Page 14 of Burn Point

Chapter 3

Jordan

Losing everything really hammered home what was important in life. Like being safe, having a roof over your head, warm clothes that fit, a place to rest your head, and food to fill your belly.

I was being a little dramatic, but as evening settled and the sun went down, so did the temperature. It had dropped to near freezing, and though I had a roof over my head, I was still in a pair of shorts, and it was damn cold.

The spacious room, usually used for church activities, had been converted to a temporary shelter. Rows of cots filled the space. The industrial black-and-white checkered flooring—I didn’t know if it was laminate or tile, not that it mattered anyway—and the high ceiling did little to stop the chill creeping through the room.

What I wouldn’t give for a pair of sweatpants. And a sweatshirt so that the creepy guy next to me would quit studying my T-shirt. He was hoping for a nipple shot, no doubt, or maybe he was using his imagination.

Blech. I shuddered.

A pair of socks that fit would be welcome, too. One of the volunteers offered me a pair of his from his gym bag, and though I wasn’t too keen on the idea of wearing used socks, he’d sworn they were clean, and after a sniff test, that proved to be true. Beggars couldn’t be choosers though, and at least my feet were covered.

I’d found a cot by a wall, so I didn’t have to keep watch on both sides of me. Tonight, there were more people looking for respite from the cold. I’d been lollygagging around outdoors and missed the opportunity at having a blanket, or maybe someone had taken two. Regardless, I had a place to lay my head, and I was not sleeping on the street. So, it was a small win for the day.

Most of the storm victims had been moved to alternate locations during the day. Some had friends or family offer homes, some got lodging at hotels.

But I didn’t have any local friends or family to call. And I didn’t have any money or funds for a hotel. My purse and wallet were buried somewhere in a collapsed house, along with my phone.

I had no ID, no credit card… I had nothing. Literally, I had the clothes on my back, and my useless laptop.

The weight of everything I didn’t have lay heavily on me. Where did I even start to pull my life back together? I’d spent the better part of the day pondering my situation. As I stared into the distance to the soundtrack of buzzing chainsaws, I sat in a slump of self-pity, caught in a loop of indecision and inaction. Every single decision and necessary step seemed insurmountable.

Cross-legged on the uncomfortable cot now, I dug out the slip of paper Nate had given me. I had no idea of the time, but it had to be at least midnight if not the wee hours of the morning. The fluorescent overhead lights had been turned out, and the room was cast in a weird darkness, lit only by the lights of the front door lobby area and the red glow of the emergency exit light. At least power had been restored to the building during the day and there was a security light tonight.

I’d been sitting on this cot for hours keeping vigil, afraid to drift off, stuck in a mindless, exhausted state. My sore leg ached, along with my shoulders, hips, and back. I fingered the scrawling numbers Nate had written like the simple scrap of paper was a lifeline. One single solitary connection to another human being.

He probably didn’t really mean for me to call him, but it was nice knowing I could. Maybe I would at some point, whenever I got another cell phone. Just to thank him again for saving my life.

I was being all dramatic again.

The guy in the cot next to me made a garbled sound in the back of his throat and then spit on the floor beside his cot. He noticed me sitting up and turned to face me, his hand landing somewhere near his crotch. His arm moved in a telltale way.

Gross.

I kept my eyes on the slip of paper, trying not to let on that I knew he was watching me. What I wouldn’t give for Nate to come rescue me from this nightmare.

A noise at the front door drew my attention and I hugged my bag closer to me. This bag, though useless, held my sole possessions at the moment, and I for damn sure was not about to let it get away from me.

In the dim light of the front foyer, I made out the shape of a tall man. Broad shoulders, boxy frame.

I blinked. There was no way. Could it be?

I cringed inwardly. Was I so lonely and pathetic, I was conjuring images now? Wishfully thinking that Nate had come back for me?

And why did I even want him to?

I didn’t know the guy aside from the two times we’d met in very unique circumstances. I had some serious hero worship going on if I was imagining him now.

The tall man followed the night security guy, winding their way through the cots. The two men got closer, and something about the way the tall guy moved had me rising and calling out, “Nate?”

He whipped his head toward me, then was moving in my direction. “Jordan?”

A cry of relief ripped from me. “What are you doing here?”

He stopped in front of me, glaring at the disgusting guy so hard the dude grunted and rolled away.

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