Storm Runners

by Roland Smith

  “Yes, sir. Like I told you, I talked to them last night. Mom said that they were driving up with my little sister. On the way home we’re going to stop at our cabin and pick up a load of firewood for the house.”

  “Maybe they stopped at the cabin first.” “I don’t think so. Dad wouldn’t haul a truckload of wood all the way up here, then drive it back down the mountain.”

  “You’re probably right. Do you have a phone at your cabin?” “No.”

  Mr. Murphy pulled his cell out and called Chase’s house and his parents’ cells again. All three calls went to voice mail.

  Chase was starting to feel sick. His parents were never late for anything.

  “We can’t stand here all day waiting,” Mr. Murphy said. “How about if I leave a note for them here and voice mails on their phones saying I’ve taken you to my house?”

  “Okay.”

  Chase tossed his soggy gear into the back of Mr. Murphy’s SUV. About halfway down the mountain, they ran into a terrible traffic jam. Chase was so worried about his parents not showing up that he barely noticed the line of cars stretching ahead of them … until they reached the end of it. On the opposite side of the highway, at least a half dozen police cars with flashing lights clustered on the shoulder. A tow truck was winching a blue SUV out of the ditch.

  “That’s my parents’ car!” Chase shouted.

  “Are you still a Boy Scout?” Momma Rossi asked.

  “What?” Chase pulled his hand away from Momma Rossi quickly.

  “Are you okay?” Nicole asked.

  “Yeah, I just … uh …”

  “I asked if you were still a Boy Scout,” Momma Rossi repeated.

  “No, we’ve been traveling,” he said.

  “Helping people,” Momma Rossi said.

  Chase nodded, but he knew it wasn’t exactly true….

  At that moment, John Masters and Tomás were trolling separate parts of Saint Petersburg. John was driving through the business district. Tomás was driving through the wealthier residential areas.

  If a business or home owner — never a contractor — was out making preparations for the storm, they’d stop, introduce themselves, then offer to give them a hand … for free. Tomás’s poor English was not a hindrance. His skilled hands transcended all language barriers.

  Both men knew precisely how to prepare a home or business for disaster. They were fast and efficient. They also knew that if the wind was strong enough, no preparation was going to save an expensive building or home from damage.

  The grateful owner usually tried to pay them for their time, but they refused. Instead they handed over a couple of M.D. Emergency Services business cards and told the owners to call if they had any problems.

  If the winds were strong enough, and the water high enough, they would all have problems, and they would call. But the second round of repairs wouldn’t be free.

  05:07PM

  Nicole picked up a paring knife from the counter. “I suppose you want some help peeling sweet potatoes.”

  “Since they’re your sweet potatoes,” Momma Rossi said, “you’re darned right I want help. And what about your laps?” She put her hands on her hips and tried to look mad, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. “You did about half of what you were supposed to do.”

  “I did enough. The meet is in three days. I don’t want to wear myself out before the competition. I was feeding Gertrude and the cats so Dad didn’t have to.”

  “All right,” Momma Rossi said. “Because we have a guest, and because we have a lot to do, I’ll let it go this time.”

  “Scoot, peel thief!” Nicole said. Poco grabbed another potato peel, climbed to the top of the refrigerator, and glared down at her.

  “Make yourself at home,” Momma Rossi said to Chase. “This could take a while. Nicole is a very fast swimmer but a very slow potato peeler.”

  “Very funny, Momma.”

  “I can move those boxes if you want,” Chase offered.

  “That would be nice,” Momma Rossi said. “But it might not be as easy as you think. For one thing, I’m not certain there’s room in the container. Marco and Nicole haven’t done a very good job of packing. The boxes need to be reorganized and restacked.”

  “No problem.” After a year of Shack & Shop duty, Chase was an expert organizer.

  Nicole put the knife down. “Since you’re blaming me for the mess, maybe I better give him a hand.”

  “I think Chase is more than capable of hauling and organizing boxes on his own. And I need you to make the sweet potato pie … unless you’d prefer for Chase to eat my version.”

  Nicole laughed. “I guess that wouldn’t be polite to our guest.”

  Momma Rossi snapped a towel at her playfully.

  “I’m not exactly your guest,” Chase said. It wasn’t a rule, but they didn’t usually hang out with the people who owned the property they parked on. “We have everything we need in the fifth-wheel. You don’t need to feed me.”

  “Nonsense,” Momma Rossi said. “I don’t know how to cook for less than a dozen people, and with you, there are only four of us tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with Momma Rossi,” Nicole said. “Dad tried to talk her out of getting the container. Guess who won?”

  “He’ll be happy our things are safe. Do you like sweet potato pie, Chase?”

  “I like pie and I like sweet potatoes, but I’ve never had them together.”

  “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten Nicole’s sweet potato pie.”

  Chase carried two boxes past a large modern pool, which did not fit with the old two-story farmhouse. The Rossis must have put it in long after the house was built, for Nicole to swim laps. The container, which was nothing more than a steel box welded to a trailer, was on the opposite side of the pool. He opened the door and a storage carton fell out. There was plenty of room inside the container, but it looked like it had been organized by Poco. The only way to fix it was to take everything out and start all over again.

  Chase looked up at the sky. Clouds were moving in from the gulf. He jogged down to the Shop, imitating Tomás’s perpetual state of emergency, which is exactly what Chase would be in if it started to rain after he pulled everything out. He grabbed a couple of tarps, a hammer, and a handful of metal stakes.

  Since they’d been on the road, his father had taken the Boy Scouts’ motto, “Be Prepared,” to a new level. Every job, no matter how small, needed to be thought through before it was started, from beginning to end, with particular attention paid to what might go wrong in between.

  Chase staked out a ground tarp so it wouldn’t blow away, then staged a second tarp to pull over the boxes in case it started to rain. What he neglected to anticipate in between was his curiosity about the Rossi family and their circus. In almost every box, he found something he had to look at or read.

  There were stacks of photo albums filled with pictures of the big top, circus acts, animals, and people. Nicole’s mom was a little person, like Momma Rossi and Marco. Others in the family were regular size, like Nicole. But in every photo, they were smiling and laughing as if there wasn’t an inch of difference between them.

  Marco walked up as Chase was staring at a painting of a man holding a whip, dressed in a red coat, white pants, knee-high black boots, and a black top hat.

  “That’s my great-grandfather, Ricardo Rossi. He was a famous ringmaster in Europe before he came over here to start his own circus. The picture doesn’t show his stature in perspective very well. He was four inches shorter than I am. He died when I was five years old. He was ninety-six. The day before he died he was in the ring, training a stallion.” “Wow.”

  “Yep, he was quite a guy.” Marco looked at the tarp and boxes. “Did Momma Rossi give you this chore?”

  “No,” Chase answered. “I offered to help. I’m supposed to be organizing and repacking everything, but I guess what I’m doing mostly is snooping.”

  Marco laughed. “Hard not to. A lot of interes
ting history here.” He reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a photograph of a man sitting on top of an elephant. “This is my dad. He was killed by an elephant when I was thirteen. He was quite a guy too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. It was a long time ago, but I still miss him. Some things you just don’t get over, I guess.”

  Chase understood this all too well. He’d wondered if he was ever going to get over the deaths of his mom and Monica. “But you still like elephants?”

  “They’re my favorite animal. They were my dad’s favorite too.” Marco looked at the container. “Think this will do the trick?”

  “It’s not really waterproof, Mr. Rossi,” Chase answered.

  “First, it’s Marco, not Mr. Rossi. Second, can you waterproof it? Your dad said you were pretty handy.”

  “I can caulk it, and tarp it, which should keep the water out, but I think the boxes would be a lot safer back in the house.”

  “Not according to my mother,” Marco said. “She’s convinced the house is coming down.” “What do you think?”

  “I don’t agree with her on this, but she’s my mother, and she’s usually right.”

  Chase nodded. She was certainly right about the accident and his being a Boy Scout.

  “Did Arturo tell you anything about us?”

  “Like what?”

  “Our past. Where we’re from.”

  “All he said was that you helped people during storms and that you needed a place to hook up your rigs. Is there something else I should know?”

  Chase shook his head. “I guess not.”

  “I better get back down to Pet and see what she’s up to. Thanks for taking care of the container. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  It took Chase nearly two hours to reload the container. When he finally got the last box inside, he caulked all the seams, threw the tarps over the top, and began securing them with bungee cords.

  Nicole came out the back door of the house as he was stretching the last cord. “Why so many bungees?” she asked.

  “So it doesn’t float to the sun.”

  “Funny. It looks like a giant Christmas present wrapped in blue paper.”

  “It won’t leak.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “How’s the sweet potato pie?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Chase smiled. “I suppose anyone who scratches lions under the chin is entitled to a certain amount of confidence. I better go down to the Shack and get cleaned up before dinner.”

  “Hurry,” Nicole said. “Sweet potato pie is terrible when it’s cold.”

  As Chase was drying his hair in the Shack’s kitchen, he realized that they didn’t have a single photograph hanging up, from either their former or current life.

  How can that be? Where are the photos of Mom and Monica? The notebooks with Monica’s stories and drawings?

  They weren’t in the fifth-wheel or the semitrailer. Chase knew exactly what they had, and where all of it was stored.

  What’s Dad done with our past?

  07:42PM

  Chase sat with the Rossis in their kitchen in front of enough food to feed a bunkhouse of roughnecks for a week. Pork chops, fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, a trough of Caesar salad, steamed beans, fresh baked rolls, and of course sweet potato pie — all delicious, especially the pie. It might have been the best meal he’d ever eaten. It was certainly the most entertaining, with the Rossis telling him story after story of their life in the circus, pausing once in a while to glance over at Emily on the television….

  “Emily has all the makings of a Category Five hurricane. The question is, Where is she going to make landfall and when? For the very latest information let’s go to our meteorologist, Cindy Stewart. Cindy?”

  “Well, Richard, it’s a little premature to say Emily’s going to be a Category Five hurricane, but she is gathering strength. Right now Emily is stalled about one hundred fifty miles southwest of here with sustained winds in excess of one hundred thirty-one miles per hour, making her a Category Four at the moment, which is still a potentially devastating storm. Anything in her path is going to be in for a severe pounding.”

  “Any idea what her path is going to be?”

  “No. We’ll have a better idea when Emily starts to move, but even then, she could switch directions. At this point it’s up to fate….”

  That word again, Chase thought.

  Marco took another scoop of sweet potato pie. His appetite was anything but small.

  “Looks like you’ll have school tomorrow,” he said.

  “Are you kidding?” Nicole said. “You can’t do everything here by yourself.”

  “Chase will be here.”

  “Actually, I won’t be here,” Chase said. “If Nicole has school, I have school.”

  “And there’s that little problem called a Category Five hurricane coming our way,” Nicole added. “Besides, what about Pet? If you think I’m going to miss an elephant birth, you’re crazy.”

  Marco held up a thumb. “I’m not completely crazy.” Index finger. “Emily’s not a Category Five … yet.” Middle finger. “We don’t know Emily’s coming this way.” Ring finger. “Pet might not calve for weeks.” Little finger. Marco looked at Momma Rossi as if he couldn’t think of a fifth reason. “What do you think?”

  “I think if there is school, you both need to go. School is important.” She glanced at the TV, then added with an eerie certainty, “After the hurricane, there won’t be school for a long time.”

  Nicole walked Chase back to the Shack & Shop. He gave her a tour, which didn’t take long. As she was leaving, she paused and asked, “Why do you always carry your backpack with you? This seems like a safe enough place to leave it, but when we were having dinner, you had it right at your feet.”

  “Emergencies. If I get separated or stuck someplace, it has everything I need to keep me going for a few days. My dad calls it a go bag. We all carry one.”

  “It must be strange to travel around from one disaster to another.”

  “It’s probably not that different from being in a circus.”

  “You might be right,” Nicole agreed.

  “What time does the bus come?”

  “Seven ten.”

  “Early.”

  “We’re almost the farthest from town.”

  “I can drive us down to the road on the quad,” Chase offered.

  “Great.” Nicole gave him smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Chase watched Nicole walk away and wondered what his father would say if he told him he wanted to become a lion tamer.

  05:46AM

  Chase pulled on a pair of cargo pants, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, then listened to the weather on the radio as he ate breakfast. Emily was stalled in the Gulf of Mexico, gathering strength, making up her mind which way to go.

  His cell phone rang.

  “What time is it?” his father asked.

  “Six o’clock … exactly.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “How do I know you’re not looking at the time on your cell phone?”

  “Because your old man wouldn’t lie to you. How are things there?”

  “I’m getting ready for school.”

  “Good.”

  “Uh … I’m kind of curious about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I was wondering where all our old photos are … you know, of the family.”

  “I gave them to your uncle Bob for safekeeping. We don’t have a lot of room in the Shack, and storing them in the places we go is a good way to lose them. What made you think about that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe hearing the name Emily over and over again.”

  His father was silent for several seconds, then said, “I can see that. But the name’s just a coincidence. They alternate female and male names every hurricane season, starting with the letter A. This year it’s been Arlene, Bret, Cindy, Don, and now Emily. I
better get going. Tomás is over at the restaurant. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stay alert, Chase.”

  “I will.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  His father ended the call.

  07:45AM

  The school bus slowed down several times along the route but didn’t stop because there was no one waiting to be picked up. When they finally arrived at Palm Breeze Middle School the bus was only half full.

  The first time Chase had enrolled himself in a new school he’d been nervous. By the third school it had gotten a lot easier. This time, with Nicole leading him into the office, it was no big deal at all.

  She introduced him to the receptionist, Mrs. O’Leary.

  “Chase is staying with us,” she said. “His dad is helping people get ready for the hurricane.”

  This was not exactly what Chase’s father was doing, but he didn’t correct her.

  Mrs. O’Leary peered at Chase above her reading glasses. “Your dad knows where the hurricane is going to hit?”

  “Not really. He’s just guessing like everyone else.”

  “What’s his guess for Emily?”

  “Forty or fifty miles south of here in Saint Petersburg — Saint Pete.”

  “I hope he’s right. Though if the absentee rate is any indication, a lot of parents are guessing differently. Do you have your academic transcripts from your previous school?”

  Chase pulled a folder out of his go bag. Attached to the folder was a note from his father with his cell number in case they needed to get in touch with him. No school had ever called him.

  “Take a seat, Chase. Our principal, Dr. Krupp, will talk to you after she gets off the phone.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Nicole said with a smile, then joined friends out in the hallway.

  After about ten minutes, Dr. Krupp stepped out of her office and invited Chase in.

  He sat down on the opposite side of her huge desk. As she skimmed his paperwork he looked around her office.