by Dan Padavona
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not yet. But eventually, yes. We’re still trying to get an idea about the amount of damage and injuries. Once we know what we’re up against, I’m sure we’ll need volunteers to check on people, clear the streets of debris, and such. If you are headed out Evan’s way, I could use him and the Marks boy.”
“Speaking of which, I have his brother with me. He was thrown off his bike in front of the library, but it looks like he is all right. I’m trying to get him home to his parents.”
“I thought that was Benny Marks.” He leaned over and waved to the boy. “You doing okay, sport?”
“Yes, sir,” said Benny.
“We’ll get you home to your folks as soon as we can, but right now the west end of Jensen is impassable. There are trees on the road, and live high tension wires on the ground. As long as your mom and dad stay inside, they’ll be just fine. So you don’t need to worry about them. Can you be a brave boy and keep a watch on Miss Tennant for awhile?”
“Sure.”
“What about the northeast side?” she asked. “If I can get to the Moran farm, I can get Benny to his brother.”
“I don’t have reliable information on the east side yet, but the word is that Standish is open down toward the Last Stop,” said Greg. “Take it slow. It’s hard to see debris in the road now that the sun is down.”
“Thanks, Greg. If I can get out there, I’ll see that Evan and Randy check in with you.”
Renee pulled out and reversed her direction on Main Street.
The darkness encroaching on Main was interrupted by regular intervals of light pooling under street lamps. Shattered glass sparkled on the sidewalks, like glittering gems. When she reached Standish, she turned right to see that the traffic lights were functioning at the first two eastbound intersections, a good sign.
“We’ll get you to your brother in a few minutes.”
Benny stared at the blur of traffic lights. The low hum of the engine soothed him, and his eyes began to droop.
“Go ahead and rest. I’ll get you there.”
Chapter Four
As Renee Tennant pulled her car into the Moran farm driveway, the moon perched over the top of the hill forest, casting an eerie glow across the battered town. The hulking barn was gray along its southern and western walls in the moonlight. The front was obscured in shadow, its windows blank eyes.
One of the barn doors stood askew, but the house appeared to have escaped damage. Lamp light through the windows spilled in yellow tones onto the lawn.
Benny was fast asleep in the passenger seat, and Renee thought it best to let the boy rest.
When she exited the car, she gasped at Evan Moran in the barn doorway. His face was ashen, and there were white bandages wrapped around his forearms. As he turned and walked out the back exit of the barn without acknowledging her, Randy Marks met her at the top of the driveway, a cloth wrapped around his head. A tinge of red marred the cloth.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“It’s not bad. Just a cut,” said Randy.
He craned his neck toward her car, a look of stunned disbelief on his face.
“Is that my brother?”
“Yes. He was blown from his bike in front of the library. He’s fine. Just a little scared. I tried to bring him home, but the roads are closed up that way.”
Home.
He felt a cold dread wash over him.
“My brother will be safe with me.”
“Let him rest for a second. He could probably use it. What happened to Evan?”
“General didn’t make it. Mr. Moran is taking it pretty hard.”
“My God.”
“Part of the fence ripped out of the ground when the storm hit. It went right through him. At least it was quick. He didn’t suffer.”
“Evan must be devastated.”
“He’s out back burying General in the field. I told him to wait until tomorrow, but he wants to do it now.”
“Why don’t you go back and help him finish. The quicker it gets done, the sooner he’ll come around. I’ll bring Benny inside.”
Randy hesitated, and for a second Renee swore she saw desperation in his eyes. Then he blinked and appeared to gather himself.
“There are blankets in the closet. Just put him on the couch. I’ll check on him after.”
Renee opened the passenger door and carefully removed Benny. He stirred when she lifted him, then settled back into slumber.
“Randy?”
“Yes, Miss Tennant?”
“What happened to the town?”
“I reckon it was just a bad storm.”
“I never heard thunder.”
He paused and considered what she said.
“No, ma'am. It didn’t thunder here either.”
“Benny says there weren't any clouds in the sky.”
Randy’s eyes were fixated on the hatchback the Tennant woman had parked in the driveway. Had she left the keys in the ignition? The freak storm had been a blessing in disguise. Nobody would be digging up Calvin and Sue Marks with everything gone haywire. If he could just get Benny out of her arms and—
Renee jumped as Evan emerged from behind Randy. There were pinpricks of crimson on his face and forehead, his skin pocked by wind-driven debris.
“That's because there was no storm,” Evan said.
“What are you talking about? If there was no storm, then where did that wind come from?”
She held Benny in her arms, the boy’s chin resting on her shoulder.
Evan didn't answer. He just turned and looked at the black outline of the hill forest at the edge of town, his eyes haunted and distant.
Two
The night enveloped Maple Street. Streetlamps dropped pools of light onto the road and sidewalk, and the darkness pressed their borders inward. Porch lights threw beacons into the night, and they were swallowed whole. Sirens rose and fell across the town, their piercing cries like wails of terror.
The dark presence towered above the girl in the hidden seclusion of the Barrows' garden. Already, her tremors had begun. Skin regenerated where slabs of flesh had been devoured, and bite marks disappeared.
She would wake soon.
As a dog barked down the street, straining against its chain, its owner shushed it. The dog persisted, and when the man could no longer bear the sound, he yanked the dog into the house. He cussed at it, but the dog ignored him and scampered to the dining room window, where it barked at the backyard with greater ferocity. The man shook his head and wondered why he owned a dog at all.
Maple Street sat unaware. Light poured through residential windows, like searching eyes. But the eyes did not see what stalked behind the houses.
Tom Kingsley did not know how to console Jen Barrows. He distracted her with jokes, but her body shivered as though stricken with hypothermia. She was impounded by her own superstition, vulnerable and flailing against the cold steel bars of a cell.
As they sat together on the living room couch, he realized that he had been frightened, too.
It is funny how the mind can change a narrative to something it can more comfortably sleep with. He was no longer sure of what he had heard. Events and sounds mixed together, blurring memories. It was preposterous to believe he had heard Jen’s monster breaking out of the crawlspace. It wasn’t rational.
While the smell of buttered popcorn wafted through the downstairs, he left her for a moment to grab two bowls out of the kitchen cupboard. He filled each with popcorn and grabbed two plastic cups and a bottle of Coke.
“I'm hungry. Let's eat,” he said as he entered the living room.
As her eyes drifted to the front door, she saw that the lock was set on the door knob and that the top bolt was in place. Sirens wailed along the south and east sides of town.
The brunt of the storm had missed Maple Street, though Tom remained convinced that the sound of wood planks snapping in the crawlspace had been caused by the wind. Jen r
eminded him that they had heard the planks snap before the wind started. He had no answer for that.
“I hope my parents are okay,” she said.
“They're fine, Jen. You said yourself that they wouldn’t be back until late. It’s going to take longer if the roads are closed. At least they were out of town when the storm hit.”
Her eyes started to look more lucid, and her body steadied. He knew she would come around once she realized that her family was safe.
She picked at the popcorn and poured herself a drink, and the cola foamed to the top of the cup and fell back before spilling over. Tom sat back against the couch, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Just don't leave me alone tonight,” she said.
“I won't.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise. I'll stay with you, no matter how long it takes.”
Her hair caressed his skin like strands of fine silk. Feeling warm inside, he realized that he had never been so close to her, and it meant more than he could express that she trusted him to watch over her.
He felt a little guilty as he imagined where this might lead, alone in the house. He wanted to kiss her and to tell Jen how he felt about her, but he knew this wasn't the time. What if she told him that she felt the same way about him? Could he believe that she meant it and wasn't clouded by the temporary frailty of her emotions?
He carefully put an arm around her and held her close. His hand brushed at her face, feeling the damp residue of tears drying.
“There's nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” she said, but he didn't think she meant it.
He clicked the remote control, and the big tube television flickered to life on the opposite side of the room. The screen was covered in snow. He scanned through the channels but found no signal.
“Cable must be out, too. At least the power is still on,” he said.
The thought of the power going out, plunging the house into darkness, sent a chill down her back. There were candles and matches in the glass cabinet in the dining room. She thought that she should get them out now, just in case.
“Why don't we watch a video instead?”
“Okay,” she said.
She pushed herself up from the couch and opened the doors to the entertainment center. She cringed at the large selection of horror movies – Halloween, Friday the 13th, When a Stranger Calls. She liked a good scary movie as much as anyone, but not tonight. She picked out Sixteen Candles and popped it into the VCR.
While the movie previews started, she retrieved two candles and a pack of matches from the dining room cabinet. Then she went into the kitchen and opened the basement door. When she flipped on the light switch, the shadows retreated down the staircase, and she grabbed a four battery flashlight off the shelf. The metal flashlight took 'C' batteries and felt heavy in her hand.
When she pressed the button to confirm the batteries were fresh, a beam of light sufficient to land a small aircraft reflected off the kitchen cabinets. Satisfied she had covered all bases, she returned to Tom in the living room.
“I think you are adequately prepared for all eventualities,” he said, as she placed the flashlight and candles on the end table.
“Shut up, Tom Kingsley.” She sat next to him and turned up the volume with the remote. “One of us has to be prepared.”
There came on a knock on the front door. It caught them by surprise. He guiltily slid a few feet away from Jen, wondering if her parents had returned early.
“I’ll see who it is,” he said.
As he walked to the door, he wondered who would be knocking on the Barrows’ door after dark with so much trouble occurring across town.
Jen grasped the flashlight and considered the feel of its solid mass in her hand. The business end of the flashlight would make a reasonable weapon if it came to that.
Tom unlatched the bolt and opened the front door. Donna Kingsley stared back at him through the screen door. She was smoking. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his mother with a cigarette.
“Don’t you think you should come home now, Thomas?” Donna looked past Tom to the empty rooms downstairs. “I don’t approve of you being here when her parents aren’t home. What will people think?”
“That’s why I’m here, Mom. With everything that’s happening in town, I didn’t think she should be left alone.”
“Aren’t you chivalrous?” Distaste was on her face. “I want you home in ten minutes.”
“Then she comes and stays with us until her parents get home.”
“I think Jen is a big enough girl to stay alone for a few hours.”
Jen appeared next to Tom, holding the flashlight.
“Good evening, Mrs. Kingsley,” she said.
“Good evening, Jen. I was just telling Thomas that I don’t think it is right for the two of you to be in the house alone together. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t approve.”
“Yes, ma’am. I asked Tom to stay with me. He knew you were expecting him to come home, but I didn’t want to be alone with everything going crazy tonight. This is all my fault. I’m really sorry.”
“Even so, you know how people talk. It doesn’t look right for the two of you to be in there, doing who knows what.”
“We were just watching a movie and making popcorn. I promise that’s all we were doing.”
“That’s all, Mom,” he said. “It’s just until her parents get home. Which should be soon if the roads into town are open.”
Donna sighed.
“All right. I don’t feel comfortable with this. If your parents are angry I won’t be able to help you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand,” said Jen.
“Thomas, I want you home as soon as her parents get back. And I want you to check in with me after the movie is done.”
“I will, Mom.”
“And you had better not be up to anything other than watching the movie. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kingsley. And thank you for letting Tom stay.”
Donna Kingsley eyed both of them, and as she turned back toward her house, Tom closed the door and latched the bolt with a loud pop. He smiled at Jen.
“I can’t believe she let me stay.”
“My God. She really hates me, doesn’t she?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“I totally think she does.”
“She just gets that way. Don’t take it personally. I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Jen shrugged her shoulders and carried the flashlight back to the couch.
“You look like you are disappointed that you didn’t get to hammer someone with that ridiculously huge flashlight of yours.”
“Like I said, Tom Kingsley – one of us has to be prepared.”
“Up yours.”
“Watch yourself. I know how to use this thing.”
While they sat side by side, Molly Ringwald dealt with the reality of her family forgetting her birthday. Tom and Jen munched on popcorn and snickered at the television, while the screen cast blue tones against the walls, like breakers against a beach.
He was relieved that she was back to her old self.
Three
Rory Dickson fought his way to the police department through a maze of reroutes, fallen trees, and downed live wires that hissed sparks like dragon fire.
When he finally arrived, there was nobody more relieved to see him than Greg Madsen. As far as the young chief was concerned, Dickson was the unofficial second-in-command in Storberry. Madsen relied on him most in times of trouble, and this was one such time.
Dickson had a no-nonsense approach. He hadn't attended college, but he had a master's degrees in common sense and street smarts. Possessing the ability to make clear-headed decisions when others were panicking, he was at his best under pressure.
It had been five years prior on a sultry May afternoon that Dickson
had shown his chops. The sky had been full of clouds, which built like battlements in the western sky. A tornado watch stretched from central Virginia into the Carolinas. Madsen had known the odds, that a tornado the width of a football field inside of a watch that covered three states was a veritable needle in a haystack. Even if ten monsters touched down, the odds of his town getting hit were less than winning the state lottery.
He had felt a sense of foreboding, nonetheless, and at precisely 2:18 pm, the impossible happened. The ham radio network had spotted a tornado four miles outside of town, barreling toward the heart of Storberry. And it wasn't just a tornado. It was a half-mile wide monster with a maw choked full of dirt, trees, and roof tops. Its forward path was taking it directly at the central school, where buses were lined up like cord wood preparing for school to release.
Hundreds of children were going to be caught in a fury of glass and debris spinning at 200 mph. The consequences were unthinkable.
Back in those days the nearest NOAA emergency weather radio station was broadcast out of Norfolk, nearly fifty miles away. In clear weather, the signal was rife with static and had a distant quality, as though transmitting from another dimension. In stormy weather, you couldn't pull in the Norfolk signal if your life depended on it, which was the case on this day. The weather radio in the principal's office of the Storberry Central School lost the Norfolk signal during lunch and never emitted an alert tone. The school had no idea of the whirling monster headed its way.
While Art Stults tried to call the school, the tornado targeted the phone lines at the edge of town with a precision military strike. While Stults banged on the receiver, trying to summon a dial tone through blunt force, Dickson swung into action.
He had less than two minutes, he figured, to prevent catastrophe. Two minutes to inform the school, and another three to five minutes on their end to usher a few hundred panicked students back into the building and into the lowest corridor.
In those two minutes he expertly utilized the ham network, the only working communications in all of Storberry, to present the danger, map out the projected path, and determine the network member closest to the school. It had been Pete Cutler. Madsen would be damned if Dickson hadn't kept Cutler calm while barking out clear orders.