The Tempest A.J. Scudiere (books to read in a lifetime .TXT) 📖

with just a foundation and a chimney left, if that. Or—almost worse—one half of a house would be chewed through. The other half still standing with a gaping wound open to allow the passersby to see everything inside. He’d spotted couches and armchairs, the occasional TV, or book face down on an end table sitting unaffected.

“Isabelle McAlister,” Sarah stated, cleanly listing off Izzy’s height and guessing at her weight. They’d reached the front of the line while he mused about tornado damage.

“She was wearing jeans and an army green tank top. Gray hoodie.”

Cage almost laughed. It's what Izzy could have worn any day, just the same way as if Sarah had been missing, they would have said ‘overalls, white t shirt,” and so on.

“She was wearing work boots,” Deveron added. “She has her hair in a ponytail. At least she did.”

That simple phrasing that his friend tacked on brought Cage to a stop.

He listened as they filled out the report for Izzy, and he thought so much of it would just be repeated for Joule. She was wearing the same work boots as Izzy. Same as all of them. But it was his turn and he gave her name adding, “blond hair, shoulder length.”

Cage moved his hand, indicating her hair as though they might not understand otherwise. “Curls.” He fought to keep his voice under check. Because what he wanted to do was yell, “I don't want to give you information! I want to go look. I want someone to find her!”

He explained again how she had disappeared, once again having to tell how her hand had been in his and then she'd been gone.

When he finished everything, he was asked, “Do you have a picture?”

Damn phone. He shook his head, wondering if there was anything he could have done to keep the phone safe. But he turned to Deveron and Sarah.

“Yes!” Sarah said, holding her phone forward to show the picture. “It's the same one I just gave him for our friend Izzy.”

In the picture, Sarah stood in the middle of the other two, one arm slung around Izzy, and the other around Joule.

“She's on the left,” Cage told the person as Sarah texted the photo to a new number.

When the man had recorded Sarah’s number, he made her text Joule’s name and case number to him as well, so it would load when the towers were back up. Then he snapped a picture of her phone picture.

Cage was handed a carbon copy in pink of the form he’d filled out for his sister. And that was it. The city had her name, height, weight, hair color, and a picture that they couldn’t attach to the documents. The three of them had Sarah’s and Dev’s phones, which at least still came on, even if there was no internet or towers for them, and they had his number, which was thoroughly pointless. They could show people Joule’s picture, but that was it.

He’d waited in line and all they could do was call him to identify fifteen blond young women at the morgue with that. No one was going to actually help them find Joule. The place didn’t have the manpower, and he could hear other people crying over lost loved ones.

There would be no search party. Just him and Deveron and maybe Sarah, depending on how her arm felt. The people at the desk motioned for them to move away and let someone else step in.

Pushing their way through the crowd, the trio tried to get out of the way and away from everyone else. He needed some damn space to breathe, he thought.

But as they neared one side, the noise level began to rise at the other end of the lot. Excited sounds came from the edge, and everyone turned as one to see the newcomers.

31

“We got more!” Boomer called out the passenger window as Bob pulled the truck into the middle of the crowd.

His brother was already out, boots on the ground and heading around to the truck bed. As the crowd surged, Bob hopped up on the now-open tailgate and held his hands out. “Back it up.”

His voice was calm, but it carried far and clear enough to reach Cage, who once again stretched up onto his toes. Was Joule in the bed of that truck?

He couldn't tell from here. He wanted to push forward, to be the first to look at the faces, worn and weary, still huddled in the truck bed. But the crowd was surging and he couldn’t get ahead of them. In fact, he could barely keep up.

Bob was still warning everyone back. “There's three kids here.”

Not Joule, Cage thought, and he stopped pushing. Bob was right. Kids first.

He felt Sarah squeeze at his fingers, as they waited, though she was likely waiting equally for Joule and Izzy. While Cage wasn't proud of himself, and while he would be happy if they found Izzy, his sole focus was his sister.

Five minutes later, the truck bed had been emptied and one person—pretty banged up by the looks of it—had been carried from the back seat via stretcher. The team carrying her was cutting a path directly to the medical tent.

Again, Cage nudged Sarah. “You need to go to the medical tent and get your arm looked at.”

“I do!” she was quick to agree. “But look at them.”

She motioned in the direction of the crowded tent with only her head, apparently not willing to let go of either man's hand. “They're very busy right now, and I won't get in.”

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she wasn't. She had a bruised and maybe broken arm. But it wasn’t even at an odd angle, just causing her pain when she grasped something with that hand. On any other day, he would have been driving her to the ER. But he needed a car and a clear road for that. Hell, he needed an ER, and no one had mentioned if the