Praying for Rain

by BB Easton

  “Did you see that?” I ask without taking my eyes off the screen.

  “See what?”

  “That banner.”

  Rain looks around the room. “Where?”

  “Not here.” I point to the screen. “In the movie.”

  “Really?”

  I set her on her feet and stand up. “We should go.”

  “Why? We just got here.”

  “Because …” I gesture toward the screen as Jason Momoa snatches the bottle from the bartender and begins to chug. Then, I do a double take. The label on the bottle reads April 23. “Rain! Look!”

  But, by the time she swings her head toward the screen, Jason has already smashed the bottle on the ground.

  “Wes, I don’t see anything.”

  “I think that’s the point.”

  I grab her hand and sprint out of the auditorium and toward the main exit. The second we enter the lobby, four black-and-red banners unfurl from the ceiling, separating us from our escape. We’re running too fast to stop, so I sweep my arm out to push one aside … and watch the image of the horseman dissolve into tiny pixels of light around my hand. I turn around, but from behind, it looks just as real as the others.

  “Wes, come on!”

  Rain is tugging on my arm, but I barely feel it as I stare at the back of the floor-to-ceiling strip of fabric. Reaching out, I run my fingers along the surface again. I feel absolutely nothing as they pass through, leaving a digital trail of multicolored pixels in their wake.

  “Look.” I do it again, this time sticking my whole arm through. “It’s not real.”

  “Is that real?” The terror in her voice grabs my attention.

  I swing my head around as the double doors burst open, and a smoke-spewing horse from hell charges through. The faceless, hooded motherfucker on his back swings his steel sword over his head in a flourish of swoops. I manage to push Rain out of the way before he strikes, closing my eyes and bracing for impalement, but when his blade slices through me, it feels like nothing more than a whoosh of air.

  By the time I open my eyes, the horseman, the banners, all of it is gone.

  It’s just me and Rain and a profound revelation.

  None of this is real.

  When I open my eyes, it takes me a minute to remember where I am. It’s dark outside, and I’m sore as fuck—both from digging graves all day and from sleeping on a plywood floor.

  And probably from a few of the positions I twisted Rain into before I passed out.

  I sit up and find her sitting with her back against the wall of the tree house and her legs straight out in front of her. She’s staring out the entrance, lost in thought. That is, until I stretch and five different joints all crack at once.

  She jumps and turns toward me, her shoulders sagging in relief a moment later. “I was wondering when you were gonna wake up.”

  “I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep,” I grumble, rubbing the back of my neck. “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know. An hour, maybe two?”

  “And still no horsemen, huh?”

  Rain shakes her head. “I’ve been hearing gunshots in the distance but no hooves. This shit is killing me, Wes. It wasn’t so bad when you were awake and …” She drops her eyes, and I can almost see her blush in the dark. “But, the whole time you were asleep, I’ve just been sitting here, waiting for the world to end. Why hasn’t it happened yet? What the fuck are they waiting for?” Her voice cracks at the end, and I know it won’t be long before she cracks, too.

  I crawl over to her and kiss her worried brow. “I had a dream just now; it was like the nightmare, but … I think it was trying to tell me something. Come on.” I kiss her again before climbing down the ladder.

  “No, Wes! Where are you going?” she shrieks, peering down at me. The whites of her wide eyes almost glow in the dark as they jerk left and right, looking for any sign of danger.

  “I’m going to prove to you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Come on.”

  Rain climbs down the ladder on trusting, trembling legs and holds my hand like a vise as we walk across the yard. The sounds of faraway gunshots and howling dogs and shattering glass tell me that I might have spoken too soon. Just because the horsemen aren’t real doesn’t change the fact that the whole world has lost its goddamn mind.

  We still have plenty to be afraid of.

  I pull the flashlight from my pocket and light our way as we enter through the back door, careful not to shine it anywhere near the mangled recliner. I lead Rain upstairs and feel her sweaty palm begin to shake in my grasp.

  God, I hope I’m right.

  We head into her room where she immediately shuts and locks the door behind us. Her hands are covering the lower half of her face, and it looks like she’s on the verge of hysterics.

  “Wes, just tell me what the hell is going on! Please!”

  I grab her phone off the nightstand and swipe it open as quickly as possible. “I have to show you.”

  “The cell towers are down, remember? There’s no service.”

  “You were listening to music earlier,” I say, hunting for the app.

  “Just what I have saved on my phone.”

  There.

  I press the blue music note icon and find what I’m looking for. Turning the screen toward Rain, I point to the little black dot I noticed last night when I paused that incessant fucking song.

  She crosses the room and stares at it in confusion.

  “That’s just a blown-out pixel.” The screen illuminates the disappointment on her face.

  “Maybe.”

  I turn the phone back around and take a screenshot of the music app. Using the camera tool, I zoom in on the image as much as I can. Then, I save it and zoom in on the second version even more. Sure enough, once it’s large enough, the blip takes on the unmistakable silhouette that’s been haunting our dreams for almost a year.

  Rain’s mouth falls open as she sees the image take shape. “What does it mean?”

  “It means someone’s fucking with us.” I begin opening and closing every app on her phone, searching for more abnormalities. It doesn’t take long to find another one. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  I turn the phone toward her. “Open Instagram and pay attention to what you see before the feed comes up.” I watch her face as a red light splashes across it. “Did you see it?”

  Her eyes are two perfect circles as they lift back to mine. “Was that the banner?”

  “It flashed too fast to be sure, but I know it was red and black.”

  Rain sits on the bed next to me and stares at the floor, taking it all in. “So, you’re saying somebody’s been planting these images in our heads?”

  I nod, feeling sick to my stomach. “Subliminal messaging. And this is just what we can find on your phone. I’m sure we were being exposed to way more through TVs and tablets and—”

  “Billboards.”

  Rain and I lock eyes as we try to make sense of our new reality.

  “Who would do this?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. Could be anyone from a couple of hackers on a power trip to some third-world dictator trying to destroy modernized society.”

  “So, does this mean the apocalypse isn’t coming? It was all just a sick joke to make us go crazy?”

  I illuminate the screen on her phone again, turning it toward her so that she can see the clock for herself. “Considering that it’s after midnight, I think it’s safe to say that the apocalypse isn’t coming.”

  “April twenty-fourth.” Her voice is barely a whisper as I watch her face go through the entire range of human emotion, illuminated by the digital glow. Relief. Elation. Grief. Regret. Then, as the sound of approaching destruction begins to rise in the distance, pure, unfiltered dread.

  The sound is like a never-ending car accident—metal scraping metal, crunching glass, and squealing steel.

  And it’s getting closer.

  “Pack your shit a
nd get ready to run,” I snap, thrusting the phone into her hand. “Does your dad have any more guns?”

  She nods blankly. “In the master closet.”

  I run across the hall with my flashlight, holding my breath to cope with the lingering stench of death in the room. Throwing open the closet door, I shine my light in all directions, not knowing where to look. There are scrubs and shoes and suits and dresses and—

  Bingo.

  The light lands on a black briefcase sitting on the floor next to the door—the kind that takes a code to open. Luckily, I have the code—in the form of a pocketknife. Jamming my blade underneath the brass plate, I pop the case open in three seconds flat, and the sight inside takes my breath away.

  A Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum. Six-inch barrel. Black with a wooden grip.

  Rain’s dad must have been a Dirty Harry fan.

  I lift the beast out of the molded foam cutout it’s nestled into and check the cylinder.

  And it’s fully fucking loaded.

  I shake my head in disbelief and kiss the barrel before tucking it into my holster.

  For some reason, God likes me today. I hope I don’t fuck it up.

  When I get back to Rain’s room, she’s kneeling in front of her open window, gripping the ledge as she waits for whatever the fuck is coming. Her backpack is on her shoulders, almost bursting, and I can see that she’s wearing a hoodie underneath it.

  I cross the room and lean against the wall next to the window. “That sweatshirt had better not have a Twenty One Pilots logo on it.” I smirk.

  Rain looks up at me with fear carved into her beautiful face. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

  From here, I can see that the sweatshirt says Franklin Springs High.

  Thank fuck.

  I bend over and kiss her worried, wrinkled little forehead. “Try to relax, okay? The horsemen aren’t real. Whatever is coming, it’s human. And, if it’s human”—I pull the left side of my Hawaiian shirt open to show her my newest acquisition—“we can kill it.”

  Rain’s shoulders sag as she gives me a brave nod. “Sit.”

  She pats the carpet, and I notice a fresh bandage, antibiotic ointment, a pill, and a glass of water laid out on a paper towel beside her.

  The sight makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the heart.

  “Wes?”

  I bite my lip and try to focus on the grinding, crashing, squealing noises approaching outside and not the stinging sensation behind my eyes.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  Baby.

  I’ve never been anybody’s fucking baby, not even when I was a baby. But, for some fucked up reason that I don’t understand, I’m hers. Maybe, one day, being treated like I matter won’t hurt so goddamn much, but I hope not. I hope it guts me every time, forever, as a reminder that this girl is a fucking miracle.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, clearing my throat as I drop to my knees beside her.

  Rain gives me a shy smile as she goes to work on my arm, jumping a little from the grinding, gnashing, crashing sounds getting closer outside. I pop the Keflex into my mouth and swallow it without taking my eyes off her.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks, looking up at me through her long, dark lashes.

  “Because I fucking love you.”

  The smile on her face lights up the dark room. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I suddenly can’t wait for whatever is coming to get here so that I can kill it and turn its teeth into jewelry for her to wear.

  Especially when another crash makes her gasp and cover that beautiful smile with both hands.

  We look back outside as lights illuminate the highway. The overturned Corolla to the right of the driveway begins to lurch and move, scraping across the asphalt as Rain’s eyes lift to mine.

  “Listen to me.” I cup her face in my hands, stealing her attention. Commanding it. “The horsemen aren’t real. Do you hear me? Whatever that is, people are behind it. People who are gonna fucking die if they try to hurt a hair on your head.”

  Rain nods as the lurching sedan at the end of her driveway rolls sideways and takes out her mailbox. We both turn at the same time, watching as the force behind the shove comes into view.

  “Is that a—”

  “Bulldozer!” Rain takes off like a shot.

  I grab my flashlight and take off after her, but by the time I make it downstairs, the front door is already wide open.

  “Fuck! Rain, stop!”

  I don’t catch up to her until she’s almost at the end of her driveway, jumping up and down and waving her arms. The bulldozer slows down as I dart in front of her, shoving her behind my back and grabbing the revolver under my arm.

  “Well, got-damn!” a voice shouts from the cabin of the idling machine.

  I shine my flashlight toward it and find Quinton and Lamar—the brothers from the hardware store—shielding their eyes from the beam.

  I lower the light but keep my hand on my gun.

  “You got it working!” Rain yells, jumping up and down behind me.

  “I told y’all we weren’t gonna get no damn flat!” Lamar shouts over the snarling engine.

  “Finally got the damn thing up and runnin’,” Quinton adds, “and none too soon. Rednecks in town done lost their damn minds.”

  “We’re getting the fuck outta here,” Lamar adds. “Y’all comin’?”

  “Yes!” Rain shouts, peeking out from around my arm.

  Quinton gives her a little salute, and I don’t know if I want to blow his head off for looking at her like that or pat him on the back for making her so damn happy. Personally, I don’t give a shit if we stay or go. As long as Rain is with me, we could live in a hollowed-out tree for all I fucking care. Supplies, shelter, self-defense—those are just icing on the vanilla-flavored cake now.

  “We’ll be right behind ya.” I holster my gun and give the guys a nod.

  I don’t trust them—I don’t trust anybody with a dick around my girl—but the survivor in me recognizes a good resource when it sees one.

  I follow Rain as she tears back into the house, flying through the kitchen and into the garage. I shine the light ahead of me as I step into the musty, humid space and find a very excited Rain standing next to a very badass Kawasaki Ninja.

  “Do you know how to drive it?” she asks, the contents of her backpack jostling with every bounce. “My mom never taught me.”

  “Fuck yeah, I do.” I grin.

  Rain runs over to the wall and grabs the keys off a hook while I shine the light above us, finding the emergency release latch for the garage door. I pull the red handle and then walk over and shove the heavy-ass door all the way up. The scraping and crashing of Quinton and Lamar’s bulldozer clearing the highway fills the garage, but it doesn’t sound like hell anymore.

  To Rain, it sounds like heaven.

  When I turn around, she’s watching me, holding a black helmet and grinning with that wild, impulsive look in her eye. That look usually ends with me almost getting killed trying to save her ass, but I don’t mind anymore. In fact, I have a feeling that’s why I’m here.

  Rain holds the helmet out to me, so I take it.

  And shove it onto her head.

  And kiss the visor with a smile.

  Rain climbs on behind me and holds on tight as I fire up the Ninja. It purrs like a fucking kitten and has almost a full tank of gas.

  Looking skyward, I say a silent, Thank you, as I twist the throttle, launching us out of the garage and onto the midnight highway beyond.

  Rain squeals in delight, giving the house of horrors her middle finger as we pass.

  I might not know where we’re going or what we’ll find when we get there, but I do know that, whatever it is, it’s gonna have to go through me to get to her.

  Me and my new pal, God.

  To Be Continued …

  Read on for a sneak peek at Chapter 1 of Fighting for Rain! Available now.

  CHAPTER 1 />
  April 24

  Rain

  With my arms around Wes’s waist and the roar of a motorcycle engine drowning out my thoughts, I turn and watch my house disappear behind us. My home. The only one I’ve ever known. The trees and darkness swallow it whole, but they don’t take my memories of what happened there. I wish they would. I wish I could pull this ache out of my chest and throw it into that house like a hand grenade.

  I also wish I weren’t wearing this damn motorcycle helmet. Wes should be wearing it. He’s the survivalist. I don’t really care if my head gets cracked open. All I want to do is lay my cheek on Wes’s back and let the wind dry my tears. Besides, the inside of it smells like hazelnut coffee and cold-cream moisturizer.

  Just like my mom.

  Who’s now buried in a shallow grave in our backyard.

  Right beside the man who killed her.

  I might have survived April 23—the apocalypse that never happened—but not all of me made it out alive. Rainbow Williams—the perfect, blonde, straight A–earning, church-going girlfriend of Franklin Springs High School basketball star Carter Renshaw—is buried back there, too, right next to the parents she was trying so hard to please.

  All that’s left of me now is Rain.

  Whoever the hell that is.

  I curl my fingers into Wes’s blue Hawaiian shirt and look over his shoulder at the black highway laid out before us. My friends, Quint and Lamar, are up ahead in their daddy’s bulldozer, clearing a path through all the wrecked and abandoned vehicles that piled up during the chaos before April 23, but it’s so dark that I can barely see them. All I can see is the road directly in front of our headlight and a few sparks in the distance where the bulldozer’s blade is grinding against the asphalt. All I can smell are my memories. All I can feel is Wes’s warm body in my arms and a sense of freedom in my soul, growing with every mile we put between us and Franklin Springs.

  And, right now, that’s all I need.