Page 68 of Desperate Creed

“I’ll text Maggie, again.”

“Thanks.”

“The damage must be more widespread than what we’re seeing if Dr. Avelyn and Penelope are headed here,” Jason said.

Creed knew that Dr. Avelyn belonged to a national group of veterinarians that responded after natural disasters. They worked with local authorities to treat injured pets. Penelope Clemence helped reunite displaced dogs with their owners. The woman had made it a mission to rescue abandoned dogs and find homes for them, even working with shelters to raise funds. To her credit, she’d turned almost a dozen facilities across the country into no-kill shelters. Some of Creed’s best scent dogs had come by way of Penelope.

Only a few miles after exiting the housing development, and Creed could see it wouldn’t be a simple trek. Up ahead, a jumble of debris blocked the road.

“I guess we’re taking the long way around.”

Twenty-four minutes later, they still hadn’t heard back from Maggie. Although one of their texts finally claimed it was delivered. Flashing lights of rescue crews could be seen from half a mile away. Vehicles lined both sides of the highway. Only a couple of units had made it all the way into what used to be the parking lot. A HAZMAT unit in full gear had taken over what used to be a gas station on one side of the street. Eighteen-wheelers were flipped on their sides and upside down vehicles were scattered everywhere. Some of them were crumpled like tin cans.

“Where’s the restaurant?” Jason asked just as Creed’s phone dinged.

Finally, a text from Maggie:

HANGING IN THERE. HOPING A RESCUE CREW IS ABOUT TO BUST US OUT OF HERE!

Creed scanned the area. Though the gas station pumps had been destroyed and the vehicles tossed, the cinder block station was still standing. He noticed a sheriff’s patrol car and recognized Sheriff Krenshaw. He shifted into PARK, left the engine to idle and the A/C on.

“I’m gonna ask Sheriff Krenshaw. I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed his K9 CrimeScents cap and pulled it on. It usually gained him entry and allowed him to pass through most barricades. Turned out, he didn’t need it. Krenshaw saw him and waved him over.

“Mr. Creed, good to see you, again. We’ve got quite a mess.”

“We heard a restaurant got hit.”

“Yup. A bunch of people are trapped in the basement.”

“Have the rescue crews reached them yet?”

He shook his head and grimaced. “We’re gonna need more than a rescue crew. They’ve got some earthmoving equipment coming, but I’m afraid that next round of storms will beat them here.”

The sky had already started to darken.

“Sir, I have a couple of friends trapped inside.”

“No fooling?” His wince was more pronounced this time. “I’m sorry about that. Have you been in contact with them, yet?”

“Finally got a text.”

“You might give them a heads up about another round of storms. But Mr. Creed, I wouldn’t tell them how bad this looks. Hate to take away a person’s hope.”

“How bad is it, Sheriff?”

He turned around and pointed to a parking lot littered with debris. At first, Creed couldn’t tell that there had ever been a building. Then he saw the concrete foundation and one wall still standing in the rubble. But everyone’s main focus was on what had landed on top of where the restaurant used to be—an 18-wheeler, its trailer on its side and split open. And it was right on top of where Maggie and Frankie were.

That wasn’t all. The storm had tossed and rolled the huge blue containers that the truck had been hauling. And now Creed could see members of a HAZMAT team inspecting the barrels.

“What’s in those?” Creed asked, but the knot forming in his stomach told him he might not want to know.

Krenshaw shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Trying to call the company. Driver didn’t make it. But I will tell you this, I know for a fact that chemicals are Alabama’s second largest export. I’m just hoping none of those containers broke open.”

50

Birmingham, Alabama