by Dan Padavona
Repasky shouted into the radio. If dispatch replied it was impossible to hear over the storm.
“Bell,” Gardy said, staring wide-eyed at the water leaking through the window.
“Get us out of here, Repasky.”
The officer stomped the gas.
“I can’t. She ain’t going anywhere.”
The water was up to Gardy’s ankles and rising fast. The agent forced his door open as the wind tried to rip him from the cab.
“Climb out. We need to find shelter.”
Bell hit the ground with Repasky behind her. Then the full force of Ana slammed them to the earth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Gwen was sprawled on the bedroom carpet when she awoke, the fibers itching her face and making her eyes water. The light in the room was all wrong. Gray and mottled with moving shadows.
A vise was around her head. Squeezing.
She lifted her arms to touch the back of her head and found her wrists bound. Ankles bound, too.
She remembered the man. Twisting onto her side, she looked around the room and didn’t see him. Just the empty bedroom, the nightstand shattered and in a clump. Squirming across the floor awakened more pain when the wound across her back tore.
Where is he?
She listened but didn’t hear the man. Couldn’t sense him anymore as though a heat source had been removed from the room.
All around her the house groaned as the storm bulled off the Atlantic. The walls made a splintering noise. It was a matter of time before the hurricane ripped the house apart. She wondered when the ocean would ascend the beach and barrel through the kitchen.
Hot pain shot from her neck into her skull. Gwen winced and felt her body drifting toward unconsciousness as the floor pitched and spun. She fought to stay awake, but the tide of exhaustion dragged her under.
When she turned over, Gwen felt her wrists slide against the bindings. Had the ropes loosened? Blood seeped down from her back and slicked her wrists. She pulled one arm and then the other, the ropes clutching just below her hands. If she yanked too hard she’d dislocate her wrists.
She kept working the wrists back-and-forth, listening for the man. Another tug and her hands popped out of their bindings.
Free.
A prickling sensation on the back of her neck told Gwen he was behind her. She looked toward the bedroom door, and the entryway was empty.
The ropes around her ankles were tighter. Tied in multiple knots. It would take time to undo all those knots, time she didn’t have. A thump came from below. He was somewhere in the living room.
The first knot unraveled, and she got to work on the second when the stairs groaned. She went silent. Waiting. Breaths coming fast as her inner radar fought to home in on his position.
Nothing. The groan might have been the wind pushing at the walls.
The second knot fought her. He’d wrenched it tight, and she snapped a nail to the quick as she wrangled the ropes apart.
One more.
The third knot proved to be the weakest. It pulled apart, and the pressure relief on her ankles was heaven. Standing was a challenge. Gwen gripped the mattress and pulled. Arms shaking, she almost crashed to the floor and drew his attention. After she climbed to her feet, she remained still until the room stopped spinning.
Each step across the floor caused Gwen’s stomach to drop out from under her. The carpet was soft, a faithful friend which quieted her steps and guided her to the window.
She barely recognized the development. The road sign lay on its side. A spray of shingles fanned out a hundred yards or more as the palms bent toward the earth.
An otherworldly force pushed at the back of the house and shook the walls. The ocean. Nature was about to reclaim her land.
Leaning on the sill, she estimated the distance from the window to the porch roof. It was five feet sideways and several yards down. A death wish.
Yet she had no choice. It was jump or face the maniac without a weapon.
She slid the pane open a crack. The wind whistled through the opening, a shriek the man must have heard.
Slid the window up another few inches and felt the pressure in the room release. Like prying the lid off a sealed jar.
And that’s when she heard his footsteps cross the living room and ascend the stairs.
Gwen tore the screen off its tracks and climbed through the window.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The new high school was a modern brick structure that stood a half-mile beyond the bridge. An expanse of windows along the front of the school looked out upon the rapidly intensifying hurricane. All that glass made Cheri nervous, and she backed into the cafeteria, putting another wall between her and the windows in case they imploded.
“Why don’t you come inside with the others?”
Cheri jumped, not hearing Brenda sneak up behind her. The high school served as a shelter for those fleeing their homes, and Brenda, a stout woman in her late-fifties, was one of the city workers overseeing the operation.
“I want to be here when my friend arrives.”
Brenda gave a doubtful nod and turned toward the gymnasium where the majority of the refugees convened. It wasn’t likely anyone was out driving during the peak of the storm.
Cheri checked her phone again. She’d texted Gwen three times since their call cut off. Had any of the messages gone through?
She’d waited at the Sunoco until the wind frightened her. Though Cheri was tempted to abandon the island and drive to Atlanta, a growing worry something was wrong, that Gwen was in danger, kept her rooted to Sunset Island. Now she was trapped inside the shelter with no hope of fleeing the storm. Ana caught her.
Cheri nervously rubbed her hands in the back of the cafeteria. A small group of people clustered near the front with their eyes focused on a television broadcasting the local news. An emergency message scrolled along the bottom of the screen.
She checked her messages when something on the television caught the corner of her eye. Something that shouldn’t be yet was. Cheri fumbled the phone and snatched it before it fell to the floor. Gwen’s picture was on the television. The image was grainy and blurred around the edges, obviously obtained from a security video, but Cheri knew it was Gwen. Which made no sense because Gwen wasn’t in trouble with the law. Cheri had just seen her.
Cheri rose on trembling legs and shambled toward the television. She shushed two people talking, and they stared at her as Cheri stood before the screen as if she’d seen a phantom.
“Do you know that woman?”
She didn’t know which of the men spoke.
“Miss?”
Below Gwen’s picture was a phone number. A hotline number to the Sunset Beach Police Department. And a hotline number meant trouble. Something terrible was happening.
She started entering the number when it vanished from the television, but her memory was sharp, fine-tuned by panic and concern for Gwen.
To her relief, the call went through. A moment later, a female answered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Bell’s eyes flickered open in confusion. She lay on the floor among a row of chairs, many of which were overturned. There were four rows arranged symmetrically to face a center where a table, covered by a white cloth, stood as a focal point. A flower arrangement served as a centerpiece for the table, and high above hung long, cylindrical lights. It took her a few blinks before she realized she was in an interfaith church, though she didn’t recall how she got there.
Outside, the hurricane roared. It shook the walls, an angry monster who wanted to eat. The lights swung over her head, making her think this might not be the best place to rest.
Below her lay a purple carpet which did little to cushion her back. Her clothes were soaked through and pasted against her skin.
Someone moaned.
She turned her head and saw Gardy leaning over Repasky. The officer’s eyes were closed to slits, teeth gritted.
“Keep your leg still. Try not to move.”
“Good, I thought we’d lost you.”
He brushed the hair from her cheek.
A stinging pain brought her hand to the side of her head. It came away with blood.
“What happened?”
He told her she’d lost consciousness after being struck in the head by debris. Bell groaned.
“Please tell me it wasn’t a stop sign.”
Gardy snickered.
“Only you could make a joke at a time like this. For the record, it was a tree branch.”
“A big one?”
“Big enough to maintain your street cred.”
A water droplet wet her forehead. The roof was leaking. She sat up on her elbows and rolled a kink out of her neck.
“What happened to Repasky?”
Gardy lowered his voice.
“It doesn’t look good. I think the leg is broken.”
“I can hear you, you know?” Repasky was on his side, propped up on one elbow and clutching his injured leg. “A break is a break. You make it sound like you’ll need to put me down.”
“Nothing that drastic. The question is how do we get you out of here.”
“No rush. We’ll wait out the storm. We’re in God’s house, Agent Gardy. Nothing bad will happen to us—”
The shriek of wood and nails tearing apart came from above, and a section of roof shot skyward. A torrent of rain poured through the opening, and the wind followed, stalking inside the church.
A stack of hymns shot into the air and rotated in the miniature cyclone as Bell and Gardy crawled toward the fallen officer. She shouted at Gardy, but the wind ripped her voice away and pulled it into the heavens. He put a hand to his ear, and she pointed across the room at a set of doors. The restrooms. Gardy nodded and lifted Repasky under one shoulder as Bell propped him up from the other side. Together they supported Repasky, who hopped on one leg as the hymns shredded and flapped around them.
The officer slumped against the wall when they staggered into the restroom. Bell gathered they were inside the women’s room by the soft pinks accenting the facility.
“This is a helluva way to go out,” Repasky said. “Dying in the women’s bathroom.”
Bell tapped the walls.
“We should be okay. The plumbing adds support to the walls, and there are no windows.”
Despite Bell’s confidence, Gardy radioed dispatch and reported Repasky’s injury. Gardy talked to the dispatcher for a moment before McKenna jumped in on the conversation.
“We can’t reach you. Ana drove the Atlantic across the lower half of the island. You’re cut off until the storm lets up.”
“How long before that happens?”
They heard McKenna shuffling papers.
“According to the National Weather Service, you’re looking at hurricane-force winds for the next thirty to forty-five minutes. After that you’ve got another three hours of tropical storm conditions and a tornado threat.”
“We can hold the fort for a few more hours.”
“You do that, and I promise we’ll get someone out to your location as soon as Mother Nature lets us. In the meantime…”
Bell recognized the female dispatcher’s voice in the background. She couldn’t make out their conversation, only bits and pieces. Something about a person named Devereux.
“Agent Gardy, you still there?”
“Copy. We’re here.”
“We got a positive ID on the woman in the security footage.”
Bell sat forward. An electric charge moved through her body.
“Gwen Devereux, One Atlantic Way. A phone call came in from a woman who claims she works with Devereux.” More background chatter. “We’ve got confirmation, Agent Gardy. Suarez just found her on Google. She runs a firm called DesignForce on Sunset Island. I’m looking at her picture right now.”
After the call ended Gardy knelt and kept knocking the back of his head against the wall.
“She’s right around the corner. I don’t know what to do.”
Bell couldn’t believe what she heard.
“What we do is go after her. Atlantic Way is less than a mile away.”
“How do you propose we do that? Those are one-hundred-mile-per-hour winds out there, and we don’t have a vehicle.”
“Yes, we do.”
Gardy glanced back at Repasky and said, “Sit still.” Then the agent jumped up and chased after Bell. She yanked open the door. The church was in shambles, the chairs tossed around the room while a waterfall of rain poured through the roof.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, standing a few feet behind her.
Bell stared through the window at the automotive repair shop across the street.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The full brunt of Ana ripped at Gwen as she lay flat inside the copse. All around her, trees swayed and snapped with shotgun blasts. The ocean crashed mere feet from the copse, the storm having swallowed the beach. Now it took aim on the development and Sunset Island beyond.
Gwen felt the storm shred her back as she gripped a sapling and prayed for the storm to end. The wind dug beneath her with bony fingers and lifted her body off the earth. Now she extended from the tree, a human kite caught in the wind. She screamed when a wave surged over her legs, the fury of a thousand jet engines blaring into her ears.
Daring to raise her head, she saw her house still upright as Ana turned the shingles into confetti. Her car stood in the driveway, useless without keys, and the next nearest residence was a block away.
Even if the hurricane abated, she didn’t think she could run to safety. Though she’d survived the jump to the porch roof, landing on the ground jammed her hip. She’d limped into the copse and fallen flat moments before the worst of the hurricane struck, all the while keeping her eyes on the house, knowing the man was inside. She wished the storm would claim the house and drag the man into the sea.
A piece of bark gashed her forehead as the storm felled another tree a few feet away.
Gwen closed her eyes. All she wanted was to fall asleep and leave her life in God’s hands. If this was the way she was meant to go, she accepted her fate. She wanted the nightmare to end. It seemed Ana’s wrath would never relent.
Until it did.
The change was subtle at first, the wind receding by twenty mph. Gwen barely perceived the change amid the tropical downpour, but the trees no longer bent earthward.
Trembling, teeth chattering, her flesh grated by countless razors, Gwen propped herself up on her hands and caught her breath. Clumps of mud dripped from her hair, and something sharp pierced her side. She pinched the glass shard between her fingers and pulled. Cried out. The glass came out bloodstained. Debris in the form of insulation, snapped branches, shingles, and glass lay around her as if a bomb had exploded.
Her body protested her attempt to stand, but she bit back the pain and stood panting against a stout palm that survived the massacre. She put one foot in front of the other, felt the storm try to wrestle her back to the earth, steadied herself, and kept walking. Lightning flashed and was immediately counter-punched by a blast of thunder.
Halfway out of the copse, Gwen heard him coming. Footsteps snapped branches. She turned and saw his vacant eyes as he pushed through the debris.
Gwen screamed as he lunged for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Entering the repair shop was the easy part. The plate glass fronting the building had imploded, the door cockeyed and swinging on one hinge.
How they fought their way across the road, Bell barely remembered. The flooded road tried to sweep Bell off her feet and whisk her into the Atlantic. She remembered clutching Gardy’s elbow, the agent screaming in her ear to turn back as pieces from the interfaith center’s roof rained down around them.
The Jeep Grand Cherokee was parked in front of the shop. The passenger side window was smashed in, safety glass sparkling on the seat. Otherwise, the SUV appeared unscathed. Inside the sh
op, Bell found the keys hanging off a hook behind the counter.
“Stealing a Jeep? I don’t like this, Bell.”
Bell pointed to a big oak tipping over. When it fell, it would crush the Jeep.
“We’re doing the owner a favor.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. What about Repasky? He’s alone.”
Half of the church’s roof was gone, and the wind intended to take the rest.
“I don’t like leaving him any more than you do. He’s safe inside the bathroom.”
“And if the ocean reaches the church?”
Bell shook her head.
She climbed into the driver seat before he protested. Gingerly sitting on glass pellets, Gardy yanked the seatbelt across his chest and shot her a you’ve reached a whole new level of crazy stare. The motor gunned, a good sign. Bell backed out of the parking space and weaved the vehicle between broken glass and a huge chunk of palm. Gardy’s teeth gritted as the Jeep plunged into the flooded roadway.
The water level eclipsed the tires. It flowed like a rapid out of its banks and pulled the vehicle to the side as Bell battled to push the Jeep forward. They moved against the flow for the length of the street, but the ocean had completely engulfed the intersecting road, blocking their only path to Atlantic Way.
“Take it as a sign from heaven. Turn around while we still can.”
She hit the accelerator and splashed forward. The water level climbed above the grille, and it moved fast enough to sweep them downstream at highways speeds. Driving through the flood was a stunt the criminally insane wouldn’t pull.
“Bell!”
“I’ve got this.”
A moment before the front end dipped into raging waters, Bell pulled right on the steering wheel and took them over the curb. They climbed a sloped yard toward a sprawling brick mansion, the Jeep jouncing crazily as Gardy braced his arms against the dash.
“Bell!”
“Hang on. I know what I’m doing.”
