FYI, I have no idea if there is any such dam anywhere near Roanoke, VA, but there is in this work of fiction!
One episode Trent and Brock were saying good-bye to girlfriends/fiancées/wives, so, go with it...
Also, again…..medical inconsistencies.
Time to upgrade to a more practical, safe vehicle, and keep the muscle car for Sunday drives, Clay thought as he carefully navigated the road to town. His tires, though rated all-weather, did not grip well on slick roads and he kept to a speed of 40 to keep from hydroplaning.
Wouldn't that just go over well, wreck his car in this weather and just guess who would be notified. Well, Stella, first, if he were conscious. If not, once they ran his car tags, it would come back he was active military and who would get the call? Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn. Better than Jason, Clay chuckled. Of course, there was a military ID card in his wallet, identifying him only as Navy, not Special Forces. God knows who would end up getting the phone call then.
He slowed to 30 miles.
No telling when this rain would let up, best hit a grocery store and stock up enough food to last the length of their stay, not just dinner for tonight. He wondered if the resort were they were staying was in danger of flooding, but nah, they were higher in the mountains, the town though…...
Eh, they were good. He hadn't see any signs of flooding on the drive that took longer than it should have because he was doing, you know, 30 miles an hour.
When they had driven through the town the night before, everything had been closed. It wasn't a city by any means, but was a decent sized town. Restaurants, a movie theatre, stores, were all located on main street that was several blocks long.
He saw the red and yellow and blue flashing lights as he crossed the bridge over the high, fast-running river and turned onto the street and forgetting his reason for coming to town, drove directly to the parking lot where first responders and the Sheriffs department were gathered.
And that there, was the Virginia's National Guard. Oh-oh.
He parked, approached, wandered through the milling crowd and soon knew just what was going on.
"That dam's going to give way." someone was telling the man Clay identified as the Sheriff. "We need to start mandatory evacuations now. The Governor declared a state of emergency, the Guard is here, let's just get going."
"Aren't there gates you can open? Alleviate some of the pressure? Help eliminate the threat of destruction to home, property and person?" Clay asked. Stay out of it Spenser, get breakfast, your groceries, go back to Stella. Jason will kick your fucking ass.
Several people paused, turned to look at him. The Sheriff looked him up and down, weighing and judging. This here young man didn't speak like or look like some local yokel down from the hills to rubberneck and stick his nose in other people's business out of curiosity.
"There is. Should have opened them yesterday, but never can get those damn politicians to do what needs to be done when it needs to be done. Too little, too late this time. As usual." someone answered.
"What is in danger if the dam is breached?"
"Sheriff Perkins." a man extended his hand.
Clay shook his hand. "Clay Spenser."
"Small towns will be cut off, some will flood, some are high enough they'll probably be okay."
"I'm in a rental up Eagle Rock, we good?"
"You're above the dam, but river might go over her banks and flood you in for several days, the roads will be too deep to navigate."
"Sheriff, we have enough boats, more are on their way, we're heading out, get out all we can before she gives way."
Now, Clay felt he should offer his help. "Can you use an extra set of capable hands?"
"Are you scared of water or boats?"
"Neither sir."
"Familiar with water rescue? The dangers of electrocution? Convincing people to leave their homes? Talking down people who are panicked?"
Clay shrugged. In his job, he shot first, never asked questions. "Can't say I'll ever be called a negotiator, but I can talk to people."
The Sheriff hesitated, wondered if he out right asked, whether the young man would admit it. "Are you active military?" Because he sure as hell acted like it, quite at ease around the Guard. Hadn't panicked over being told he could be flooded in for several days. And he'd said 'we', so he'd left someone behind at the cabin.
Clay nodded, shook his head. "I can neither confirm nor deny that."
"Welcome, pleasure to have you."
Clay lost track of time. His fault. He knew that. He did. But the next several hours were busy. Numerous trips were made by boat, from house to house to river dock, back to house, back to the docks. They'd yet to encounter anyone who didn't want to leave their homes. As long as they were permitted to bring their pets, they hopped right onto the boat, not knowing whether or not they'd have a home to return to.
They were on their way back to the dock, the boat full. He'd been told it was his turn to take a break and he welcomed it. Besides being cold and wet, he was tired, and hungry. He'd get something to eat, some hot coffee, no sense drying off or changing his clothes. It was raining too hard and he was in the water too often, he'd never stay dry. Maybe he could get a signal, reach Stella. It had to be close to noon, he didn't get through soon, he'd be in big trouble.
Some freaking vacation.
The boat bumped the dock. Clay helped everyone off, handed over kids and cats and dogs….a bird, told the men he'd catch up next trip and slugged his way through mud and muck and debris towards the direction of shelter and food.
Sheltered under a tent in a parking lot, he accepted a towel and a blanket from someone, shed his rain poncho, toweled his hair. Someone offered him a long-sleeved shirt and he took it, slinging it over one shoulder. It would feel great to be warm for half an hour or so even if his boots and jeans were soaked through. He tried again to call Stella, he'd tried numerous times all morning, but still, there was no signal.
He sat drinking coffee in wet jeans, blanket around his shoulders, lost in his misery of being wet and uncomfortable. Someone handed him a sandwich. He took it without looking up, merely muttered thanks, wondered why the simple action of riding on a boat and helping people off their porches and into it, was so exhausting.
"You next?" a medic stopped in front of him. "Rough morning out there, huh?"
"Feels like I've been at it all day." Clay responded.
"You're on a rescue team?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah I am."
"You been out on the water all morning, huh?"
Clay wasn't paying any attention to what the medic was doing. He wanted another cup of coffee. The warm, dry blanket made him just warm enough to feel sleepy.
"Uh yeah, so? I...OW!" he yelped. "What the…?"
"Just a shot."
"OF WHAT?" Clay exclaimed, dropping the sandwich. "Why?" Oh, he was wide awake now.
The medic looked surprised. "Flood waters."
"So? And?" he whipped his head around. "I didn't drink any….HEY!" A second shot in the same arm had him leaping to his feet. He frantically felt at the back of his jeans, but his waistband was empty. Right, he wasn't armed. Why would he be?
"Whoa there dude." The medic held his hands up, backed away. "I was told to give anyone on a rescue team a tetanus shot and a vaccination for hepatitis."
Oh, Trent was not going to like this. Not at all. They'd just given him two shots. Ohnoohnoohnoohnoohno.
"Why?"
"Aah, flood waters? Mud, animal carcasses, raw sewage, waste water," the medic was saying. ""Relax."
"I'm up to date on all shots and vaccinations and inoculations." Clay moaned. He shuddered at the memory of Sonny and Jason chasing him down, catching him after he'd recovered from throwing a reaction to a booster shot. "Not again." He did not remember what reaction he'd thrown, but apparently his team did. Nor did he know what the doctor had given him to counteract his symptoms. Trent did. But Trent was away at a wedding. Shit, he was fucked.
"Red team's back!"
His break over, the shots forgotten, Clay pulled the dry Henley over his head, took a dry rain coat and headed out to rejoin the men on his boat. He'd have rather had a longer break, but it was time to go back.
Clay had no idea what time it was or how many trips they'd made.
The rain had yet to let up. Visibility was limited, at times, non-existent. Continuing in near darkness in debris filled water was dangerous to everyone. No one wanted to call quits to rescuing attempts, but it was obvious this was going to be red team's last trip.
The water was now rushing, tugging and tossing the boat whose motor was no match for the fast moving waters. The current was rougher, stronger, causing rapids when it hit an obstruction it couldn't move out of its way. The man piloting the boat turned to head back towards the river that led to the dock.
The boat bumped into something solid.
Shit. Clay made a grab for a kid, who caught off balance, tipped over backwards into the water. Missing him, Clay launched over the side of the boat after him. A strong swimmer, he was able to grab the boy before the current caught him and returned him to the reaching arms of two men in the boat.
Clay had just handed him up when there was a loud roar, a siren blew and the boat bobbed.
Clay went under when the current rushed against him. He thought maybe he could touch ground, but nope. The water was over his head. Waves, yes waves, crashed around him as he fought to the surface. Hands reached out of the boat for him, grabbing for his hands, his raincoat, anything.
"The dam blew!"
He saw the boat buck and overturn. Before he could even start to swim towards it, something hit him in the back close to his right hip and he knew no more.
***picking up Sonny***
Sonny sat on the side of his tub. Tossed his phone. Where it landed, he didn't know. Didn't care.
Everyone teased him, pooh-poohed him, Jason laughed at him, but he had friends outside Bravo. Oh yes he did. And one of them was a technology geek. Just wait until he got his hands on Spenser this time.
An ice cube and a needle and he'd pierce that little fucker's ear. A GPS tracking device could be worn as an earring. Fuck cell service, as long as there was a satellite, he'd never lose that kid again. And if he ever took the earring out to spite him, well, Sonny was bigger. True, the kid could hold his own, but if he and Jason tag-teamed the kid, he wouldn't be able to wriggle free.
HA! Take that, you little prick. See how well you like me then.
Sonny hung his head. There were plenty of missions, jobs, times that came and went without mishap. Everything and everyone was fine. They left with Clay, they returned with Clay. And everyone forgot how easy he was to lose because everything went fine. Then bam, next time, they turned around and Spenser wasn't where he should be and there was no possible way on this God given green earth the kid could have just disappeared, but he did. One second he was there, the next second he was just gone.
What was it about this kid that made them all so...so...so...protective? What was it, that because he missed checking in with the girlfriend, his team loaded up and drove five hours to go get his ass?
Trent was in West Virginia, no one had heard from him, but they weren't hauling ass to find him! Course, he wasn't allegedly missing either.
He shook the mood off. Right, okay, he needed a shower. He smelled, his skin was sticky and his hair was matted and greasy. Hell, his teeth were fuzzy. Not going never crossed his mind. Jason called, he would go. Hell, he would go if Jason was out of town and he'd been the one to get the call. Something had happened, he didn't doubt it...it was Spenser. If that kid was hurt, if something had happened to him, people were going to answer to Sonny Quinn and if he didn't like what he heard, heads were gonna roll.
So, he showered, washed his hair, brushed his teeth, got dressed, packed. He boiled water and made himself a cup of tea, ate cold chicken out of the fridge. He was pouring a pot of coffee into a thermos when the horn honked outside. It was going to be a long drive, he'd sleep most of it, but Eric would appreciate the coffee and the sticky buns he grabbed on the way out the door.
"I get to you and you're fine, you won't be." Sonny vowed as he locked his door. He leaned against the wall for a second. "And if you're not, please let us get there in time."
***000***
Clay groaned, light beamed in front of and into his closed eyes, sending a bolt of pain down the back of his neck. Turning his face away, he raised a hand to either push the source of his discomfort away or block it, but neither hand responded.
Fighting slight panic of the unknown, his eyes popped open…and immediately closed again. He was blinded by light. Not dim daylight. Not a grey overhead sky. Not cold, heavy rain. Light from light bulbs.
So, a hospital?
Oh shit, he was fucked if that is where he was. He'd never again as long as he ran with Bravo, be allowed off-leash to go on vacation. Sorry, Stella…..Stella? Where was Stella? He could hear voices and though distant and distorted, he didn't think any of them were Stella.
He lay still, remained quiet, tried to think, let his mind wander, kept his eyes closed, unwilling to risk another run-in with the bright lights.
Where was he? What had happened? He tried to remember…tried to focus. He knew the order of events, if he could recall them, was important….so was the time. But, he didn't know why.
Oh, right. Yeah.
Would Stella do as she'd been taught? Call the number on his burner cell that he'd left behind with her at the cabin, labeled 'Team Doc' and get Jason on his burner phone.
Did he want her to do that? Why would she? He'd gone out for breakfast. Man, he really wished that light would go away, it made his head hurt. And it stopped him from thinking straight. Something wasn't right.
He smelled bread. Was he having a stroke? Why would he have a stroke? No, wait….wait…..you smelled toast, not bread if you were having a stroke. So, bread usually meant dinner. Was it dinner time then? What happened to breakfast?
"…...scrub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub….."
His eyes went wide, eyelashes hitting eyebrows….despite the pain from the brutal overhead light, he stared. Oh, his vision was indeed blurry with black spots from exhaustion, pain, the lights, but he clearly, blurrily saw two, little ole ladies seated on the floor on either side of him, each holding his hand and…...uh, washing them?
He must have banged his head harder then he'd thought – and he didn't remember banging it at all – for he blinked, and now there were three little ole ladies. He blinked again, wanting to hold his forehead. No, only two ladies and the vision was real. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, each holding his hands and uh, washing…wiping them with a strong soap and, he sniffed, Clorox? Since when did Clorox wipes smell like bread? He needed to know where to get some.
Now the smell of antiseptic hit him…..aah, there was the smell of Clorox. So, he was in the hospital.
Dear God, he needed to fight through this fog, come out of this stupor…where the fuck was he? Because that there was a washing machine and no hospital he'd ever been in – and he'd been in many, in many different countries – had a washing machine in the room.
"Don't touch your face." He was warned.
"We fished you right out of the river."
"So dirty."
"Who would have thought we'd catch something so fine." His hand was held, patted, petted. "Oooh…..he's sooooo….fiiinneee."
"We were hoping for dinner."
"But we caught you instead."
Nothing about this situation was in his control. And he didn't like that. Was he awake? Dreaming? Hallucinating? Dead?
"Here now ladies," said a male voice Clay didn't recognize. "What have we here?"
"We went fishing for dinner."
"Look what we caught."
Dinner, Clay thought. So, it was that late. Oh-oh.
"He's a stranger." The man sighed, it was useless to argue and he knew it. "How many times I have I told you girls, you can't just bring strange men home."
"We couldn't very well just leave him in the river, now could we?"
"Besides, we caught him."
"You let us keep the turtle we caught."
Hey, not a turtle, Clay thought with a frown.
"You can't keep him."
Aah, keep me? Sorry ladies, Stella's going to have something to say about that.
"He's ours. We caught him, we get to keep him."
Caught him? He'd been captured? Theirs? Not for long. No way in hell Bravo would stand for that. Nope, they wouldn't allow him out of their sights for long. Watch out ladies, they'll be coming to get me.
He almost giggled, would have if trying to do so hadn't hurt so much. Ouch! Huh, weird. Now why did that hurt?
The man sighed again. Best to let it go for now. The young man sprawled on the floor of the laundry room was most likely one of the rescue men doing evacuations, but there was no way to convince the ladies of that just yet. "How did you get him here?" Because he doubted the man had walked.
Where was here, Clay wanted to ask, but his thoughts and ability to think were all over the place and the question went poof, right out of his head.
"He was bobbing in the water."
"Floated him right into the wagon."
"Margie pulled, we pushed."
"He's quite heavy."
Clay groaned, the vision of the humiliating scene hanging out and over a wagon, arms and legs all akimbo, enough to make him blush.
"We got him to the house but he tried to crawl away."
"Had to grab an ankle and drag him."
"Whack his hands with the broom."
"He wouldn't let go of the railing."
"Strong little bugger."
Time to bolt, Clay decided. Well, he tried. Mostly, he just flailed.
"Whoa! Whoa there buddy," the man said. "Easy fella, just relax. No need for you to go anywhere. They mean you no harm."
Not because he felt the need to obey the voice, but because he didn't remember what happened, where he was and despite the explanation of the wagon ride, how he got there, Clay went limp on the floor. He was too muddled and disoriented to think, let alone act and be able to carry through on those actions.
Why couldn't he think?
"My name is Louis. No need to fear me. You're safe here."
Was he?
Louis wondered what injuries the man on his floor might have suffered. Though apparently conscious, he was definitely not coherent. Shock? Infection? Blood loss? Broken bones? What harm might the ladies have caused bumping him around in the wagon? He was too wet and dirty and mud-covered to even begin to guess.
"Millie, Maggie, why are you washing his hands?" Louis rubbed his head. How best to proceed?
"He was in the river."
"The damn broke, you know."
"He wants to touch his face.
"Can't have him touching his face with hands dirty from the river."
"It'll make him sick."
Aah, Louis nodded, true. But he needed to distract the ladies while he found Margie.
"You know," Louis said calmly. "It's not just his hands that are dirty."
The ladies exchanged a look, dropped his hands, they fell to the floor with a thumpity-thud, Clay too disoriented to take control of their abrupt release. Millie clapped hers together and she knelt as if in prayer, her eyes wide.
"You mean….do we…can we….?"
"Get to bathe him?"
"Yes." Louis nodded just as Clay yelped. "NO!"
***driving with Eric***
Sonny slumped into the comfortable leather clad corner of Eric's SUV. Must be nice to be able to afford such luxury, there was even an afghan that he pulled across his lap for warmth. Oh, the backseat had its own heating vents and the seats even had warmers, but yeah, a yarn-crocheted afghan was a different, higher level of comfort.
They waited at a red light, his head against the window and he was nearly asleep, when the directional highway sign caught his attention.
"Where are we going?" He sat up. "Hey, wait….." he paused, thinking. "Ray didn't want to go?"
"Didn't call him." Jason didn't turn around.
"Wait, what?" Sonny popped up between the front seats. "Hey now, that's bullshit."
"He has two kids and a bum ankle." Jason replied. "Let him bond with the baby."
"He's mobile without crutches and it isn't your decision to make." Sonny snapped. "Jesus Christ Jason, we've been through this. Give us the choice, don't keep making it for us."
Eric pulled over and idled on the berm, patiently waited for his two men to argue it out. If he got on the highway, it was several miles to the next exit if they had to back track to pick up Ray.
Sonny pulled his cell out when Jason didn't move. He thumbed Ray's number and smirked into the rearview mirror.
"Hey, Sonny, what's up?" Ray answered. "How you feeling? Any better? Fucked up way to spend a vacation, huh?"
Well, part of the reason for the vacation was Sonny's illness, but whatever.
"Clay and Stella went to the mountains, he went out for breakfast this morning, never came back."
"Let me guess, Roanoke, where the dam broke." Ray said with a sigh. Oh yeah, he could guess. "Stella call it in?"
"She's fine. Eric's having her picked up and taken somewhere safe. Did as she was taught, when he was six hours over due, called the burner phone."
"Mmmmhmmm…..Jason?"
"He's right here."
"Which one of you isn't driving?" Oh, he knew they were on their way to Roanoke, but neither were fit to drive.
"I'm snug as a bug in a rug in the backseat."
Ray sighed again. Jason was on muscle relaxants, he shouldn't be driving, but maybe he was in the better shape of the two of them.
"Jason claimed shotgun." Sonny was saying. "Dunno if this is Eric's personal car or government, but man, I'd like to be able to afford a used one someday."
The flood of relief that hit Ray when he heard Eric was driving made his knees weak, and he sat down. So, Jason had called their Commander, well, okay, then thank God for that.
"Gimme 15." Ray said.
"On our way." Sonny said and ended the call. "See how easy that was? Now, are you calling Trent or Brock?" His thumb was hovering, ready to hit send. "I'll dial the other."
"There's no need," Jason began.
"There's every need." Sonny snapped, temper flaring. "You're hurt, I'm sick, Ray's hobbling. The kid isn't going to be found sipping tea in café Jason. We're not getting out of this truck and calling, 'Here Spense, come here boy, time to go home.' We're going to have to spread out and beat down doors and kick over rocks and hope to hell we don't find him at the bottom of some flooded road."
()
The ceremony was over, the reception in full swing when Trent's phone buzzed. His wife felt it vibrate against her hip. She rolled her eyes. Even in a formal suit at a wedding, that phone was in his pocket. For it to buzz now, told her she was soon to be left on her own. Someone, somewhere had better be threatening national security and the every day way of life for Americans.
His team, his boss – and she didn't mean Jason – knew where he was. They wouldn't call him just because….well, just because.
She took his hand and stepped out into a hallway with him, standing aside while he took the call. He didn't immediately tense, didn't send her 'that look', didn't start pacing and she relaxed. Whew, he wasn't about to hop a plane and take off to God knew where, for no one knew how long.
"How far are we from Roanoke?" He asked her.
"Couple hours. Why? The dam broke near there Trent. Heavy flooding. We aren't driving home that way…." She realized he was still on the phone. "What is it?"
"Stella and Clay were in the mountains, he's missing, she's safe."
"In Roanoke?"
"Eagle Rock."
Close enough. She didn't need to hear any more. She'd gotten to know Stella while their men were on missions together. While strong and independent, Stella was new to the relationship with Clay and to living life with a Navy Seal...it wasn't ever easy.
"Okay then, let's go check out and get on the road. You can fill me in while we drive. I'll stay with Stella while you join your team looking for him." She didn't need to be told Bravo would meet them there, she already knew that. "Brock?" she asked once Trent had hung up.
"He's at the naval base in Norfolk, he's flying in."
"Come on, let's go get your boy."