Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

Bosnia. It was Baghdad.
    It was Cherrystone, Washington.
    “Jesus,” Emily said, stooping next Mrs. Martin’s lifeless body. “We need some help out here. We need to find Mark Martin and the kids.”
    Jason stood frozen, his brown eyes dilated to near black. Perspiration rolled from under his thick, wavy hair.
    “I heard that one time a chicken was plucked by a twister in Arkansas,” he said, a non sequitor that came from a nervous mind.
    Emily knew he was rattled, so instead of saying, “What the hell are you talking about?” she shrugged, and said, “Heard the same thing.” She retrieved a Maglite of her own and pointed its beam over the wreckage, noticing for the first time that the roof had been ripped from the house and planted some twenty yards away. The walls had fallen like dominos, one on top of the next. The light swept back over to the naked body. Emily leaned closer and touched Peg’s neck. It was a formality, of course, but it had to be done. She was, very sadly and very completely, dead.
    “Calling the sheriff, now,” Jason said, now with the cruiser’s radio in hand. A cat meowed, something shifted somewhere in the dark, and Emily steadied herself. She turned toward the noise. Glass crunched under her feet.
    She couldn’t think of the little Martin boy’s name, but she called out the others.
    “Mark? Nicholas? Anyone? Can you hear me? Try to move something, say something.”
    She stood still, but nothing. Again the cat yowled and Emily found herself wishing the poor thing would stop.
    Shhhh kitty, kitty, she thought.
    “Ambulance is coming,” Jason announced, inching his way back toward the corpse.
    Emily nodded. “The others have to be around here somewhere “
    “Mr. Martin?” Jason said, his voice thick with dread. He ran his light over the debris field. “Are you here? Can you hear me?”
    Emily moved her light methodically over the remains of the house. With each pass from north to south, she covered a bit more ground. And with each swipe of the light, more of what had once been was revealed. A chair. A tabletop. A child’s toy. Her heart nearly stopped when the light passed over the blank-eyed stare of another woman. It was so fleeting that it took a second for it to register.
    A magazine cover.
    “I’ve heard of people surviving in India after an earthquake for up to ten days or more,” Jason said from the other side of the remains of the house.
    “I’ve heard the same thing. Let’s hope that they are that lucky.”
    “Yeah, luckier than Mrs. Martin,” he said.
    “That goes without saying, Jason. You know, sometimes you just don’t have to say the obvious.”
    As soon as she said the words, she regretted it. She was tired. So damned tired from the last couple of days. She had done more than double duty. She was on edge.
    “Sorry, Ms. Kenyon,” he said. His apology was so genuine, so much like the way he was, that Emily felt like she had kicked a puppy or something.
    “No apologies needed. Been a long last few days, hasn’t it?”
    “Yeah. I haven’t slept more than four hours since Sunday.”
    They continued to scour all that remained of the house, but it was useless. There was so much of it and their flashlights were too weak for the task.
    “We need to cordon off the area and look at first light,” Emily said.
    “Okay. Will do”
    Emily looked down at her watch. First light was in five hours.
    “I hate to do this to you Jason, but after we transport Mrs. Martin to the morgue, I’m out of here. I have to get home to Jenna”
    Jason didn’t look happy about it, but he couldn’t say anything. Motherhood was more important than hanging around an accident scene. At least he figured his mother would say so-and he still lived with her.
    “Fine by me,” he said. “I’ll manage”
    Emily stood still in the dark, scanning. Could there be anyone alive? She called out for the Martins once more, but her voice was mocked by the sounds of ambulance sirens a faint wail in the distance at first, moving closer and closer.
    “Donovan,” she said to herself first, then over to Jason.
    “Huh?”
    She called out louder, irritated that she had to repeat herself. “The little Martin boy’s name is Donovan. Donovan, are you out there, honey? Donny? Mark? Nicholas? Are any of you out there?”
    The ambulance swung down the driveway, moving faster than it had to, of course. Ricky Culver was at the wheel, and Ricky still thought that driving an ambulance was the