The Hurricane

by Hugh Howey

  Daniel glanced up at the enormous tree that had stove in the roof. As he bounded up the front steps, he marveled at how normal and everyday that tree and its destruction were becoming. He pictured them getting completely used to it, leaving it where it was, his sister’s bedroom becoming a modified treehouse that she shared with the squirrels. He laughed to himself as he raced up the stairs and to his bedroom.

  When he opened the door, he found piles of his sister’s stuff arranged along one wall in his bedroom. Daniel groaned. He went to his closet and dug around in a drawer of electronics and miscellaneous wires until he found his camera charger. He pocketed that, went to his bedside table, and unplugged his cell phone and Zune chargers from the wall outlet behind it.

  Daniel wrapped the thin cords around each of the chargers and hurried downstairs. He retrieved his book bag from his mom’s room and stuffed the chargers inside, along with his camera and his Zune. The cell phone he kept in his pocket. Satisfied, he went to the kitchen, hung his backpack from the back of a stool, and helped himself to cold and congealed oatmeal. He gave the microwave wistful glances as he ate for pure sustenance.

  Back outside—his stomach growling from the tease of a minimal breakfast—he joined the others in doing what little they could to undo the damage from the storm. Carlton had found some tools in the shed that might help: limb clippers, a wood saw, a hacksaw. Daniel looked at the larger trees lying like a lost game of Jenga all across the yard and realized how arbitrary and useless their efforts were going to be. Chainsaws buzzed in the distance like insects. Daniel knew they’d have to lure one or two of them over to get anything done on their yard.

  “How’s the rest of the neighborhood?” Carlton asked as the two of them worked to pull a limb from the tangle.

  “Lots of trees down,” he said. “One against the house next door, but not as bad as ours. Shingles off everywhere.” He started to say something about the girl and the charger, but refrained for some reason. He didn’t want to mention her even though he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  “Did you see any cars moving about? Any work trucks or utility trucks?”

  “No. There were people out surveying the damage, though. And I did see one of the power lines down. A tree came down right across it.”

  “When’s Hunter coming home?” Zola asked, voicing what Daniel had been thinking.

  “I’m sure he’ll get here as soon as he can. They’re probably working to clear the roads as we speak.” Carlton glanced over at their mom, who had turned away and removed her gloves to get something out of her eye. “We might want to prepare ourselves that it’ll be tomorrow before he gets home.”

  “Maybe Zola can stay in his room until he does?”

  Carlton frowned and gave Daniel a look. Daniel bit his lip and dropped the discussion.

  They worked and chatted until noon, the late summer sun creeping overhead and drawing the sweat out of them. They drank nothing but water, leaving their supply of canned sodas and cartons of juices for later. The Tupperware containers and pitchers Daniel had helped fill were emptied first, poured into glasses with the last bit of ice from the freezer. They enjoyed the clinking luxury and refreshing coldness before the lack of power melted such things away.

  Midway through the afternoon, as the pile of debris along the cul-de-sac grew wider and taller, Daniel started thinking about all the things he took for granted and would have to go without, possibly for days. The internet and cell phones were the most obvious. He was dying to get in touch with Roby, to call or e-mail him about the girl with the soldering iron and unfortunate name. As used as he was to not hearing from his friend over the summers, being suddenly cut off from him right as school resumed felt unnatural. It was also crazy that they couldn’t get in touch with Hunter. The entire concept was bizarre. His brother was probably no more than fifteen or twenty miles away, but it might as well have been thousands. Daniel knew, in the back of his mind where logic slumbered, that twenty miles wasn’t too far to walk and that some people even chose to run or bike such distances for pleasure, but it felt like an endless, impossible trek to him. He would drive around a parking lot looking for the closest spot, investing more time in the irrational pursuit than the time it would take to cover the extra distance by foot. He never pointed out this inherent silliness when his family left one shop in a strip mall, got in the car, then drove through the parking lot to visit a store just seven or eight doors down. All that seemed normal and natural. Walking fifteen or twenty miles as a means of locomotion seemed absurd. The prior hundred million years of four-legged scampering and eventual bipedalism couldn’t compete with the last hundred of flexing an ankle and steering. Not yet, anyway.

  “That was the corner with the DirecTV dish on it.”

  Daniel snapped out of his ponderings and looked to Carlton. He was peering up at the tree resting snugly against the house. “I think it got crushed,” he said. He wiped his brow and went back to work sawing a too-big branch in half with a handsaw.

  “How are we gonna take showers tonight?” Daniel asked.

  Carlton stopped sawing. “Hadn’t thought about that.” He pinched the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat dripping from his chin. “I reckon we’ll be sponging off from buckets out here.”

  “Outside?” Zola asked, listening in to their conversation.

  “The upstairs tub is empty,” Daniel offered. “We could take buckets up there and rinse off.”

  “We’ll have to conserve the water,” their mother said. “We need to assume it’ll be a week without power. It could be even longer.”

  “There’ll be places we can go if it gets to be that long,” Carlton said. “After Hugo, they had generators running at the YMCA and we stood in lines for hot showers. But still, we’ll have to be careful with how much we use of everything.”

  Daniel absorbed those words and thought about how surreal their lives had become, and in an instant. He could actually picture what the end of the world might be like. He felt he was getting a hazy glimpse of Armageddon.

  “It’ll get better once we get a car back,” their mother said. “Once Hunter shows up, we’ll go try and find some supplies, see if we can borrow a chainsaw, find someone who can get that tree off and patch the roof, even if temporarily.”

  “Can we get your car out of the shop?” Daniel asked Carlton.

  He shrugged. “We’ll have to run by there and see.”

  “There is so much I need to be getting done at work,” their mom said out of nowhere. She tugged off her gloves and rested her hands on her knees. “This couldn’t have happened on a worse week.”

  Carlton rested his saw on the tree in front of him and went to her side. “There wouldn’t have been a good week for this,” he said. “When are you not busy at work?” He put an arm across her shoulders, and Daniel and Zola looked to each other in the uncomfortable silence. Chainsaws buzzed in the distance, but it was getting so Daniel hardly noticed them. They were the new sounds to replace the chirping birds, who still had not returned from wherever they had gone. Daniel was waiting for them and Hunter to return. He was waiting for some reason or excuse to visit Anna down the street, even though the idea of just walking to her house filled him with nervous jitters. He was waiting on these things—but it was a surprise visitor who came to him first. The visitor arrived that afternoon as the sun was beginning to set and dinner was being scraped off dishes and into the yard.

  It was then that Daniel’s father came home.

  18

  The unexpected arrival of their dad brought the same bittersweet sting and salve that his departure had wrought. The excitement came from the sight of a power company truck, one of the bucket machines with large tires and metal tool cabinets everywhere. Its brakes squealed to a stop in the cul-de-sac; Zola turned to the window, saw it first, and let out a squeal of excitement.

  “We’re gonna get power back!” she said.

  She left the dishes to dry on a towel spread across the dining roo
m table and ran toward the front door. A chair squeaked on the wood floor as Carlton got up to follow her out. Daniel hurried after them, hoping to hear some news from the outside world besides the Charlestonian static from his Zune.

  Zola was halfway down the driveway when she stopped cold. The passenger door had opened, disgorging a man familiar at any distance. She stood there, frozen in place, as he shrugged a green duffle up on his shoulder and walked toward them, smiling.

  “Frank,” Carlton said, more out of stunned recognition than by way of greeting.

  Their father nodded. “Carlton.”

  “What are you doing here?” their mom asked. She moved briskly down the driveway, past Daniel who had taken a spot by his sister, his arm moving around Zola’s back. The driver got out of the truck and slammed the door, then rummaged in one of the tool boxes.

  “I had no place else to go,” their father said, lifting his hands. The smile on his lips dimmed, then faded altogether. “I lost the boat,” he said quietly.

  Their mom raised a hand to cut him off. She walked past him, toward the man from the power company, who rounded the truck with a chainsaw in his hand. Everyone else stood on the driveway, casting uncomfortable glances.

  “How long before the power’s back?” Daniel heard his mom ask.

  The man shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Can’t say,” he said. “We’re just doing a survey right now.” He walked up the driveway and set the chainsaw down by their father’s feet. “I told Frank I’d drop him off since I was heading near here anyway.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We came in on our service road by the lines. I think you guys are cut off, but somebody will probably be by in a day or two to let you know more.”

  “In a day or two?” Carlton asked. “How bad is it out there?”

  The man frowned. “Governor’s calling it a national disaster. They’ve got trucks and men heading this way from as far away as Florida, but coordinating it all is gonna be a nightmare. Columbia got hammered. Storm went right up twenty six. The entire interstate is closed down while they get it cleared of trees. Hell, it took us all day to work our way over here.”

  “Is anyone going to bring food or water around? Are the stores open?”

  The power man looked to their mother. “Most people who’d be working are too busy tending to their own mess.” He glanced toward their house and the massive tree resting across it. “Believe it or not, you guys are lucky. I wish I had better news, but I don’t want you guys to plan for the best and be disappointed.” He patted their father on the shoulder, nodded to the rest of them, then took a step away. “Somebody will be around in the next day or two,” he said again.

  Daniel watched his mom run after the power man. “If you and Frank are friends, take him home with you.”

  The man shook his head. Daniel heard him say something about inlaws, a full house, as much of a favor as he could repay, and then a door squealed on twisted hinges and slammed shut on the rest. The power truck roared to life and did a tight turn in the cul-de-sac. A guilty hand waved from the open driver-side window.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you,” their father said as their mother stormed up the driveway. Daniel and Zola hadn’t moved. It was all playing out like a scene from a daytime drama.

  “You’re in the toolshed,” their mother said. Daniel could tell at once that she actually meant it. She stopped by him, bent and retrieved the chainsaw, then stood back up. “The chainsaw can stay in the house.”

  With that, she marched back toward the front door, past a frozen Carlton, the silence blooming as the distant buzz of chainsaws fell still and the Beaufort sun set over the first day of Hurricane Anna’s aftermath.

  ••••

  Daniel slept fitfully that night. He thought of his father out in the toolshed, curled up in a sleeping bag, and his guts twisted with a mix of worry and anger. When he wasn’t dwelling on that, his thoughts turned to the girl down the street. Anna, who had smiled up at him as they’d partnered to build—to him at least—a near magical device for sipping juice out of sunshine. The back and forth—feeling infatuation one minute and rage the next—had him spinning in his bed, searching for comfort. Daniel was dying to run to either of them, to wake his dad or Anna up and have some sort of conversation—but to say what? A storm had blown through his life and somehow had left these two people behind like fallen oaks. Both had appeared out of nowhere, even though one seemed to have lived a few houses down for quite some time, and the other was probably just a short drive away for who knows how long.

  Twice in the night, Daniel went to his window and looked out over the moonlit back yard—still jumbled with downed trees—and out toward the toolshed in the back. It was one of those prebuilt units, made to resemble a small house with two little windows in the front, a covered porch, and brightly colored trim. Daniel had helped clear a spot for his father inside, twitching his nose at the heavy smell of gasoline, checking the plywood floor for any sign of rat droppings, feeling sorry for him and hating him at the same time. He stood by the window both times that night and looked out at the barely discernible toolshed, then went back to his jumbled sheets and tried to find some solace in them.

  In the morning, he woke to the sound of a chainsaw, buzzing like an alarm, but much closer than the others had been the day before. Daniel crawled out of bed and tugged on some bluejeans, despite the sticky heat in the powerless house. His legs had been scratched to hell by the yard work the day before, and it wasn’t like he could sweat any more than he already would. The jeans, at least, would offer some protection.

  He pulled on a fresh t-shirt and padded downstairs. The front and back doors were propped open, along with all the windows, allowing a slight breeze to plow through the heat and humidity. The roar of a chainsaw chewing through wood rattled through the house. Daniel hurried out to the front stoop, expecting to find his father manning the machine over a thick log, buried up to his knees in sawdust. As he scurried down the steps, Carlton looked up from the limb he was cutting, his safety goggles fogged with an early sweat. He powered the chainsaw down, the chain clacking in complaint, and smiled up at Daniel.

  “You want a turn?” Carlton lifted the chainsaw and held it out toward Daniel.

  “I’m actually scared of those things,” Daniel said. He looked across the yard for any sign of Zola or his mom, but it looked like Carlton was the first one out to work on the storm debris.

  “They’re completely safe if you use the right precautions.” He jerked his chin. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

  Daniel patted his stomach. “Lemme get some breakfast first.” He looked back toward the house. “Where is—? Is my dad up?”

  Carlton lifted his goggles and placed them on his forehead. “Haven’t seen him,” he said.

  Daniel nodded. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  He turned and went back up the steps and into the house. As he crossed into the kitchen, the chainsaw roared back to life and began chewing through more wood. Daniel grabbed two cups from the drying rack by the sink, filled them with room-temperature water from a pitcher, shook a shiny pair of Pop-Tarts packs from an open box, and stuffed them in his pockets. He cradled the cups of water and headed toward the back door. Before he made it out, his sister appeared at the bottom of the steps, her eyes thick with sleep. Zola took one look at Daniel as he prepared to back through the screen door with the cups of water, and knew where he was heading. She gave him a disapproving frown.

  Daniel wanted to say something, but didn’t. He pushed the screen door open with his heel and backed onto the patio, allowing the springs to clap the door shut. He turned and weaved through the labyrinth of downed trees toward the toolshed. A path through the limbs and brambles had been made by someone else, probably Carlton rummaging for tools the day before. Several other chainsaws could be heard throughout the neighborhood. Daniel’s mind drifted toward the girl a few houses down as he stepped up to the toolshed’s porch.

  He
knocked twice and opened the door.

  Light spilled through the two small windows. A puff of gasoline-laden air hit Daniel and tickled his nose. His father looked up from where he was crouching on the floor, forcing a sleeping bag into a tight roll.

  “Daniel!” His father beamed. The smile on his face was not that of a man who hadn’t seen his son in over a year.

  “I brought you something to eat,” Daniel said dryly. He set down one of the cups by his father’s bedroll and fished in his pocket for a pack of Pop-Tarts. “Here.” He held them out.

  “I’ve actually been awake for a while,” his dad said, almost defensively. He accepted the food and sat back on a pillow Daniel recognized as belonging to the living room sofa. “I didn’t want to wake you guys and couldn’t really get started with the saw ’cause it was inside.”

  “Carlton’s using it,” Daniel said, jabbing a thumb toward the door.

  “I heard.” His dad looked away. “So, things are going well? How’s school?”

  The questions made Daniel want to scream, to yell at his father, to beat his fists on something, to run to a girl down the block that he barely knew and press his face into her shirt and cry like a fool—

  “Fine,” he said instead. “We’d only been back a few days before the storm hit. So I guess I’m acing all my classes so far.”

  His father laughed. More than the joke warranted. He tore open his Pop-Tarts and patted the bedroll at his feet. “Sit,” he said.

  Daniel remained standing. He took a sip from his own cup of water, his eyes not leaving his father. He drank a deep gulp, and then lowered the cup.

  “I take it you were in the area when the storm hit?”

  His dad looked away, as if the truth had scurried into one of the toolshed’s dark corners. “I’ve been living on the houseboat down in the City Marina,” he said.

  “You’ve been living there?” The water sloshed out of Daniel’s cup as his hand shook. “How long? How long have you been here?”