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Chapter twenty-five

Elliot

It had been two days since Hurricane Beatrice made landfall, and the devastation stretched as far as the eye could see.

The world looked like a war zone.

I rode in the passenger seat of our work truck, one boot braced against the dash, my fingers tight around the radio clipped to my vest. We rolled over another flooded street, the water shallow enough now to drive through but still lapping over the pavement like the tide was slow to recede. Houses stood gutted on either side, their walls caved in, roofs peeled back like tin can lids. Every tree was either snapped in half or yanked from the ground entirely, their roots exposed like gnarled hands reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

Rodriguez drove in silence, his eyes locked on the road ahead, but I could feel the unspoken exhaustion that clung to all of us. Two days of this—two days of pulling bodies from wreckage, two days of cutting through fallen poles and twisted metal, of stringing new wire to bring some kind of order back to the chaos. Two days of seeing people who had lost everything.

We were used to storms. I’d worked plenty before this one, in different states, different towns. I’d seen entire communities flattened, neighborhoods wiped off the map.

But this one—this one had teeth.

The Panhandle had taken the brunt of it, but Beatrice hadn’t been content to die out after making landfall. She’d clawed her way through Georgia, too, leaving miles of flooding and downed lines in her wake. And here we were, trying to pick up the pieces.

The radio crackled. “Elliot, Rodriguez—y’all still working the eastern grid?”

Rodriguez picked up the receiver. “Yeah, we’re out past Lakeview now, checking main lines.”

“Got reports of a few folks still stuck in their homes over there. No rescue crews nearby. Think y’all can check it out?”

Rodriguez looked over at me, and I gave him a nod.

“We got it,” he said into the radio.

The static cut out, and he made a sharp turn onto a road I barely recognized as a street. There was no way to tell where one property ended and the next began. Everything was covered in broken limbs, ripped-off shingles, and insulation scattered like confetti—and water.

So much water.

The further we went, the worse it got.

“You see that?” Rodriguez muttered, slowing the truck.

I followed his gaze.

A sedan sat in what used to be a driveway, but a whole section of a tree had come down on top of it. The roof was caved in. There was no sign of anyone inside.

I exhaled through my nose. “Hope they got out in time.”

Rodriguez didn’t respond. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge the fact that some people hadn’t.

We kept moving.

Ahead, a house stood mostly intact, though it looked battered, like it had barely survived the fight. Half the roof was missing, windows shattered, the front door barely hanging on by its hinges.

“This is the area,” Rodriguez said, putting the truck in park.

“Let’s get out, split up, go house by house.”

He nodded and stepped out without another word.

I pulled my gloves tighter, scanning the ruined street ahead. Crews were spread out, working fast to clear fallen lines so we could start getting the grid back up, though none had made it to this neighborhood yet. We had a long way to go.

“Elliot!”

I turned at the shout. Rodriguez waved me over, his face grim. “Got something here.”

I followed him through the mess of debris, past what used to be a front porch. The house was still standing, barely. Its roof was half gone, windows blown out, the siding peeled back in jagged strips. Water stains climbed the walls like dark, ugly veins.

“Someone inside?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Rodriguez nodded. “Old woman. Says she’s been here the whole time.”

Jesus.

I stepped carefully over the wreckage and peered inside. The living room was a disaster—soaked furniture, broken glass, and a ceiling fan that had somehow twisted itself into a pretzel. In the middle of it all, sitting in a battered recliner like she was simply waiting for time to pass, was an elderly woman.

She looked up as I approached, her face pale and lined with exhaustion. “Oh,” she said, blinking at me. “You’re not my grandson.”

“No, ma’am,” I said, crouching beside her chair. “I’m Elliot. My crew’s out working the storm cleanup. What’s your name?”

“Margaret,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She looked bad. Too pale. Lips dry. I glanced down and saw an empty water bottle on the floor beside her.

“Margaret, have you been here since the storm hit?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. “Couldn’t leave. Water got too high.”

I glanced toward the kitchen. The floor was warped from flooding, cabinets torn off the walls. I didn’t see any sign of food. This woman had been lucky to survive. Most of her home hadn’t.

“Margaret, when’s the last time you had anything to eat or drink?”

She frowned like she was trying to remember. “A little water yesterday. Some crackers. I think.”

That was all I needed to hear. “All right, ma’am, we’re getting you out of here.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, really.”

I ignored her and stood. “Rodriguez, get the truck running. We’re taking her to the hospital.”

“On it.”

Margaret sighed. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” I said firmly. I crouched again, meeting her eyes. “Listen, I know you’re used to handling things yourself, but right now, you need a little help. That’s what we’re here for. We came all the way from Atlanta just to help folks like you.”

She held my gaze for a long moment before nodding. “All right, son.”

“Good.” I slid an arm behind her back and under her knees. “This might be a little uncomfortable, but I’ve got you.”

She was light—too light—as I lifted her. She let out a small gasp but didn’t protest.

“Lord.” She giggled like a small girl. “Haven’t been carried like this since my husband was alive. Take me to bed or lose me forever, big boy.”

I chuckled as I maneuvered us out of the house. “Why don’t we get you checked out first. We can worry about the rest later.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no,’” she crooned before her cackles turned into weak coughs.

Rodriguez already had the truck idling when I stepped out into the street. The sun beat down, turning the soaked ground into thick, rancid air.

I eased Margaret into the back seat, climbing in beside her. “Hospital’s not far.”

She patted my arm. “You’re a good boy, Elliot.”

Rodriguez pulled out onto the battered road, the tires kicking up bits of dirt.

As the truck rumbled over the uneven roads, bouncing over debris, Margaret sat quietly beside me, her hands trembling slightly where they rested in her lap. At some point, her frail body leaned into mine. I wrapped my arm around her and held her close. The lines in her face seemed deeper now, carved by exhaustion, worry, and maybe even the weight of knowing just how close she had come to not making it out of that house at all.

I squeezed her against me, making sure she was steady as we hit another rough patch. She let out a quiet sigh and looked up at me, tears filling her eyes. “I was sure I was going to die.”

Her voice was so matter-of-fact it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

I swallowed hard. “You don’t have to think about that now, Margaret. You’re safe.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed distant, as if she could still see it—those long hours trapped in the dark, the howling wind battering her walls, the floodwater rising too close for comfort.

“You ever been so scared you couldn’t even pray?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, then nodded. “A few times.”

She exhaled shakily, as if hearing that made her feel a little less alone. “That first night, when the winds came . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It was like the world was coming apart at the seams. I sat in my chair and listened to my house scream.”

I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t .

“I heard things breaking, felt the floor shake. I thought about running—maybe to my neighbor’s—but then the water came. It rose so fast, faster than I thought possible. By the time I realized how high it was, it was already too late. I had nowhere to go. Just had to sit there and hope my house wouldn’t collapse around me.”

My God.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.

“At one point, I thought . . .” She hesitated, her voice catching. “I thought I might just close my eyes and let it happen. The water was already inside, creeping up my ankles. I thought, if it wanted me, maybe I was just meant to go. Maybe it was my time.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe through the wave of anger curling in my gut. Not at her—but at the situation, at the fact that she’d been left alone to face that storm, that no one had come for her until now.

She glanced up and must’ve seen the look on my face because she reached out, patting my hand. “But then I thought of my grandson. He just had a baby of his own, you know. A beautiful little girl.” A soft smile played at her lips, a flicker of light in the dark. “I thought, Margaret, you can’t leave them yet. You have to meet that baby girl. You have to hold her and tell her stories. ”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

“So I stayed awake. I rationed what little food I had left. Drank what water I had, even when it ran out and all I had was rainwater I collected in a pot. I waited. And waited. And hoped someone would come.”

She looked up at me then, her pale gray eyes locking onto mine. “And then you were there.”

I had to look away for a second, stare out at the wreckage passing by outside the truck window, look at anything but the woman in my arms. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

This was my job. Not rescuing people, per se. I was there to fix things so life could return to normal after a devastating loss. I’d been doing storm work for years, going wherever I was needed, fixing what was broken. I’d seen my share of disasters, watched families return to empty shells, seen the fear and pain and every other emotion that came with such events.

But no one had ever looked at me the way Margaret did in that moment—like I wasn’t just another guy in a hard hat—like I was something more.

“I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t,” she said after a moment. “Maybe my grandson would’ve found me eventually. Maybe not. But . . . I’ll never forget that it was you who carried me out of that house.”

She squeezed my hand, and I realized I’d been gripping her fingers without even noticing. I loosened my hold, but she didn’t let go.

“People don’t see you, do they?” she murmured.

I glanced at her, my brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“You linemen,” she said, tilting her head. “People see the power come back on and they think, Oh, good. That’s fixed now. They don’t stop to wonder who fixed it. They don’t know the faces of the men climbing poles in the middle of storms, wading through floodwater, cutting through debris just to get the lights back on.”

I swallowed hard.

From the driver’s seat, I heard Rodriguez struggle with his own emotions, something I never thought I’d see.

Margaret gave me a small, tired smile. “I never noticed before. Not really. But I see you now. I’ll never see a power guy without thinking of you.”

A lump formed in my throat, but I forced myself to clear it. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

Her smile deepened. “No, son. You’re saving lives in ways people don’t even realize.”

I sat there, dumbstruck, my mind fumbling over what to do with the weight of her words. No one had ever seen me like that. Hell, I had never seen myself that way, never thought of my work like that.

The truck slowed as we neared the hospital, and I exhaled, trying to shove down the uncomfortable swell of pride and sadness and whatever else threatened to swallow my heart in that moment.

“Almost there,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Margaret squeezed my hand once before letting go. “Thank you, Elliot.”

I nodded, but words wouldn’t come.

As we pulled up to the ER entrance, I helped her out, making sure she was steady on her feet. And as the nurses took her inside, she looked back at me one last time and waved.

Heroes no one sees.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever think of myself as a hero, but as Margaret disappeared through those hospital doors, I realized something—

Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let someone else believe it for me.