Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

Blake suddenly realized that Garrett had passed the exit for his home.

“Aren’t we going to go to my house? Hasn’t Jen moved out of the shelter by now?”

“No. I went out to Lancaster- It’s not good.”

“What?”

“Blake, your house is gone. I’m sorry.” Garrett’s voice was soft, filled with compassion.

Blake’s face paled and he ran his hand over it. Then a sound between a groan and a curse escaped him. “Was-was there anything left?”

Garrett shook his head solemnly. “Your neighborhood was totally destroyed, nothing left but rubble. The area’s restricted, sealed off while they deal with power lines and gas.”

Blake said nothing. He blinked at nothing, as if struggling to comprehend something incomprehensible.

“That’s not all of it, Blake. There’s more about Caleb.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’m so damned sorry. I should’ve told you at the airport.” Garrett’s voice began to crack a little. “It happened when you were on the plane, I-” The words wouldn’t come.

“Just tell me, Garrett!”

“They found a body.”

Blake’s eyes widened, his face tightened. “What’re you talking about? Whose body?”

“A baby. A baby boy. That’s all we know.”

Blake smashed his fists into the console. “You better be fucking wrong, Garrett! You better be dead fucking wrong!”

It took about two seconds before the full force of it hit Blake in the gut like a two-by-four.

“Oh Christ, is it Caleb?”

“We don’t know for certain. Jen got a call from some official then two Dallas cops came and took her to this high school in southeast Dallas.” Garrett tapped the rental’s GPS. “I put the address in here. That’s where we’re going.”

“A school?”

“They’ve set up a morgue in the gym.”

“A morgue! Jesus.”

Blake’s knees started bouncing up and down and he held them with his palms. Sensing his anguish was about to detonate, Garrett feared he would smash his way out of the Ford.

“Blake. You got to hang on. Jen’s in a bad way-she needs you. She’s with Holly, waiting for us at the school. Jen said she’s not doing anything without you.”

Jenna needed to believe that she was dreaming.

Because if I’m dreaming, none of this is true .

She shut her eyes for a long moment then opened them again.

She was not dreaming.

This is really happening.

She was with several people waiting in the administration office of a high school. The school had been closed to students, had become a ghost building. Yet everyone was whispering, like they were in church or something.

Jenna had lost Caleb. It was her fault because she’d failed to hang on to him. But her prayers were answered. Caleb had been found and taken to this high school.

She was going to hold him one last time.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t protect you .

A tiny voice in her heart cried out to her. No. No. It’s not true. My baby boy can’t be dead.

“Would you like another cup of water, Jen?”

Jenna’s sister, Holly, stood by the cooler. It glugged as she filled another paper cup. Jenna tasted the cold water, felt it flowing down her parched throat. Then she looked at the trophy case with medals, statues and framed photos of teachers, coaches, basketball and football teams. She searched the pictures of the players and thought of Caleb. Would he ever be on a team? The faces of these young men screamed life to her while her heart cowered at what was waiting for her in the gym.

The office doors opened. Blake appeared.

She rushed to him, cleaved to him, nearly sank to her knees before he pulled her up so that they stood together, holding each other and sobbing for what seemed an eternity.

Then a woman stood and started the procedure.

“Excuse me- You’re Blake Cooper, Caleb’s father?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m Lanna Thomas with the Medical Examiner’s office,” she said.

Others began to introduce themselves: the two officers, Stroud and Dyer, with the Dallas PD; Wendy DeBello, with trauma counseling services; and Frank Rivera with the Missing Person Emergency Search System.

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas said to Blake and Jenna, “but we need one of you to make the identification now.”

Blake nodded to Thomas and cleared his throat.

“I’ll go.”

“No.” Jenna crushed him to her. “We’ll go together.”

“Okay,” Thomas said. “Follow me.”

The officers followed, as well, their utility belts giving soft leathery squeaks and keys jingling as they approached the gym. There was a faint hum in the air, and Jenna squeezed Blake’s hand harder.

“Where-” Blake started again. “Where was he found?”

“A woman with a volunteer search and rescue team found him among some broken tree limbs in a suburb ringing Lincoln Memorial Park Cemetery.”

The hum grew louder when they entered the gym, which had been partitioned in half with a floor-to-ceiling dividing wall. Thomas led them through the door into the closed section.

“The drone is from the generators outside for the portable air conditioners, to keep the room cool,” Thomas said, pulling on latex gloves.

Stepping inside, Jenna stopped.

The room was cold. On the polished gym floor were several rows of body-sized sheets. The odor in the air was a mix of a hospital and a supermarket deli. The surreal scene of the dead juxtaposed with the banners on the wall.

Go Tigers Go!

Jenna imagined basketball games, proms and graduations that had taken place here, as Thomas led them down a row of corpses with the officers following. They stopped at a tiny form. Thomas lowered herself, looked up at Jenna and Blake as she collected the sheet.

This had to be done.

“Ready?” Thomas said.

Blake pulled Jenna tighter but it didn’t stop her trembling.

He nodded and Thomas drew back the sheet.

Jenna’s skin numbed, she gasped and her stomach knotted.

The baby was a few months old and faceup on a plastic mat. It was a boy, wearing only a shirt. Part of his face was shredded into a pulpy stewlike mess. His left hand was gone. Jenna did not recognize his shirt.

She could barely push the words out. “Can you turn him over?”

Exercising utmost care, Thomas turned the tiny body. The little legs were muddied.

“Can you clear the mud from his lower left leg?” Jenna’s voice croaked.

Thomas gently passed her fingers over the section, cleaning it.

Relief pierced Jenna. “That’s not my son. That’s not Caleb.”

“You’re both certain?” Thomas asked.

“Caleb has a small rocket-shaped birthmark on the back of his left calf,” Jenna said. “The mud covered that area, but there’s no birthmark underneath. This baby’s hair is not the same shade as Caleb’s, either.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Blake said. “This is not our son.”

Thomas nodded to the officers and replaced the sheet. Then they all returned to the office where the others were informed that the deceased baby was not Caleb Cooper.

“Thank you. We know this was agonizing,” Thomas said.

Jenna nodded, but despite her relief, she mourned for the tiny dead angel and another mother’s pain.

“There’s some paperwork we need you to sign,” Thomas said.

As Jenna and Blake took care of the paperwork, the officials huddled out of earshot to talk briefly before Thomas addressed the couple again on behalf of the group.

“Jenna, Blake,” Thomas started, “as horrible as this was, and as anguishing as it is facing what you’re facing, you have to keep the facts in mind and prepare yourselves.”