by Dawne Knobbe
RUNAWAY
STORM
RUNAWAY
STORM
D.E. KNOBBE
Notice: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and
incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Emerald Book Company
Austin, TX
www.emeraldbookgroup.com
Copyright ©2010 D.E. Knobbe
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means,
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publisher.
Distributed by Emerald Book Company
For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Emerald Book
Company at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.
Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group LLC
Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group LLC
Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data (Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)
Knobbe D. E.
Runaway storm / D.E. Knobbe. -- 1st ed.
p.; cm.
ISBN: 978-1-934572-87-0
1. Young men--Fiction. 2. Kayaking--Fiction. 3. Outdoor life--Fiction. 4. Adventure and
adventurers--Fiction. 5. Adventure stories. I. Title.
PS3607.N63 R86 2010
813/.6 2009936425
Part of the Tree Neutral™ program, which offsets the number of trees consumed in the
production and printing of this book by taking proactive steps, such as planting trees in
direct proportion to the number of trees used: www.treeneutral.com
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper
09 10 11 12 13 14 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
In loving memory of my father, William John Ferguson.
“Daddy, you are always in my heart.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
An extra special thanks to: Maria D. Laslo, who wields a pen like a dedicated surgeon. Judy Enderle and Stephanie Gordon—mentors, teachers, and friends. My awesome critique buddies Mike Mahoney, Rebecca Roman, Svett Strickland, and Madelyn Ewing, along with all the Sandscribes: Lisa Osdale Poppa, Sue Welfringer, V Addeman, Marcia Lynch, Molly Peckels, and the rest of the dedicated crew. My devoted frontline readers: Taryn Lees and Ashlie Ferguson. Linda O’Doughda: great editing, much appreciated.
Special kudos to my greatest fan, my husband, John, and to James and Allie for being chill with mom’s writing time.
1
Nate slouched out of the elevator and crossed the lobby of the apartment building. The apartment, this building, New York—they had never felt like home. In fact, the city had been more like a prison, with no time off for good behavior. Ha! No one seemed to notice his good behavior.
“Hey, Natey,” George the doorman called from behind his desk, where he lounged with his feet up, hands locked behind his head.
Nate cringed. The nickname made him feel like a three-year-old instead of someone almost fifteen.
“If you see Sam lurking in the alley, tell him to turn on his damn cell and leave it on. His mother’s driving me nuts.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nate muttered as he yanked open the door.
George never bothered to open it for him. He was some crappy doorman. “Tell your mothers I’m not paid to babysit.”
Nate shoved the door hard behind him, hoping for a thunderous slam, but instead he heard the usual swoosh as it whispered back into place.
He stumbled down the narrow path alongside the building toward Sam’s hangout at the back. The smell of garbage intensified with his every step. Nate wondered why they even bothered to put lids on the huge blue bins, and how Sam could stand the stench. He didn’t like Sam much, but company was company. If it weren’t for their mothers working together, they never would have become friends. Hell, he thought, if it weren’t for their mothers, neither of them would be stuck here in New York.
Sam was in his usual spot on the top step of the back stairwell. A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he picked at the threads sticking out from a hole in the knee of his jeans.
“Join me for a smoke?” Sam asked, slanting a half smile at Nate from under long, greasy bangs. He held out a pack of Marlboro Reds.
Nate wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and pulled one out. “George wants you to turn on your damn cell. Says he’s not our babysitter.”
“Yeah, well, neither is the cell phone,” Sam said. He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’d enjoy a babysitter; I wouldn’t mind being tucked in by some hot chick.” He leaned back on his elbows with a twisted smirk.
“In your dreams,” Nate said, putting the cigarette in his mouth.
Sam held his cigarette against the threads in his jeans then jumped when it burned through, singeing his leg. “Shit!” He rubbed the red mark on his knee.
Nate swallowed a snicker as he balanced himself on the side rail and held out the cigarette again. “You gonna give me a light or what?”
“Ever smoked before?”
“No.”
“All right!” Sam whooped. He slipped a book of matches from his pocket, struck one, and lifted the flame toward the end of Nate’s cigarette. “Don’t inhale the first few puffs; just pull the smoke into your mouth and blow it out.”
Nate followed Sam’s instructions and sucked the smoke into his mouth. It tasted strange but not entirely unpleasant. Smoke wafted up his nostrils, and he gagged.
“So, you feeling rebellious or something?” Sam asked.
Nate tried not to cough. “I guess,” he said. “I’m pissed at my parents.”
Sam blew a smoke ring that rose above their heads before fading into the dirty air.
“Your mom ’fess up and tell you she’s staying in New York?”
Nate glared at Sam.
He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was the smoke or the idea of more bad news. He dragged on the cigarette again, inhaling smoke into his lungs enough to feel the sensation and satisfy his curiosity. It made him a little dizzy, but it was also sort of calming.
“Actually, it’s my dad I’m pissed at,” he said. “He promised me a month of kayaking in the Gulf Islands this summer, and now he’s backing out. Course, it’s not his fault. He has to go to Alberta on ‘urgent business.’ Tell me, what urgent business could a geologist have?”
“Face it, Nate. You’re never gonna escape this hellhole. Live with it. I do.”
“I’m moving back to Vancouver at the end of the summer, with or without my mother!” Nate said. “She promised we’d only be here a year.”
“I know something you don’t know,” Sam taunted in a singsong voice.
“What?”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, buddy, but your mom’s already signed at work to stay another year. Least that’s what I heard her tell my mom.” He changed to a high-pitched squeak. “How am I going to tell Nate? He just hasn’t settled in the way I’d hoped.”
Nate closed his eyes and slumped almost slipping off the railing. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach for the second time in under an hour: first his dad, then his mom. They obviously cared more about themselves than about him.
The curls Nate’s mother loved so much caught in the tag at the back of his shirt. He tugged at them with one hand as he tossed the rest of his cigarette to the ground with the other. He raised his foot to crush it.
“Hey! Don’t waste i
t, man!” Sam retrieved the butt, popped off the cherry, and slipped the remaining half into the pack.
This was it, Nate thought. He’d be hanging out here for the rest of his teenage years.
Nate turned away. “I’ve gotta go.”
“You should,” Sam said quietly. “Take summer into your own hands. Like me.” Sam took a slow drag on his cigarette and let the smoke drift out of his half-closed mouth.
“Where are you going?”
“L.A. I’m gonna hop a bus next week. Hang with friends. See if my old girlfriend remembers me. Maybe get laid.” He shrugged. “To hell with your mom and dad, man. You should do what you want. They are.”
Nate faced Sam. “Give me the other half of that cigarette.”
He relit it, taking a long, slow drag.
Sam had a point, Nate realized. His mother was counting on his dad too, and she’d be pissed if she had to cancel her trip to Paris with her boyfriend, Paul. Even worse, Nate might get dragged along with them. Wouldn’t that be fun, a romantic trip for three? Why should his mother give up her trip? And, damn it, why should he give up his? Besides, he already had a plane ticket.
Sam interrupted his thoughts. “I can see the wheels spinning in your head, buddy.”
Nate’s scowl twisted into a grin. “Sam, my friend, you’ve just given me a great idea.”
He threw the stub of his cigarette onto the dirt and ground it into pieces.
“Let me know if you go or if you wimp out—either way,” Sam said. “You’ve got my number.”
“Like you ever have your cell on.”
“I don’t know; I might have fun tormenting my mother. Only this time I’ll tell her what I’m really up to. Torture by truth!”
“You’re twisted!”
“Nah. But I’m entitled to a little fun now and then.”
“That, my friend,” Nate said, “may be the only thing we agree on.”
“You take life too seriously, Nate.”
“And you don’t take anything seriously.”
Sam fanned himself with his cigarette pack. “I am deeply and truly wounded,” he said in a perfect Southern drawl.
Nate rolled his eyes. “I’m outta here!”
“When you taking off?”
“Three days. You?”
Sam picked at a scab on the side of his nose. ’Round then, I guess.”
“Right.” Nate turned to jog back toward the front of the building. “Have a great summer.”
“See you in the fall,” Sam shouted.
“Not if I can help it,” Nate yelled back.
“Happy sailing!”
“Kayaking!”
“Whatever,” Nate heard as he rounded the corner of the building.
Nate ran up the seven flights of stairs to his floor. He was pumped with excitement, but so out of shape he could barely breathe by the time he got there. In Vancouver he’d played soccer and baseball; now all his friends were probably into basketball. Here, he’d done nothing all year, a big fat zero. It would have made his mother too happy. Besides, it was only supposed to be for a year.
But now he knew that what Sam had said was true; his mother had no intention of returning to Vancouver or to his father. She never had. Somewhere inside him, he’d known all along. Nate had seen that his mother’s attention was centered on the new man in her life. Maybe his dad had moved on too. Good for them. Nate had no intention of interfering with their summer plans, and if he had his way, they wouldn’t be interfering with his!
2
Nate glanced around the airport, which was crowded as usual. What wasn’t in New York?
“Natey, you’ve got your ticket?” his mother asked for the zillionth time as they walked toward his departure gate.
“Yeah, Mom. And don’t call me that.”
“Sorry, I forgot. Do you have your permission letter and your medical card?”
“I have everything, Mom. Still.”
She handed him an envelope. “There’s two hundred dollars cash in here, so you’ll have some spending money. The credit card is for emergencies only.”
“Define emergency.”
“Not junk food or movie tickets or anything like that.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Nate’s plane was due to take off in half an hour, and his mom’s plane would leave for Paris in two. He eyeballed her without turning his head. He could feel her nerves through the sweat of his palms.
“I should have called your father. I haven’t even talked to him about this trip. I don’t understand why he can’t pick you up.”
“Mom, chill. He had a meeting. I told him it was okay.” They reached the counter at Nate’s flight gate.
“All right, so you’ve got your ticket?”
“You already asked me that. I have everything. I could make this trip blindfolded.”
The woman behind the desk called the first boarding announcement over a microphone and then glanced at them.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“My son is traveling to Vancouver. He’s checked in, but he is an unaccompanied minor.”
Nate rolled his eyes, an infusion of blood rushing to his face.
“May I have your passport?” the woman asked as if she hadn’t heard.
Nate handed her his Canadian passport and his American one.
“A man of two countries,” she said, examining the names on both IDs.
“Born in the States, my dad’s Canadian. Makes me half-and-half,” he said.
She was kind enough to laugh. “Well, for today it’s probably less complicated if you travel as either a Canadian or an American—not both.”
Nate took back his American passport, wondering if his mother had noticed his choice.
“Who’s picking you up in Vancouver?” the attendant asked.
Nate answered quickly. “My friend and his brother. I have a letter from my mom.” He placed the letter on the counter, shifting his glance to the tight corners of his mother’s mouth. A flicker of nervousness warmed his face.
“I’m glad you’re such an organized traveler,” the woman said. “Now all I need is your ticket.”
He handed her the ticket. She clicked away at the computer keyboard and then slipped all of his papers into a small yellow envelope with a string tied to it. His eyes narrowed in on the string. They were going to make him hang it around his neck like a five-year-old. His bones seemed to melt along with his independence. How could he stand with no backbone left? He saw a glimmer of understanding spark in the woman’s eyes.
“Just carry it,” she said. “I’m sure if you weren’t crossing the border your mom would let you go it alone.”
“Right!” Nate muttered.
“You have to put up with me walking you to your seat, though, so let me know when you’re ready.”
His mother picked up the envelope, and he clenched his teeth as she looped the string over his head. He couldn’t believe she had done that. Would she ever let him grow up? He straightened his back. It was a good thing he was taking things into his own hands. She wiped at something on his chin, and he tried not to flinch. He was almost fifteen for freak’s sake. He twisted out of reach.
“Mom, you’re embarrassing me.”
“I forgot; you’re a big boy now,” she said. “Too old for your mama to fuss over.” She ran her hand through the curls at the back of his neck anyway, tugging them out from inside his collar. He hated the babyish curls that she loved. He swore silently that someday he would gather the nerve to cut them off.
“Mom!” he said more sharply, shrugging off her hand. Her eyes sparkled with tears, and for a moment Nate felt his heart soften. He gave her a loose hug.
Underneath all the unspoken garbage that cluttered their relationship, he knew she loved him, but he didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to feed his anger, turn his bones from jelly back to stone. Otherwise, he might wimp out on this whole plan.
For once, Paul had good timing. Nate let go of his mother and waved at the short, thick
man as he rushed toward them pushing a cart of neatly stacked luggage.
“I’d better go,” Nate said. “Don’t forget to call my cell if you want to get ahold of me.”
His mother nodded, but there were no more tears. In fact, her gaze was focused on Paul. Nate seemed to have fallen into her blind spot.
“Have a terrific summer,” Paul said, pumping Nate’s hand as he smiled stupidly at Nate’s mother. He let go and glanced at his watch without ever looking at Nate.
“Nancy, we have to hustle,” he said.
Nate’s mother rearranged his curls one last time. “Have a great summer with your dad.”
“Yeah, you guys have a good time too,” he muttered in the direction of their shoes, then squared his shoulders and faced the woman behind the desk. “I’m ready.” He thought to wave one last time, but his mom and Paul had disappeared.
Nate spent the whole flight with his headphones blaring. Twinges of guilt pressed on him as the plane soared, but he refused to let them invade his mind. Besides, it was too late. His mother was on her way to France, his father was in Alberta, and he was about to land in Vancouver.
Everyone on the plane seemed to be in vacation mode. A man in a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt played computer chess with his daughter, while the mother kept their young son occupied with a coloring book. Every so often the man winked at his wife and patted her leg, a ridiculous smirk on his face. Yuck, Nate thought. Thank God his parents had never acted like that. The sappy family was probably heading to Vancouver to sail off on one of the tourist trap ships to Alaska. Still, they looked so excited and happy it was depressing.
Nate tried to concentrate on his plan. He’d started a mental checklist of things to pack: fishing rod, life jacket, rain gear. His father had always taken care of the packing, but this time Nate would have to remember everything.
He wondered where Sam was. Probably halfway to California, without a pang of guilt. That is, if he’d actually gotten off his butt. Sometimes Sam seemed like the world’s greatest procrastinator. Maybe he was still back blowing smoke rings and burning holes in his jeans. Nate decided he would call Sam when he got to Vancouver and help the guy get his sorry ass in gear.
