Patrick swerved to miss a tree stump and then hit the gas. “It is today.”
Through the blur of sheeting rain, an eerie green cast had fallen over everything. The truck jolted over debris, the woods on either side a blur through the deluge. They were all completely silent under the howling of the wind and the hammering rain. The windshield wipers smacked back and forth, but did little to clear the view.
Patrick moved with agile speed, taking turns with ease, as if he drove through the woods in a tropical storm on a regular basis. How the rain managed to still douse them through thethick canopy of swaying trees, Emily had no idea. The limbs arched and bent over the truck and then away like a nimble stalk of sea grass. The trees looked as though they could fall over at any minute, pinning the truck to the path. Twigs dropped onto the windshield, but the wipers brushed them away. Emily’s shoulders tightened in response.
Sienna’s weather alerts pinged from her phone in her handbag, but no one paid any attention to the updates. The branches cracking around them sounded like gunshots from all angles. The truck splashed through pooled water in low-lying areas, but just as Emily would worry that they were too deep, they’d bump up to higher ground again.
Through it all, she stole glances at Patrick. He was laser-focused on the path ahead of them, his face showing neither fear nor ease. He just drove, his large hands gripping the wheel, the whites of his knuckles the only indication that he was anything other than calm.
Thumps from debris hitting the top of the truck made Emily jump.
When he finally pulled onto an actual road, they were the only ones out there—at least it seemed like it. The pavement ahead of them was barely visible from all the precipitation. Emily couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the ground began. How could Patrick even see where he was going?
He pulled out his phone and voice texted his sister. “I’ve got three people with me. Have the door ready.” He dropped the phone into the console and grabbed hold of the steering wheel once more.
They finally reached a rustic-brown clapboard rancher in the woods. The windows were stormproofed with plywood, the front porch stripped bare. Through the gray haze, a faint yellow glow from inside was the only indication the front door was ajar.
Patrick pulled right up to the front. With the engine still running, he slid open the cover on the bed of his truck, and darted back and forth, throwing suitcases and cooking equipment onto the porch. “Go inside,” he called.
Emily, Blair, and Sienna ran up to the door as he drove into the tightly packed garage.
A petite blonde with Patrick’s eyes leaned out the doorway while she yanked Sienna’s suitcase into the house. “Y’all get in!”
They clawed at their bags, tugging and pushing them to safety. What they didn’t get in the first trip, Patrick snatched, along with his cooking equipment, in one haul, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Another crack of a limb outside had them all on edge.
Inside, the small house smelled of sage and vanilla.
“Uncle Patrick!” Winston ran over and wrapped his little arms around Patrick’s soaking shirt.
Patrick tickled the boy’s sides as if he hadn’t just rescued Emily and her friends.
“This is Emily, Blair, and Sienna,” he said.
Julia slipped her hands into the back pockets of her denim shorts and smiled curiously at Blair before addressing them. “Hi, y’all.” She turned to Winston. “Let’s get everybody towels.”
“I got ’em!” Winston ran out of the room.
Patrick went into the kitchen.
Emily, Blair, and Sienna tried to move their suitcases out of the way, but they struggled to find a good spot for them in the tight space.
Patrick returned with a handful of dish towels and started wiping down his equipment and checking things over, his hands steady and strong. Then he wiped down their suitcases.
“Holy cow, Patrick,” Julia said. “The storm came up on us fast. I was so worried.”
“Yeah, it’s chaos out there.”
Winston came back in, handing each of them a fluffy bath towel.
“Thank you,” Emily said.
The boy offered a proud puff of his chest.
“Y’all dry off, and I’ll find you a place to put your stuff. I know you wanna get out of those wet clothes,” Julia said. “Winston, why don’t we let them stay on a couple air mattresses in your room? You can sleep with me, and Uncle Patrick can take the couch.”
“Okay,” Winston replied. “I’ll show ’em.”
Patrick pushed the last of his tools against the wall as the storm raged outside. “Where are the air mattresses?”
