Page 16 of Once Upon A Second Chance

A sound like the world ending shakes the walls.

And then the lights go out.

Chapter Five

Richard

The doors slam shut behind us with a finality that vibrates through my bones. For a second, there’s only darkness and the roar of the tornado outside and the sound of our own ragged breathing .

Then the emergency lights flicker on, casting the crowded basement in an eerie, dim glow as the noise diminishes somewhat and stunned silence takes its place.

Tommy Stevens trembles against my chest, his small fingers digging into my soaked shirt. I can feel his heartbeat racing—too fast, too light—against my ribs.

"Easy, buddy," I murmur, smoothing a hand over his damp hair. "You're safe now."

Across from me, Penny sags against the wall, her chest heaving. Rain drips fromher ponytail onto the concrete floor. Her eyes meet mine—wide, startled, alive—and something in my chest cracks open.

She could have been out there when it hit.

She almost was.

"Are you hurt?" The words come out rough, easily showing how on edge I am.

She shakes her head, pushing off the wall. "Just winded—and rattled. You?"

I flex my free hand, testing for pain. "Nothing broken."

A woman’s scream cuts through the murmurs of the crowd. "My grandmother—she can't breathe!"

Penny’s already moving before I process the words. "Where?"

The storm continues above us, the building groaning under the fury of wind and hail. The lights flicker again as I pass Tommy to a wide-eyed teenager and follow Penny through the packed bodies.

An elderly woman gasps on a cot near the back, her lips tinged blue. Her granddaughter hovers nearby, hands fluttering uselessly.

Penny drops to her knees beside the cot, already reaching for the woman’s wrist. "Chronic bronchitis?" she asks the granddaughter without looking up.

"Y-yes. Her inhaler—"

"In her bag? Purse?"

"Lost in the scramble."

I’m already shrugging off my soaked jacket, digging in the inner pocket for the emergency kit I always carry. "Albuterol," I say, handing Penny the slim inhaler.

Her fingers brush mine as she takes it. "You still carry this?"

"Old habit."

From when you needed it after sprinting across campus in the rain.

She doesn’t say it, but I see the memory flicker in her eyes before she turns back to the woman.

"Mrs. Henderson? I’m going to need you to use this inhaler, OK? It’ll help you breathe. Letme know when you’re ready."

The next few hours blur into a haze of triage.

Penny moves through the crowd like a force of nature—calming crying children, redistributing blankets, identifying the worst injuries with a medical professional’s sharp eye.