“It's happening all right.” A crewman, his hand clapped over a shoulder wound, leaned against the railing beside Luke. The injury was bleeding profusely, and even through soot, his face looked pasty white.
“You better get to sick bay,” Luke said, shifting a shoulder under the man's good arm.
“I'm not going anywhere—not as long as I can stand.”
Two consecutive blasts rocked the ship, knocking both men to the deck. Luke looked around for Barry. He didn't see him. There's no time to worry about him now, he thought, pushing to his feet. He'll be all right.
He turned his attention to the injured sailor. “You're no good to anyone dead. You're bleeding real bad. Come on. I'm taking you to sick bay.” He shifted his shoulder under the man's good arm and moved toward the door.
It was blocked by a sailor whose lifeless body was crumpled and bent between the casings. “What's your name?” Luke asked, focusing his eyes on the sailor he'd been helping.
“Steve.”
“My name's Luke.” He leaned Steve against the bulkhead and dragged the dead man out of the doorway, fighting back rising bile. Again, bracing his shoulder under Steve's arm, he said, “Let's go,” and steered him toward the stairway.
Steve was pale, and his skin felt cold and clammy. “You doing all right?” Luke studied the man. His blackened face dripped with sweat, but he gritted his teeth and nodded.
Peering through heavy smoke and struggling to breathe, Luke ducked through hatches and staggered down one corridor after another. He'd never thought much about where sick bay was located, but now he wished it weren't so deep in the ship, and he'd begun to wonder if it was such a good idea to take the wounded there. What happened if the ship sank?
Another blast shook the Nevada.
“This looks bad. Real bad,” Steve said, his voice trembling. “Maybe we ought to go back up. I want to go back.” He pulled free and stumbled down the corridor the way they'd come.
“Wait!” Luke called, but the sailor ignored him and staggered away. Luke followed him.
Luke stepped onto the deck, hoping for fresh air. Instead, he sucked in gaseous fumes and lost sight of Steve. Coughing and staggering toward the rail, he tried to see through billowing smoke. He heard the spray of bullets and felt the barrage of bombs. The Japanese were trying to keep them from escaping the harbor! Metal fragments hurtled through the air, and Luke felt a knifing pain in his upper arm. Blood oozed from a fresh wound.
Bullets strafed the deck, and Luke ducked back inside a doorway, dropping to his knees. The Nevada's antiaircraft guns clattered as they returned fire. “Give it to 'em!” Luke yelled. “Get those dirty Japs!”
He felt the ship shift and change course. The smoke cleared for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of Hospital Point. The anchor clanked as it was let out. We're going down, Luke thought, looking about at the dead and wounded. The smoke closed in again and thickened. He pushed to his feet. “I've got to get on those fires.”
More Zeros buzzed the Nevada. Explosions shook the ship.
The vessel shuddered to a stop, knocking Luke off his feet.
A soot-blackened sailor offered him a hand. “Come on! The ammo's gonna blow if we don't get water on it!”
Believing this would be his day to stand before God, Luke followed.
Chapter 5
SNOW BLASTED THE WINDSHIELD OF MATTIE'S CAR, AND HER WIPERS FOUGHT unsuccessfully to clear the glass. Forced to peer through a small clean spot on the pane, she periodically scraped away ice creeping from the inside edges of the window. The car slid as she rounded a curve, and she wrestled the steering wheel. Her course finally corrected, she relaxed slightly. She had to see Luke's mother. She would know. She must have heard something.
I can't believe this is happening. War? Just the word made her tremble. What would become of Palmer and the rest of the country? Would the Japanese bomb in the United States? And what about Luke? He was in the middle of it all. “Lord, please let him be all right,” she prayed. “Please.”
Nearly passing the driveway in the white gale, Mattie made a quick turn and almost sent the car into the ditch. Gaining control of the vehicle, she bumped toward the house. Adam and Laurel's truck was parked alongside the porch. Of course the family would be here, she thought.
She pushed the gearshift into first, turned off the engine, and stepped into the numbing cold. Huddling in her parka, she sprinted toward the steps. Laurel opened the door and waited, her hand on the knob. Her usually warm hazel eyes were mournful, and her lips were drawn into a grim line.
The knot of trepidation in Mattie's stomach tightened. Gripping the porch railing with her gloved hand, she carefully took the steps. The two women faced each other, neither speaking; then seeking comfort, they clung to one another.
Finally they stepped apart, and Laurel said, “Come on in out of the cold.”
Following her friend inside, Mattie asked, “Have you heard anything?” Steeling herself against the answer, she paid extra attention to making sure the door was closed securely.
“We haven't heard.” Laurel pursed her lips, then added, “We're still waiting.”
Disappointed and thankful all at once, Mattie said, “At least it's not bad news.”
Clutching a homemade doll, Susie walked into the kitchen. “Hi, Mattie,” she said somberly. “Did you hear from Luke?”
“No, sweetie. I haven't.” Mattie cupped the seven-year-old's chin. “We'll hear soon, I'm sure. But Hawaii is far away, and it'll take time.”
Adam walked into the kitchen. “Hi. How you holding up?”
“All right…I guess.”
“Can I get you some coffee?” Laurel asked. “It's pretty strong. We've been up most of the night.”
“No. I don't think my stomach could take it.” Mattie dragged off her gloves, stuffed them into her coat pockets, then with Adam's help slipped off the parka. He hung it from a hook on the back porch.
Mattie followed Laurel and Susie into the front room. It felt tomb-like. No one had bothered to open the curtains, and the outside cold had settled inside. Jean and Ray sat on the sofa, hands clasped. Jean didn't seem to notice Mattie at first. She stared at the radio, which crackled and buzzed quietly. The skin beneath her eyes was stained blue, and she looked as if she hadn't slept.
Young William rummaged through a toy box, oblivious to the upheaval.
Brian sat on an overstuffed chair in the corner, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked at Mattie but didn't smile. “Hi.”
“Hi there,” Mattie said, her voice extra gentle.
