Another Kind of Hurricane Read online

Zavion couldn’t think. He couldn’t think of what to do. How could he not think of what to do? That was his job.

  The real night had come and gone. Their cereal was gone. Juice, gone. The shingles on the roof of their house cracked and snapped. Zavion watched the dark, rising water suck them down.

  “We have to get out of here by ourselves,” yelled Papa. His voice was sucked into the wind and rain too. “The house is falling apart.” He stared out the window. “Look—”

  Water. All Zavion saw was water.

  “That—” said Papa, pointing. “I think it’s a door.”

  Zavion strained his eyes and saw something flat racing toward them.

  “I’m going to jump onto that door,” said Papa, “and then you’re going to jump after me. Understand?”

  A piece of the window frame tore off the house and plummeted into the water.

  Zavion reached to grab Papa’s arm. “My room—” he gasped. “My mural. Mama’s mural. The mountain—”

  Papa didn’t seem to hear. He balanced on the ledge of the attic window and jumped. The water was so high that it wasn’t far, but Zavion still held his breath until Papa’s feet hit the door. It tilted back and forth like a seesaw. Papa grabbed onto a corner of the house to keep the door from rushing down the river.

  “Jump!” Papa yelled. Another piece of the window frame tore loose.

  Zavion climbed onto the windowsill. He had a strange, strong urge to jump up and grab onto a sheet of rain and pull himself up. Up and up and up.

  The wind squealed through the walls of the attic. Long and loud. An entire length of clapboard peeled off the side of the house.

  “Zavion!” Papa yelled again. “I can’t keep this door still for much longer!” Papa’s voice matched the wind. A high-pitched scream. “Jump!”

  Zavion closed his eyes. He jumped. He slammed onto the door just as a two-by-four from the attic hit the water next to him. The water splashed hard. The door tipped sharply. Zavion couldn’t keep his balance. He slid into the water. The water sucked him down quickly. It coated his skin, cold and slick. Papa’s fingers passed over Zavion’s arm, his neck, his hair, but Papa couldn’t get a hold of him. Papa’s hand finally grabbed Zavion’s shirt collar. Dragged him alongside the door. Zavion opened his eyes. Black. Dark. Sting. He couldn’t touch the bottom, and the rain was coming down so thick and fast it was hard to tell what was river and what was sky. Something firm and long moved across his legs. A snake. Zavion’s empty lungs forced his mouth open. He gulped water. Not air. Water. Oily and thick. Papa yanked him back onto the door.

  Zavion lay on his back, coughing and spitting thick liquid from his lungs.

  “Zavion!” Papa yelled right near his face. “Zavion!”

  Zavion turned his head and saw his house—now a small, ragged box in the distance. The two-by-fours holding up the house looked like legs. They buckled at the knees and snapped. More tiles flew off the collapsing roof, like birds or bats, spinning and crashing into the water.

  Zavion grabbed two of the broken slate shingles as they rushed by.

  “Papa—”

  But Zavion had nothing to say.

  “Hands out of the water, Zav,” said Papa. “There are snakes in there.”

  Zavion peered into the water. Water moccasins. He remembered the thick, cold water in his own mouth and shuddered. He looked up instead. The rows of rooftops that were still intact stood like islands. A man and a woman were on top of one, clutching a sign between them. HELP US, it said.

  There was nowhere safe to look.

  Zavion looked nowhere for what seemed like a long time.

  Then Papa said, “We gotta walk now.”

  The water level was lower here. Zavion didn’t remember seeing it go down, but he could tell. The top steps leading up to a few houses were visible.

  “Where are we going?” Zavion asked.

  “Forward” was all Papa said.

  Zavion wanted to walk up, not forward, but he shoved the shingles into his pocket, climbed off the door, and stepped into the waist-high water. Papa grabbed Zavion’s hand. The wind tore through their fingers, pulling them apart. As they slogged through the rain and wind, Zavion tried to get his bearings, but nothing looked familiar. Not the sky, not the trees, not the…street.

  He could barely even remember the word street.

  It didn’t matter. There was no word for what they were walking through now.

  chapter 4

  HENRY

  Henry’s legs burned. Good. Pain seared his legs as he turned his bike pedals around and around and around.

  Turn, burn. Turn, burn. Turn, burn.

  Brae gave up trying to get Henry to leave the driveway and go for a real bike ride; instead, he just loped beside Henry’s left leg. Up the long driveway and then back down, turning around and going up, turning around and going down.

  At the top of the driveway, Henry stopped. Sweat dripped from his hair and stung his eyes. He didn’t want to do it, but Henry couldn’t keep from looking at Mount Mansfield. There was nowhere safe to look. The hulking mountain was everywhere. Even through stinging eyes, its edges were sharp, like a picture ripped out of a magazine and pasted against the sky. Henry put his hand in his jeans pocket. He hadn’t taken them off since the funeral. Had slept in them. He pulled out the marble. Swirls of blue and green. Flecks of red and orange. He raised it high above his head, hovering over Mount Mansfield like a perfect moon or perfect sun.

  But the marble was nothing like perfect. Neither was the mountain. They were both confusing now. They were both dangerous.

  Henry shoved the marble back in his pocket. He wiped the hair out of his eyes and pushed off on his bike. Brae let out a yelp.

  “Shoot! Sorry, Brae,” Henry said. He put his foot on the ground. Brae rested his chin on Henry’s knee. “I forgot you were there.” Brae stared at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

  I didn’t mean to hurt you.

  Wayne came crashing into Henry’s head like a bolt of lightning.

  I didn’t mean to hurt you.

  Wayne, Wayne, Wayne.

  Henry squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t keep the image from racing in. Wayne’s backpack flying down the mountain in front of Henry. Wayne ahead of him in the race. Wayne had longer legs than Henry. Longer strides. Not fair. Henry never beat Wayne.

  No, no, no—

  Henry’s eyes flew open. Brae leaned against the front wheel of his bike. Henry bent down to grip one of his ears. Behind Brae, against the mountain, Henry saw two flashes of light. What was that? The clouds passing over the sun? Two boys running? Henry was losing his freaking mind. His eyes burned like his legs did. He closed them. He couldn’t fight the memory.

  —

  Henry finally caught up to Wayne and grabbed at the carabiner hanging from Wayne’s backpack. He couldn’t quite reach, but Wayne felt him. He turned around, laughing. In that split second, Henry pushed past Wayne. His bare arm rubbed the rough trunk of a pine tree as he made a sharp turn on the trail.

  The sun climbed to its feet now, a faint blue light just beginning to spill down on the tree trunks and boulders and ferns. It was so cool the way the sunlight turned everything blue first and then filled in with the rest of the colors. Water on the ferns flashed, like lights on a runway. It was going to be fully sunrise before they were home—Henry knew it. And Mom was going to find out they had spent the night on the mountain, and she was going to be pissed.

  Brae jumped over a rock on the side of the trail and landed in front of Henry. He bounded ahead, the black parts of his fur getting lost in the half-light and his white spots reflecting the sun so that he looked like a colony of blue rabbits hopping down the trail. Henry heard a scraping sound behind him and then a grunt.

  “You okay, Wayne?” he shouted.

  “Yeah,” Wayne shouted back.

  “Good! I’m leaving you behiiiiiiiind—” Henry jumped from rock to rock to rock, and in those split seconds that he was suspended in the ai
r, in those split seconds that the sun was rising higher and higher, and the world was getting brighter and more full of color, Henry felt like he was making the light.

  Henry landed on the trail and kept running. He couldn’t hear Wayne’s sneakers on the dirt anymore. He’d left him in the dust. Jeezum Crow! That never happened. Brae bounded back up the trail and, at the same time, Henry felt the dirt change to solid rock and then he was at the place where two rock faces met. A wide gap sat between the rocks. He and Brae reached the gap at the same time and they both jumped. Henry’s body hung in the air while a surge flowed through him, something warm and fierce, and he felt like he owned the mountain and was a part of the mountain all at the same time.

  He landed and pitched forward. He was going to be a part of the mountain, all right. His face was going to be part of a large, hard rock. Shoot! His backpack flung up around his neck and he almost fell face-first, but he grabbed the trunk of a thin pine tree, regained his balance, and kept running.

  Maybe he would win the race after all! He’d love rubbing that in Wayne’s face.

  Bump—

  Something jammed him from behind, into the crease behind his knees, and he did fall, his palms smacking against the dirt.

  “What the heck, Brae—” Henry’s head was bent down, and Brae pushed his long nose under his arm. Henry shoved him back with his elbow. His hands stung like crazy. Brae whined a low, throaty sound.

  “What?” Henry looked up.

  Brae wiggled out from under Henry’s hands and raced back up the trail a few yards, then bounded back again, whining that same awful sound.

  Henry’s body began to shake. It was Wayne. All of a sudden, he knew it. Something had happened to Wayne.

  Again and again, Brae ran up the trail and down again, but Henry was frozen. He was a part of the mountain, like a tree that had grown roots deep into the ground. Henry wasn’t sure how many times Brae called for Henry to follow him before Henry yanked himself from the earth and, trembling, ran to the gap and jumped it again to find Wayne.

  —

  Henry forced his eyes open. His body was doing it again. His arms and legs and hands and feet were frozen. He couldn’t make them move. His bike clattered to the ground.

  The bike pedal smashed down on his foot.

  “Crap!” he yelled.

  He yanked it out from under the pedal and kicked the bike. “Stupid bike,” he said. “Stupid mountain. Stupid, stupid, stupid marble.”

  He jerked the marble from his pocket, ripping the seam, and threw it. The red and orange specks flashed in the sunlight. Like fire. Like magic. Like luck. Then it hit the ground and the magic was gone. What good was it, anyway? It hadn’t protected Wayne. It hadn’t saved his life.

  And it couldn’t save Henry anymore.

  The marble was crap. It didn’t have one speck of luck in it.

  Not for him.

  Not for Wayne.

  Not anymore.

  chapter 5

  ZAVION

  Zavion and Papa were joined by three other people. An older woman held hands with the man and woman on either side of her and kept her eyes closed. She hummed. Zavion could only barely hear her above the roar of the rain as she hummed a low, slow song. Zavion remembered Mama’s funeral, and the long walk from the church to the cemetery. There had been a line of people walking then too, and someone had led the group in the same song. “This Little Light of Mine.” It had been Mama’s favorite, but Zavion didn’t sing it that day.

  Up, not forward. Up, not forward. Up, not forward. Up, up, up. Zavion chanted this in his head to the rhythm of the grandmama’s song.

  Up—Up—Up—

  If only he could get to higher ground. Solid ground.

  For four hours, they slogged through the black water and pelting rain and tearing wind, and then Zavion saw a small boat paddled by a man in a uniform.

  “Looks like a firefighter,” Papa said.

  When the man got closer, Zavion could see a gun in a holster around his waist.

  “Hallelujah,” said the man who was holding hands with the grandmama. “Can you get us out of this swamp?”

  “Sorry,” said the firefighter. “I can’t. I want to check to see who all’s still stranded behind you.”

  “You gotta help us,” said the woman holding the grandmama’s other hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “Take my mama,” said the man. “At least take her.”

  The old woman opened her eyes for the first time then. Zavion saw her look at the firefighter, smile a faint smile, and, humming all the while, close her eyes once again.

  “Get yourselves out of here,” said the firefighter. “Who knows if the sky will open up again.”

  Zavion couldn’t imagine more water. That thick, oily taste stuck in his mouth.

  “Get to the convention center,” said the firefighter.

  “Which way?” asked Papa.

  The firefighter pointed ahead. “Forward.”

  No—

  Up—

  Up—Up—Up—

  Zavion thought of Mama again. How she had promised to take him to her mountain. Grandmother Mountain. Up—up—up—to the top. To see the view. To see where Mama grew up. She had said they would go in the fall, when the monarch butterflies were there.

  “Only we’ll be migrating north, not south,” she’d said.

  “I’m sorry,” the firefighter repeated. “I’m so sorry.” Then he paddled off in the direction of Zavion and Papa’s house.

  But there was no house.

  Zavion felt in his pocket for the shingles. He laid them flat across both palms. Two shingles was all. But it felt as if he was holding his whole house. It had taken Zavion so long to figure out a way to restore balance after Mama died. And now—his whole house teetered there in his shaking, wet hands.

  He closed his fingers around the shingles. He felt the hard, smooth slate. But he also felt wood and nails, his bedroom wall and paint too. Home. He felt home precariously balanced in the palms of his hands. Then he stuffed it all back into his pocket and began to walk again.

  chapter 6

  HENRY

  Brae followed Henry up to his room. Henry put his hand in his pocket and touched the marble. Freaking marble. He should have left it outside. Let a bird find it and put it in its nest.

  But he didn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  He had grabbed it back up.

  Henry kicked open his door.

  “You scared me!” Mom said.

  Henry’s clothes were in a big pile on the floor. Some of Wayne’s too. Mom folded and stacked them.

  “What are you doing?” Henry demanded.

  “Did you forget about the clothing drive for the victims of the hurricane?” Mom asked. “I wanted to give some clothes to the drive.”

  He had forgotten. He grabbed Wayne’s red sweatshirt out of Mom’s hands.

  “Henry—” said Mom.

  Out his window, the sun lit Mount Mansfield from behind so that it glowed. Henry’s arm shot out. His fist punched the edge of the window frame, a loose joint exploding. Even in his room. Freaking mountain.

  “Henry—” Mom said again. “That’s not like you—”

  Henry rubbed his knuckles. Shoot, that hurt.

  “You said you wanted to donate some clothes too.”

  Henry turned around. “I know. But not this.” He wrapped the sweatshirt around his throbbing hand.

  “It’s Wayne’s, isn’t it?” Mom asked.

  Henry hung his head. “Can you just leave?” he said under his breath.

  “Why don’t you stay home from school again tomorrow, Henry,” said Mom. “You’re not ready yet.”

  “Please go.”

  Mom sighed. “Somehow,” she began, “I don’t know how, but somehow you’re going to be okay.” She walked out of Henry’s room.

  “I will never be okay.” Henry sat down on his floor. Brae lay beside him and Henry patted the perfect black ci
rcle on the top of his head.

  Henry unwrapped the sweatshirt from his hand and laid it flat on the floor. It was much bigger than him. Wayne had been tall and lanky, the perfect size for playing shortstop. He could make a diving lunge for the ball and still throw to first for the out. More of Wayne’s clothes lay on the floor. Henry grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a pair of socks. He laid the pants under the sweatshirt and the socks under the pants. He dug under the heap of clothes and found Wayne’s Cougars baseball cap, their school team.

  “Oh, man.” The words were loud and rough coming out of Henry’s mouth.

  Brae turned his head to see what the fuss was all about.

  Henry had built Wayne.

  He lay down on the floor on his back, his head almost touching the baseball cap. The night they’d snuck out of the house, they were in sleeping bags at the top of Mount Mansfield. Like this. Head to head. At the top of the world. A billion stars, the two of them and Brae.

  Henry sighed. But Brae didn’t turn around this time. It wasn’t that kind of sound. Instead he curled himself into a ball and settled in, like he had that night on the mountain, for a sleep.

  Then both he and Henry, next to the Wayne that Henry had built, closed their eyes.

  chapter 7

  ZAVION

  People filled every inch outside of the convention center. A woman bathed her children out in the open parking lot. Poured bottled water over them. Next to her, a man slept on the concrete. Rested his head on a pillow he had made from the edge of a wooden pallet. People everywhere. Fear everywhere. Zavion could see it. It crawled in every corner of the convention center, leaving footprints over everyone.

  Papa pushed his way toward a door. His hand gripped Zavion’s arm. The man and woman and grandmama followed them.

  “Hey, Zavion, up you get,” said Papa.

  Zavion hadn’t noticed that his legs had buckled underneath him.

  “He needs some food,” said Papa. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He grabbed the arm of a woman who was hurrying out. “Is there food and water inside?”