by Simon Curtis
INTERSTATE CLOSURE AHEAD—DETOUR
The yellow-orange lights of the flickering construction sign cut through the darkness.
“We can just stop in Stroud. We’re about to come up to the exit anyway,” the guy says as he tries to see beyond the cones.
I watch the girl slide her palms over her pockets. Knowing that she has guns in them makes me watch her hands closely.
“I don’t like this,” she says, pursing her lips, staring out ahead. A flash of lightning illuminates her face. I look out the back window—shattered and open to the elements—as thunder rumbles in the distance.
“There used to be a huge outlet mall right over there,” the guy says. I turn back around and catch him looking at me through the rearview mirror.
“Years ago, a massive F5 hit and completely obliterated it. The entire town’s economy was built around it, and within seconds, it was gone.”
I look out the window to my right and can barely make out a vast expanse of concrete in the darkness.
“The only thing left was the parking lot. They never bothered getting rid of it, so when you drive by you just see this big patch of flat cement out in the middle of nowhere.”
Another purple flash lights up the entire length of the ruin and a chill runs down my spine.
“It’s like looking at a shipwreck,” I say.
“Exactly.”
I look again to the rearview mirror and I notice his blue eyes already on me.
We slow down even more as we take the exit. The vehicle leans as we bend in a slow, tight circle off the interstate. We turn right at the light. I think we’re going south.
“Don’t stop here. This town is too close to the interstate.” Azure holds her gaze out the window as she speaks.
“I don’t think there even is anything past Stroud.”
The guy looks to the girl for command.
She gives a subtle, reluctant nod forward.
Another flash of lightning cracks, closer this time. The thunder follows only a few seconds behind.
We’re heading right into the storm.
• • •
Hardly anything has appeared on the road around us since we left Stroud twenty minutes ago. Not even a streetlight. Lightning streaks across the sky ahead every few seconds now to reveal a dark sea of flat nothingness. A sign announcing the town lights up in the headlights.
WELCOME TO PRAGUE
Droplets begin to pelt the windshield.
Just in time. I really wasn’t looking forward to getting caught in this storm.
We make our way into the tiny town. Our eyes search for a place to stay as the rain begins to pick up. The drops echo loudly through the car, and I can feel the tension mounting. I don’t think any of us want to get stuck out in this. A glowing yellow sign for a motel pops up in the distance just as the rain begins to pour.
By the time we pull up to the office at the front of the motel, we can’t see more than a foot from the windows of the car through the rain. The guy hops out and runs in, returning a few minutes later, completely soaked, a room key in hand.
“We’re down at the end.”
He puts the car into drive and starts toward the parking area in front of the rooms.
“Park at the gas station.” Azure doesn’t look from the window as she issues her command.
“That’s all the way down the road,” he says. “No one is going to be able to spot the car in this weather. We’ll be fine in the lot.”
“Do it,” says the girl up front. “We can’t take the chance.”
The guy lets out a sigh and turns out of the lot and heads back up the road to the gas station we passed on our way in, about a quarter mile away from the motel.
I guess we’re getting wet after all.
• • •
The motel room door clicks shut behind me just as hail begins to come down in heavy, thundering pelts. We all look like we just went swimming in our clothes.
I throw the heavy black trunk I helped carry from the car onto the floor and take a look around the room. Thin, brown carpet with a few pale green stains here and there rests underneath two full-size beds that look like they haven’t seen new sheets since the 1970s. The walls, with their faded, dull, creamy color, and the dark brown table holding the bright orange phone confirm the era.
Right now, though, it’s dry, and might as well be heaven.
I look at the orange phone and wonder if they would let me call Jonathan, just to tell him that I’m alive.
The guy interrupts my thoughts. “I have some sweats you can borrow.”
“Oh, thanks.” The sound of the rain intensifies. “I appreciate it.”
The guy smiles. “It’s all good. Glad to help out.”
I see the dark-haired girl watch him for a moment as she leans over to open one of her bags.
“Hey, will you help me with this in the bathroom?”
She’s holding a clear plastic bag in which I can plainly see a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a razor. He responds with a puzzled look.
“Now.”
She goes into the bathroom. He follows her inside and shuts the door behind them.
Azure touches the remote by one of the beds, and an extraordinarily large, boxy TV near the wall slowly comes to life. A hazy infomercial begins to buzz through. In the right-hand corner of the screen is a superimposed outline of the surrounding counties under the words TORNADO WARNING. A red, swirling mass moves across the map.
“Lovely.” Azure scowls as she watches it.
“Where are we?” I ask, trying to figure it out in my head before she can answer.
“Right here.” She points to the middle of the map, directly in the path of the red slash. She sits in a chair next to a small desk in the corner, still dripping wet, and closes her eyes.
The girl emerges from the bathroom, towel in hand, followed shortly by the guy, no longer smiling.
“You guys can go ahead and get showered up,” he says.
Azure gets up and steps into the bathroom.
“I’m pretty sure we’re the only guests checked in right now, so there should be plenty of hot water to go around.”
Azure closes the door and locks it before he finishes speaking.
“She’s sweet,” he says.
I look back at the TV so he can’t see me stifle a smirk.
“We’re under a tornado warning.” The girl sits on the edge of the other bed. She stops toweling her hair and studies the fuzzy screen.
“Watch or warning?”
“Warning.”
“What’s the difference?” I immediately feel stupid for asking.
“One means it could happen,” the guy says.
“The other means ‘get to shelter and wait for the sirens.’”
This girl is almost as sweet as Azure.
I watch the screen as the red line inches its way closer to where we are, and my stomach drops a little bit. “But that doesn’t mean a tornado has actually touched down, does it?”
“No, not necessarily,” the guy says. “You can never predict where or when they’re going to hit, only monitor the conditions and the likelihood of one happening.”
The girl points to the screen. “That just means it’s pretty damn likely.”
“So what do we do?”
The bathroom door opens and Azure walks out, clad in a stiff white robe. “You take a fast shower, that’s what.” She throws me a towel.
I head to the bathroom and try to wrap my head around the logistics of the shower she just took.
“You didn’t even have time to lather,” I hear the guy say to himself as I close the bathroom door and try to stifle another laugh. I’m glad I’m not the only one totally bewildered by her weirdness.
I strip down, turn the slightly rusted nozzle, and wait for the room to steam up. I will not be taking as short of a shower as Azure, tornado warning be damned. My toes test the water before I step in and let it stream down my body, almost scalding. I can’t believe
it’s been only a few hours since I woke up to the piercing sensation of the Flare in the hotel room back in Tulsa. Every hour has felt like an entire lifetime the past couple of days.
The steam opens up my pores and works its way deep into my skin, and I remember how good the hotel bed felt. Hell, after the past few nights, the shabby old bed in the room next to me looks heavenly. As long as I actually get to sleep.
Thunder shakes the entire building.
I stretch my neck and let the heat work out some of the kinks from my night on the train. That was only last night. I really can’t believe it.
How the hell did I wind up here?
One of those inexplicable late-night anxiety attacks sneaks up on me and clamps down on my neck with vicious ferocity. I press my forehead against the cold, white tile as I try to stop myself from hyperventilating.
A droning, wailing sound like the cry of a thousand mournful ghosts begins to crescendo from the outside and fills my head over the din of the shower and the thunder.
That must be what a tornado siren sounds like.
Everything goes black.
The building begins to shake around me, and I hear what sounds like a giant train approaching in the pitch-black darkness, just like the other night.
That must be what a tornado sounds like.
Someone pounds on the door and screams in the dark. A bigger sound swells around me, and the shouting is drowned out. I push aside the shower curtain and fumble in the dark for a towel as the locked door bursts from its hinges and flies toward my face. A flash of white blazes in my eyes as a corner of the flying door jettisons into my cheek. I feel the skin tear away and the bone underneath crack with the force, and I fall back into the shower curtain as the cataclysmic train sound arrives.
Lightning flashes, and I see the windows of the motel room shatter inward. Bits of everything shoot out toward me. A hand grasps my arm and pulls my naked body up and out of the tub and into the doorway, clutching me so tight it feels like my arm will break. A roar unlike anything I’ve ever heard bears down on the room as a brilliant blue dome of electric light surrounds me and everything goes silent. I look up from under the pulsating canopy and watch as the beast outside tears away the roof, the walls, the beds, everything, in a swirling, violent mass of debris.
Everything around me flies up into the sky. I’m in a vacuum, anchored safely to the ground under the protection of the dome. A car smashes into the side of the blue wall, right in front of my face, and crumples into nothing. I instinctively clamp my hands over my ears, waiting for a booming crash that never comes. The sound is muffled.
Before my brain can fully register what’s happening, it stops. Everything settles into place around us, the noise dies away and, just like that, it’s over. Discarded remnants of the motel and the entire surrounding area flutter to the ground. I can’t catch my breath. The blue dome flickers out of existence, and I finally look around to see that Azure, the guy, and the girl were all in the tiny blue dome of light along with me. I force myself to inhale and remember that I’m naked.
Perfect.
“Are you okay?”
Azure’s stern voice cuts the buzzing silence. The mark on her forehead is glowing again.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say as I try to stand. “What was that?” My eyes search the piles of debris around me for something to cover up with. My face hurts.
“An F4 at least, if the state of this motel is anything to go by,” the girl says as she grabs a crumpled bedsheet from the corner of the decimated room, shakes it out, and hands it to me. “It’s full of glass.”
I nod in appreciation and wrap it around my body, still dripping wet.
Her eyes linger on Azure in anger or disgust or something I can’t fully catch. She starts gathering what’s left of our things.
I take a quick look around. The motel has been destroyed. The roof is completely gone. The wall behind the old TV is the only part of the structure left standing in the entire building. The girl’s big black duffel and the guy’s backpack made it into the protection of Azure’s dome and sit right by our feet, undisturbed. Everything else has been razed to the foundation, left in a pile of messy debris. I take in the horrific sight and realize that the silence is what is most disturbing. How many people just died around us?
“We need to go.” Azure punctures the silence dismissively.
“There might be people trapped out here. Shouldn’t we stay and help?” I ask, looking around at the endless field of destruction. Surely she will consider helping. Anyone who might be buried alive under this wouldn’t have much time.
“No.” She turns and walks away.
“She’s right,” the girl says, still regarding Azure with the strange look as she leaves. “The fire department, and whoever else they can get, will be arriving any minute. Followed by news crews.” Her brown eyes lock with mine, and I can’t tell if it is pity or sadness I see for a brief second. “We have to go now.”
She dons the stoic, resolute look of a hardened leader—a look I’m starting to suspect might be a mask. She grabs her duffel, turns, and heads out through what used to be the bathroom. She strides past the toilet that still stands, steps off the foundation of the building, and into the grass after Azure. Her footsteps crunch in the shards of glass and splintered wood that litter the ground.
The guy follows as I realize I am barefoot. Great. I remember the sight of my forehead stitching back together just a few days ago . . . or was it yesterday? Everything is such a blur. Pacific feels like a lifetime ago. At any rate, I think I can make it over some glass and other assorted bits of obliterated motel.
Crunch.
I feel shards of glass drive into my skin and take another step.
• • •
The wet grass changes into pavement, and I wince slightly as chunks of glass push deeper into my feet. The car is right where we left it, the gas station behind it completely untouched by the tornado that decimated the motel just a few hundred yards away. The others are climbing into the car, but the guy stops and digs something out from his backpack.
“Here.”
He extends his arm, clutching a folded pair of sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. I notice the muscles in his forearm and feel a sudden flush in my face as I remember just how naked I am under the bedsheet. He looks right at me with his bright blue eyes and lets a half smile spread across his face.
I fumble in my head for the right word. “Thanks.”
I awkwardly look to my left and right for a place to change, away from the gaze of the blue eyes that have thrown me so off guard.
“Sorry,” he says as hops into the car and spares me any further embarrassment.
I slip my legs into the sweats, letting the sheet fall as I pull them up, and pull the T-shirt over my head. The guy is almost a foot taller than me, and his clothes show it. My wet skin clings to all of the excess fabric, but I’m more comfortable than I was, and I’m grateful.
I jump into the back beside Azure as the girl in the front pulls her long black hair into a ponytail. The guy starts the engine. A blast of ice-cold air shoots back from the AC. I hadn’t realized how hot it still was outside, even after the storm. The guy puts the vehicle into reverse, and a gust of the muggy, hot air comes in from the open, shattered back window. He puts it in drive and takes a right, back out onto the road. We head south.
In the silence, a thought occurs to me, and I suddenly feel ridiculous. “I’m Isaak, by the way.”
The girl turns around to face me and gives a reluctant smile that I’m sure is rarely seen. “Kamea.”
I repeat it back to her, making sure I’ve got it right. It’s a name as beautiful as she is. It suits her.
The smile dissipates as she looks to Azure. “Hello, Azure,” she says.
I knew it.
Azure nods to the girl without expression, then looks to the guy in the mirror and gives him one as well. He returns it, and I realize that they all have met before.
“
JB.”
He looks to me as he speaks and I get caught by his gaze again. The subtle half smile creeps over his face once more, and I have the sudden urge to avert my eyes and pick shards of glass from my feet.
I watch the cuts and loose bits of skin stitch back together and smooth over, as if they were never there, and hope that no one in the dark car can see me blush.
• • •
I wake up with my forehead pressed against the window. The first light of day casts a pale pink glow over the flat stretch of plains outside. Buildings appear more frequently, and a few car dealerships flank the highway. I look to my left and Azure is sitting tall, alert, gazing out the window. She hasn’t slept.
The vehicle slows as we take an exit off of the highway.
“Where are you going?” Azure asks, clearly irked by our sudden detour.
“Well, unless you want me to drive off into a ditch somewhere, I need caffeine,” JB says. “And I need to pee, bad.”
Kamea cracks her neck in the front seat, followed by each and every joint in her fingers. The noises punctuate the tension in the car like firecrackers.
Azure leans back silently as JB spots a big chain coffee shop and turns into the parking lot. He parks in the far edge of the lot, away from other cars, and kills the engine.
“Five minutes,” Azure says as she gets out. She closes the door behind her with more force than necessary.
“Someone isn’t a morning person,” JB says to no one in particular. I notice his eyes dart up to meet mine, and I suddenly feel the need to search for the door handle.
“Please don’t get in a fight with our new friend,” Kamea says as she unbuckles her seat belt. I look up and catch the end of an eye roll from JB.
“What? Who, him?” He points back to me with his thumb, the smile returning. “I don’t think I’m gonna fight him. He seems nice enough.”
Kamea gets out of the car and looks at me.
“I’m not worried about you fighting him.”
She turns to head into the coffee shop as the blood rushes to my cheeks once again.
• • •
I let the door of the coffee shop close behind me and head for the bathroom. I didn’t realize how badly I had to go until we stopped. Azure is in line at the counter with her back facing the door. A man in a shirt and tie stands in line behind her and eyes her up and down, but her gaze remains fixed directly ahead. Somehow, I know she still has full awareness of everything going on around her. I feel her eyes on me through the back of her platinum-blond head.
