he drove. All he needed was the sound of her voice, but she never answered.
Twice he had to stop and take a longer route because of scattered debris, and the closer he got to the hotel, the more frantic he became.
The damage here was worse. Many homes and business were total losses. They'd had enough warning. Hopefully, everyone had taken shelter. Things could be rebuilt, but people were irreplaceable.
He was still a couple of blocks away, but he could see roof of the Wisteria Inn now, and it didn't look right. It took a few seconds for him to realize that both the roof and the top floor of the hotel were completely gone. The sight and the shock were so startling, that for a few seconds, he couldn't breathe.
Then he began to drive faster, coming up behind fire and rescue vehicles, then stopping to let ambulances pass. It was a nightmare. He drove up in full sight of the hotel, not knowing if she was still there, or if she was even alive.
Forced to park almost a block away, he got out running, then once he reached the location, joined the gathering crowd already combing through the exterior wreckage for victims.
"Gracie. Wake up, darling. It's time to wake up now."
Gracie groaned. "No, Mama. Not yet. My eyes don't want to."
"You have to, Gracie Jean. John is looking for you."
John? John was now. Not from before. Mama didn't know him.
"Gracie! You need help. Wake up now!"
* * *
It was the phone ringing in her pocket that yanked Gracie back to consciousness. She was opening her eyes and trying to reach for the phone when she realized she couldn't move.
The first thing she saw was debris all around her, then the sky above her. After that, pieces of walls, broken concrete, and twisted rebar—and water dripping somewhere near her head.
This is a dream. This isn't happening.
But it was happening because she wasn't in bed. She was lying on her side on stairs, wedged beneath some kind of debris, unable to move.
Panic hit, hard and fast. She began to shout for help—the sound echoing back to her in the stairwell, until something wet rolled down her face and her mouth.
What the hell?
Something coppery—salty on her tongue.
Blood! Her blood!
And then it hit her!
The tornado!
She was trapped...but she was alive.
"Help me! Help! Help! I'm here!" Gracie cried, and then everything around her started spinning, and she was spinning with it, and the world went black.
Rescue was barely underway when John reached ground zero. Utility crews were frantically turning off the power so searchers could get inside.
Firemen were hosing down a few hotspots that had sparked up after the storm, and people had started to emerge from the hotel. Some staggering, others walking out with a look of shock and disbelief on their faces.
John ran up to each of them, asking, "My girl...Gracie Dunham! Did she take shelter with you? Do you know her?"
But they just shook their heads and kept walking, and he kept searching among them, asking the same thing over and over until no more came out, and he was still standing, staring at the hotel.
When the firemen got the okay to go inside to search, John stopped them.
"My girl, Gracie Dunham, was working on the second floor. She hasn't come out. Call her name. She might be trapped. Maybe she will hear you."
"Yeah, will do, buddy," the fireman said, and gave John a pat on the shoulder.
After that, he was sent back behind the roped off area. All he could do was keep calling her number. Praying she'd eventually hear it—or that a rescuer would hear it ringing in her pocket and find her that way.
Gracie drifted in and out of consciousness. No dreams. No sound. Just going in and out from dark to light.
Then that sound woke her again. Someone's phone was ringing. It made her head hurt, but it finally stopped.
She was starting to feel pain. Her head. Her shoulders. Her arms. Her legs. She kept telling herself that had to be a good sign. As long as she had feeling, she was good.
When that phone began to ring again, she was conscious enough this time to know that it was hers.
In her pants pocket.
Just beyond the tips of her fingers.
She could feel it now, vibrating against her leg as it rang, but she couldn't lift her arms—she couldn't reach it. And so it kept ringing, and ringing, and in a moment of sanity, it hit her.
John. It was