by L T Ryan
Whirlwind
Rachel Hatch Book Eight
L.T. Ryan
with
Brian Shea
Contents
The Rachel Hatch Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
The Rachel Hatch Series
Also by L.T. Ryan
About the Author
The Rachel Hatch Series
Drift
Downburst
Fever Burn
Smoke Signal
Firewalk
Whitewater
Aftershock
Whirlwind
Tsunami (Spring 2022)
RACHEL HATCH SHORT STORIES
Fractured
Proving Ground
The Gauntlet
One
Evelyn Mann took two steps inside the general store and stopped, allowing herself a moment to shake off the chill of the late spring morning. The phone had rung three times in less than ten minutes. The first call had been from the school principal informing her that her fifteen-year-old son, Trevor—a sophomore at Hawk's Landing High, and a permanent member of the principal's detention club—had had a behavioral outburst.
The principal hemmed and hawed his way through retelling what had happened. Trevor had flipped his desk when they confiscated his cell phone. His behavior during English class earned him a two-day suspension. Mann pleaded for leniency, but the principal held his ground, further explaining her son’s Individualized Education Plan, his IEP. Her son had anger mitigation strategies to avoid outbursts, but when disruption was deemed “beyond mitigation,” or, as Mann interpreted it, “beyond wanting to help at the moment,” the plan of action was to send him home.
This would be the third time this year her son had been sent home. Mann had to be prepared for any disruptions in his schedule or otherwise. For the next two days, until the weekend hit, she would be on high alert to make sure that none of the inconsistencies of his daily routine would trigger another emotional breakdown. Great! She’d wanted to scream but opted for a frustrated sigh and a promise to pick him up within the next half hour.
Before she had stuffed her phone back into her purse, it rang again. The next incoming call was her ex-husband, a man who always seemed to time when Mann felt her lowest and find a way to make it worse.
Her high-school-sweetheart-turned-cheating-bastard left town over three years ago and in that time had barely made contact with his son, aside from a random phone call. Out of sight for over three years, only stopping by two Christmases ago and even then, he neglected to bring a gift.
Mann wasn't about taking handouts, but she'd reasoned guys like Chad were why deadbeat laws were established in the first place. She’d stayed home to raise their son with Asperger’s. Before the diagnosis was made, he was a challenging baby and toddler, to say the least. Not that she had much of a career, but she was working her way to manager at the diner.
When they'd married, Chad had a decent job at the engineering company until they parted ways when he found a younger model with less baggage. He called at various times from different numbers, often switching carriers and numbers without telling her for several months’ This, of course, made it impossible for Trevor to speak with his father even if he wanted to. Most of the time, he did not.
But here he was, calling as he always would after any type of issue with Trevor, as if her parenting wasn’t enough. Maybe it wasn’t, but damn it! He had left her high and dry and now he was two months late on child support.
Although she never used the money as a source of punishment, she wanted to. Hoping to sever any financial strings attached to the divorce, she’d applied for an assistant baker position. As of right now, she was late for the interview. She'd tried to call her potential employer, but the school interrupted, so here she was. Taking a moment to compose herself and shake off the cold, she now had to stare at the ringing phone from her ex-husband. He would call her again and again until she answered. He always did.
She entered the grocery store and noticed the bakery section was on the far right. Mann saw the head baker was busy with an older gentleman at the counter. While Mann made her way over, she decided to answer the call and put a quick end to whatever he was calling for.
"Chad," she said, her tone quiet but harsh. "I don't want to hear it. I’m not in the mood and I'm late for a job interview."
"Whoa, babe. Why do you always gotta give me such a hard time? How come I can’t just call and check in?"
"Because you never call and check in. We have to track you down. I’m just shocked that this is the same number you called me from last time."
"Listen, I know I’ve been spotty with the paychecks, but I was just calling to tell you I’m getting it to you soon."
"Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? 'Don’t worry about it. It’s just around the corner,' you’ll take care of everything, you'll make things right? Blah, blah, blah. I’m done with it, Chad. I don’t need you or your money anymore. I don’t need you to remember Trevor’s birthday, which you've forgotten the last two years. We don’t need you. There was a time when we did. There was a time when you were my world, and I thought everything was right, and now that I see you for who you are, I couldn’t be happier that you're gone.
“And trust me, Trevor’s going through a tough time. I know you called to rub it in and you're twisting it now like you always do. But let me tell you this, Trevor’s going to be fine, too. We need to rid ourselves of the baggage holding us back, and that's you. After this call, the next thing you'll hear is from my attorney and I will get full custody of our son until he turns eighteen. But you will no longer be a part of our lives. Do you understand me?"
"Sure, but you talk like this a lot, too. Always threatening me. Why do you think I have to switch phones so much? Why do I have to change addresses?"
"Because you can’t hold a job, Chad. Not since you left." Silence for a moment.
Mann could tell her words hit the mark. He was probably in between jobs now, and he was probably calling just before this cell carrier dropped him, just like a few months back. It was always the same story, shrouded in the same lie. The difference in the man she'd fallen for at sixteen, now thirty-nine, was day and night.
"Goodbye Chad. You’re free of us now." Mann clicked "end" on the phone and slid it back into her purse as she moved towards the bakery. She recognized the old man at the counter chatting the baker's ear off. It was her son's psychologist, Glenn Miller. He'd been a godsend for Trevor. They'd only started a few months back, but she'd seen a dramatic improvement in her son's ability to control his outbursts. Miller recently offered to try Trevor on hypnotherapy, something the psychologist claimed to have worked in the past with tremendous results. The irony was not lost on Mann that she was now standing behind him after receiving the call from the school. Something that would no doubt be addressed in Trevor's next session.
; Mann checked her watch. It was just a few minutes past nine. She hoped her interview with the baker moved along quicker than the conversation he was having with Miller. Making eye contact with the baker, she smiled. He gave a subtle nod toward Miller, which Mann took to mean: "Whenever Mr. Miller is done, we'll proceed with the interview."
Mann felt her phone vibrating once again. Unzipping her purse, she looked down. It was Chad again. Since hanging up on him she had missed three calls. Now she ignored it once more and zipped her purse back up.
She wasn’t kidding this time. She was done with him, done with the games. She wouldn’t call him back again and she’d honor her word as she'd meant to time and time again. Mann was deep in thought when someone bumped her from behind, almost knocking her purse off her shoulder.
Mann turned to see the vacant stare of a messy haired kid only a few years older than her son. Rail thin, he wore a short-sleeved white button-up and matching colored pants. Even his lace-less sneakers were white. The boy’s attire reminded Mann of the milkmen of old.
The boy in white stopped a foot behind Miller. She listened close and could hear him speaking, but Mann couldn't make it out over the sound of Miller's voice. He mumbled the same word over and over.
Staring at the odd young man, she noticed his right hand. At first, she thought it was an oversized cell phone like the ones you’d see in the 80s, and then she realized the large black item in his hand was a pistol.
The boy continued muttering as he raised the weapon and pointed it at the center of Miller's back.
Mann watched in horror as the first shot rang out. She stood frozen as Miller fell face first onto the floor. The boy fired the gun five more times. He stood rigid, the gun still pointing at the lifeless body of her son's psychologist. His finger continued to pull the trigger of the empty revolver.
Click…click…click.
Mann fled out of the store, into the parking lot where the other employees and patrons had gathered. Sirens could be heard in the distance.
She could see through the front window that the boy in white had not moved. In her head she could still hear the rhythmic strike of the revolver's hammer into the empty cylinder.
Click…click…click.
Two
Hatch stood a few feet from the long, parallel steel bars set at chest height. The bars extended for about fifteen feet and marked the start point to the Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL training obstacle course.
Working her arms in small circles to warm up her shoulders, she bent and flexed her knees as Banyan set out the rules for the course.
"Timer starts as soon as you touch the bars. You get two tries on every obstacle. Fail the second time and it's a no-go. Every time you go over the Hooyah logs, you need to interlace your fingers behind your head. When you get to the forty-foot tower, it’s your choice how to descend. First phase you have to go feet first, but after that, you can ranger crawl it."
Hatch scanned the expanse of the sandy beach. Unlike Nasty Nick, tucked deep into the North Carolina woods, its obstacles obscured by high trees, she could see all the obstacles before her. It was intimidating when trying to look at everything, so Hatch focused on the first task.
"Once the timer starts, you have twelve minutes to complete all eleven obstacles and get back here."
Hatch nodded. What started over beers would end here on the sand. She checked the laces on her boots and tucked her BDU pants inside. She wore a long-sleeved shirt and they gave her the option of wearing a shock resistant helmet, but she opted not to.
Hatch stood ready, tuning out the back-and-forth trash talking between Banyan and Cruise. A light mist descended as Hatch gripped the parallel bars. She knew the timer on Banyan's watch had started, and so had the one running in her own head.
She hoisted herself onto the bars. Bicycling her legs, she shimmied across the fifteen feet to the other side quickly. Approaching the low wall, she used the stump in front of it to vault over to the high wall. The high wall's wood surface was already coated in the mist and the wood was now slick to the touch, too high for Hatch to jump over the seven-foot-two wall, but it had a thick rope hanging at its center.
Hatch gave a two-step lunge, grabbing the rope midway and pulling herself up and over the wall. The light rain dampened the sand and kept it from getting in her face and eyes as she dropped to her belly and began low crawling under the barbed wire. Pulling herself through the sandy pit, she faced off with a fifty-foot cargo net.
Though she had faced her fear of heights at her father’s hand, time and time again during her service in the military, and most recently on an Alaskan mountaintop, Hatch still had to face the same fear every time. Each time, she had to find her workaround for coping.
She'd had plenty of experience with the cargo net. Eyes straight ahead, look at the rope right in front of you. And she did, ascending one of the cargo lines, using the vertical knots in front of her as her handholds, taking two or three rungs at a time with her feet. She ascended the fifty feet and then hoisted herself over the other side, trying to keep her head upright, looking at the horizon. She made quick work to the bottom.
A zigzag of uneven bars rolled, but Hatch moved fast and maintained her balance. She felt she was making good time as she did a rope exchange, climbing one twelve-foot rope and then reaching across to descend on another. Her gut was tested on an obstacle known as the Ugly Name.
She had to jump from one horizontal timber to another. The second timber was a few feet higher and several feet further. She saw the only way to effectively go over the higher log was to jump hard and take the impact at the waist, which Hatch did. The thick log's curved side slammed hard into her stomach, causing her to curse as she rolled her body forward and over the painful obstacle.
She navigated the Weaver with relative ease, the staple obstacle of many courses she'd run before. She then encountered another set of the Hooyah logs. The stack of logs rising five timbers high were staggered throughout. She used it to catch her breath before encountering the next obstacle.
The Burma Bridge had a twenty-foot rope hanging down on one end. Hatch ascended it and came to a three-rope bridge where the knots between the connections widened as the bridge extended across the sand. Hatch used her long legs to her advantage as she crossed the bridge.
On the other side, she looked at the obstacle awaiting her, the Forty-Foot Tower, a four-story wooden structure open on all sides. At the very top, a long thick rope extended down to the sand at a forty-five-degree angle. Hatch jogged up on the obstacle and took a moment to catch her breath. Her arms and legs burned. A metallic taste filled her mouth and she spit it into the wet sand.
Hatch reached up. The lip of the first tier was just out of reach. Hatch would have to jump and then swing her leg on the outside. With the soft sand slightly packed from the rain, she bent her legs and sprung up. Gripping hard with her left hand and digging her fingernails into the wood, she kicked her left leg up hard and over, using the momentum of her jump. She clawed her way onto the first level of the tower.
Now, inside the tower structure, she had to reach out. Again, she could only touch the bottom, not the top lip. She positioned herself at the edge, keeping her left hand ready. And just like on the ground, she bent her knees and shot up, grabbing at the rung.
She kicked her leg hard. The side of her boot hit the outside wood, knocking her off balance. Her fingers slipped. She let go and tried to catch herself on the first level, but fell back-flat onto the packed sand below. The impact knocked the wind out of Hatch.
She exhaled. Rolling to her side, she punched the sand, angry at herself. She took two short breaths in, clearing her mind, and reset at the base of the tower. Just like she had done before, she navigated to the first level. This time, Hatch made sure not to underestimate the effort needed to get beyond.
Everything grew quiet. Her only focus was on the floor just above her. Hatch bent deep and then shot her arm upwards, kicking hard and wide. The momentum carried her up
and over. Her left arm fatigued from the effort. She switched to her right side. Hatch repeated the process, lunging to the third floor. She felt the tingle in her scarred right arm as she worked her way to her knees.
The fourth and final tier that would take her to the top of the tower required her to go through an open shoot door at the top. To do so, Hatch had to jump and catch the upper lip of the top tier with both elbows, then swing her bent knee through. Catching herself with her heels, she rolled to the right.
On her knees, at the top of the forty-foot tower, the wind from the Pacific Ocean just beyond the high sand berms pushed a breeze across. Hatch worked herself over on her hands and knees to the rope extending down. She lay belly flat on the wet wood surface and pulled herself out.
As her right knee came off the top landing of the tower, she draped her ankle across the wire rope, stabilizing herself as she descended. Her left leg hung loose and acted as a counterbalance to the shifts of her body weight. Hatch made quick work getting to the bottom. The remaining obstacles posed little challenge in the way of difficulty.
Her biggest hurdle behind her, Hatch now focused on time as she crossed a rope swing, moved across a set of monkey bars, navigated a short obstacle hurdle, and then used her fingertips and the edges of her boot to scale a spider wall before dropping into a dead sprint across the sand to the finish line where Banyan and Cruise waited.