Darkness Falls

by A E Faulkner

  Chapter 27

  Jeff and Jasmine turn, rising to their feet, so I do too. As promised, Wes glides quietly toward us. He’s got to be at least six feet tall with a muscular build. How does he move around so stealthily? If I hadn’t seen him approach, I never would have heard him.

  “So,” Wes starts. “It seems the natives are restless.”

  We form a small circle around him as he elaborates. “It looks like the residents are arguing about evacuating the park. People are loading up cars and trying to convince others to come with them.”

  “Are they going to Dover Air Force Base?” I ask.

  “I think so.” Wes nods. “They’re saying something about going to the military and taking cover. Sounds like something is coming, something they’re trying to outrun.”

  I know it’s unlikely, but I have to ask. “Did you by any chance see Riley?” I draw in a breath, trying to fill my chest with air instead of hope.

  “Quinn,” he says as he leans back on his heels. “I only met Riley once and it was dark. I didn’t get a good look at her, but I remember thinking you two look alike and I didn’t see anyone there who looked like you.”

  I release my breath, both physically and mentally deflating. Aidan scratches his chin and asks Wes, “Any idea what’s got them all worked up? What’s making them hightail it out of there?”

  “I saw one old lady keep looking up at the sky like she was expecting it to fall or something,” Wes hunches a broad shoulder up. “Maybe they know this is gonna be a nasty storm? It sure feels like something’s brewing.”

  “Speaking of this weather, we can’t exactly sit around here just waiting for a storm to hit,” Jeff says. Aidan, Jeff, and Wes eye each other, communicating wordlessly.

  “Alright, if something’s going on to get everyone all riled up, maybe we should find out what it is,” Aidan says.

  “And, if something is coming,” Jeff adds. “We should find some cover.”

  “Look,” Jasmine states calmly. “I agreed to come here and help look for Riley, but if we’re not looking for her, I want to go back to the camp. It’s not much, but at least there aren’t people running around screaming at each other there.”

  Hmm, I guess she forgot about my little outburst earlier. No need to remind anyone of that.

  “You know what,” I start. “You guys should go back. I’m going to our trailer. I’ll look for Riley there, and if I can’t find her…I’ll think of something.” I turn my attention to each of the guys individually, letting my gaze slide past Jasmine completely. “Thanks for coming with me. Really. But you guys go back. There’s really nothing else you can do.”

  Relief flashes over both Jasmine’s and Wes’ face. That’s right, I think to myself, I am officially letting you off the hook. This traveling as a group thing is slowing me down anyway.

  “How about this?” Aidan proposes. “Jasmine, Jeff, and Wes go back to the campsite. If Riley does show up there, she’ll panic if she can’t find anyone. Quinn and I will stay here and figure out what’s going on. We’ll stay in the trailer and meet up with you guys in the morning.”

  “Aidan, you don’t have to stay,” I start. There is no way I’m leaving here until I know where my sister is, but this is my problem, no one else’s. Somehow Jasmine’s earlier words lit a fire that I won’t allow to extinguish. Before I can finish my thought, he cuts me off. “I know I don’t have to, but I am going to,” he says with finality.

  Jasmine raises her brow and smoothes her curly hair back but, thankfully, keeps quiet. When she turns on her heels and starts back toward their camp, Jeff and Wes stumble to catch up with her. They throw quick waves to us over their shoulders. “We’ll be back in the morning,” Jeff calls.

  “Well,” I say. “That was awkward.”

  Aidan smirks at me. “Just a little,” he agrees.

  A roar of thunder echoes in the distance. The leafy treetops meet an ashen sky. Facing me, Aidan asks, “So, you up for going to the trailer park?”

  “Yes!” I answer. “I don’t know many people there, but I have every right to be there. I just hope we don’t run into Jim and Dan...unless they have Riley...ugh. Let’s just go.”

  He follows me as I slink through the woods toward the outskirts of the park. I do have the right to be there, but I really don’t want to be accused of stealing any dirt bikes. Even though I did do it. I like Aidan’s choice of the word borrow better.

  We tiptoe into the park near Benny’s trailer, creep up the steps, and gently knock on the door. When I press my ear to the door, no movement echoes inside. Aidan taps me on the shoulder and whispers, “Someone’s coming over here.”

  Turning, my eyes fix on Cindy, who moves soundlessly toward us. Adjusting her glasses, she raises a single finger to her lips, as if to say, “Shh.” When she’s close enough, she grabs my hands. “Quinn, are you okay?” she asks. “Who’s this?” She jerks her head toward Aidan.

  In hushed tones we exchange information. I explain that Riley is missing, and Aidan is helping me look for her.

  She confirms that she hasn’t seen Riley, but that it has been chaotic. So, technically, Riley could be around here somewhere. My eyes uncontrollably wander over Cindy’s head, searching out movement. Cindy snaps my attention back to her at the mention of local police officers riding into the trailer park on motorcycles, calling an impromptu meeting with residents. Amid an arsenal of questions, they briefly explained that the highway was about halfway cleared, but the reason for their visit was to alert residents of a tornado warning.

  Scrunching my face in confusion, I ask, “Is that better or worse than a tornado watch?”

  Before she can answer, Aidan pipes up. “Well, if a watch is bad, consider a warning super-bad.”

  When I glare at him with narrowed eyes, he elaborates, “A tornado watch means that a tornado could form. But a warning means that a storm-cycle likely to cause a tornado showed up on radar—or one that caused a tornado somewhere else is now headed this way, so it’s pretty likely to happen here as well.”

  I want to question it even though he sounds pretty sure of himself. I know, it doesn’t really matter. The wind is starting to bat green leaves through the air, and every now and then a small branch bounces off me. It’s getting stronger.

  Aidan rolls his eyes and Cindy grabs my shoulder. “Quinn, you have to get to shelter. Don’t stay here. Trailer parks are like magnets for tornadoes. It’s not safe,” she pleads.

  “And what about Benny?” I ask. Just yesterday she told me Benny couldn’t leave, so how is he going to be safe?

  She straightens her glasses and pushes a lock of shoulder-length raven-black hair behind her ear. “Some of the neighbors loaded him up to take him to Dover,” she says. Worry radiates from her deep brown eyes. “Quinn, we just don’t have a choice anymore. The officers told everyone that a path is clear now along the highway’s shoulder. We can use that to reach the Air Force Base. I’m going with him, but they’ll have medical staff and equipment there. When it’s safe, we’ll come back as soon as we can.”

  She looks at me sadly. I know what’s coming next. “Why don’t you and your friend—” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.

  “No,” I say firmly. “Cindy, take care of Benny and tell him I’ll miss him. Aidan and I have to go now. I need to find my sister.”

  I don’t resist when she pulls me in for a quick hug. She whispers in my ear, “Be safe, honey.”

  Pulling away, I give her a quick nod in acknowledgement and then turn away and stride toward Aunt Grace’s trailer. I don’t look back.

  Chapter 28

  My brisk stride quickly morphs into a full-fledged run. I can’t help myself. We’re so close now. I don’t even bother sticking to the gravel road; I run through people’s yards, hurdling over plants and dodging lawn chairs. I can hear Aidan trying to keep up with me.

  I slow down only when I’m steps away from the porch. Digging in my bag, my fingers grasp the green flip-flop keychain that’
s always held this key. I fumble to unlock the door and then bolt inside.

  “Riley,” I scream, tearing down the hallway. I throw open the bedroom door and sweep my eyes across the room. No. She’s not here. I turn and retrace my steps, peeking in the bathroom before I shuffle past the kitchen toward the other bedroom.

  Aidan stumbles into the trailer, panting. “Thanks for waiting,” he huffs, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees. I brush past him calling, “Riley! Are you here?” The other bedroom door is already open, and when I peer inside, it’s just as we left it. The pink floral quilt lays smooth over the queen-sized bed. This bedroom has a small closet, but when I yank the wooden bifold door open, all that greets me is the dusty old upright vacuum cleaner and a spare yellow windbreaker, sagging limply on a hanger.

  Dammit. Somewhere deep down, I believed she’d be here. Next stop: Dan and Jim’s. I whirl around and start down the hallway to the living room. Aidan is sitting on the couch, staring out the door he left open. I move closer and search his face. Although he’s caught his breath, shadows linger under his eyes. I didn’t notice them before, but I haven’t really looked that closely until now.

  “Hey,” I say, “Riley’s not here. I need to run over to Dan and Jim’s. You know, see if she’s there.” I bend down to meet his gaze at eye level. “Why don’t you stay here and rest for a few minutes?” Just as I finish speaking, a rush of wind from the open door pushes past me, blowing stray wisps of hair into my face.

  I yank the ponytail holder from what’s become a bird’s nest of hair. It’s completely failed me. Swiping the hair away from my face, I focus on Aidan’s narrowing eyes. Their brilliant sky blue turns icy as he watches me intently. “Seriously, Quinn?” He pauses as if I’m supposed to know what his problem is.

  I mirror his narrowed eyes and wait. “There’s a freaking tornado out there,” he roars as he points to the open door. “We. Have. To. Leave. Now!” As if on cue, glass shatters down the hallway. I’m so startled I scream; something just crashed through a window. Flinching, I shift back on my heels. I guess he’s right, but it feels like giving up. I’ll never stop searching for my sister. Taking advantage of my momentary stupor, Aidan grabs my hand, pulling me along with him as he stands. “Come on,” he says in a husky voice. With that, he leads me out the door and stops abruptly. I watch mutely as he pulls the door closed tightly and turns the key I left dangling in the knob. Shoving it into his pocket, he grabs my hand and tugs me down the steps.

  Wind beats against us as we run along the gravel road. Aidan leads us toward the wooded path that I ran the day I met him. Maybe he wants to retreat from the open space within the trailer park. I don’t question where we’re going, I just follow him blindly, dodging flying debris.

  Our pace slows as swirling pebbles and dust muddy our vision. Booming thunder erupts. I’m not sure if my heartbeat or the wind rages in my ears. Whichever it is, it’s loud. The warm, wet air clings to my skin.

  When we break free of the trees’ cover, the white house with maroon shutters comes into view. Aidan points toward it. At this point, I really don’t care where we go, as long as we get out of this storm. The yard is feline-free now. I guess the cats are smarter than us. They probably sensed the storm coming and took cover hours ago.

  Aidan finally releases my hand. He must know I’m not a flight risk anymore. There’s no way I’m heading back to the trailer park in this storm. I follow on his heels as he charges up the sidewalk right to the front porch. My eyes land on the wooden porch swing, jolting back and forth. Its chains are powerless to the wind, which easily jostles the whole swing.

  When he starts pounding on the door, I glance at the sky. Any hint of sun has been subdued by a menacing wall of clouds. The looming gray haze exhibits a sickly green tint. As the door swings open, Aidan grabs my hand again, propelling us over the threshold.

  Chapter 29

  We burst into the house a dripping, breathless heap of limbs. I hear the door close behind us and my eyes search for whoever let us in. A silver-haired woman in a wheelchair watches us curiously. Still breathing heavy, Aidan reaches toward her with a hand extended. “Ma’am, thank you so much for opening the door,” he says.

  Our arrival has stirred up the four-legged residents. An orange tabby rubs up against my legs but backs away in disgust when it realizes my legs are wet. A black and orange calico sniffs my shoe.

  “I reckon you two kids are looking for somewhere to ride out the storm?” the lady asks gruffly. Her curly hair hangs just above her chin. She makes no move to cover up her white cotton nightgown swimming in pink flowers. When Aidan starts to answer, she cuts him off.

  “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better,” she says. “Follow me. We’ll get you dried off.”

  We jump out of the way as she drives her electric wheelchair past us and down a hallway. “I’m Rose,” she says in passing.

  The front entranceway is tidy, but as we follow her through the house, I notice that most of the rooms are stuffed with piles of boxes. I raise an eyebrow at Aidan. Maybe this woman’s a hoarder. She obviously likes to accumulate cats. Is she one of those people who can’t throw anything away?

  Other than the boxes, the house is a cheerful blend of pastel walls with perfectly-matched carpets. Each room we pass bears a floor-to-ceiling color theme–from the blue living room to the yellow kitchen to the mint-green dining room.

  When we reach a cotton-candy pink bathroom, the woman stops and points inside. “There are towels in the closet. Go ahead, grab some and dry off. Might want to clean those shoes too,” she mutters as her eyes track the mud trail our shoes left on the carpet.

  I make a mental note to clean our muddy tracks before we leave.

  A boom of thunder startles all three of us. Aidan and I hurry into the bathroom and dab our dripping hair and skin as best we can. Stark lightning flashes through the window, spurring us to finish up.

  When we rush back out to the hallway, Rose starts wheeling toward the door where we entered. “You kids better get down to the basement. Storm’s getting worse.” We follow her as she speeds past the living room. Maneuvering around a stack of boxes, she stops and swivels around to face us. Pointing at a door adjacent to the one we first burst through, she directs us. “Down there, kids. Basement’s the safest place in a storm like this. I’ll holler down when it’s passed.”

  Aidan and I glance at each other before he says, “You’re coming with us.”

  Rose chuckles. “Sweetie, I can’t go down there.” She pats the wheelchair frame. “This would make for a pretty bumpy ride, don’t ya think?”

  Another roll of thunder rumbles and glass shatters in a nearby room, wind screaming through the now-open space.

  I pull the basement door open as far as it goes and switch on the light. Aidan gives me a nod and we position ourselves on either side of Rose and bend down. “I wasn’t asking. I was telling you. You’re coming with us, Rose.”

  We each wrap an arm around her back and use our other arm to lift a leg. Rose lets out a startled cry. I swear I hear her say, “Jerry!” under her breath. Probably one of the cats. Oh well, he’ll have to fend for himself right now. There’s no time to search for him. We carefully lift her out of the chair but clumsily stumble down the steps. After we set her down on a dusty floral couch, Aidan races back up the stairs and slams the door closed.

  We both drop our backpacks to the floor and take a moment to catch our breath and assess our surroundings. Although it’s still audible, the thunder is muffled down here. The lightning is hindered by the lack of windows. The gray cinder block walls make for a beautiful, secure site.

  Aidan plops on the couch next to Rose, freeing the largest dust cloud I’ve ever seen. “So, in the last ten minutes, I’ve been more intimate with you two than I’ve been with anyone since my husband died,” Rose says casually. “I think it’s about time I know your names.”

  A nervous giggle slips past my lips as I slide into a nearby captain’s chair. Ai
dan extends a hand and says, “I’m Aidan.” After a proper handshake, he motions toward me, saying, “And this is Quinn.”

  With nowhere to go, we all settle in, allowing our conversation to drift from the distant past to the painful present. Rose explains the boxes cluttering the first floor. For years, her daughter Emily has been trying to convince her to move to a senior living community.

  Rose was able to stand her ground until she literally couldn’t any longer. After a fall last year, she ended up in the wheelchair and every day seemed to be harder than the last. Caring for the house and cats had started to overwhelm her.

  Last month, Rose finally agreed to move, so Emily and her husband started packing up her belongings and making arrangements for an animal rescue group to help find homes for all the cats.

  “Well, Rose, that’s a relief,” Aidan starts. Where is he going with this? She’s clearly emotional, don’t make it worse. “I was starting to wonder what else you collected besides boxes and cats.”

  Rose bursts into laughter and I’m swept up in it too. After a few minutes and a brief awkward silence, the tears streaming down her cheeks release sorrow. In this short time, she has been nothing but kind to us and I hate to see her upset. I rush over to the free side of the couch and place my hand on Rose’s back, trying to comfort her.

  “Oh, kids,” she sobs. “I don’t know how I’m gonna leave them all. My daughter, I know she loves me, but she’s got her own life. She’s busy. But these cats, they need me. They’re always here for me. And now I’m just gonna leave ‘em.” With that, she presses the palms of her wrinkly hands to her eyes, trying to blot the tears away.

  I turn a panicked gaze to Aidan, but he doesn’t even glance my way. He confidently slides closer to Rose, wraps an arm around her and sits like a sentry as she falls to pieces. He doesn’t say anything, he just comforts her while she cries. I guess that’s the best we can do for her right now. We’re all travelling along a path of loss. We can’t truly understand the depth of another’s despair, but at the very least we can offer simple human contact. Unspoken comfort.