by E. E. Borton
As the houseboat pitched and yawed, I looked over the railing. I could feel the large craft picking up speed, but it wasn’t being pushed by the wind. It was being pulled by the water, advancing toward the massive siphon.
Feeling helpless was my only option. The tornado in front of me wasn’t moving. It was growing. Following its base from shore to shore, it was at least two miles wide.
The only thing I could do was to slump down, bracing my back against the rail. Moving even faster, the violence intensified. Huge trees were skipping across the water as the suction showed no mercy. Rooftops from vacation homes were being peeled away to join the parade of debris. It was even becoming difficult to breathe as the pressure pulled the air from my lungs. I turned in time to see the lounger looking to take my head off. I ducked as it spun over me like the blades of a farmer’s combine, harvesting the rain.
And then it stopped.
As if somebody pulled its plug, the funnel disappeared. I watched in disbelief as the mile-high column of water and debris hung suspended in the air. For a moment time froze. It started again as the column ceased its ascent, and changed course. What goes up must come down.
A shock of wind was the first thing to hit the boat. A waterfall of debris and liquid was diving back to earth. I scanned over my head, searching for danger. It didn’t take long to see the first projectile tracking on a course for the bow. The basketball sized concrete bomb hit the deck, pushing the stern out of the water. I scrambled below.
I dove under the table in the galley as the cabin began to fall apart around me. My head slammed into a bench seat when the first wave of water, churning with debris, slammed into my sitting duck. I hugged the pole that supported the tabletop as the houseboat was pushed on its side. I couldn’t hear my own screams from the deafening roar of water below and certain death raining from above. The attack seemed to last for hours.
My world came to a violent stop when the houseboat crashed into the surviving trees along the shore. Tearing me from the pole, the impact sent me sliding across the floor and into a cabinet. The unforgiving mahogany buried my nose into my face. A blinding white light – followed by intense pain – left no question it was broken. I curled up into a tight ball, waiting for the next round of destruction.
It didn’t come.
Blinking several times, trying to clear the haze, I couldn’t find the floor to stand. It was at a forty-five degree angle beside me. With one foot on the cabinet and the other on the deck, I took baby steps to get back to the room with my gear.
When I opened the door, water was cascading in from the missing window. My pack was easy enough to find. (I designed it to float.) Finding the shotgun took a few minutes of poking around in the black water. Like a kid finding an Easter egg full of money, I exhaled when I wrapped my fingers around the barrel. I’d make sure we weren’t separated again.
Gripping my shotgun in one hand – and pinching my gushing nose with the other – I made my way outside. (I wanted to get off that death trap as soon as possible.) When I cleared the doorway on the stern, I didn’t recognize the landscape. Everything had changed.
Clouds parted and the mist cleared as if blown by a celestial wind. Over half of the trees were down, crushing – killing – anything underneath. A huge swath of earth was gouged by the tornado, stripping everything off the surface and leaving a red trench of Georgia clay. It wasn’t just the most incredibly violent storm I’d ever seen. It was the most incredibly violent storm I’d ever heard of.
I changed my attitude about the floating death trap. That thing saved my life. If I had been on shore, I don’t think ducking for cover would’ve worked. I jumped from the stern, sinking into mud up to my knees. It felt like it took me an hour to find solid ground.
With the trails erased it was slow trekking to the highway. As I crossed over a surviving bridge, I had a bird’s eye view of the tent city I had passed on my way to the houseboat the day before. I only experienced it from movies and photos, but I now had a better idea of what the beaches at Normandy must have looked like on D-Day. Tents and bodies were pulverized from the murderous hail and falling debris.
Mother Nature hit the snooze bar on the alarm this morning, sparing my life – once again – but she didn’t spare countless others from her wrath. She taught me another lesson when she woke me up. If I ever wanted to sleep peacefully again, I needed to do it under a solid roof. Making a little more room in my pack, I tossed my tiny tent into a ditch.
Walking in the cooled air sped up my pace, but the searing heat returned by early afternoon. According to my map, I put another fourteen miles behind me as the sun let me know my hellish day was coming to an end. Familiar with the area, I decided to head for shelter at a place that held good memories.
Darkness was creeping across the manicured fairways when the clubhouse came into view. My first thought was of Sam, decked out in the brightest colors she could find in any pro shop. With a baby blue collar pulled up, a neon pink visor, and lime green golf shoes, I looked at the tee box where she took her first swing. I remember the laughter as the ball sat defiant on the tee. She sailed it true on the next. Sam was a natural.
Taking the normal precautions, I walked around the perimeter of the building, checking for movement before reaching for a door handle. I didn’t need to use my key as it opened with a turn. My shotgun leading the way, I took a few steps inside.
I scanned the main lobby and saw no movement. I then began the process of clearing every room in the clubhouse. As I stepped out into the hall leading to the locker room, he was standing in front of the door with a raised weapon. (I think it was a seven iron.)
I know he saw my shotgun, but he didn’t back down. He took a few steps toward me. This guy had balls. I liked him before he said a word. When those words came, I liked him even more.
“Nothin’ in here that belongs to you,” said the club. “Nothin’ in here worth a smashed skull.”
I lowered my gun. “I’m not looking to take from you or hurt you. What’s your name?”
“Earl Tucker. I’m the head greenskeeper here. All this is my responsibility.”
“What’s your favorite hole, Earl?”
“Huh?”
“You’re the head greenskeeper, right?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“What’s your favorite hole?”
“Fourteen. Why?”
“Par 5 with a dogleg right,” I said. “A sneaky sand trap on the turn will steal your ball every time you think you can cut it. And even if you clear that trap, you guys put two more on the backside of the green that you can’t see until it’s too late. By the way, nice job not putting the actual size of the traps on the course map. That was brilliant.”
“You a member?” asked Earl, lowering his club.
“No, sir. I can’t afford the fees. But this is one of my favorite courses. I taught my lady how to play here. It’s why I considered it a safe place to rest tonight.”
“I love fourteen,” said Earl. “That’s my baby.”
“I don’t want to take anything from this place. I’m just looking for a solid roof over my head after the storm today.”
“That was somethin’, wasn’t it? Never seen nothin’ like that in my life. Well, I ain’t seen nothin’ like anything over the past three days. You know about what’s going on?”
“I really don’t, Earl. All I know is that I don’t want to sleep outside. I’ll take a closet if you’re okay with it. If not, I’ll be on way, sir.”
“Well, tonight you don’t have to sleep outside,” said Earl. “You know fourteen. Anybody who respects her is okay with me.”
I could see the apprehension in his eyes. He knew he brought a club to a gunfight, but it didn’t matter. This was his house. Yeah, I liked Earl.
“Sun’s goin’ down,” said Earl. “I haven’t started supper yet on account of the heat. I make a mean spare rib. You’re welcome to put your bag down anywhere you like and join me. I have a fire going out back.”
I liked Earl a lot.
Chapter 10
The Reckoning
After putting my pack in a small office that would serve as my bunk room for the night, I joined Earl on the large deck overlooking the golf course. During happier times I remember sitting around the huge fire pit in the middle of the deck with Sam. We’d enjoy a few cold ones after a day of golf, watching the stragglers finishing up on the eighteenth hole at sunset.
I walked up to Earl who was cooking over the massive stone grill on the corner of the deck, slathering sauce on ten pounds of ribs. I thought about Ms. Emma bringing out her best meat to feed a stranger. I considered myself lucky Earl was just as hospitable.
“Good thing I skipped lunch,” I said, peering over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Earl, laughed. “Doesn’t look like the power’s coming back on anytime soon. Everything in the freezers is startin’ to thaw. Gotta cook it all up. This’ll make a nice lunch for you on the road tomorrow. Where you headin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“Northwest to the mountains,” I said. “My parents’ place.”
“That sounds nice. At least you got somewhere to go. Most folks just holed up in their houses, waitn’ to get saved.”
“Why aren’t you at home, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh, I am at home,” said Earl. “I’m third generation here at the club. I started workin’ here when I was nine years old. Cleanin’ up, shinin’ shoes, whatever I could do to make a few pennies. My daddy was the assistant greenskeeper here. His daddy never made it past shinin’ shoes, but that was a different time, you see. Besides, my wife died ten years ago and my two boys have no dreams to walk in my shoes. One’s in New Orleans workin’ at the newspaper, and the other’s in Chicago runnin’ a restaurant. His restaurant. Ain’t that somethin’?”
“It is. They sound like fine boys.”
“They are, truly. Me and my family, we’ve come a long way.”
He turned back to the ribs. I’m sure he was thinking about his boys and if they were okay. New Orleans and Chicago were just too far to walk. Earl didn’t seem like the type to dwell on tough thoughts.
“Go get you a drink,” said Earl, pointing at a cooler between two chairs at the pit.
I was impressed with his resourcefulness when I opened the cooler. Sitting under a layer of hail were ice cold beers, water, and soda. He heard me laughing.
“When life hands you lemons,” said Earl. “Got four more big coolers full of that stuff inside.”
“Brilliant.”
As the glorious aroma of the sizzling meat wafted towards me, I couldn’t help but think about Ms. Emma. Sitting in a comfortable chair, drinking a cold beer, I remember her telling me, You just gotta trust in people sometimes. You gotta trust that there’s good in their hearts. I wished she were sitting there with us so she could say that she told me so. I was sad she wasn’t. But like Earl, no sense dwelling on tough thoughts.
“Lookey here,” said Earl, turning with a pan full of ribs and a beaming smile. “You’re in for a treat now.”
He sat in the chair beside me, placing the pan between us. “This meal is meant to be shared with your fingers. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, sir, it is,” I said, handing him a beer and diving into the pan.
It had to be at least an hour of gorging before we both leaned back in our chairs, ready to burst. We saw a flicker of green light in the distance. This time, nobody went inside. The light storms were just part of our lives now.
“What do you think that is?” asked Earl.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But whatever it is, I’m sure it has something to do with draining all our power. It’s some type of electrical storm, but I really don’t know.”
“Me, I think it’s a reset button,” said Earl.
“A what?”
“Hee, hee. I said I think it’s a reset button. You know, like God is tryin’ to make things right again because we took for granted what we had. We think we built this planet. We think we own the place. He’s reminding us of who really does.”
“That’s the best explanation I’ve heard so far, Earl. You’re a very wise man.”
“Aw, I’m an old fool, that’s all. But I know the hand of God when I see it. All this is a reckonin’. I’m not sayin’ Judgment Day is comin’. I’m just sayin’ He’s gonna put some challenges in front of us and see what we do. You know, as people. He’s gonna see how we treat each other when the times get tough.”
“What if I was looking to take from you? What if I was evil coming through your front door?”
“Then the hand of God would’ve helped me put that club upside your head,” said Earl. “You would’ve become one of those challenges.”
Smiling at him, I leaned back into my chair. Earl reminded me of my grandfather. They were both kind, gentle, strong men who’d give a person every chance to earn their respect. My grandfather would give the shirt off his back and make a stranger feel like part of his family. On the flip side, if someone was hurting one of his, he’d bring a golf club to a gunfight – and win.
“Thanks for not clubbing me,” I said.
“Thanks for not shootin’ me,” said Earl. “Now I’ve got a question for –”
I turned my head after raising a finger to my mouth. Earl leaned forward to look around me at the three shadows walking across the putting green. As they made their way to the edge of the deck, I saw two of them had rifles slung across their shoulders. The third had a large revolver stuffed in his belt.
“How y’all doin’ tonight?” said the pistol. “My name is Todd. This here is Billy and John. We saw your fire and thought we’d say hello.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Earl. “But the clubhouse is closed up.”
“Aw, hell, boy. Everything is closed.”
Shit.
“Then what can we do for you?” asked Earl.
“We’s walkin’ around, just bein’ friendly,” said Todd. “I will say that barbeque smells mighty good. We was sniffin’ it before we even saw your fire. Is it just you two fellas here?”
When I saw their eyes in the firelight, that feeling came to me again. When he asked that question, there was no doubt in my mind. Evil had just walked through our front door.
“We just finished up all we can eat,” said Earl. “Help yourself to what’s left. We got cold beers to wash it down with. Why don’t you grab some chairs and join us.”
Good, Earl. Very smart. Make them comfortable. Let them relax. Put something else in their hands besides those guns.
“What y’all make of all this,” said Todd, pulling chairs up to the fire. “You think it’s terrorists?”
“Could be,” said Earl. “I don’t really know. I don’t think most folks know.”
“What about you?” asked Todd, looking at me. “What’s your take on all this?”
“I think it’s the hand of God,” I said, offering him the pan of ribs. “I think it’s a reckoning.”
“A what?” said Todd, laughing, looking toward Billy and John. “What are you, some kind of preacher man? Next thing you gonna say is that we’re payin’ for our sins, right?”
Billy and John joined in the laughter. Todd was the coward in charge. Todd made the plan, telling the other two to follow his lead. When he gave the signal, they’d shoot us.
“I expected that kind of religious mumbo jumbo from him,” said Todd, turning back to me. “Naw, God’s got nothin’ to do with this. This has to do with thinnin’ the herd. You know, survival of the fittest.”
“Thinnin’ of the herd?” asked Earl.
“Hell, yeah, boy,” said Todd, sucking on his fingers. “Too many people on earth. That’s why we have shit like AIDS to get rid of the faggots and wars to get rid of the weak. The only problem is, neither of those was workin’ fast enough. Naw, this shit here is happenin’ so the strong are the only ones left. You see, men like me and these two here, we gonna thrive.”
“And
us,” said Earl, forcing a smile.
Todd leaned back howling with laughter. “Shit, no offense, but old niggers and preacher men ain’t gonna make it in this world. Men who know how to hunt, fight, and live off the land are.”
Say nigger one more time.
Billy put his rifle beside his chair as he ate and laughed. John had his across his lap. He didn’t take his hand off of it while chugging his beer. He also didn’t take his eyes off of Earl. Todd had a fist full of meat in one hand and his beer in the other. The order was set.
“Now, I’m not saying you two don’t have a chance,” said Todd, finishing his first beer and receiving another from Earl. “And when I say nigger, I don’t mean –”
John was first.
Leaning forward in a fake laugh, I had easy access to the Glocks. It was too late for John when he saw both barrels swinging around. He was eight feet away on the other side of the fire when I dropped to a knee and put two in his face.
I watched as Earl fell back in his chair to get away from the gun battle he already knew was coming. With wide eyes – full of fear – Todd fumbled for his pistol with his greasy fingers. Before he pulled it, I put four in his chest. He was number two.
As Earl rolled across the deck, Billy was screaming with his hands in the air, still holding his beer and a rib. He never made a move for his gun. The gesture was inadequate. The only thing he did was allow me to steady my aim. Number three in the order took one to the forehead.
All three were dead in as many seconds.
Earl made it all the way to edge of the deck before the grill stopped him. I checked our guests to make sure a miracle didn’t happen for them. When I confirmed it didn’t, I holstered my guns.
“They’re dead, Earl. All clear.
“Earl.
“Earl?”
He was on his stomach with his hands covering his face. It was probably the first time he experienced something that traumatic. My hands weren’t even trembling.
