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2:02 p.m.
The tornadic waterspout widened, and headwinds held them at bay. Branches, driftwood and planks ripped from nails soared like flying monkeys through the atmosphere.
“We ain’t gonna make it,” Ty hollered, but Owen hung on to him with a secure grip.
“Yes, we are! Muster some faith!”
The funnel began moving right for them, the water angrily churning and roaring. If the tornado hit the house, it would result in complete destruction, but Ty would not back down now.
Forcing himself to pitch forward, fighting the torrential storm and winds, he pressed on with Owen at his side, neither of them willing to give up. As they inched toward the maze of boardwalks leading out to more marshland and one to the house, a portion of railing ripped from the nails with a crack and came hurtling in their direction. Ty dove onto Owen, the end of the railing clipping his hip with a sharp, stabbing pain.
Owen laid a wet hand on Ty’s head and ruffled it. “Close one.” He pointed at the funnel cloud. “Look! It’s changing direction. Thank God!”
Ty winced but looked on, stunned. That thing should have barreled straight into their path. But tornados were unpredictable. That’s all it was—unpredictability. “Almost there now, bruh.”
“I see why you hate hurricanes,” Owen said. “Don’t ask me to go on any water trips for a long, long time.”
“Fair enough. Also, I kinda wanna sing ‘Waterfalls,’ but it feels a little inappropriate.”
“Nor does it make sense, but when has that ever stopped you?” he hollered.
Today. Every muscle burned and ached from working to maintain an upright position, not to mention the weight of his waterlogged clothing.
“Asa can never, ever know about this.”
“I’ll take it to the grave.” Owen laughed, then coughed again.
Once they finally made it to the boardwalk, they toppled over the railing. Lightning flashed and flickered.
“Not to make light here, O, but this weather reminds me of the moment before Gozer made its entrance in Ghostbusters. Just sayin’.”
Owen shook his head. “Maybe quit sayin’.”
The house loomed before them. Massive with windows from floor to ceiling and two sets of stairs leading to a main door at the second level.
Something about this house felt familiar. Had he been here before? Seen it before?
He shook himself out of the disjointed thoughts. Garrick was holding women hostage and he traveled often, which meant he probably had a state-of-the-art security system.
No lights on inside.
If things worked in their favor, the power would be out, meaning no access to the security system.
“You take the first level, clear it. I’ll go up those stairs and clear level two. Then meet me at the second floor, and we can do the top together.”
Owen clasped the back of Ty’s neck. “I’m praying for ya, brother.”
“If I pray too, will He hear me?”
Squinting, Owen smiled. “Yeah. He’ll hear you.”
Ty wondered if He already had—they’d made it this far. Somehow the impossible had become possible, and it couldn’t be attributed to adrenaline. And neither could the tornado turning at the last second. But divine intervention? Nah. That would mean... No. No, he wasn’t going there.
Now they had a whole other kind of hurricane to battle.
Owen went under the house to the back door while Ty crept up the slippery wooden stairs to the second-floor patio under the middle of the turret, where a door beckoned him to enter. Sidling into a corner between the window and the glass door, he peered inside.
No lights. No noise. Didn’t appear to have any power. Nerves throbbing, he reached for the doorknob and twisted. The door opened. Guess he didn’t expect someone to show up in a hurricane.
