7

      Wildhorse Heights, Texas

      It was slow going for Jenna, Cassie and Nancy, trying to step through the wreckage of the Saddle Up Center without stumbling.

      In every direction, more rescue teams sifted through endless heaps of smashed walls, remnants of vendor stalls, chunks of the building’s roof. The voices of those still buried and hurt called out as search-and-rescue dogs led their handlers, probing the destruction to pinpoint pockets of life. Workers carefully disentangled debris to extricate survivors.

      Nancy led Jenna and Cassie to a canvas canopy erected at the edge of where the center had stood. Dozens of bleeding victims were being treated at the busy first aid station. Paramedics loaded those suffering the most serious injuries onto gurneys, hurried them to ambulances and on to hospitals. Victims in critical condition were being rushed to a landing site nearby to be transported by helicopter to hospitals.

      Where is my baby?

      Jenna scoured the activity for any sign of her son, all the while thinking how this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening.

      “Maybe they found Caleb and took him to a hospital?” she said to Nancy.

      “That’s possible. Let’s get you both checked more thoroughly.” Nancy took them to a table where a patient had just been cleared by the nurse there.

      “Jenna, this is Margot Tuttle.” Nancy then advised Margot about her initial assessment. “Be right back,” Nancy said. “I’m going to see someone to help with your son.”

      Margot, a soft-spoken woman in her mid-thirties, checked Cassie and Jenna’s vital signs, shone a light in their eyes for any indication of brain or nerve injury, then treated Cassie’s face, gently dabbing it with cotton swabs.

      “I’m just cleaning your cuts, sweetheart.”

      Jenna continued scanning the area and other aid tables where medical people were helping the injured before asking Margot, “Has anyone seen a baby, a five-month-old boy?”

      “No, not that young. Not yet. I’m sorry.” Margot glanced to a clipboard. “So far at our station, our youngest patients have been a two-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy. But we’re finding survivors, so we’re hopeful.”

      Her heart racing, Jenna continued scanning the area surrounding the station while battling a rising tide of guilt and worry over Caleb.

      How could I lose him? Why didn’t I hold him?

      When Margot finished with Cassie, she reached under her table into a bag, took out a stuffed teddy bear and gave it to her.

      “This guy’s for you. He needs someone to take care of him. Can you do that for me?”

      Cassie hugged the bear and nodded. Margot then changed Jenna’s dressing. “Looks like you took a nasty bang to your head,” she said as she cleaned her wound and put on a new bandage.

      Afterward, Nancy returned and took Jenna and Cassie to another smaller post nearby where a woman and a younger man were at a table working on laptops. The woman took Jenna’s hands in hers.

      “Hi, Jenna. Nancy told us about you. I’m Belle Walker. This is Denton Reeves, my partner. We’re here to help.”

      Belle offered Jenna a folding plastic chair next to her so she could see her laptop’s screen. Cassie was given a chair nearby but could not see the screen. She hugged her bear in silence while staring at the ongoing rescue efforts around them.

      “We’re working with the Dallas PD, county and state on a preliminary list of missing and people unaccounted for.”

      “What does that mean exactly?” Jenna’s voice quivered.

      “In these kinds of situations there’s a lot of confusion and chaos. People are hurt, they’re taken to a hospital without loved ones knowing, or they go to a first aid station or an aid post—we’ve got several here. Or they just go home, or to their hotel, or somewhere.”

      “Or they’re still trapped?”

      “Yes. Or—” Belle lowered her voice “—the storm—”

      Jenna revisited images of the tornado tearing the center to pieces, seeing some people sucked up into the winds.

      Belle didn’t finish her sentence, but Jenna understood.

      “So we’re working on the list,” Belle said. “It will feed into a bigger database that will be shared with fire, police, paramedics, hospital, aid agencies, to help reunite people, okay?”

      Jenna nodded, then said, “I’d like to call my husband...I can’t find my cell phone. Can you help me call him?”

      “We can. After we’re done here we have buses taking people to the community hall near here—that’s our closest emergency shelter.” Again, Belle took Jenna’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll have working phones there for you to use, and there will be counselors there if you feel like talking to someone, okay?”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      “Let’s get started,” Belle said.

      They took down vital information, names, dates of birth, addresses.

      “It’s usually a good idea to give us contact information for relatives in case we can’t reach you. We’ll put it into the system—it’s all confidential,” Belle said.

      Jenna gave her the cell number for Blake and her sister, Holly, in Atlanta. Then Belle asked for more details on Caleb, everything she could think of that would identify him.

      “He was, is, sorry—” Jenna wiped her tears. “He is wearing a blue-and-white-striped romper with a little elephant crest on it that’s lifting a bit on the right. The bottom snap is loose. He’s got a rocket-shaped birthmark on the back of his left calf. He’s in a folding umbrella stroller, navy with green, red-and-blue polka dots on a white seat. The left front wheel had some white paint on it that I’d spilled when I put a paint can away.”

      As Belle entered the information quickly into her laptop the concern on her face deepened.

      “You live in Lancaster.”

      “Yes.”

      “From our information it looks like it was hit hard. I’m sorry.”

      Jenna closed her eyes tight.

      “I’ll deal with that after I find my son.”

      Denton Reeves then gave Jenna a photocopy of a floor plan of the Saddle Up Center.

      “Please mark the area you were in when the storm hit.” He gave her a pencil. “As best as you can.”

      Jenna marked the spot, recounting how the red-haired woman and her friend helped her, leading up to the time the tornado hit.

      “The woman is in her mid-twenties, with short, spiky red hair. I know she had nice teeth, a nice smile,” Jenna said. “I don’t remember much about the man. Same age, wearing a T-shirt with a dog on it, I think. My bag with the clothes I’d bought for the kids was in the stroller’s basket.”

      After Belle submitted the details, Denton said to Jenna: “Would you recognize the woman who helped you if you saw her again?”

      Belle threw Denton a look of concern.

      “I think so, why?” Jenna said.

      Belle drew up close to Jenna and dropped her voice so Cassie wouldn’t hear. “We can show you video of