A Man Like Him. Rachel Brimble
lay silent in their parents’ arms; grown men shook their heads, tears sliding over their cheeks unchecked.
She closed her eyes and forced her mind to focus. The red tiled roof of the stockroom was adjacent to the clubhouse. If they could somehow manage to pull off the tiles and underlay beneath, she could climb inside and pass up supplies. Bottled water, soda, ice cream and sealed packets of cookies were stored there for selling in the outdoor snack shop. It would at least sustain them and keep the panic of passing time at bay awhile longer.
Until what? She opened her eyes. How would they get out of here? Would the authorities send boats? A whirr sounded in the distance and she lifted her head, shielding her eyes against the sun. A helicopter.
Hope filled her chest as the noise grew around her. One by one the subdued crowd heard it, too. Fingers pointed to the sky, voices rose and then cheers erupted. Angela’s smile stretched to a full-blown grin. A man to the side of her pulled her into an embrace and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead.
“We’re saved.” He laughed, his eyes shining. “We’re saved.”
She laughed. “It’s going to be all right.” She said aloud the words that had revolved on an endless reel in her mind for the previous, terrifying hours.
“I can’t believe this has happened.” The man shook his head.
Angela swallowed. “What time is it? Do you have a watch? A phone?”
He released her and turned his wrist. “Half past six.”
Angela nodded as he turned away to his family. Five hours. It had taken just five hours to turn the park into a mud-red sea. Another whirr of blades filtered the air and then another. Three helicopters circled overhead as people raised their hands, cheering and shouting.
She squinted in an effort to see what kind of helicopters they were, praying they were for rescue or the police. She couldn’t make out the letters along the side. Wouldn’t the police or rescue teams have bold and distinct markings?
They hovered above them and flew back and forth for twenty minutes, before tilting and flying away.
As their tails disappeared over the horizon, panic overtook the crowd once more. The cheers became shouts of protest. The waving hands turned to people clutching their heads and throats. She needed to get them doing something. Keep them busy to lessen the panic and pass the time. Their saviors would be back.
Angela stared after the helicopters. They had to come back.
She took a deep breath and pushed her way through the throng of bodies. Setting her jaw against the rapid beat of her heart, Angela pushed onward. She would not panic. She was strong. A survivor. This was nothing more than a test.
Elbowing her way through the mass of men, women and children, she struggled toward the stockroom roof. Once there, she leaned over the railing surrounding the top of the clubhouse and looked down. The water was two-thirds the way up the wall, which meant the flooding had to be at least nine feet above ground level. She raised her arms.
“Everyone. Can I have your attention?”
The men and women closest looked at her and one by one tapped the shoulders of the people standing next to them. The noise lessened and Angela met their defeated gazes. People, both young and old, trembled. Their faces were pale, either from fear or cold. She forced a smile. She was the park manager; it was up to her to keep the guests buoyed and positive.
“Now the rescuers have seen us, they’ll be back. They know our situation...” Her voice wavered as a barrage of catcalls and heckling started. She waved her hands. “Please. Listen. We have no idea if people outside the park are in a worse situation. We have to be thankful we’re alive, and better, we have supplies.”
“What supplies?” A voice demanded from the crowd. “Everything we own is under the damn water.”
A chorus of agreement and a rumble of chatter followed.
Angela’s determination increased. The tenacity that had gotten her through the past two years since her divorce raged like a storm in her heart. She’d survived Robert’s abuse through experience and quick thinking. She’d survive again. God needed her to do a job and she’d damn well do it.
“We have supplies. Lots of supplies. Enough to get us through today.”
“What if we’re still here tomorrow?” the same “Man of Eternal Hope” yelled.
She dropped her hands and fisted them on her hips, all notions of niceness evolving into determination. Negativity bred like disease if it wasn’t nipped in the bud. She’d been forced to learn that quickly. Believing rescue was possible had undoubtedly saved her life more times than she cared to remember.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, you need to step back and keep your thoughts to yourself. They’re not helping.”
He glared. “Yeah? Well, you’re supposed to be in charge. You told my family when we got here two days ago this place was the best park in the damn Cove. Now look at us.”
Anger simmered in her stomach. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Angela glared. “Are you serious?”
He took a step toward her, and his wife clamped her hand to his forearm. “Frank, don’t.”
He shook her off and kept coming. “Yes, I’m serious. You think I’m in any mood to freaking joke?”
Angela tensed as her hackles rose. “We are in the middle of a natural disaster, sir. If you can’t understand that, then—”
“Then what?” He stood just feet away, his hands fisted on his hips and his face contorted with fury.
“Then you need to stand out of the way and let the other men and women help me do what little we can until the rescue crews come back.” She turned away from him and fixed her gaze on the men and women looking at her with encouragement and interest. They couldn’t see she trembled. She couldn’t show him a glimmer of weakness. If she ignored him, he’d disappear.
She cleared her throat. “Behind me is a stockroom full of soda, water, ice cream and other things. I need a handful of volunteers to help me tear enough of the roof back so I can climb inside. If we work as a team, everyone will at least have something to drink.”
At first no one moved. They continued to stare at her in dazed confusion and Angela wondered what she was supposed to do next. Then the crowd of people parted.
Her heart skipped as she met the same hazel eyes she’d last seen moving away from her when Chris Forrester dived back into the water. That was over two hours before.
He was alive. Her stomach knotted and her smile grew wide. “You.”
He winked and lifted his hand to his head in a salute. “At your service.”
“Again.”
He held out his hand. “Chris Forrester.”
Angela grasped his hand as guilty heat, because she already knew his name, seared her cheeks. “Angela Taylor...and thank you.”
He kept hold of her hand and continued to stare, his gaze wandering languidly over her face as though they were alone, rather than surrounded by hundreds of panicked holidaymakers. The nonsensical notion to kiss him leaped into her mind and she laughed.
“Well, we can’t stand around here all day.” She slowly pulled her trembling hand from his. “I assume you’re the man to help me rip off a roof.”
He blinked and his smile reappeared like a breaking sun. “Absolutely.”
He moved to stand beside her. His damp T-shirt clung to his biceps and stretched taut across his shoulders. Angela snatched her gaze toward the expectant crowd, unease rolling through her stomach. Unease because of her reaction to him. Unease that somehow or another this man had caught her interest...attracted her.
She clapped her hands. “Okay, anyone else?”
One