Hurricane Kiss (8 page)

“We'll find it,” River says, almost to himself.

I look up at the building with its brick façade and red steel doors. The wind gusts are smacking the American flag, pushing it back and forth. Shouldn't they have taken it down to protect it? Where was the custodian?

This isn't my school now, it's a refuge. I look at the overhang above the door and the covered walkway. Where would we hide if we couldn't get inside? In the giant stinking metal trash containers they use for garbage after renovation work? An unlocked car somewhere? A house that someone forgot to lock? We left his dad because the freeway wasn't safe.

Some of the houses across the street are boarded up. Is anybody home in any of them? Would they open their doors to us if they were? If we can't get into the school we'll have to break in somewhere, but how, with our bare hands? It's not like people are hiding in their basements to protect themselves here. There are no basements in Houston, except for the buildings downtown and some of the houses in River Oaks, one of the wealthiest parts of the city. The ground is too marshy. I look at my watch. Nearly six o'clock About two more hours until it gets dark.

“Ow!” A thick branch flies by and whips my arm, scraping it, leaving me bleeding.

River doesn't even look up. He keeps searching through the mud, fixated, oblivious, picking up clumps of it and letting it run through his fingers. I go back to doing the same thing. Five minutes go by, and then ten, and we can't find it anywhere. The only things I sift out of the mud are stones and bloated, gelatinous worms that I fling away.

We're on our knees in filthy, soaking wet clothes, sweat mixed with rain dripping down our faces. Yard garbage is now airborne as we search, hands buried in mud that draws us in like quicksand.

“We have to get inside somewhere.”

River ignores me.

“It can't end this way, it can't,” I say. I might as well be talking to myself because he doesn't answer. “After we left the car and came all the way back here.”

I look all around. What do we do? Where do we go? I get up to start looking for someplace, anyplace to hide.

“Got it,” he says, finally, pushing a wet tangle of hair away from his eyes with the back of his hand. He gets to his feet and tries the key again.

It doesn't work.

“River …”

“Be quiet, just be quiet, OK?”

I bite my lip. He inhales deeply as he struggles to work the key out of the lock. Is it jammed in now? He gets it out then flips it over, trying it again.

A heavy click. The key turns over. Finally.

“Yes!” His face relaxes. He pushes, but the door doesn't give. Nothing. Why? What's wrong? He tries again, pushing with the heel of his hand. Still nothing.

How can that be?

He presses his shoulder against it and pushes harder. It doesn't budge.

“What …?”

“Stand back!” He steps away and then runs up, hurling his entire weight against it. There's a frightening creak as though wood is being split apart, but the door gives way.

He heads into total darkness, and I follow him.

Chapter 14

8 HOURS TO LANDFALL

JILLIAN

We've entered a tomb. Hot, stagnant air envelops us in the darkness. It's hard to breathe. River slams the door and grimaces, nearly pitching to the floor.

“What, what is it?”

He leans over, bracing himself with his hands on his knees, his mouth open. He takes a deep breath, his eyes closed. “Just … dizzy.” When he finally stands up again he rubs his shoulder and tries to move it. “Ow, God,” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut, but he manages to stay upright. He takes a deep breath and keeps walking.

Is it broken? Fractured? It has to be bad, considering the way he threw himself against the door. How can I help him? What can I do? I follow him along the dark hallway to the gym, our mud-soaked sneakers squishing with every step, as if an invisible tribe of ghouls were trailing us.

I'm struck by the absolute silence. The surround-sound conversations, laughter, shrieking voices, band rehearsal music, locker doors slamming—all of the cacophony of everyday school sounds—are absent now.

“Back in school.”

River's voice startles me. The bitter edge. His eyes search the corridor like a cop ready for whatever might come at him from behind a closed door. I follow him into the gym and then behind it into the locker room. He flicks a light switch. The neon lights go on with a low buzzing sound.

“Still power,” he says. “Unreal.”

He walks along the rows of blood red lockers, and then stops and falls silent, staring at one in front of him with no lock.

“Was that yours?”

He doesn't seem to hear me. A moment later he kicks the door and then kicks it again, harder, cursing under his breath.

“River,
stop
! You're scaring me.”

He turns to me abruptly, as if he realizes for the first time that I'm there.

“Let's get out of here. We can go to the gym and get mats,” he says. “We need to sleep.”

But first we stop at the water cooler, taking cup after cup of water until we can't drink any more. The water cooler is nearly empty when we stop. River stares ahead for a few seconds, lost in thought, before turning away. As he's about to shut the lights, he gives the locker room a last glance over his shoulder.

We stop in the bathrooms and then go to the gym. Shafts of gray late-afternoon light filter through the gym windows. They reach almost to the ceiling, maybe fifteen feet high, protected by metal gates. Even if the glass shatters, only splinters can get through.

River pulls two blue plastic mats from the top of a pile against the wall and tosses them on the wooden floor near the wall farthest from the window.

“I'm wiped,” he says, dropping his backpack. He kicks off his sneakers and slides his wet T-shirt over his head, then unbuttons his muddy jeans, yanking them down and stepping out of them. His shoulder is already streaked red and purple like a tattoo gone wrong. I look away. He leaves on his shorts, and then spreads his clothes on the floor to dry. “When we get up we can hunt for food.”

River eases down and stretches out on the mat. He turns away from me, groaning when his shoulder touches the mat. He needs ice, painkillers, but we have nothing, and we're too exhausted now to search anyhow. I peel off my wet, mud-caked shorts, but leave my tank top on. Every muscle inside me is quivering, too stressed and exhausted to relax. I turn one way and then the other, my hip bone jabbing into the hard mat, skin sticking to the plastic. My deodorant gave up hours ago.

I lie there with my hands tucked under my head. How will I know when we're in the worst of it? Will the walls crash in, or is the building strong enough to withstand it?

As if in answer, the wind whistles at a higher pitch as it forces itself through the branches of the trees. Crack! An arm of a tree breaking off. I sit up, on high alert, pressing my fingers into my ears.

“River?”

No answer.

All I want is to be home. A clean bed, my shower, and the AC so cold I need a sweatshirt. I lie down again, shifting from side to side. Am I asleep or awake? I'm so hot I feel faint. My body jerks. I dream the dream I've had over and over, a replay of when I was I five and I fell off the handlebars of my cousin's bike and fractured my ankle. The nightmare nests in my brain like the one about the hurricane that leaves me gasping for air.

Victim.

I'm always a victim. I shift again and start to close my eyes when lightning illuminates the gym like a lightbulb exploded. I stare at River's back for a few seconds before the gym goes black again. Now I know what I saw. A scar across half his back. I close my eyes and start to slip into sleep, but I'm jerked awake by more thunderclaps.

“River?”

Say something, anything—that you're not afraid, even if you don't mean it. Anything. I'm scared.

I lean over him to look at his face. Despite the explosions, he's deep asleep, breathing softly and evenly. I reach into my waterlogged backpack and search until I find him: Cubby, my teddy bear. His chocolate-colored fur has worn off now, and he's bald in spots from years of cuddling, but that doesn't matter. I tuck him under my cheek, inhaling his familiar musty smell.

“Cubby.” It's comforting to whisper his name in the dark. I used to talk to him like he was my worry doll, and he took in my words silently—the keeper of all my secrets—always there for me. I lean against his soft stomach, exhaustion spreading through me, and drift off.

Something—not the storm—wakes me. Talking. Where is it coming from? We're in total darkness except for flashes of lightning.

River.

A lightning flare bathes him in brightness for a split second. I sit up. Another crash of thunder and splintered light. A voice. What am I hearing?

He's talking, but not to me. In his sleep?

“No!” He turns away, upset, muttering. He sits up breathing hard, his hands locked around his bent knees, staring ahead. As if in slow motion, he reaches for his jeans on the floor and slides the knife out of the pocket. Click. He targets something ahead of him with the point of the blade.

BOOM!
Rattling thunder!
BOOM!
Another explosion like a cannon blast. I startle. River doesn't even hear it. He takes aim. I can't take my eyes off him. He turns and reaches over to me suddenly, grabbing my wrist tightly, his face inches from mine.

“I'm not going to tell you again, OK?”

I'm fixated on the tip of the knife, inches from my face. I try to pull back, but he tightens his grip and won't let go.

“River.” I try to shake free, to wake him. “You're having a bad dream. Let me go—it's Jillian!”

Seconds go by. Does he hear me? He releases my arm. His body goes slack. The hand with the knife falls away, only he doesn't wake. He sits staring ahead, transfixed by the visions in his head. He's asleep, in a trance. I'm walled out; he can't hear me. I hold my breath, watching him. He folds the knife and puts it down next to him. He lies back, his eyes close. In seconds his breathing becomes soft and regular again.

He was asleep the whole time.

Now
I
can't sleep. I take out my dream catcher and put it on the floor between us, like that might make a difference now. What I really need is a Saint Christopher medal.

Chapter 15

2 HOURS TO LANDFALL

RIVER

I force my eyes open. How long did I sleep? A hot, searing pain shoots through me as I turn, and it all comes back to me. My shoulder. It's swollen, burning inside. Probably a break, not that it matters now.

Sweat dries, blood clots, bones heal. Suck it up!

One of my dad's marine corps slogans. I take a deep breath and get up. I walk to the window.

Daylight. The sky is a ghostly green with a deep intensity. I've never seen this color outside before. An uneasy feeling spreads through me. It looks like I'm inside another galaxy. Just the lightest sprinkling of rain now. In the distance there's a faint rumble of thunder.

I walk toward Jillian. She's curled up on her side, her head resting on a stuffed toy, red hair everywhere, her lips parted. The pale skin, the soft swell of her breast spilling outside the lace edge of a pink bra. Low-cut panties. I turn away quickly, my breath catching.

It takes me forever to pull on my filthy jeans with one arm, trying to keep the bad shoulder still. The jeans are damp and mud-caked which doesn't help. I make my way down the corridor.

Briggs's office. My head floods with memories. I lean against the wall to brace myself. I haven't eaten, maybe that's it, low blood sugar. Or not. Fear surges through me, my heart punching as the memories come back. Goddamn him.

I force myself to keep walking. I stop at the science room with the framed Tropical Storm Allison pictures up on the walls showing Houston turned into a nightmarish Waterworld. Focus. I try to block out the searing pain in my shoulder throwing me off balance.

Food, water, supplies. Food, water, supplies. Focus.

I search through closets. Nothing. I go through the teacher's desk. Advil. I take four and chew them up, then stuff the bottle into my pocket. A portable radio. That's a start. The jarring sound of a human voice.

“… force of Hurricane Danielle still … static … offshore, but a sea of cars overloaded with—” The radio rumbles with static. “… and short on—”

The voice is familiar. Jesus … Jillian's mom. “… filled with crying children and barking dogs, continues to jam the freeways as hundreds of thousands of residents of the Gulf Coast make a last-ditch effort to reach …” It cuts out. “… the storm approaching category four is still building and appears to be heading for landfall … between … Houston whose metropolitan area …

“The gridlocked exodus, estimated to include some 1.8 million people, is fanning the flames of anger and resentment among residents who are questioning whether the planning for this giant evacuation was adequate”—again, static interrupts—“Governor and the military are preparing to aid stranded vehicles.”

Then something about the eye of the storm, a few miles wide in diameter. I think of the unsettling color of the sky. The quiet before …

And my dad? Is he still sitting there in the driver's seat, waiting? When would it dawn on him … I turn it off. Don't think about him. What good will it do? I go from room to room looking for anything useful before ending up in the kitchen. I find juice boxes and oatmeal cookies. Enough to fill our stomachs, for now.

JILLIAN

It's light. Morning? I turn to look for River. He's gone.

“River?” My fluttering heart registers his absence before my brain. This is my school, I know my way around, but that doesn't matter now. “
River?
”

Pain shoots through me as I stand. My feet are swollen, blistered, filthy; my red toenails encrusted with mud. My feet barely support me. I pull on my damp, filthy shorts and pad into a classroom down the hall. I stare out the window and everything inside me tightens.

We're surrounded by water, with islands of high ground strewn with toppled trees, tangles of fallen tree branches, and an odd collage of objects, from empty rubber garbage pails and children's red wagons to beaten-up bikes, garage doors, car doors, roof tiles, and slats of broken wooden fences. I watch a refrigerator float down the street. The fender of a car.

The windows aren't rattling. Silence. Is the storm over? Did it hit category 5? If it did, it wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. I snicker to myself. I have something to brag about now, surviving a cat 5 hurricane.

“I can't believe this,” I say out loud, to assure myself I still have a voice. I go to the wall and check the lights. Nothing. We must have lost power overnight.

I hear footsteps behind me and I turn.

“I found this stuff,” River says with a boyish grin. I smile back at him as he hands me oatmeal cookies and juice. We sit on the mats and tear at the wrappers, then stuff our faces. His jaw is shadowed by the stubble of a light beard.

“I didn't hear you get up.”

“I called you, but you didn't move,” he says.

“I've never been that tired in my life.”

His shoulder looks worse than before, an irregular patch of deep purple. “How do you feel?”

He shakes his head dismissively. Should I tell him about his dream? Does he even know he had it? I doubt he would want to hear how I watched it happen.

“I wish we had a radio.”

“I found one in a classroom.” He pulls a transistor out of his backpack and looks for a station that isn't full of static.

“It's your mom.”

“What?”

I hear Mom's voice. “Half of the city is without power this morning,” she says. I grab it from his hand. It's like she's in the room with us, only she's not. She's the eyes and ears for the world, only I can't reach her. She does radio reports sometimes. Now she must be covering for someone who couldn't get there to do the story. It feels so odd to hear her. She has no idea where I am or that I'm listening. She doesn't know if I'm dead or alive.

Mom!
I want to shout,
It's me
, but that's crazy. She's in another world, at least it seems that way.

“Overnight, the storm dropped fifteen inches of rain, flooding cars, highways, and … Wind gusts in some areas are now up to one hundred miles … in the next two to four hours. If you are at home waiting it out, do not leave your safe areas now. The eye of the storm is almost … things will get quiet again, at least for a while. As we've said before, the worst is still to come. By no means are we …”

A colleague cuts in. “Can we tell listeners what they can expect?” Crackling static drowns the answer.

“I just wanted to hear her.”

River stares at me. He leans back against the wall. “Welcome to your new home.”

I shut my eyes. Kelly. I have to text her back. Where is she? Still on the highway? I reach for my backpack and pull out my phone.

“Forget it,” River says. “The cell towers are down.”

I shake my head and stare out the window. “Did you see the sky?”

He nods.

“It's so eerie, so creepy. I've never seen anything like that.”

“The eye of the storm,” he says, gazing out.

“Should we go outside?”

“Why?”

“To see it up close. To know what it feels like.”

He snorts. “It'll feel like Danielle is taking aim, like she's got us in the crosshairs.” He pretends to target me and makes a loud popping noise as he pulls the trigger.

“Stop it.” But he keeps it up, as though he's peering at me through the scope of a rifle. “How much time do you think we have until it really hits?”

“Minutes, hours. Who knows?”

I turn to the window. That deep rumbling again. River hears it too, his face changes. It's a low growl that sounds like it's coming from the center of the earth.

I jump to my feet. “Before it's too late.”

River squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. “Why not?” he says. “Nothing left to lose.”