Hurricane Kiss

by Deborah Blumenthal

  Or not. It could just be the room. I could be going crazy because we’re in a space without enough oxygen.

  “I’m going out.”

  “What?”

  “I need air … it’s claustrophobic in here.”

  “Into the storm?” he says, in disbelief.

  “The hall, the gym, anywhere.” I drop down into two feet of water, and then turn the knob.

  “I’ll go with you,” he says.

  The wind is keening again. We slosh through the wading pool of the first floor, silhouetted by the gray light coming in from the classroom windows. We end up in the theater, up on the stage where we’re safe from the windows. I turn to him. “Don’t be mad at me.”

  “Mad about what?”

  “I … never mind.”

  “Jesus, why did you start this?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Why would I be mad at you?” he insists. “Tell me.”

  “Whatever. You know the play you wrote?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I read it.”

  “How did you even know about it?”

  “I saw it in the drama room and I was curious about it, so after we put out the paper that night, I went back to the room and read it.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “It’s alive, it’s real. You’re a good writer, River.”

  His face is blank.

  “I mean it. You should keep writing.”

  “What did you like about it?”

  “The honesty.”

  “You mean the bullshit.”

  “It’s not. You, or the character, Evan, hates all the decisions he’s made or that have been made for him. He feels like every day is a compromise, that he’s been manipulated by other people for their own needs, and he’s seething. You can tell he’s uncomfortable in his skin and he wants to change everything, but he’s afraid because he thinks it will all blow up in his face.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you know what else?”

  “What?”

  “Evan was so real I felt like I knew him. I didn’t want the play to end.”

  “I wrote it a long time ago. Everything was different then … more …” He waves his hand dismissively.

  “It must have felt good to write it. To get all of that down.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You should keep going, River. Write about the other stuff. Everything you went through.”

  “Why?”

  Why did I write in my diary almost every night? “Because when you get it out you feel better, it frees you.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “Then write it for revenge. Tell the world the real story.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” he says.

  Chapter 26

  RIVER

  I open my eyes, disoriented. I must have nodded off. Something is different. I lift my head. The rain. Did it stop?

  Jillian’s stretched out next to me on the stage, the outline of her body in shadow. She’s awake, looking at me.

  “You think it’s over?” she says.

  “Maybe it just died down for a while.”

  “Should we look?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What would you do … if this was the last day of our lives?”

  I reach for my knife and click it open. “Get back at Briggs.”

  “For what?”

  “Why are we talking about this? You think we’re going to die?”

  She looks away. The water filling the auditorium is almost as high as the armrests of the seats.

  “River?”

  “What?”

  “Did you ever read Our Town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you remember when Emily asks, ‘Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?’”

  I close my eyes. I remember reading it with my mom. I can still see her saying the words.

  “‘Saints’ and poets, the stage manager answers,” Jillian says, sitting up straight. “I never really thought of that line until now. When everything’s normal, you don’t take notice of it. You don’t see things because you think your life is going to be just the way it is today and the next day and the day after, but it isn’t. You have to stop and enjoy it now, while you have it.”

  “Live in the moment,” I say, lacing my words with sarcasm.

  “Danielle is a bitch, you were right,” she says. “But I learned something from her.”

  “What?”

  “That there’s a world outside of mine,” she says. “A bigger one.”

  “And you want to enjoy it, while you have it, right?”

  “Well …”

  “I don’t know whether I want to live or die, so this is one way to find out.” I jump to my feet and head for the door.

  “River!” she yells. “That’s not what I meant!”

  Chapter 27

  JILLIAN

  “Come back, River!” I run after him, but he’s off the stage and into the water already, wading to the back door of the auditorium, the one with the Exit sign over it. He pulls it open and the wind pushes him back, tearing the door from his grip. “Whoa!” The door slams.

  “River!”

  He opens it again. “Out into the apocalypse,” he yells.

  “River!” I scream into the wind. He keeps going and the door slams shut. I yank it open and run after him. The sky is sulfur yellow, and he tilts his face to it. “Hey Danielle! Go home you sadistic bitch.”

  “River! Come in before she kills you!”

  I stare all around me at the carnage. Everything is broken, shredded, slit into ribbons, as if the earth is being beaten back.

  “Screw everything!” He’s waded out to where the water is waist high and filthy, strewn with garbage. A gust of wind hits him and he sinks back into the waves. I hunker down at the side of the building, afraid to move until the gust dies down. He struggles to get to his feet, pushing aside a garbage can lid and then hurling a lawn chair that’s blocking him out of his way.

  “River!” I get to my feet and go after him, pushing through the choppy water, but the wind slams me back, and I’m shoved under. I try to catch my footing, but I slip on mud every time I start to get up. I open my eyes under the filthy water and lose my bearings. I need to stand, to get air, but a wall of water surges against me, and I thrash around, gasping for breath. I finally manage to stand, grabbing onto a tree branch to steady myself. I can’t get enough air, I can’t, I can’t. What do I do? Slow down, you can, just breathe, a voice inside me says. I look for River, but I don’t see him anymore.

  “River!”

  The wind starts up again, and I see an old tree not far away with a heavy protruding branch. Slowly I make my way over to it and hold on to steady myself. He’s here somewhere. Probably just hidden behind something.

  “River!” But there’s no sound except the whipping of the leaves on the trees. I stare up at the American flag. It’s in tatters now, thrashing back and forth, back and forth on the pole, making a loud whipping sound.

  “Help!” I don’t know how long I can keep myself from getting blown away. There’s another tremendous gust, and I lean my slashed cheek against the rough crumbling bark of the tree to block myself from the force. “River!”

  I see movement from the corner of my eye. I turn and see him clinging to a tree, breathing hard. “River!” My voice gets lost in the wind. I let go and slowly slosh my way through the water, not sure whether it’s better to walk or swim, pushing away roof tiles, rubber pails, siding, and mysterious broken things. “River!”

  He looks pained, traumatized. “What happened to you?” I ask.

  “Got pulled out,” he says, breathless. “I managed to hang onto part of a fence.” His face is scraped and
bleeding. I try to grab onto him, but the wind starts up again and I get pulled away, like I’m inside a riptide. He lurches toward me, but it’s too late. I’m being dragged, like some sadistic person has attached me to the back of a car. My shoulder and back get bumped against bushes and rocks and then I’m thrown under the water, colliding with uprooted trees and dark objects I can’t make out. I try to stop myself, but I’m being dragged too fast. There’s nothing near me to grip, to hold onto to brace myself.

  Then the wind stops. I’m dropped. I slam down hard, ramming my side, filthy brackish water filling my throat. I start coughing and can’t stop. I try frantically to steal a breath between coughs, but end up swallowing the noxious sludge and gagging. I try to steady myself by sliding a foot into the crook of a bush. I grasp it to keep myself from getting blown away again.

  Just a gust of wind away from death.

  Get back inside, a voice inside me says. But I can’t. I’m frozen, confused, afraid to move. I don’t know where to turn, what to do. What if the next wind gust is stronger? Do I stay put or try to go? Another slap of wind hits me, and I get pushed down again underwater. It’s dark. I can’t see anything and the only thing I touch is slippery mud below that I sink into. I can hear my heart ready to explode.

  Then I’m aware of something above my ankle.

  It tightens. It slithers farther up and tightens again, constricting my calf. I reach down and open my eyes underwater.

  My stomach lurches.

  A snake is coiled around my leg.

  Chapter 28

  RIVER

  “Jillian! Jillian!” I call her over and over until my voice is shot. God, Christ, help me.

  It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I deserve to die ten times over now. I thrash through the stinking water, pushing away a dead cat, tiny birds with open eyes and gaping mouths, heaps of garbage, roof tiles, antennas, satellite dishes.

  I should be part of this floating funeral. I deserve it.

  The rain punches my arms and back. I’m stranded inside a giant lake, searching, but she’s not anywhere. The only movements are the angry wind drifts chopping into the water.

  I make my way to the back of the school, my eyes following every movement, everywhere, trying to see into the black water, and up in the trees where tangled electrical wires are wound around the branches in knots and loops like nooses, sending out crackling sparks that ignite like fireflies. What are the chances she’s alive? She’s got to be, she’s got to be, she’s got to be. I keep wading, numb to everything else around me.

  “Jillian!” I call again and again.

  I stop.

  “River!”

  “Here!” I follow the sound of her voice, running back around to the side of the school, but she’s not there. I go the other way, toward the front of the school. She’s fifty feet from the front door, head pitched forward, coughing, water coming out of her mouth. I run toward her. A look of panic covers her face. She points to her leg.

  I stop.

  It’s coiled up around her calf like it’s taken possession of her. Three feet long. Black with bands of brown. A paler head.

  A cottonmouth.

  “Is it poisonous?” Her voice breaks. “It is, right? God, River. What do I do? What do I do? Oh my God!”

  “Shh.” I move closer. “Stay still. Don’t move, no matter what.” I can’t meet her eyes, I can’t. Everything inside me seizes up, and I turn away, searching for two tree branches. Trees are everywhere, all around us, but they’re old and the arms are thick. There are no smaller pieces I can break off. I step around in the water, searching every broken branch, every dangling arm from the nearby oaks. Something, anything, please. I can’t wait. There’s no time.

  With all my strength I try to rip away at a piece of a tree arm, but it’s too thick, it won’t come lose. I give up and move on, my heart slamming in my chest.

  I glance back at Jillian. She’s holding still, almost frozen with fear. Everything inside me tightens. I look away and keep searching. If she doesn’t move, if she holds still, it’ll be OK. I say it again and again in my head. It won’t attack, if it doesn’t feel threatened—at least I think it won’t. Why would it? Animals only attack to defend themselves. When they feel threatened. I keep looking, trying to wipe my mind of everything that might slow me down.

  There has to be something, anything I can use. And finally I see a thin tree branch dangling down.

  That’s it.

  Two pieces small enough to rip from a nearby tree. I yank hard and they break off. I’m ready. I make my way back through the water to her and I stop. The snake is watching us, as if it knows. I edge closer.

  It lifts its head ever so slightly. The tail slowly begins to swish back and forth, back and forth. Almost imperceptibly, it slides higher up her leg, then stops, tightening itself. Imprisoning her.

  “No!” she cries, a strangled whisper coming from her throat. She stares down at it, her eyes wide. “River … God, it’ll bite you … it’ll bite you. Be careful, don’t come close, don’t!”

  I step back. “Sshhh!”

  It feels like there’s a rock in my throat. I can’t swallow. Stay calm, a voice in my head says. Look at the sky, breathe, pray, anything. Hold still. Don’t scare it.

  I stand there and wait. Seconds go by, minutes. I don’t know how long. I lose sense of time. My head feels heavy, the blood swirling inside of it. I reach out and steady myself by leaning against a nearby tree.

  Finally, it settles down. It knows, it has to. It’s like it’s reading my mind. The round black eyes with the yellow-gold vertical pupils stay open, never blinking, taking in everything around it. I can only imagine the inner sensors the goddamn thing has. Small, probably less than a pound, but smart and deadly. One bite and it’s over.

  This is survival time. It’s you or me. We both know that.

  The wind blows harder, pushing me back, like that’s some kind of warning from above. I grab onto the arm of a tree and steady myself. I won’t let the wind take me again, no matter what. I don’t care if it blows 150 goddamn miles an hour. I’m not moving. I’m not letting go.

  “God, oh God,” Jillian whispers, panting, short of breath, like she’s going to pass out from fear.

  “Stay calm, Jill, please,” I whisper. “Don’t move,” I say, not sure whether the words are coming out of my mouth or are just in my head.

  I move closer.

  This is it!

  I slip one stick beneath its neck and the other over it, trapping the head tightly with my trembling hands. The head rears up, the mouth opens wide—cottony white inside!

  If I had any doubt what it was, it’s gone now.

  Before it can sink its sharp deadly fangs into my hand, I slash off the head with my knife, using every ounce of strength in my hands.

  “Dead!” I shout, dropping the decapitated head onto a rock, relief spilling through me. I untangle the still squirming body from around her leg, and toss it down. “Jesus, it was a cottonmouth!”

  “Oh my God!” Jillian screams.

  But she’s not screaming because I told her. I look down at the decapitated head and it spasms violently, its jaws wide open. It lurches and clamps down on the thing closest to it, a piece of its own headless body. The body jerks up in response, the tail whipping to the side.

  Jillian holds still in shock, staring down at it.

  “Get back, get away!” I grab her arm, but she stops and grabs the knife away from me.

  “Don’t!” I try to pull her away but she resists and plunges the knife into the head again and again, until I yank her away.

  “I’m not your victim! I’m not your victim,” she screams, fury making her whole body go rigid. “I’m not, I won’t be,” she screams. I try to yank her back, but she won’t budge. She stands there defiantly.

  “Jillian, you’re OK,” I whi
sper, finally pulling her against me. “It’s over. It’s over.” She looks up at me, her whole body shaking, and starts to sob.

  The water in the supply closet reaches our thighs now. We wade through it and climb up onto the mats. A school with a bashed-in roof and three feet of water on the first floor feels welcome. At least we’re inside.

  “I’ve never been that scared in my life,” she says.

  “Me neither.”

  We lie still, our wet clothes covered with mud and filth. It doesn’t seem to matter now. Finally my breathing slows. I feel the tension in my body begin to give way.

  “You saved my life, River.” She reaches an arm out to me, but I pull away, suddenly overcome with rage, frustration, fear, everything. She could have been killed, and it was all my fault. I take my knife and target a mat propped up against the wall. I throw it hard, then do it again and again.

  “What is it?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t.

  “River!”

  I lift the knife again, but she grabs my wrist.

  “Don’t.”

  I lean away, but she won’t let go.

  “Talk to me, please, River.”

  I pull back, my shoulder burning worse than before, but she won’t let go of me, hanging onto my wrist, trying to pry the knife from my hand.

  “Give me the knife,” she says again, through gritted teeth. But I won’t let go. “River,” she says, insistently, reaching up, trying to slide it out of my hand. She climbs over me, wrestling me, not giving up. She’s stronger than I thought. And I can’t fight back hard, it hurts too much. Anyway, I don’t want to hurt her. I try to draw my knees up, to turn away from her, but she won’t get off me, grabbing for it.

  “Stop it,” I say. But she won’t give up. I try to turn, to flip her off me, but she hangs on more insistently.

  Then suddenly she stops and goes limp.

  “I don’t know what I’m …” she says, breathing hard. Her face changes, softening, all the determination fading away. Her eyes close, momentarily. Then she tears up.

  Her hips are still pressed against mine, her face so close our lips nearly touch, our hearts pounding. She starts to climb off me, embarrassed, but it’s too late. I grab her around the waist and don’t let her move.