Shelton's arm was broken. Two ribs on his right side were crushed. There was a bullet in his left lung, one in his leg.
His forearm had snapped when the ceiling collapsed in on him. He couldn't breathe. A pipe thrust into his back was grating on an exposed rib.
The skeleton of Pendleton Manufacturing was smoldering. Two-thirds of the factory building had crumbled into the lake, and the rest of the foundation was starting to slide.
He made a token effort to push himself up.
He knew he was pinned, even before he tried.
"Denise," he whispered, straining until there was a wet pop in his shoulder. He knew his wife was just a few feet away. "Please, baby, hold on… I'll… I'll be there."
He lost consciousness.
A gloved hand moved the first plank from Shelton. Then a piece of support beam. The hands moved more quickly, shoving away heavy ceiling tiles.
The hand grabbed Shelton by the collar like a puppy, and he was tossed over a big shoulder. Shelton came to, stirred by gut agony from being bounced onto his busted ribs. He tried to demand to be put down so he could find her; instead he felt the bad Italian coming up, and he was dropped to the ground.
He vomited into tall grass. He heard the factory's supports snap, echoing his vomit plopping down in a puddle as the rest of the building crashed into the water.
These are projects that, for one reason or another, are currently floating upside down.
