Page 43 of Building My Pack

Waylen

I sit in front of the flatscreen in what I like to call our rec room watching some random war movie without actually seeing it. I'd talked to Kit a little while ago and he'd told me that Bryce had come home from the other alphas' house upset. He wouldn't give me details but said she'd be alright. Doesn't help the worry that eats at my insides, though. I can't explain it, but there's just a bad feeling sitting in my gut tonight. Of course, it might have something to do with the storm that's about to blow through. I get as anxious as a damn chihuahua during this time of year. Pretty sure I've got some left-over trauma from my childhood when a tornado touched down on our old farm when I was about ten. We'd made it in the cellar in time, but the cows and my poor dog weren't so lucky. Smartest dog I ever had and just so happened to run off the day a storm hits. I searched for him for days before we finally found him dead in a tree. The storm had gotten a couple of the cows, too, and that's not a sight I ever want to see again. They'd gotten caught up multiple times in the barbed wire and had to be put down.

All of this Mitch knows since we've been friends since middle school, so I'm not surprised to see him coming down the stairs with a beer in each hand. "Figured you could use one," he says, handing it to me before taking his normal seat on the corner of the sectional. "Are you even watching this?"

Dude knows me better than I know myself sometimes. Like he probably knows I already called my family and made sure they've got their storm radios on and are prepared just in case. My two sisters laugh at me sometimes, but they're too young to remember how terrifying it was back in the day. They'd been babies pretty much.

I shrug at Mitch and toss him the remote. He switches it over to an old rerun of a football game. It plus the beer helps get my mind off the watch notification that'd gone out a couple hours ago. As long as we aren't under a warning then I won't stress it too hard. A watch just means that the conditions are right for tornados. Warning means they've spotted one and you need to get your ass to cover. I used to just have two spots on my radar to worry about. Here and the family farm. Then one of my sisters moved out after she graduated and now Kit and Bryce are on there, too. I might need another beer before the second quarter of this game.

My heart jumps into my throat when our phones go off with the warning not long later. Mitch pauses the game and I turn up the storm radio. They've spotted a funnel on the other side of town and warn residents to take cover immediately. Out near where Bryce and Kit are.

Mitch takes a pull from his beer and tells me quietly, "They're okay."

Not even five minutes later, his phone starts ringing, but it stops before he can grab it. I watch the color drain from his face as he leans forward to set his beer on the table while calling the number back. I can't tell who it was by the voicemail that it goes to, but I do know they didn't answer.

"Let's go," he says, jumping off the sofa. He's already halfway up the stairs before I'm even standing.

Hurtling over the side of the sofa, I take the steps two at a time to catch up so I can ask, "Who was it?"

"Kit."

One word and my world feels like it comes to a stop before picking back up in warp speed. He tosses me his phone and I keep trying to call Kit back as we race to Mitch's truck. We shouldn't be out in the storm like this, but I'd walk straight through a damn tornado for our little omega and new friend. I try at least five more times with no answer, trying not to panic. Mitch has the radio on whoever is covering the weather so we can hear what's going on. The reporter says the worst is past our town, but they do have confirmation of a touchdown.

Mitch presses the gas pedal a little harder, putting us well above the legal speed limit while all we can do is hope that they're okay.

"Call Kennedy," Mitch tells me.

I ignore the concern in his tone and do as he says, explaining the situation to the other alpha. By the sounds of it, he'd be on his way to hauling ass this way soon, too. I don’t bother asking how or why he has his number saved into his phone. Mitch is as much of a control freak as I am a wuss about storms. He probably got his number that night at the bar when I wasn’t paying attention.

We let the reporter on the radio fill the silence of the truck, both of us lost in our own thoughts. As soon as we turn down Bryce's road, the destruction carries on for at least a mile, maybe even two. There are trees down everywhere and a couple of the power lines are down in the field. The only house that's before hers is still standing. Maybe just got a quick shave off top losing some shingles. I hate to say it gives me optimism, but it does.

Then her house comes into view, and I breathe out, "No."

Mitch doesn't sound like he's breathing at all, and I don't even bother waiting for the truck to stop before I'm jumping out. The entire place is in shambles. The top story only has a few walls left standing and some of what we like to call the bare bones of the structure. I jerk my phone out of my pocket and turn the flashlight on. I'm careful to watch the hanging wires and some of the floor above me to make sure it's not going to come crashing down, making me part of the problem instead of the rescue.

As I come to the basement door, I shine my light down to make sure they aren't on the steps and call down for them. I don't get an answer, but there is a small sound that comes from the kitchen. Or where the kitchen used to be, I correct myself as I work through the debris in the hall and see most of the back of the house gone.

Then I see them and it's all I can do to pick my way slowly over. Kit is laying in a pool of blood and she's next to him with an arm across his back like she tried helping before passing out. It breaks my heart as I roll her over and get a look at her face. She's clutching an arm to her chest that I'm pretty sure is broken and she's sporting a good size goose egg on her left temple. Blood is matting her hair and caking on her face around a swollen eye that's already black. But she's breathing and her pulse is strong.

Leaving her, I scoot over to Kit just as Mitch shouts my name and I yell back. "Back here!"

There's a support beam pinning Kit to the floor, but his pulse is strong, too, and his breathing isn't labored despite the blood. I'm guessing that the blood is probably from a head wound. They always bleed like a bitch.

Mitch curses as he makes it over to us, tripping twice on the way. "Let's get this thing off of him."

Bryce starts to stir and opens her good eye to look at us before she starts to cry. "Kit."

"He's fine, bananas," I assure her gently, using a hand to keep her from moving. "You're okay. We've got you."

"An ambulance is on the way," Mitch says. Which must've been what took him so long following me inside. I'd tossed his phone in the middle of the seat before jumping out and he obviously called for help.

I shine my light over to where the beam is wedged between the fridge and the floor that fell on top of it. "That's going to be a bitch to move."

"Let's wait ‘til help gets here," he says. "I don't want to make it worse on him moving shit around."

We don't have to wait long before we hear another car in the driveway. I don't see any flashing lights so I'm assuming it’s the other alphas. Turns out I'm right as the two of them come around the backside of the house instead of walking through the front. Santiago's got a massive spotlight that he shines in for us, illuminating the entire room and making it look even more macabre than it did before. They step through the rubble to make it over to where I'm still crouched between Bryce and Kit. Kennedy brushes a strand of hair off her cheek, and she cries even harder.

"I'm sorry," she tells him.

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