Read Black Thursday for Free Online Page B

condition. “Much worse.”
    â€œI don’t know how it could be much worse than—”
    My voice was drowned out by the wail of sirens nearing the store.
    Mr. Piggledy pointed around the corner at the cluster of people now tugging at the plastic rope and shrink wrap affixing boxes to what turned out to be a double-decker pallet that had slipped off the shelf.
    Specifically, she pointed at the pair of neon-pink tennis shoes jutting out, Wicked Witch of the West–style, from underneath.

four
    The next few seconds sped by in a panicked, terrifying blur.
    Alan Bader rushed over with a group of emergency personnel in tow. A paramedic beelined over to Mrs. Piggledy’s side. A fireman went into the crowd to tend to those with cuts and scrapes. The rest of the shoppers—including Frank, who’d materialized right after the rest of the family—moved in to lend the tools and brute strength necessary to free the trapped woman.
    I tried not to think about what shape she’d be in when they did.
    â€œThey’ll have her out in no time,” I said to a weeping Eloise, who was suddenly behind me with the rest of the Michaels clan, minus Craig, who’d texted to say he was being kept back on the other side of the store.
    Joyce shook her head. “Is she a member of your Frugarmy?”
    I nodded. “Everyone in that line was. I met her,” I said, watching in transfixed horror as the emergency workers cut away rope and shrink wrap, freeing the upper row of boxes from the upper pallet. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask her name.”
    â€œShe mentioned it,” Mr. Piggledy said, “but with everything that’s happened, I’m afraid I can’t—”
    â€œKatrina,” Mrs. Piggledy said with a wince as the paramedic began to feel along the length of her shin.
    â€œKatrina?” I repeated, trying to put a name to the woman with whom I’d so recently enjoyed a perfectly pleasant conversation. Was there any possible chance she could still be—
    â€œSuch a beautiful ballerina,” Mrs. Piggledy said.
    â€œShe was a ballerina?” Barb asked.
    â€œMy wife’s gone into shock,” Mr. Piggledy said. “She’s remembering the day she broke her foot back when we were with the circus. She was helping Katrina, the Fat Lady, out of the clown car.”
    â€œShe was so incredibly lithe for her size,” Mrs. Piggledy said as the EMT began to take her vitals. “And she always wore those beautiful pink toe shoes.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to glance down at the neon tennis shoes jutting out from below the double-stacked pallet.
    Just as the emergency personnel and helpers kneeled in preparation to lift, my eyes met Frank’s for the first time in months.
    â€œOn three,” one of the firemen said.
    â€œDear Lord,” Joyce said. “Please let her be okay.”
    â€œWith all the weight that fell on her?” Barb asked with a hint of her old tone and inflection. “No way she isn’t toast.”

five
    The gray-green pallor of Alan’s horror-stricken face said it all.
    â€œAbsolutely flattened,” someone said in a whisper, as though there were need for further confirmation.
    Some of the stunned, shocked crowd averted their eyes and hugged loved ones. Those who couldn’t look away inched closer to watch the emergency workers attempt to check for a pulse.
    â€œWho is she?” I asked a shaken Frank, who’d returned to comfort his family.
    â€œDon’t know yet.” He shook his head. “Her purse was just as squashed as—”
    â€œIt’s my ankle, not my neck,” Mrs. Piggledy said as the EMT proceeded to slide a backboard beneath her shoulders.
    â€œI just can’t believe this is happening,” I said, kneeling to grasp Mrs. Piggledy’s hand.
    â€œCan’t say we weren’t warned,” Mrs. Piggledy mumbled.
    â€œWarned?”