After transferring her gear and go-bag to Saxon’s car, they headed north. The miles flew by. Sirens wailed as first responder vehicles sped past.
In the back seat, Sherlock was practically vibrating with excitement. Somehow, search dogs always knew when an assignment was real.
As they neared the location, dust hung thick in the air. The police had established a line to keep out everyone except first responders and other disaster task force personnel, and they waved Saxon toward the parking area nearest the SAR command base.
A ding came from Murphy’s phone, and she answered without looking. “Murphy.”
It wasn’t Dustin who spoke.
“Good, I’m glad you answered. I need your help, my darling daughter.”
At the sound of her father’s sickeningly-sweet, velvety voice, she silently cursed. “Sorry, Pa. This isn’t a good time. I have a—”
“No, you can’t turn me down. My guests need you to—”
“We’re here, sweetling,” Saxon shut off the SUV. “Let’s go.”
“Who’s that?” her father demanded.
“Sorry, I have to go. You’ll have to handle your problems on your own.” She disconnected.
Last week, she’d planned how she’d handle his calls, how she’d be firm and not cave into his pleading. How she’d explain stuff.
But she couldn’t today. People need me; I don’t have time.
Jumping out, she grabbed her pack and joined Saxon.
“You good?” His gaze swept over her.
She already had on heavy cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a red SAR T-shirt under a heavier work jacket. Sturdy gloves were in one pocket. “I’m ready.”
They had to stop to let a truck backup to unload lumber—probably for shoring up unstable debris.
It gave her a chance to look around. The bridge must have soared high above the area. Now, the jagged ends and dangling beams to the right and left sent a chill down her spine.
In the center and to the right was a mountain of debris. The train tracks and a road disappeared under it. A couple of mangled train cars lay derailed and off to the side. To the left, the bridge had dropped onto a bunch of buildings.
It was a gut-wrenching sight.
“Let’s go.” Saxon touched her arm.
The incident command was set up well away from the secondary collapse zone. A bit farther, Dustin was gathering the K9 teams.
“I’m glad you two could make it.” A generator started up farther away, and Dustin raised his voice. He looked at Saxon. “I assume you’re still good to partner with Murphy?”
“Yes.” Brows together, Saxon was taking in the collapsed bridge. “She’s with us.”
“Good enough.” Dustin waved at Enrique who was handing out disaster gear, including elbow and knee pads, masks, helmets with a light, and safety glasses.
After tucking a can of orange spray paint and a few light sticks into her cargo pants, Murphy did a quick radio check. It was difficult to hear past all the noise. Screaming, crying, calls for aid, shouting from rescuers as well as the crackling radios of the technical support staff. Any victims on the surface were being taken to safety.
Most of the heavy equipment wouldn’t start up until after the initial stages of searching when victims might still be heard and located.
They needed to move quickly. But carefully.
She pursed her lips, breathing out. Her pulse was already too fast, and they hadn’t even moved out onto the rubble. God, can I even do this?
Saxon tugged on her braid. “One step at a time, Murphy. Don’t think past that.”
“Right.” She bit her lip. One step. She could handle that. She must.
Engineers were already checking the rubble for safety.
A triage area had been set up—and already filled with wounded survivors.
Two paramedics carried a bloodied woman on a stretcher to one of the ambulances.
Murphy shuddered, gritted her teeth, and straightened her spine.
Time to go help.
Hours later, Saxon scowled as he directed Sherlock to the next location. This area of the search was an unstable mass of concrete rubble mixed with rebar and bent steel that’d dropped onto big industrial buildings. Power lines were down, and there was no electricity. The hollow spaces were dark.
So far, Sherlock had located two people still alive, and they’d moved on, leaving the rescuers to dig them out.
Saxon’s mouth tasted of the chemical-laden dust in the air—and the bitterness of grief. Three times, Sherlock had given a different kind of alert. One that said they were too late. That they’d failed.
Tears had filled Murphy’s eyes each time she’d marked a location for remains recovery. He’d had to blink hard himself.
The rescue wasn’t over, Saxon told himself. Surely there were more people alive. Unfortunately, the K9 teams had cleared the edges where the chance of live recovery was highest.
Now they were here, at the last of the buildings where the debris was far more unstable. They continued searching for the spaces under stairwells or concrete beams that might have created survival pockets.
After a quick check on Sherlock, he glanced to the right. As sure-footed as a mountain goat, Murphy stayed close. How she managed to keep track of everything without falling, he’d never know. She was holding up incredibly well with only their short breaks to rehydrate and check Sherlock over.
The pup’s paws were getting raw from the glass shards, rebar, concrete. Unfortunately, wearing booties interfered with a dog’s traction and could get snagged in tight places.
At least, humans got boots—although they didn’t look much better. Scrapes covered Saxon’s arms, and he’d bashed his legs here and there. He’d discarded his jacket, and his shirt was damp with sweat, his skin gritty with dirt and dust.
And fuck, he was tired.
Everyone was exhausted. Farther away were Megan and her team. The bouncy redhead was moving damn slow.
One of the Hillsborough K9 teams was off to the right, and Yesenia’s voice had grown increasingly hoarse.
Saxon kept his attention on Sherlock—that was his job—and an eye on Murphy. Because it was fucking dangerous out here.