The Hurricane

12

As Daniel crept down the hallway, playing his flashlight across the floor and up the walls, he suddenly felt like he was on patrol. The wild sounds outside made it feel as if he were on a ship being tossed on the seas. He was a lone sailor checking the bilges after crashing onto a reef, seeing how much water the ship was taking on.

It most certainly didn’t feel like his house. All the lights were off. As he passed through the kitchen and into the living room, he saw that even the appliances were dead. All the twinkling blips that normally graced their powered-down faces had blinked shut. The place looked abandoned. Condemned.

Daniel stole across the living room carpet toward the windows looking out over the front yard. He set down his flashlight and unlocked the window. Air hissed and whistled through the seams, the wind outside like a passing freight train. With his fingers bent in the jamb, Daniel lifted the window a few inches, and the air burst inside immediately. He had a sudden impulse to slam the window shut as the storm clawed its way inside, but refrained. He figured the whole point of opening the windows was to allow the insides of the house to match the fury outside. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but he thought his ears had popped like descending in an airplane. He squeezed his nose and blew out, then bent to retrieve his flashlight.

Before he moved to the next one, Daniel pressed the lens of the flashlight up against the window, shining it outside. The pathetic dribble of light did little to wash away the darkness, but he could see several of the trees outside bending in the wind. Unlike before, however, when the small trees had been moving, Daniel could now see the big ones swaying. The little ones were snapped in half. He could see flashes of white wood where their raw and exposed interiors caught the light. Brambles of limb littered the yard already, looking like a scattered hedge. Leaves sped by like jet-powered bugs; the wet ones plastered themselves to the house and windows. Rain came in sideways and in blinding sheets, like a powerful sprinkler dousing the house. Daniel felt the water misting him across his thighs as it blew through the screen and the new opening he’d made. It was hard to move away from the window. He was transfixed by the incredible forces powering through their front yard.

Finally, he tore himself away and moved to the next window. He cracked it, then ran to the dining room, bumping into a chair that had been left pulled out from the table. Carlton yelled something from the kitchen, but Daniel couldn’t hear over the wind he was inviting into the house. He flashed his light through the windows to look for a tree or anything leaning against the wall. Seeing nothing, he ran back to the living room and up the first few steps toward the second floor, shining his light well ahead of him.

The storm sounded twice as fierce upstairs. It sounded like the roof was off. The howl and whistle were completely unabated, like Daniel would walk up the next few steps and find naked clouds roiling above, leaves blowing through, just a few bits of low wall standing around him.

He took each step cautiously and reminded himself that it would be raining on him and the carpet would be soaked if the roof were actually gone. Once his head was higher than the second floor, he rotated his light around through the pickets of the railing, just to be sure. All the walls were there. Daniel kicked himself for being so stupid and afraid. He ran up the last handful of steps and went straight for his room. Throwing the door open, he first grabbed his book bag, which had his books, schoolwork, and a few comics in it. He slung both straps on and moved to the window.

Daniel peered outside. He could see a second cone of light shining out below where Carlton was scanning the back yard from the kitchen window. If the front yard looked like a war in progress, the back looked like the aftermath. One of the really big trees was down. The sight of such a large cylinder of wood lying flat through the back yard was jarring. Limbs stood up from it like smaller trees sprouting vertically from its bark. These were whipping around like the pom-poms fans shake at the high school football games. As Daniel cracked the window, he saw bits of bark and pine needles, along with the usual leaves, stuck to the outer glass. The air shrieked as he let some in, and the door to his room slammed shut with a loud bang.

Daniel flinched and felt goose bumps run up his arms. He turned around and shoved his bed away from the window to keep it from getting wet. Then he ran around and gathered up the clothes on the floor and threw them on top of the bed. Something scampered across the roof—or a limb tumbled across it—but it sounded like it was right on the other side of the sheetrock above his head.

“This is fucking nuts,” Daniel said to himself. He felt a rush of adrenaline from all the pounding and creaking. As the upper story swayed, the image of being on a ship during a storm was complete. He opened his door, feeling the wind yanking against him. He slid his dresser down the wall as he held the door all the way open, pinning its edge behind the furniture. He then ran to Hunter’s room and cracked a window there. He wondered what Hunter was going through across town. He always seemed to get out of doing stuff with the rest of the family. Zola’s room came last. As Daniel approached her door, he thought he heard squishing from the carpet beneath his feet. He was still processing this when he opened the door and stepped inside—

Something bushed across his face; Daniel screamed and dropped his flashlight. He waved in the air to shoo whatever it was off, and his hands tangled in twigs and leaves. He bent for his flashlight, the spray of rain pelting him. The thunderous roar of the wind was so thick, it drowned out his thoughts. He felt like he’d stepped outside, or through some dimensional rift from his comics and into a hellish, infernal plane of existence.

He shined his light inside as the door banged against his foot. Something ran across the floor and disappeared into the darkness. Splintered two-by-fours hung from the busted-open flesh of cracked and hanging sheetrock. Zola’s ceiling fan was on the floor, glass shades and shattered light bulbs glittering—he aimed the flashlight up—there was a tree trunk angled through her dormer, a thick limb splitting her bed in two. Another squirrel ran past, twittering and complaining. Now that he knew what they were, he placed the sound in the attic from earlier. The animals were moving from their downed home and into his.

“Holy shit,” someone said behind him.

Daniel startled and nearly fainted. He felt Carlton’s hand on his shoulder as his stepdad aimed his own light past and added it to Daniel’s.

“That’s the old oak out front,” Carlton said, more awe in his voice than fear. “We need to get downstairs.”

Daniel nodded his agreement. The two of them turned and hurried back toward the stairs, the wrath of the storm outside threatening to send another tree their way. The door to Zola’s room slammed shut as the wind swept through the house. He and Carlton thundered down the steps, their lights jouncing, their hands sliding along the railing, drowning out the scampering of smaller, no less frightened feet up in the attic.