Everyone Knows It's Windy, 5/?
Title: Everyone Knows It's Windy
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,766
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Summary: Scott makes it to the bank. Meanwhile, Sean and Elliott talk.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Five
Jeff stared down at the unconscious woman, his bangs plastered to his forehead by the rain. He had finally managed to slow and then stop the bleeding, but Candace had not awakened. Not knowing what else to do, he had struggled to sloppily bandage the wound while Amanda---the woman with the dislocated shoulder---had tried to shield them both from the downpour. Now he shivered, turning away as he coughed.
"We'll probably all be coming down with something before this is over," Amanda said in sympathy.
Jeff gave a weak nod. "How's my uncle?" he called over the counter to the other woman---who he had learned was named Marcia.
"Still unconscious," she called back, adjusting the other emergency blanket they had found to drape over Mr. Gordon.
Jeff clenched a fist. "We don't even know what's wrong," he said in frustration. "What if Unc has some kind of internal injuries?"
Amanda sighed. "It's possible," she said.
The apprentice P.I. reached up, brushing his wet bangs aside. "How long has Barry been gone?" he asked to no one in particular.
"How far away were you parked?" Amanda wondered.
"Barry and the others were parked several blocks from here," Jeff said. "My uncle and I came in on the bus. Our rental car gave up the ghost by some wheat field. The tornado probably took it off somewhere."
Amanda nodded. "Maybe he'll come in a few minutes," she said.
"I hope so." Now Jeff sounded exactly like he felt---lost and helpless. He continued to hunch over Candace's limp form, trying to hold down the emergency blanket. As if the rainstorm was not bad enough, the wind continued to blow in fury, taking away almost everything that was not nailed down. Any minute he was afraid he would see a funnel cloud descending from the dark sky, bringing certain doom to them all.
"What brought the two of you here?" Amanda asked, honestly curious but also hoping to divert his attention.
"We're detectives," Jeff said. "We chased an embezzler here. It's his hometown . . . the embezzler's, I mean. Unc went to the bank hoping to find him draining his local accounts. I was supposed to stay outside in case the guy got away. That's when I met up with Barry and the others . . . and the tornado touched down. . . ." He trailed off, his voice breaking. "Scott . . . he . . . he got carried off by the thing. . . . We don't even know if he's alive. . . ." And his eyes narrowed. "The embezzler . . . that's him on the other side of the counter. The dead guy."
". . . I see," Amanda said in surprise. She hesitated. "I hope you won't take offense, but you seem quite young for a detective."
Jeff gave a hollow laugh. "I know. It's a long story, but basically I'm an apprentice P.I. There's another one like me, but he's back at the agency in New York. I've been getting some hands-on training lately." He sighed. "Today it's training on people dying," he muttered. "I didn't sign up for this."
"I doubt anyone does," Amanda said kindly.
"I don't even know how bad off my uncle is," Jeff said. "But I have this awful feeling it's going to be a long time before I can get help for him. And there's nothing I can do but accept it. This lady needs help more . . . at least from what we can see. My uncle could be just as bad off, but we can't see it because it's inside him!" If he was not holding down the emergency blanket, he would hit the debris with his fist. "It's not fair. . . ."
Amanda gave a sad sigh as she studied the boy in front of her. He was too young to have all this weight on his shoulders. And things were not going to get easier for him if Mr. Gordon could not be helped soon. Even when he did receive help, the doctors might not be able to do much. At least, that was what Amanda was afraid would happen.
"Jeff!"
The apprentice P.I. stiffened, looking over his shoulder. That was not Barry's voice. It actually sounded like . . .
"Oh my," Amanda gasped at the sight of the bedraggled young man limping towards the bank. He stumbled, but caught himself---though he looked ready to collapse.
And Jeff had gone pale. "Scott?!" he said in disbelief. "Scott, it . . . it's really you?!" Of all places Scott could reappear, this was where Jeff had expected to see him the least. Did the others know he was alive?
"It's really me," Scott tried to smile, though he was alarmed by the scene before him. And he was starting to feel sick again. He swayed, grabbing onto a nearby metal beam.
"Barry's got the car," he said. "He has it by that fallen telephone pole. He had to stay behind because Double Trouble are trying to steal it. . . . The car, I mean, not the telephone pole," he hastily corrected himself. "Long story, but . . . I came to let you know. And to help you get people there. . . ."
"You're in no condition to do anything!" Jeff exclaimed. "Scott, you're barely able to walk! You'd never be able to help me lift someone and carry them for several blocks!"
Scott gritted his teeth, willing his body to cooperate and keep him upright. He could not pass out. Then he would be an additional burden when there were so many others who needed help more.
"I can manage," he said.
"You were carried off by a tornado!" Jeff retorted. "You look terrible!"
Scott winced. If Jeff could say that when it was hard to see him at all, he would probably look downright frightening under a bright light.
"These people are worse off," he said then, frowning at the sight of the woman Jeff was trying to help. "Is there something we can use to make a stretcher?" He squinted into the near-darkness of the part of the building that still had a roof, but from his current angle he could not see much. One or two small flashlights had been wedged into some of the debris, in order to hopefully keep them from blowing away, and they were casting eerie shadows around the room.
"Just these crazy emergency blankets," Jeff sighed. "There might be a couple more of them around."
Scott nodded. "Maybe we could take some of those pipes to wrap around the edges and pull them tight," he suggested, seeing a couple of rods sticking out of one pile.
"That's a good idea," said a woman's voice from inside the bank. Scott stepped closer, finally making out a form kneeling beside a limp body on the floor. He stiffened as the realization hit him. That was Jeff's uncle.
"I'll help you make it," she continued. "Amanda is busy trying to help Jeff keep the rain off that poor woman. I'm Marcia, by the way."
"Hello," Scott said. Grabbing onto another beam, he drew closer and stepped onto the mountain of debris. His foot slipped, plunging between two planks of wood. He yelped in surprise as he went down, still frantically clutching the beam to his right.
Jeff looked over his shoulder. "Scott, are you okay?!" he cried.
Scott shuddered, slumping against his right arm. "I'm okay," he called back. "At least, I'm not hurt worse."
He took a deep breath before struggling to pull himself upright. Then he stumbled off the pile, swaying as he grabbed for the wall. With a sigh he moved forward again, grasping the swinging door that led beyond the counter.
Marcia was regarding him in concern as he arrived. "I managed to pull out the pipes," she said, "but Jeff's right---you need to be carried out of here on the stretcher yourself!"
Scott fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a miniature first aid kit. Snapping it open, he pulled out a folded and wrapped emergency blanket and then slowly sank to his knees.
"I just need to rest for a few minutes," he said. "I've been walking for a while and my legs are kind of wobbly." He pulled open the plastic wrapper, fishing out the foil blanket inside. "Is there anything we can use to tie the pipes to this thing?"
Marcia frowned. "There should be something somewhere," she said. "I guess rubber bands wouldn't work. . . . I have one of my daughter's scrunchies in my purse. . . ."
"I'm sure that would break," Scott sighed. Finally unfolding the blanket, he laid it flat on the floor and grabbed one of the pipes to place across the edge. "If we just had some rope or something. . . ."
"There might be some twine in one of the drawers," Amanda called from the other side of the counter.
That did not sound very favorable, either. Scott rocked back on his heels. He had to think of something, anything! He took off his hat, running his hand into his blond curls.
"It needs to be stronger," he said then. "A cord, or leather, even a dog leash," he added, thinking of the dog that he had found in the remains of the mobile home park.
"Cords!" Marcia exclaimed. "We could cut the cords off the lamps. They're of no use anyway, when there's no electricity."
Scott blinked in surprise. "We could try it," he said, a bit of hope coming back into his eyes. "There's some scissors in the first aid kit."
"There's some stronger ones here!" Amanda called again. Her hand came up, holding a pair of large, dark red scissors. She laid them on the countertop.
Scott reached for them, pulling them down to lay on top of the emergency blanket. "And there's a lamp," he said, pointing to one laying on the floor near Marcia. She grabbed it, pulling the plug out of the socket in the process.
"This is a nice long one," she said, spreading the cord lengthwise on the carpet. Scott cut it loose, then also clipped off the plug on the other end. After cutting the remaining piece in half, he proceeded to try tying one section around the bottom of the pipe and the blanket's material. Would this really work? Or were electrical cords too thick to be of any real use? Maybe it would just pull free. On the other hand, this was obviously an older model, as it was not as thick as most cords he had seen around. But that could mean it might break.
"We're going to have to be careful," he cautioned, as Marcia took the other half and went to work tying the top of the pipe. "We could be walking along and suddenly this thing would start to come undone." And then the poor person they were carrying might fall.
"I know," Jeff frowned. He was quite worried about that, actually. But there was little more they could do then to use their meager resources as best as they could and pray it would last.
"Maybe we could also wrap duct tape around the cords," he suggested. "I saw some of that in the drawer, too."
Scott blinked. "Well, it's worth a try," he said, looking up as he finished tying the last of several knots. "Anything to try to make this thing stronger."
"I guess we'll find out if duct tape really works for anything," Jeff said as Amanda pushed the roll onto the countertop. Scott grabbed it, cutting off a long strip to wrap around the bottom. Marcia followed suit.
At last Scott leaned back, studying their work. "Is there another lamp's cord we could use for the other pipe?" he asked.
"There should be a lamp in that cubicle," Marcia said, pointing to the nearest office. "Just a minute, I'll go over there and see." With that she gripped the soft chair next to her and began to pull herself up, leaning heavily on her good leg. She limped forward, dragging her injured leg behind her as she held onto the wall for support. Then she reached for the wall of the cubicle, pulling herself over to it. She went inside, returning in a moment with a lamp identical to the one they had just dismembered.
Scott held out his hands to take it as she limped back to him. She handed it over, grabbing the soft chair again as she sank back to the floor.
Within a few minutes, the second pipe had been tied and duct-taped to the emergency blanket. Scott looked the makeshift stretcher over, doubt in his eyes. "Now's the test, I guess," he said, folding it over and grasping the two pipes as he reached for the counter to pull himself to his feet.
Marcia watched him in concern. "Can you make it?" she asked.
Scott nodded. "I'll be okay now," he said.
But sitting down for a short while had made it even less desirable to stand. He gritted his teeth, maneuvering his body around the counter and through the swinging door again.
Amanda had temporarily abandoned her post and was there to assist him. "I'll take that," she said, grasping the stretcher. Scott relinquished it, observing as she walked back to Jeff and Candace and bent down, spreading it next to the other woman's prone form.
Jeff drew a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder as the device was laid beside them. "Okay," he said. "Now we need to lift her over to it."
Still balancing himself on the counter, Scott made his way over to them. Jeff could not do it on his own, and Scott was the only one here who could help him. Somehow, even though it looked impossible, he needed the strength to help him lift her up. And that was only the beginning. He would have to walk several blocks, carrying one end of the stretcher. Could he possibly do it? This was not the time to doubt himself, but now, as he was aching all over and wanting only to lay down and not move, it was going to be hard not to doubt.
Jeff had moved to the woman's shoulders. From his position and the look in his eyes, he was terrified. Would they hurt her worse by moving her? There was no other choice, but . . . what if they could not save her? What if she died? He would fear that he had done something wrong and that it was his fault.
"O-okay," he said at last. "On the count of three, we move her over. Alright?"
Scott nodded. Keeping one hand on the counter, he bent down, hoping to be ready to grasp Candace's ankles in an instant.
"One . . ." Jeff shifted. "Two . . ." He shook his head. He was just drawing this out. "Oh, let's just move her already!" he exclaimed.
Scott dove for her ankles at the same moment Jeff got his hands under her back. Then they were lifting the wounded form, laying her as gently as possible on the stretcher.
Scott let go, swaying back against the counter. They had done it. He took a shuddering breath. It was time to get her to the car.
Jeff looked to him in concern. He did not have to speak; his eyes said it all. But Scott tried to give him a reassuring smile.
"Let's go," he said. "We still have several blocks to cover."
Slowly Jeff nodded, wobbling from kneeling so long as he got to his feet. It would take a few minutes to get the feeling back in his legs, but they could not wait for that. He half-limped to the front of the stretcher.
Scott looked to Amanda, who had been watching all the proceedings. "Are you going to come with us or stay?" he asked.
She hesitated. "I don't know," she said. She hated to let them go off alone, but on the other hand, she hated to leave Marcia here alone with Mr. Gordon. She was not badly hurt; she would certainly not go with them for her own welfare. Where would she be needed most?
Jeff swallowed hard. "We'll be okay," he said. He could not help wanting her to stay here. What if something suddenly happened to his uncle and Marcia could not help him all by herself? But then again . . . they needed to get as many people out at once as was possible.
And on the third hand . . . what were they going to do about Marcia? She could not walk on her own; they would have to carry her on the stretcher. But that would mean three trips. Jeff was already worrying that they would not be able to handle two. What if a second tornado hit before they could return?
Maybe when they got to the car, they would have to ask Barry what he thought. They might have to try taking Marcia with them on this trip while Amanda stayed behind.
Or he could. . . . Yes, that was it. Barry could take all of them now, and Jeff would stay with his uncle until Barry could return. He nodded to himself. Undoubtedly Barry would not like the thought, but more and more it was sounding to Jeff like the best solution. He had not been injured at all. If anyone stayed behind, it should be him. Besides, if . . . if it was already too late for his uncle, he wanted to be there . . . at the last. . . . Barry would understand that, even though he would not want to leave Jeff there.
"Just stay here," he said now to Amanda. "We'll find out what the situation is back at the car." He smiled. "I think we might be able to fit someone else in on this trip."
She blinked. "Oh please don't worry about me," she said. "If you can fit someone else in, you should take Marcia."
"We'll see," Jeff said.
Scott frowned as he moved to the back of the stretcher. Jeff was planning something. He was not sure what, but he was sure that he would not like it. Maybe Amanda wouldn't, either. That was probably why the kid was being so vague.
"Ready?" Jeff asked him.
Scott nodded. "As ready as I can be," he said.
They bent down, tightly grasping the pipes before straightening again. Jeff looked to the device in concern.
". . . It's holding so far," he said.
Scott glanced at the sloping descent of the debris hill to his left. "Then here we go," he said, backing up several steps while Jeff walked forward. Scott's arms were already burning, but he would ignore it. No matter what, he had to hold on until they reached the car.
But once they did, he was afraid he could not return for any more trips.
****
Elliott sighed, staring off at the white-washed wall just opposite to him. He could easily imagine that his eyes were bloodshot. They ached, as they did when he used them too much . . . or when he had just stayed awake too long.
After Sean had finished fixing food, they had taken it into the basement to eat. It was a nicely-furnished place with several rooms, though they had not taken time to explore them all. They had settled in the family room, in the process discovering exercise equipment, board games, and even a small generator. When Elliott had tested it he had discovered it still worked. Electricity had lit up the room and Brittany had requested they keep the machine on while they ate. He could still hear its hum in the background.
Brittany had dozed almost as soon as she had finished her sandwich. Now she was curled up on one of the brown, velvety couches, looking peaceful for the first time since they had found her. Sean had draped a blanket from their supplies over her small form and then had reclined on the floor against a soft chair.
Elliott looked over at him from where he himself was slumped on the floor against the bottom of the couch. Not aware that he was being watched, Sean was gazing off into the distance. He rubbed an eye, his still-drying fedora falling back on his head. Now the weight of his responsibility was fully visible. He looked so tired. . . .
About like Elliott felt. He envied Brittany, able to drift off to sleep in the middle of this calamity. Elliott doubted he could sleep if he tried. And anyway, he did not want to leave Sean awake alone.
"Sean . . ."
The younger man looked over, questions in his eyes.
Elliott ran his tongue over his lips. ". . . Is your phone still out?"
Sean fished in his pocket, soon bringing it out. "Yeah," he said in disdain. He set it on the seat of the chair, discouraged. "Face it, El---we are completely cut off from the rest of the world."
The storm howled outside, the glass of the windows scraping against their frames. Elliott winced at the sound.
"We could emerge to discover the house collapsed around us," Sean mused. "The entire town might be leveled." He was convinced there would be a second tornado. The only questions were when it would touch down . . . and how many more would be killed when it did.
Elliott looked at him. Only a select few had ever seen this side of him, and he only showed it at all when he was absolutely drained beyond belief. Once Brittany was awake, he would slap on another smile and try to make her believe all was well.
"You're right," Elliott muttered. This experience was bringing out the tired cynic in him that had lain dormant for some time. They had come through so much heartache. It never seemed to end, in fact. But Scott would be sickened to see him like this. He would be sickened to see both of them like this.
"Elliott . . ."
Feeling his childhood friend's gaze on him, Elliott turned to look.
"I wish I could tell you that Scott's alright," Sean said. "I wish I could . . . but I can't. I can only tell you that whatever's happened, it isn't your fault. Even though you can't believe it."
Elliott looked away. "Even if he survived the tornado, where is he?" he whispered. "Can he survive this storm? And now we don't know what's happening with Barry and Jeff, either." He clenched a fist.
"It's the pits." Sean leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "And then there's Brittany, still hoping and thinking this will all work out. . . ." He shook his head. "I hate to give her false hope. It might not work out. But that's not something you can tell a five-year-old kid."
Elliott swallowed, remembering how he had felt when Sean had tried to stay cheerful and reassure her adamantly that everything would be alright. Sean had known what he was doing, unlike the times where he just blurted things out without thinking.
"In some ways, it'd be nice to be five," Sean said. "You wouldn't need to worry that life as you know it could change. Grown-ups would always be telling you it would work out.
"But on the other hand . . . you wouldn't have the good knowledge you'd gain later," he said. He gave a mischievous grin. "And you wouldn't be able to get away with the crazy stunts I pull."
Elliott raised an eyebrow. "You get away with them?" he said. Images of Greg chasing Sean down with a snowball came to his mind.
Sean gave a mock sigh. "Okay, maybe not."
He leaned back. ". . . When I was a kid, I wondered how grown-ups always knew things would turn out. Now I know that sometimes they didn't. Lucky guesses." He smirked.
"Well . . . they had to hope," Elliott said, suddenly feeling like Scott. Here he was, really feeling distraught and cynical deep down, and he was talking more like an optimist. "And I guess . . . hope came through for them."
"But hoping isn't gonna make it happen." Sean looked to his phone. "If I hope the signal will come back so I can call Barry, that doesn't make the chances of it happening any more likely."
Elliott gave a weary nod. ". . . And if I hope Scott's alive, that doesn't mean he is," he said, barely above a whisper.
Sean hesitated, then laid a hand on Elliott's shoulder. "I'm sorry, El," he said then. "I've turned into such a cynic. . . ."
Elliott blinked, looking to him. "After everything we've been through, it's hard not to be," he said. "I went through a period like that too." He shook his head. "Sometimes I'm still cynical," he admitted. "I feel that way right now. Sadly enough, it's pretty realistic a lot of the time."
Sean nodded. "Too true. But on the other hand . . . positive thinking can be realistic too. And it's much more pleasant to be positive."
"And you still are a lot of the time, Sean," Elliott said, and meant it. "You're always encouraging us. Your voice of reason helped me a lot during the werewolf case."
"Oh, it's easy to be positive on something like that," Sean said. "I knew you couldn't be turning into a wolf. But when it comes to something like this, where we know our friends could be dead . . ." He shook his head. ". . . It's so much harder."
". . . And that's probably when we need it the most," Elliott realized.
Sean stared into the distance again, looking thoughtful. "Probably," he agreed. "Now if we could only gear our minds to that."
He took a deep breath. "A lot of pretty incredible stuff has happened to us," he said with a weak smile. "Maybe we'll get lucky one more time."
"Maybe," Elliott said, but he sounded occupied. Was it really luck? Or did thinking that trivialize their narrow escapes? There had been so many over the years that they were really countless. And sometimes it had been more than "narrow" escapes. Occasionally they had even come back from the dead.
". . . I think someone's been watching out for us," he said at last. "For some reason."
"Someone?" Sean mused. "Like God?"
"Could be," Elliott said. "Or the Voice, whoever he is. Though I guess he'd be assigned to us by God."
"That is one cranky guardian angel," Sean smirked.
Elliott chuckled but then sobered. "I don't know," he said. "It just seems like we've come through too much to just pass it off as luck."
"I guess," Sean said. "There's definitely some unexplainable things out there."
"You yourself discovered that the Netherworld existed by ending up there," Elliott shuddered. "And I hope that there are more afterlives than that one."
"No kidding," Sean said, shaking his head. "If that was the only place to go after dying, I would stage a revolt."
"I can just picture that," Elliott said with a wry grin.
". . . But seriously, El, why would we get so much protection?" Sean frowned. "Why would we deserve it any more than the millions of people who die and stay dead?"
"I can't explain that, either," Elliott said. "But . . . I just don't think us surviving is anywhere as simple as good luck." He sighed. "Whatever it is . . . I just hope it's keeping Scott alive. And even though hoping won't make it so . . . it does help my state of mind."
"Can't argue with that." Sean stared off at the opposite wall. "But when your hope falls through . . . there's few things as crushing."
Elliott's heart twisted at the pain behind those words. He reached out, laying a hand on Sean's shoulder. Sean stiffened, then slowly relaxed as silence descended between them.
****
Barry sighed to himself as he stood over the twins, who were now sprawled on the ground in a daze. It had not been too difficult to take them both down, but now he was unsure what to do with them. Handcuffing them together would not prevent them from escaping. But he hated to waste his only rope by using it to tie them up better. What if it would be needed later for some greater purpose?
He bent down, affixing the handcuffs around their wrists before standing and looking towards the direction of the bank. He should not have let Scott go. He did not know what could have been done instead, but he should have tried to figure it out. Scott was sick. Could he even make it to the bank without collapsing? To say nothing of coming back.
And if he was coming back . . . shouldn't he be here by now?
Maybe not as much time had passed as he thought. It might seem like more just because he was so worried.
Wait. Had something moved in the darkness? It could just be something else the wind was blowing along. No . . . it was a person. A person walking backwards and holding onto something.
He narrowed his eyes, squinting into the night as he tried to see it better. There were two people, carrying something between them. A stretcher?
"Barry!"
He stiffened. Scott. It was Scott! He was the person walking forward, holding onto the back of the stretcher. His hat was askew on his head, and he was obviously having trouble walking at all, but he had made it. The other person must be Jeff.
Barry let out a sigh of relief. ". . . You're late," he grunted.
"We had to make a stretcher," Jeff called. And, before Scott could protest, he hurried on, "And we've had to move slow enough that Scott can keep up. He's not doing well at all."
"I know," Barry said.
Even though Scott would have liked to protest, he knew it would just be wasted breath. He had been struggling all along the way, nearly dropping both himself and his end of the stretcher several times. Jeff had tried to slow down, though he had worried about staying ahead of the harsh winds. And Scott had tried to hurry up, but he had not been very successful. He definitely was not well and he knew it.
"Open the back door," Jeff called as they drew closer.
Barry did, watching as they came right up to the telephone pole. "I'll take her," he said, knowing that they would need the stretcher for the other badly hurt people.
Both Jeff and Scott looked at him in gratitude as he lifted Candace off the stretcher and onto the backseat of the car. Then Jeff shifted. It was time to tell his idea.
"How many people could fit in the car, maximum?" he asked.
Barry straightened up, studying the interior of the car. "Six," he said at last, "but with Candace taking up the backseat, only one other person could be there, if they didn't mind her legs across their lap." With the nature of her injuries, it was her feet that needed to be elevated, not her head---making for a rather awkward situation.
Scott sank onto the telephone pole. His entire body was trembling. He leaned forward, staring at the rain pounding on the asphalt. He could not pass out. He had to stay awake. He could not make his friends worry about him even more. By now he had repeated it so much in his mind that it was almost like a mantra.
"And one in the passenger seat," Jeff said. "But in a pinch, someone could sit on the floor in the back, right?"
Barry frowned. "I suppose," he said. "But it wouldn't be safe."
"Neither is riding on the backseat without a seatbelt," Jeff said. "But wearing a seatbelt is impossible if you're laying down."
Barry crossed his arms. "What are you getting at?" he asked.
"Just this," Jeff said. "You need to take as many people in one trip as you can. How about this---Scott sit on the seat with Candace. Marcia---the woman with the hurt leg---sit up front with you. And Amanda---the woman whose shoulder you put back into place---sit on the floor in the back."
Barry looked at him. "And you would stay behind with your uncle," he deduced.
Scott froze, looking up at Jeff in alarm. He was right---he did not like this idea at all.
Neither did Barry. He gripped his arms tighter.
"Let's look at this logically," Jeff said. "I'm the only one who wasn't hurt in some way. Everyone else should go ahead of me." He swallowed. "Anyway . . . I want to stay with my uncle."
You're not only the sole uninjured one; you're also the youngest person here, Barry thought to himself. But you're acting like a man. In fact, a lot of people older than you wouldn't be as brave.
Aloud he said, "I think you know I don't like that idea."
"I know," Jeff said. "But I can't feel good about leaving those other people with Unc while I come with you. They're hurt. I'm not." He looked away. "And if . . . if anything happens to him, I . . . I want to be there. I . . . I don't want to find out later that some stranger was the one with him for his last moments. It should be me."
Barry's heart twisted. How could he deny that to Jeff? And whether he liked it or not, the boy had made valid points.
Sometimes he despised the concept of the greater good and the decisions it forced people to make.
He let out a big sigh. "Alright, you and I will go back to get Marcia and Amanda," he said, struggling with his next words. ". . . And you can stay behind until I bring the car back again," he finished.
Jeff relaxed. "Then let's go!" he exclaimed.
Barry nodded, but first looked to Scott, still slumped on the telephone pole. He frowned again.
"Scott?"
The blond looked up, bleary-eyed.
"Will you be alright if we leave you alone with Candace for a few minutes? The twins are restrained. I'll have to take them into that vacant restaurant or something. And you can lock the doors," Barry added as an afterthought. It was a good thing he had already rolled up the windows.
Scott nodded, managing a smile. "You go ahead. I'll be fine here."
As Barry watched, Scott swung his legs around to the other side of the pole and forced himself up with great effort. He limped to the car, easing himself onto the seat and allowing Candace's legs to rest on his lap. His hand shaking, he pulled the door shut and pressed the button that locked it and the other doors.
Barry turned away. Again he had to wonder, Was he making the right choice?
. . . Maybe the real question was, Did he have much other choice?
And when he weighed all the different possibilities and circumstances, he did not think he did.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,766
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Summary: Scott makes it to the bank. Meanwhile, Sean and Elliott talk.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Five
Jeff stared down at the unconscious woman, his bangs plastered to his forehead by the rain. He had finally managed to slow and then stop the bleeding, but Candace had not awakened. Not knowing what else to do, he had struggled to sloppily bandage the wound while Amanda---the woman with the dislocated shoulder---had tried to shield them both from the downpour. Now he shivered, turning away as he coughed.
"We'll probably all be coming down with something before this is over," Amanda said in sympathy.
Jeff gave a weak nod. "How's my uncle?" he called over the counter to the other woman---who he had learned was named Marcia.
"Still unconscious," she called back, adjusting the other emergency blanket they had found to drape over Mr. Gordon.
Jeff clenched a fist. "We don't even know what's wrong," he said in frustration. "What if Unc has some kind of internal injuries?"
Amanda sighed. "It's possible," she said.
The apprentice P.I. reached up, brushing his wet bangs aside. "How long has Barry been gone?" he asked to no one in particular.
"How far away were you parked?" Amanda wondered.
"Barry and the others were parked several blocks from here," Jeff said. "My uncle and I came in on the bus. Our rental car gave up the ghost by some wheat field. The tornado probably took it off somewhere."
Amanda nodded. "Maybe he'll come in a few minutes," she said.
"I hope so." Now Jeff sounded exactly like he felt---lost and helpless. He continued to hunch over Candace's limp form, trying to hold down the emergency blanket. As if the rainstorm was not bad enough, the wind continued to blow in fury, taking away almost everything that was not nailed down. Any minute he was afraid he would see a funnel cloud descending from the dark sky, bringing certain doom to them all.
"What brought the two of you here?" Amanda asked, honestly curious but also hoping to divert his attention.
"We're detectives," Jeff said. "We chased an embezzler here. It's his hometown . . . the embezzler's, I mean. Unc went to the bank hoping to find him draining his local accounts. I was supposed to stay outside in case the guy got away. That's when I met up with Barry and the others . . . and the tornado touched down. . . ." He trailed off, his voice breaking. "Scott . . . he . . . he got carried off by the thing. . . . We don't even know if he's alive. . . ." And his eyes narrowed. "The embezzler . . . that's him on the other side of the counter. The dead guy."
". . . I see," Amanda said in surprise. She hesitated. "I hope you won't take offense, but you seem quite young for a detective."
Jeff gave a hollow laugh. "I know. It's a long story, but basically I'm an apprentice P.I. There's another one like me, but he's back at the agency in New York. I've been getting some hands-on training lately." He sighed. "Today it's training on people dying," he muttered. "I didn't sign up for this."
"I doubt anyone does," Amanda said kindly.
"I don't even know how bad off my uncle is," Jeff said. "But I have this awful feeling it's going to be a long time before I can get help for him. And there's nothing I can do but accept it. This lady needs help more . . . at least from what we can see. My uncle could be just as bad off, but we can't see it because it's inside him!" If he was not holding down the emergency blanket, he would hit the debris with his fist. "It's not fair. . . ."
Amanda gave a sad sigh as she studied the boy in front of her. He was too young to have all this weight on his shoulders. And things were not going to get easier for him if Mr. Gordon could not be helped soon. Even when he did receive help, the doctors might not be able to do much. At least, that was what Amanda was afraid would happen.
"Jeff!"
The apprentice P.I. stiffened, looking over his shoulder. That was not Barry's voice. It actually sounded like . . .
"Oh my," Amanda gasped at the sight of the bedraggled young man limping towards the bank. He stumbled, but caught himself---though he looked ready to collapse.
And Jeff had gone pale. "Scott?!" he said in disbelief. "Scott, it . . . it's really you?!" Of all places Scott could reappear, this was where Jeff had expected to see him the least. Did the others know he was alive?
"It's really me," Scott tried to smile, though he was alarmed by the scene before him. And he was starting to feel sick again. He swayed, grabbing onto a nearby metal beam.
"Barry's got the car," he said. "He has it by that fallen telephone pole. He had to stay behind because Double Trouble are trying to steal it. . . . The car, I mean, not the telephone pole," he hastily corrected himself. "Long story, but . . . I came to let you know. And to help you get people there. . . ."
"You're in no condition to do anything!" Jeff exclaimed. "Scott, you're barely able to walk! You'd never be able to help me lift someone and carry them for several blocks!"
Scott gritted his teeth, willing his body to cooperate and keep him upright. He could not pass out. Then he would be an additional burden when there were so many others who needed help more.
"I can manage," he said.
"You were carried off by a tornado!" Jeff retorted. "You look terrible!"
Scott winced. If Jeff could say that when it was hard to see him at all, he would probably look downright frightening under a bright light.
"These people are worse off," he said then, frowning at the sight of the woman Jeff was trying to help. "Is there something we can use to make a stretcher?" He squinted into the near-darkness of the part of the building that still had a roof, but from his current angle he could not see much. One or two small flashlights had been wedged into some of the debris, in order to hopefully keep them from blowing away, and they were casting eerie shadows around the room.
"Just these crazy emergency blankets," Jeff sighed. "There might be a couple more of them around."
Scott nodded. "Maybe we could take some of those pipes to wrap around the edges and pull them tight," he suggested, seeing a couple of rods sticking out of one pile.
"That's a good idea," said a woman's voice from inside the bank. Scott stepped closer, finally making out a form kneeling beside a limp body on the floor. He stiffened as the realization hit him. That was Jeff's uncle.
"I'll help you make it," she continued. "Amanda is busy trying to help Jeff keep the rain off that poor woman. I'm Marcia, by the way."
"Hello," Scott said. Grabbing onto another beam, he drew closer and stepped onto the mountain of debris. His foot slipped, plunging between two planks of wood. He yelped in surprise as he went down, still frantically clutching the beam to his right.
Jeff looked over his shoulder. "Scott, are you okay?!" he cried.
Scott shuddered, slumping against his right arm. "I'm okay," he called back. "At least, I'm not hurt worse."
He took a deep breath before struggling to pull himself upright. Then he stumbled off the pile, swaying as he grabbed for the wall. With a sigh he moved forward again, grasping the swinging door that led beyond the counter.
Marcia was regarding him in concern as he arrived. "I managed to pull out the pipes," she said, "but Jeff's right---you need to be carried out of here on the stretcher yourself!"
Scott fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a miniature first aid kit. Snapping it open, he pulled out a folded and wrapped emergency blanket and then slowly sank to his knees.
"I just need to rest for a few minutes," he said. "I've been walking for a while and my legs are kind of wobbly." He pulled open the plastic wrapper, fishing out the foil blanket inside. "Is there anything we can use to tie the pipes to this thing?"
Marcia frowned. "There should be something somewhere," she said. "I guess rubber bands wouldn't work. . . . I have one of my daughter's scrunchies in my purse. . . ."
"I'm sure that would break," Scott sighed. Finally unfolding the blanket, he laid it flat on the floor and grabbed one of the pipes to place across the edge. "If we just had some rope or something. . . ."
"There might be some twine in one of the drawers," Amanda called from the other side of the counter.
That did not sound very favorable, either. Scott rocked back on his heels. He had to think of something, anything! He took off his hat, running his hand into his blond curls.
"It needs to be stronger," he said then. "A cord, or leather, even a dog leash," he added, thinking of the dog that he had found in the remains of the mobile home park.
"Cords!" Marcia exclaimed. "We could cut the cords off the lamps. They're of no use anyway, when there's no electricity."
Scott blinked in surprise. "We could try it," he said, a bit of hope coming back into his eyes. "There's some scissors in the first aid kit."
"There's some stronger ones here!" Amanda called again. Her hand came up, holding a pair of large, dark red scissors. She laid them on the countertop.
Scott reached for them, pulling them down to lay on top of the emergency blanket. "And there's a lamp," he said, pointing to one laying on the floor near Marcia. She grabbed it, pulling the plug out of the socket in the process.
"This is a nice long one," she said, spreading the cord lengthwise on the carpet. Scott cut it loose, then also clipped off the plug on the other end. After cutting the remaining piece in half, he proceeded to try tying one section around the bottom of the pipe and the blanket's material. Would this really work? Or were electrical cords too thick to be of any real use? Maybe it would just pull free. On the other hand, this was obviously an older model, as it was not as thick as most cords he had seen around. But that could mean it might break.
"We're going to have to be careful," he cautioned, as Marcia took the other half and went to work tying the top of the pipe. "We could be walking along and suddenly this thing would start to come undone." And then the poor person they were carrying might fall.
"I know," Jeff frowned. He was quite worried about that, actually. But there was little more they could do then to use their meager resources as best as they could and pray it would last.
"Maybe we could also wrap duct tape around the cords," he suggested. "I saw some of that in the drawer, too."
Scott blinked. "Well, it's worth a try," he said, looking up as he finished tying the last of several knots. "Anything to try to make this thing stronger."
"I guess we'll find out if duct tape really works for anything," Jeff said as Amanda pushed the roll onto the countertop. Scott grabbed it, cutting off a long strip to wrap around the bottom. Marcia followed suit.
At last Scott leaned back, studying their work. "Is there another lamp's cord we could use for the other pipe?" he asked.
"There should be a lamp in that cubicle," Marcia said, pointing to the nearest office. "Just a minute, I'll go over there and see." With that she gripped the soft chair next to her and began to pull herself up, leaning heavily on her good leg. She limped forward, dragging her injured leg behind her as she held onto the wall for support. Then she reached for the wall of the cubicle, pulling herself over to it. She went inside, returning in a moment with a lamp identical to the one they had just dismembered.
Scott held out his hands to take it as she limped back to him. She handed it over, grabbing the soft chair again as she sank back to the floor.
Within a few minutes, the second pipe had been tied and duct-taped to the emergency blanket. Scott looked the makeshift stretcher over, doubt in his eyes. "Now's the test, I guess," he said, folding it over and grasping the two pipes as he reached for the counter to pull himself to his feet.
Marcia watched him in concern. "Can you make it?" she asked.
Scott nodded. "I'll be okay now," he said.
But sitting down for a short while had made it even less desirable to stand. He gritted his teeth, maneuvering his body around the counter and through the swinging door again.
Amanda had temporarily abandoned her post and was there to assist him. "I'll take that," she said, grasping the stretcher. Scott relinquished it, observing as she walked back to Jeff and Candace and bent down, spreading it next to the other woman's prone form.
Jeff drew a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder as the device was laid beside them. "Okay," he said. "Now we need to lift her over to it."
Still balancing himself on the counter, Scott made his way over to them. Jeff could not do it on his own, and Scott was the only one here who could help him. Somehow, even though it looked impossible, he needed the strength to help him lift her up. And that was only the beginning. He would have to walk several blocks, carrying one end of the stretcher. Could he possibly do it? This was not the time to doubt himself, but now, as he was aching all over and wanting only to lay down and not move, it was going to be hard not to doubt.
Jeff had moved to the woman's shoulders. From his position and the look in his eyes, he was terrified. Would they hurt her worse by moving her? There was no other choice, but . . . what if they could not save her? What if she died? He would fear that he had done something wrong and that it was his fault.
"O-okay," he said at last. "On the count of three, we move her over. Alright?"
Scott nodded. Keeping one hand on the counter, he bent down, hoping to be ready to grasp Candace's ankles in an instant.
"One . . ." Jeff shifted. "Two . . ." He shook his head. He was just drawing this out. "Oh, let's just move her already!" he exclaimed.
Scott dove for her ankles at the same moment Jeff got his hands under her back. Then they were lifting the wounded form, laying her as gently as possible on the stretcher.
Scott let go, swaying back against the counter. They had done it. He took a shuddering breath. It was time to get her to the car.
Jeff looked to him in concern. He did not have to speak; his eyes said it all. But Scott tried to give him a reassuring smile.
"Let's go," he said. "We still have several blocks to cover."
Slowly Jeff nodded, wobbling from kneeling so long as he got to his feet. It would take a few minutes to get the feeling back in his legs, but they could not wait for that. He half-limped to the front of the stretcher.
Scott looked to Amanda, who had been watching all the proceedings. "Are you going to come with us or stay?" he asked.
She hesitated. "I don't know," she said. She hated to let them go off alone, but on the other hand, she hated to leave Marcia here alone with Mr. Gordon. She was not badly hurt; she would certainly not go with them for her own welfare. Where would she be needed most?
Jeff swallowed hard. "We'll be okay," he said. He could not help wanting her to stay here. What if something suddenly happened to his uncle and Marcia could not help him all by herself? But then again . . . they needed to get as many people out at once as was possible.
And on the third hand . . . what were they going to do about Marcia? She could not walk on her own; they would have to carry her on the stretcher. But that would mean three trips. Jeff was already worrying that they would not be able to handle two. What if a second tornado hit before they could return?
Maybe when they got to the car, they would have to ask Barry what he thought. They might have to try taking Marcia with them on this trip while Amanda stayed behind.
Or he could. . . . Yes, that was it. Barry could take all of them now, and Jeff would stay with his uncle until Barry could return. He nodded to himself. Undoubtedly Barry would not like the thought, but more and more it was sounding to Jeff like the best solution. He had not been injured at all. If anyone stayed behind, it should be him. Besides, if . . . if it was already too late for his uncle, he wanted to be there . . . at the last. . . . Barry would understand that, even though he would not want to leave Jeff there.
"Just stay here," he said now to Amanda. "We'll find out what the situation is back at the car." He smiled. "I think we might be able to fit someone else in on this trip."
She blinked. "Oh please don't worry about me," she said. "If you can fit someone else in, you should take Marcia."
"We'll see," Jeff said.
Scott frowned as he moved to the back of the stretcher. Jeff was planning something. He was not sure what, but he was sure that he would not like it. Maybe Amanda wouldn't, either. That was probably why the kid was being so vague.
"Ready?" Jeff asked him.
Scott nodded. "As ready as I can be," he said.
They bent down, tightly grasping the pipes before straightening again. Jeff looked to the device in concern.
". . . It's holding so far," he said.
Scott glanced at the sloping descent of the debris hill to his left. "Then here we go," he said, backing up several steps while Jeff walked forward. Scott's arms were already burning, but he would ignore it. No matter what, he had to hold on until they reached the car.
But once they did, he was afraid he could not return for any more trips.
****
Elliott sighed, staring off at the white-washed wall just opposite to him. He could easily imagine that his eyes were bloodshot. They ached, as they did when he used them too much . . . or when he had just stayed awake too long.
After Sean had finished fixing food, they had taken it into the basement to eat. It was a nicely-furnished place with several rooms, though they had not taken time to explore them all. They had settled in the family room, in the process discovering exercise equipment, board games, and even a small generator. When Elliott had tested it he had discovered it still worked. Electricity had lit up the room and Brittany had requested they keep the machine on while they ate. He could still hear its hum in the background.
Brittany had dozed almost as soon as she had finished her sandwich. Now she was curled up on one of the brown, velvety couches, looking peaceful for the first time since they had found her. Sean had draped a blanket from their supplies over her small form and then had reclined on the floor against a soft chair.
Elliott looked over at him from where he himself was slumped on the floor against the bottom of the couch. Not aware that he was being watched, Sean was gazing off into the distance. He rubbed an eye, his still-drying fedora falling back on his head. Now the weight of his responsibility was fully visible. He looked so tired. . . .
About like Elliott felt. He envied Brittany, able to drift off to sleep in the middle of this calamity. Elliott doubted he could sleep if he tried. And anyway, he did not want to leave Sean awake alone.
"Sean . . ."
The younger man looked over, questions in his eyes.
Elliott ran his tongue over his lips. ". . . Is your phone still out?"
Sean fished in his pocket, soon bringing it out. "Yeah," he said in disdain. He set it on the seat of the chair, discouraged. "Face it, El---we are completely cut off from the rest of the world."
The storm howled outside, the glass of the windows scraping against their frames. Elliott winced at the sound.
"We could emerge to discover the house collapsed around us," Sean mused. "The entire town might be leveled." He was convinced there would be a second tornado. The only questions were when it would touch down . . . and how many more would be killed when it did.
Elliott looked at him. Only a select few had ever seen this side of him, and he only showed it at all when he was absolutely drained beyond belief. Once Brittany was awake, he would slap on another smile and try to make her believe all was well.
"You're right," Elliott muttered. This experience was bringing out the tired cynic in him that had lain dormant for some time. They had come through so much heartache. It never seemed to end, in fact. But Scott would be sickened to see him like this. He would be sickened to see both of them like this.
"Elliott . . ."
Feeling his childhood friend's gaze on him, Elliott turned to look.
"I wish I could tell you that Scott's alright," Sean said. "I wish I could . . . but I can't. I can only tell you that whatever's happened, it isn't your fault. Even though you can't believe it."
Elliott looked away. "Even if he survived the tornado, where is he?" he whispered. "Can he survive this storm? And now we don't know what's happening with Barry and Jeff, either." He clenched a fist.
"It's the pits." Sean leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "And then there's Brittany, still hoping and thinking this will all work out. . . ." He shook his head. "I hate to give her false hope. It might not work out. But that's not something you can tell a five-year-old kid."
Elliott swallowed, remembering how he had felt when Sean had tried to stay cheerful and reassure her adamantly that everything would be alright. Sean had known what he was doing, unlike the times where he just blurted things out without thinking.
"In some ways, it'd be nice to be five," Sean said. "You wouldn't need to worry that life as you know it could change. Grown-ups would always be telling you it would work out.
"But on the other hand . . . you wouldn't have the good knowledge you'd gain later," he said. He gave a mischievous grin. "And you wouldn't be able to get away with the crazy stunts I pull."
Elliott raised an eyebrow. "You get away with them?" he said. Images of Greg chasing Sean down with a snowball came to his mind.
Sean gave a mock sigh. "Okay, maybe not."
He leaned back. ". . . When I was a kid, I wondered how grown-ups always knew things would turn out. Now I know that sometimes they didn't. Lucky guesses." He smirked.
"Well . . . they had to hope," Elliott said, suddenly feeling like Scott. Here he was, really feeling distraught and cynical deep down, and he was talking more like an optimist. "And I guess . . . hope came through for them."
"But hoping isn't gonna make it happen." Sean looked to his phone. "If I hope the signal will come back so I can call Barry, that doesn't make the chances of it happening any more likely."
Elliott gave a weary nod. ". . . And if I hope Scott's alive, that doesn't mean he is," he said, barely above a whisper.
Sean hesitated, then laid a hand on Elliott's shoulder. "I'm sorry, El," he said then. "I've turned into such a cynic. . . ."
Elliott blinked, looking to him. "After everything we've been through, it's hard not to be," he said. "I went through a period like that too." He shook his head. "Sometimes I'm still cynical," he admitted. "I feel that way right now. Sadly enough, it's pretty realistic a lot of the time."
Sean nodded. "Too true. But on the other hand . . . positive thinking can be realistic too. And it's much more pleasant to be positive."
"And you still are a lot of the time, Sean," Elliott said, and meant it. "You're always encouraging us. Your voice of reason helped me a lot during the werewolf case."
"Oh, it's easy to be positive on something like that," Sean said. "I knew you couldn't be turning into a wolf. But when it comes to something like this, where we know our friends could be dead . . ." He shook his head. ". . . It's so much harder."
". . . And that's probably when we need it the most," Elliott realized.
Sean stared into the distance again, looking thoughtful. "Probably," he agreed. "Now if we could only gear our minds to that."
He took a deep breath. "A lot of pretty incredible stuff has happened to us," he said with a weak smile. "Maybe we'll get lucky one more time."
"Maybe," Elliott said, but he sounded occupied. Was it really luck? Or did thinking that trivialize their narrow escapes? There had been so many over the years that they were really countless. And sometimes it had been more than "narrow" escapes. Occasionally they had even come back from the dead.
". . . I think someone's been watching out for us," he said at last. "For some reason."
"Someone?" Sean mused. "Like God?"
"Could be," Elliott said. "Or the Voice, whoever he is. Though I guess he'd be assigned to us by God."
"That is one cranky guardian angel," Sean smirked.
Elliott chuckled but then sobered. "I don't know," he said. "It just seems like we've come through too much to just pass it off as luck."
"I guess," Sean said. "There's definitely some unexplainable things out there."
"You yourself discovered that the Netherworld existed by ending up there," Elliott shuddered. "And I hope that there are more afterlives than that one."
"No kidding," Sean said, shaking his head. "If that was the only place to go after dying, I would stage a revolt."
"I can just picture that," Elliott said with a wry grin.
". . . But seriously, El, why would we get so much protection?" Sean frowned. "Why would we deserve it any more than the millions of people who die and stay dead?"
"I can't explain that, either," Elliott said. "But . . . I just don't think us surviving is anywhere as simple as good luck." He sighed. "Whatever it is . . . I just hope it's keeping Scott alive. And even though hoping won't make it so . . . it does help my state of mind."
"Can't argue with that." Sean stared off at the opposite wall. "But when your hope falls through . . . there's few things as crushing."
Elliott's heart twisted at the pain behind those words. He reached out, laying a hand on Sean's shoulder. Sean stiffened, then slowly relaxed as silence descended between them.
****
Barry sighed to himself as he stood over the twins, who were now sprawled on the ground in a daze. It had not been too difficult to take them both down, but now he was unsure what to do with them. Handcuffing them together would not prevent them from escaping. But he hated to waste his only rope by using it to tie them up better. What if it would be needed later for some greater purpose?
He bent down, affixing the handcuffs around their wrists before standing and looking towards the direction of the bank. He should not have let Scott go. He did not know what could have been done instead, but he should have tried to figure it out. Scott was sick. Could he even make it to the bank without collapsing? To say nothing of coming back.
And if he was coming back . . . shouldn't he be here by now?
Maybe not as much time had passed as he thought. It might seem like more just because he was so worried.
Wait. Had something moved in the darkness? It could just be something else the wind was blowing along. No . . . it was a person. A person walking backwards and holding onto something.
He narrowed his eyes, squinting into the night as he tried to see it better. There were two people, carrying something between them. A stretcher?
"Barry!"
He stiffened. Scott. It was Scott! He was the person walking forward, holding onto the back of the stretcher. His hat was askew on his head, and he was obviously having trouble walking at all, but he had made it. The other person must be Jeff.
Barry let out a sigh of relief. ". . . You're late," he grunted.
"We had to make a stretcher," Jeff called. And, before Scott could protest, he hurried on, "And we've had to move slow enough that Scott can keep up. He's not doing well at all."
"I know," Barry said.
Even though Scott would have liked to protest, he knew it would just be wasted breath. He had been struggling all along the way, nearly dropping both himself and his end of the stretcher several times. Jeff had tried to slow down, though he had worried about staying ahead of the harsh winds. And Scott had tried to hurry up, but he had not been very successful. He definitely was not well and he knew it.
"Open the back door," Jeff called as they drew closer.
Barry did, watching as they came right up to the telephone pole. "I'll take her," he said, knowing that they would need the stretcher for the other badly hurt people.
Both Jeff and Scott looked at him in gratitude as he lifted Candace off the stretcher and onto the backseat of the car. Then Jeff shifted. It was time to tell his idea.
"How many people could fit in the car, maximum?" he asked.
Barry straightened up, studying the interior of the car. "Six," he said at last, "but with Candace taking up the backseat, only one other person could be there, if they didn't mind her legs across their lap." With the nature of her injuries, it was her feet that needed to be elevated, not her head---making for a rather awkward situation.
Scott sank onto the telephone pole. His entire body was trembling. He leaned forward, staring at the rain pounding on the asphalt. He could not pass out. He had to stay awake. He could not make his friends worry about him even more. By now he had repeated it so much in his mind that it was almost like a mantra.
"And one in the passenger seat," Jeff said. "But in a pinch, someone could sit on the floor in the back, right?"
Barry frowned. "I suppose," he said. "But it wouldn't be safe."
"Neither is riding on the backseat without a seatbelt," Jeff said. "But wearing a seatbelt is impossible if you're laying down."
Barry crossed his arms. "What are you getting at?" he asked.
"Just this," Jeff said. "You need to take as many people in one trip as you can. How about this---Scott sit on the seat with Candace. Marcia---the woman with the hurt leg---sit up front with you. And Amanda---the woman whose shoulder you put back into place---sit on the floor in the back."
Barry looked at him. "And you would stay behind with your uncle," he deduced.
Scott froze, looking up at Jeff in alarm. He was right---he did not like this idea at all.
Neither did Barry. He gripped his arms tighter.
"Let's look at this logically," Jeff said. "I'm the only one who wasn't hurt in some way. Everyone else should go ahead of me." He swallowed. "Anyway . . . I want to stay with my uncle."
You're not only the sole uninjured one; you're also the youngest person here, Barry thought to himself. But you're acting like a man. In fact, a lot of people older than you wouldn't be as brave.
Aloud he said, "I think you know I don't like that idea."
"I know," Jeff said. "But I can't feel good about leaving those other people with Unc while I come with you. They're hurt. I'm not." He looked away. "And if . . . if anything happens to him, I . . . I want to be there. I . . . I don't want to find out later that some stranger was the one with him for his last moments. It should be me."
Barry's heart twisted. How could he deny that to Jeff? And whether he liked it or not, the boy had made valid points.
Sometimes he despised the concept of the greater good and the decisions it forced people to make.
He let out a big sigh. "Alright, you and I will go back to get Marcia and Amanda," he said, struggling with his next words. ". . . And you can stay behind until I bring the car back again," he finished.
Jeff relaxed. "Then let's go!" he exclaimed.
Barry nodded, but first looked to Scott, still slumped on the telephone pole. He frowned again.
"Scott?"
The blond looked up, bleary-eyed.
"Will you be alright if we leave you alone with Candace for a few minutes? The twins are restrained. I'll have to take them into that vacant restaurant or something. And you can lock the doors," Barry added as an afterthought. It was a good thing he had already rolled up the windows.
Scott nodded, managing a smile. "You go ahead. I'll be fine here."
As Barry watched, Scott swung his legs around to the other side of the pole and forced himself up with great effort. He limped to the car, easing himself onto the seat and allowing Candace's legs to rest on his lap. His hand shaking, he pulled the door shut and pressed the button that locked it and the other doors.
Barry turned away. Again he had to wonder, Was he making the right choice?
. . . Maybe the real question was, Did he have much other choice?
And when he weighed all the different possibilities and circumstances, he did not think he did.