When the world went straight again—or possibly, Trudy realized, it was straight when she saw the swamp, and now it had returned to its normal crookedness—she stepped around a wall of fire and said, “I can prove it.”
“No,” Otto said, but the lighting and the fire from heaven had made everyone less willing to judge. Trudy understood. The message had been clear enough for all of them to read. Maybe even Otto, though she suspected he was ignoring it, in favor of protecting his own interests.
The rain had stopped, the thunder only rolled distantly like someone snoring in another room, and Trudy knew this was the calm before the real storm.
“My dream,” she said. “I never finished telling you about it. After I dreamed that my husband told me he’d killed Simpson, the next night, I dreamed that Otto was in my bed.”
There was a gasp. People were listening again, talking, saying how that was a whore’s dream and no message from God could be delivered to a whore.
“I didn’t want him there,” she said. “He was taking advantage of me. I asked him why. I had a husband, a good man. Though that last part was a lie, which only goes to prove that we lie in our dreams, I think.
“He responded by telling me my husband was dead. He told me he’d killed him for killing Simpson. He told me he loved Simpson, in a way that was unclean.”
She paused for the gasps to subside.
“I asked him to show me James’s body. He brought me here and showed how cleverly he’d hid it in the bushes. Then he showed me the last detail. The one I’ll show you now.”
“What is it?” Franklin said. Earl Talbot and his wife leaned forward, expectant.
“The hatchet Otto killed him with. If my dream is correct, and so far it’s been correct in every way, you’ll find it under his house. In the back.”
Franklin broke off at a run. Everyone else stayed where they were.
“If he finds it,” she said, “then I propose we ask Otto to leave immediately.” Then she glanced at the sky. “After that, we should all go to the storm shelter. The ones that can’t fit should go to the cellar of my house. When this storm passes, Broken Branch is dead. People may leave without fear of retribution. The real killers are gone.”
No one said anything. Instead, they waited as the fires around them burned. Trudy thought about Rodney and Mary. She hoped they were okay. She couldn’t help but remember the correlation between Rodney’s spells and storms, but hoped that those days were over. He’d been without an attack—as far as she knew—since before she went to the storm shelter.
Ben came up to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For taking so long. For being so afraid.”
“It’s not over yet. There still might be plenty of chances to be afraid.”
“Yeah, but I’ve learned.”
“Good.” She hesitated, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention. No one appeared to notice them at all, as they were more concerned with brushing themselves off and avoiding the spreading fire. Earl Talbot had a hold of Otto now, and Rachel was pleading with him to let her husband go. For his part, Otto said nothing. Trudy decided it might be possible that he knew when he was beaten.
“When this is over,” she said, whispering to Ben, “you and Maggie should come with us.”
He glanced at Eugenia. She stood glancing back and forth between the fire that raged nearby and Otto.
“Okay.” Then he leaned closer and, for a second, she believed he might kiss her. But instead, he whispered, “Is it true? The dreams?”
She started to tell him the truth, but something stopped her. “Yes, the dreams were true.”
Before Ben could respond, two things happened almost instantaneously. First, the wind picked up. It picked up hard and fast, like it was angry, like it was a message saying that it wasn’t finished yet. The trees rattled and then their limbs broke. People screamed as limbs flew into them and past them into the fires. A large tree branch snapped and spun across the clearing, narrowly missing Trudy and Ben. Someone—Trudy thought it might have been Mable Davis—was lifted off the ground and tossed over the fire, screaming.
The next thing came as soon as the wind died to an eerie standstill.
Franklin stood at the edge of the clearing, holding the hatchet. There was still dried blood on the blade.
Eugenia began to scream as Earl Talbot manhandled Otto toward the trees and the deeper woods. The throng of people pulsed behind him like a great wave and, when Earl let him go, Otto turned back to face the wave. He looked for a brief moment like he was about to try to wade through it, but then he must have decided it would be too much for him to overcome. For just a second, Trudy glimpsed that he was as confused as she was, that he had, in fact, been just as confused the whole time.
“I hope you all burn in hell,” he said and, with that, turned and ran away from Broken Branch forever.
53
What followed seemed unfair and made Trudy want to curse God, so she did. She wouldn’t let fear of anything hold her back again.
What followed was a storm unlike any she’d ever seen.
They heard it before they felt it. They felt it before they saw it. By they time they put their eyes on the trees breaking like matchsticks, they were moving back toward their homes, toward the storm shelter, buoyed by the insistent wind, the loud crashing that seemed to well up from the forest like a primal roar.
Trudy lost Ben. She lost everyone and ran as fast as she could, thinking only of Mary and Rodney and getting them to the shelter.
All around her, people screamed, and she was aware of their voices flying through the air like streaks of white sound, and she knew the wind had gotten them, its fingers slipping through the trees and flicking them like ants. She felt a finger on her back too, but she moved left and it caught a tree, splitting it in half. She ran faster, and as she approached the creek, she saw a waterspout had erupted from the flow. It stood up straight like a crystal funnel. She ran past it, feeling the wind lift her, and she slipped. When she landed, her face was in the mud, her hair tangled in a loop around her neck, but she felt okay enough to keep going, or maybe she only pretended she did. Either way, she ran again, and when she made it to the clearing, she saw she’d managed to beat the storm. The clearing was calm; not a leaf in the old oak tree even moved.
She ran inside the house and shouted for Rodney and Mary.
Rodney came out from the room in back. He had tears on his face. “I thought you were dead, Momma.”
She knelt and, when he came to her, she wrapped her arms around him. “No. I’m here. Where’s Mary?”
“I think she’s playing with Maggie.”
“We need to get her.” She picked him up and started toward the door.
“There’s a storm coming, isn’t there, Momma?”
“Yes.”
“It’s my fault.”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because I feel the demon in me again. I feel the spell happening.” He buried his face in her neck and began to sob. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stop it, Momma. I wish I could.”
“There are some things you just have to fight even when you know you can’t stop them, Rodney.” And as soon as she’d said it, the twister reached the clearing. Otto’s house was first. It flew away, like it had sprouted invisible wings. One moment it was there, and the next, it jumped into the sky. She watched it as it rose higher and higher. It reached a dark blot in the sky, a churning dark cloud blot, and when it did, it exploded.
Pieces of it began to rain down over the clearing.
She ran for Ben’s house to get Mary and Maggie and nearly bumped into Ben.
“The shelter is that way!” he screamed.
“Mary is in your house!”
“Go ahead. I’ll bring them bot
h!”
Trudy didn’t hesitate. She believed him. Besides, he’d be able to get in more quickly than she would.
She arrived at the shelter just as Earl Talbot climbed in. She was lowering Rodney to the ladder when Franklin pushed them out of the way. He climbed in and Trudy had to catch the door to keep him from closing it.
“Get in,” she said, holding it open. Rodney climbed inside. Trudy turned to see Ben coming across the clearing holding both girls. Behind him was a black twister too wide for the scope of Trudy’s eyes to take in. It would destroy everything. She was certain of it.
She tried to hold the door open, to wait for them, but the wind knocked her over, and her body fell into the dark hole with the others.
The hatch blew closed overhead and all that remained was the darkness.
54
Trudy became aware of a few things. First, no one was speaking. Second, there was a sound, something scratching in the dirt. It was repetitive and seemed to be growing louder. The third thing was the worst. Ben and the two girls hadn’t made it. She couldn’t be sure because of the darkness, but she feared many people had not made it.
The scratching sound grew more insistent and someone lit a match. Franklin’s face appeared behind the flickering glow.
“What’s that sound?” he said and slowly moved the match toward it.
Trudy held her breath because she knew exactly what the sound was.
First Rodney’s leg came into view. It trembled against the earthen floor and the other one shook even harder.
“God help us,” Franklin said. “God help us all.” He continued to move the match along the length of Rodney’s body until he reached his face and everyone saw the spittle at the corners of his mouth, the whites of his rolled eyes.
Franklin dropped the match, and Trudy wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been burned by it or because of what he saw. Someone blew it out and they were in the dark again.
“He’s okay,” Trudy said. “It’s just a spell. It will be over soon.”
“It’s not natural,” a voice said. Trudy couldn’t tell if it was Earl or Franklin. It didn’t matter. Their fear controlled them.
“It is natural. Don’t be afraid of what you can’t understand,” she said, trying to remain calm, even as her worst nightmare unfolded in front of her.
“It’s not natural,” came another voice. Was that Rachel? “It’s a demon. It’s why the storm is upon us. Can’t you see that?”
“No,” Trudy said. “It’s just your fear.” But her words fell flat. Her moment was gone. She held nothing else in reserve to awe or frighten them.
Another match was lit. “Help me get him out, Earl.”
She would fight them. She’d kill them if necessary.
Trudy flung herself at the light, but strong hands held her back.
She screamed and flailed in the darkness, but whoever had her—Earl or Franklin—was too strong, and she watched as the hatch opened above them. She watched as Rodney’s writhing body was lifted up and placed on the outside, where she saw that the sky still swirled like a dark current. When the hatch was shut, the hands let her go.
Trudy scrambled to the ladder and began to climb.
55
She knew it was suicide, but she had no reason to continue living without her children. When she reached the top, she saw that Rodney’s convulsions had gotten worse, and so had the storm. The houses were being shattered by the twister, which seemed to have set itself down right in the clearing. It was in no hurry, content instead to just twist and destroy.
She picked up Rodney and struggled toward the only other place she knew—her house and the cellar James had constructed so many years ago, back before being cautious about the weather was a sign of weakness, a sign that you didn’t trust God.
As she began to struggle across the clearing, sure that they wouldn’t make it, she heard Mary.
She whipped around and saw Mary and Maggie huddled against a fallen oak. A boot stuck out next to the girls and she knew it belonged to Ben. She heard his voice from the other side of the trunk, cajoling the girls to run on to the shelter.
Trudy called out to them too, but her voice was lost in a blast of wind from the twister. It didn’t matter. Both girls were moving now, and Trudy felt a surge of relief as she saw them reach for the shelter door together. They beat their fists on the hatch until it opened and they were able to climb inside.
She thought about going back for Ben, but their time was running out. The twister was churning up Ben’s house now, and she knew it would take out hers next. She held Rodney tight as he shivered and began to sprint to the small cellar beneath her house.
56
They lay in the cellar for a long time, and even slept before Trudy stood to try the door. Not surprisingly, it didn’t budge. She’d heard the house come apart shortly after they’d climbed down into the darkness, and she knew that something heavy had landed on the only way out. It might have been the stove, but was more likely a tree. Still, there was water pouring in through the cracks, and Trudy drank deeply before she lay back down.
It wasn’t until much later—after another long sleep—that she realized part of the wooden door above them was broken. It was a fist-sized hole, not big enough to matter much. It did allow a little light through, enough that Trudy knew it was morning.
She looked at Rodney, who still slept across from her. Somehow they’d survived. When they got out, they’d find Mary and maybe Maggie too. Then they’d leave this place forever. Rodney wasn’t right. Not just the spells. She knew he had his father in him, a fear that might drive him to meanness, to hate even, but she thought she could love it out of him, or at least teach him how to keep it at bay.
When he woke, she started by describing the swamp. Even though she’d only just glimpsed it, she’d felt it nestle deep within her, and somehow it became more real than anything else she’d ever experienced.
He listened, but didn’t say much.
She told it to him again, hoping it would be like a balm to him, a place where he could find God, and know that vengeance was an idea of man’s and not God’s.
But there was the gator.
She closed her eyes and tried to go there. She tried to see the gator again. The last time, it had been coming toward her, but when she found the swamp in her mind’s eye, it was gone, the swamp water still, the sky a peaceful dusk just before a blazing night of stars.
She decided the gator was like the demon she’d felt when she killed James. Just a name for what we do to each other.
57
Later as her eyes adjusted to the half-light, she watched Rodney, asleep again in the corner of the cellar. She loved him so much, yet she felt no peace when she looked at him. She was afraid for him, she realized. Deeply afraid.
Her eyes traveled around the cellar until they fell on an old wooden crate. Her old notebooks from years ago were inside. She struggled to her feet, surprised and a little worried by how weak she felt. She made it to the crate and dug inside, pleased to find one of the notebooks with empty pages in the back. In the very bottom of the crate, beneath a dozen or so notebooks, was her old fountain pen. She pulled it out, shaking it hard, licking the tip, and testing it on a blank page. It blotted and then flowed smoothly.
She went back to the cellar hatch and drank some more of the water trickling from the hatch before sitting down and beginning to write.
She wrote until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Rodney didn’t make a sound.
58
The next time she woke, it was because her stomach rolled over and she felt a burning acid coming up her throat. She let it out in the corner and then immediately felt another bout coming.
“Are you okay, Momma?” Rodney said.
She nodded, but she was lying. “Don’t drink the water,” she said. “No matter how—” But she couldn’t finish the thought
because she was vomiting again. All at once, it seemed as if she couldn’t do anything else.
59
Later, when she couldn’t tell if she was in the cellar or the swamp or maybe she was back in the storm shelter, she heard Rodney’s voice.
He spoke of the attacks and the storms. He spoke of God’s deep rage at him, at people in general, the way he felt like God wanted him to cleanse the earth. He told her he was sorry that she was dying because he didn’t know what he’d do without her.
He asked her where his father was.
“Gone away,” she said in her delirium. “He never loved you none, but I did, Rodney. I swear I always loved you. I love you so much I want you to see the swamp. It’s a beautiful place.”
“What happened to Otto?”
“He left too.”
Rodney seemed to take this in. “Is God real?”
But Trudy felt too weak to answer. Or maybe, the truth was, she didn’t know the answer. Either way, she felt herself slipping. She felt herself almost there, but not quite, as if her consciousness had been split into two equal parts and she could still hear her son talk, but she could see the swamp and the little cabin with the light burning inside.
“I’m angry, Momma,” he said. “I’m so angry. Hold me, and make me feel better.”
But she couldn’t. All she could manage was to push the journal that lay beside her in his direction. Maybe that’ll be enough to make a difference, she thought. She knew she should have said something, done something, but that time had passed. She’d done the best she could and she knew that in many ways it wasn’t enough, that she was leaving her children to a cruel world where most people either ignored the thing greater than them or twisted it into a hard mess of wire and lies good for strangling and holding but not much else.
Broken Branch Page 10