As it turned out he stayed longer than a year, and spent his holidays in the upper forty-eight.

“Have you eaten, mon?”

“I’m good,” Trent lied to Reynard. Reynard’s own home had partially crumbled during the quake. His children, all four of them, were at their school, which sat on higher ground. It too suffered major damage but the tsunami hadn’t washed it away. That was a blessing. Reynard’s wife, Kiki, had been home while Reynard himself had already gone to work.

Mrs. Kiffen hadn’t yet been found.

The weight of her absence sat behind Reynard’s eyes.

“Any word on Kiki?” Trent asked.

A swift shake of Reynard’s head gave Trent his answer.

“I’ll check the list of patients on my next run. Make sure the Americans are keeping an eye open for her.”

Reynard blinked several times. “My Kiki is a strong woman. We’ll find her.”

Trent squeezed the man’s hand as he shook it. He’d make sure the doctors and nurses he’d flown into the zone had Kiki’s description and name. She’d turn up… the question was, in what condition?

The sun lay directly overhead. Its rays blistered the tarmac under Trent’s feet.

He needed his shoes, some decent food, and a couple hours’ sleep. He removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes.

“The next group will be here in four hours. Go home… rest”, Reynard told him.

“There’s too much to do.” And there was. Between transporting the relief help from the airport to the zone, Trent flew medical supplies from one clinic to another. Military helicopters and medevacs were busy transporting the most critical off the island altogether. More help was on the way, but they weren’t coming fast enough.

“At least put on some shoes, mon. Cutting your feet now isn’t wise. The hospital is lacking antibiotics. The dead are going to fester in this heat… disease—”

“Got it.” He knew he couldn’t add to the burden. “Make sure she’s fueled. I’ll be back in an hour for another run.”

“Go. Eat.”

Trent walked off the tarmac, dodging those who rushed in all directions. Most of the islanders were dressed like him. Two-day-old clothes, dirt covered much of their legs and arms. Some were scraped and bruised. But those he dodged on the way to his Jeep were nothing like those on sea level.

After fishing the keys from his pocket, Trent shoved the 4x4 in gear and turned his car toward home. Thank God help had come. His fleet of four helicopters, all designed to entertain tourists on sightseeing rides over the island, had instantly become the only way to move around after the quake. So much for a quiet existence on a tropical island.

He thought of calling in, to make sure his brothers knew he was safe. Landlines were down everywhere and he’d left his cell at home… not that cells were working when he’d left there. They would worry. Trent knew he would if the shoe were on the other foot. He glanced at his bare feet.

Natives walked along the side of the road without their normal wave and smile. Trent didn’t find a smile on his face either. For once, the frown wasn’t placed there by his own life, but because of the plight of others. He turned onto his private drive, drove around several boulders that had tumbled onto the road after the quake, and proceeded to his roundabout drive.

Ginger, his two-year-old Irish setter, bounded off the steps of his porch and greeted him with two paws mid-chest.

“Hey, girl.” He found his lips pulling into a grin. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Ginger wagged her tail and barked three times in response.

Trent pushed her off with a pet and encouraged her to follow him.

He stepped over a broken ceramic vase the earthquake shook to the ground. He should probably clean up anything that could cause damage to Ginger before he left again. Trent tried the light in the bathroom, it didn’t turn on. Power was probably the least of the island’s concerns… at least for where his home sat. He considered firing up the generator, but thought better of it. He wouldn’t be there long. No need to waste the gas.

He finished in the bathroom and washed his face and hands. “At least the water is still on,” he said to himself.

The kitchen was a minefield of broken glass. Ginger trotted in beside him.

“Out!”

Ginger sat on her hindquarters, her tongue lolling to one side. Ten minutes later the kitchen was safe enough for the dog to enter. Trent topped off Ginger’s food bowl with kibble and filled up a cooking pot with more dog food. Luckily Ginger ate when she was hungry and didn’t mow down the whole lot in one sitting.

After eating two raw hot dogs and an apple, he moved into his bedroom. His cell phone sat in its dock, the blinking red light letting him know he had a message. There were five missed calls from Jason and two from Glen.

Trent rang Jason’s cell phone. His brother would be at the office, but he knew the call would go through. Trent lay out on top of his covers. Damn it felt good to put his feet up.

The phone rang twice before Jason picked up the call. His brother’s words were rushed. “Trent? Jesus, Trent, is it you?” Worry laced the question, making Trent feel all kinds of sick for not trying to call sooner.

“It’s me, Jase. I’m fine.”

“Dammit. We thought… we heard…” Jason took a deep breath and started over. “You scared the f**k out of us, Trent.”

“You’ve been here. My house isn’t on sea level. She handled the quake. I’ve been flying supplies and people. I haven’t been home since it hit.”