After several cups of cocoa and a great deal of hand-holding, Danny finally spilled the beans. There weren’t many of them.
It had looked at him. That much was clear. Very clear, in fact: he repeated it often. It had been tall, though he wasn’t quite sure how tall. He hadn’t seen it that well. Honestly, it had all been a bit of a blur. But the eyes. Those he remembered.
Father Ryan suspected the poor boy wouldn’t be able to forget.
***
Next time…
It had been his idea, but that didn’t really matter now. He’d thought maybe the radio in the police cruiser would work, and even if it didn’t, there was bound to be a shotgun and some emergency supplies in it. And it wasn’t very far from the front door. Hell, it was practically right there. She’d invented a spot right in front: typical cop behavior. His father did that all the time.
So things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. That wasn’t his fault, right? I mean, no one could blame him. They’d all been there. They’d agreed.
They’d volunteered, for crying out loud.
.