But they usually do it in the wagon. The ground by their favorite spot is too soggy this time of the spring. Snow Creek runs heavy and fast, thanks to all the snow melt, so they chose a different spot about a mile farther south where the creek hasn’t flooded its banks. Howie drops them off and promises he’ll be back around ten the next morning to pick them up.
Things are okay until sunset.
Until a spring thunderstorm rolls in hard and fast, and dumps buckets of rain down on them. Now, they’re huddled in the damp tent, and the ground beneath them feels softer by the minute.
“Even if the rain stops, the tent is getting soaked,” Iggy grouses, shivering next to Malcolm despite the sleeping bag wrapped around them both. “We’re going to be miserable all night long. I should call Uncle Howie to come get us.”
“From Fort Collins? You’re high. Besides, I doubt your phone will get a decent signal out here, especially with the storm.” Iggy’s cell is for emergencies anyway, and Malcolm doesn’t wantto admit this is an emergency. Because it’s not. It’s just…wet. And uncomfortable.
If his father finds out Malcolm left a campsite for a little (torrential) rain, he’ll end up with more bruises to hide. On his body and on his ego. Nope, they can tough this out. He’ll make it up to Iggy somehow.
“I know this sucks ass,” Malcolm says, grasping for a bright side because he hates seeing his boyfriend so miserable. “But think of the story you can tell later. Your first tent camp-out turns into a rain-soaked mess, but you persevere and are determined to face the elements. You won’t let the river beat you.”
Iggy bursts out laughing. “You’ve been reading too much Jack London.”
“Made you laugh, though.” He kisses Iggy’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked the weather this morning. A good forecast on Monday doesn’t mean shit this time of year.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t check either. We’re equally dumbasses in this situation.”
A clap of thunder seems to shake the tent, and Iggy jumps. Malcolm holds him tighter around the waist. The roar of the rain seems to grow louder but it’s not pelting the tent any harder. The wind isn’t whipping any faster.
“You don’t get tornadoes here, do you?” Iggy asks.
Malcolm flinches anytime Iggy talks like that, saying “you,” as if he doesn’t actually live here like the rest of them. Like he’s just a visitor, even though he’s been here a year now, and Iggy’s got no place else to go. “Not really. There was a twister near-ish here a few years ago, but they’re more likely in the southeast part of the state. Maybe all the noise is just the storm about to pass.”
Iggy looks up, as if the answer is on top of the soggy, sagging tent. “Guess it could be worse. Could be?—”
Something solid slams into the corner of the tent, shaking the yellow material and folding it in toward them. Iggy shrieks and clutches at Malcolm, who twists so he’s in the path of whatever’s just run into them. Water oozes right through the tent’s side and floor, rising like something Malcolm’s never seen before. The tent shudders and shifts again as more solid objects hit.
“Oh shit, flash flood,” Malcolm shouts, the words taking his breath away faster than the icy water soaking through his jeans. “We gotta move, now!”
Tree branches and debris hit the side of the tent with enough force to dislodge the top poles, and it collapses in a rush of water and panic. Malcolm reaches for his backpack and Iggy, and he somehow grabs both, but they’re trapped inside the collapsed tent, being pushed forward by the force of the water and the still-pelting rain. The lantern falls over and goes out. He’s cold, wet, disoriented, and fear is starting to overtake his good sense.
All he knows to do is keep hold of Iggy and try to get out of the tent before they both drown in six inches of water.
Another solid wall of water shoves their entire situation forward, and Malcolm hollers when something hard, maybe a branch, slams into his back. He falls into Iggy, who’s struggling to pull them both forward with the motion of the nylon ball they’re trapped in. Darkness and chaos overtake Malcolm’s senses. Water rises. Space inside the tent seems to shrink. Iggy releases a sob, and that unleashes a new desperation inside Malcolm.
He screams for help with every breath in his lungs, while continuing to fight with the tent’s zipper. If they don’t get out of this fucking thing, they could be dragged right into the rushing, snow-swollen creek, and then they really could drown. Could end up miles down the creek before their bodies are ever found, probably not until morning. Maybe not until midday, if no onethinks to look before Howie finds their deserted, washed-away campsite.
No.
No, he’s not going out like that, and neither is Iggy.
They slam into something solid, and Malcolm screams from a sharp pain in his knee.
“It’s a rock or boulder,” Iggy shouts. “We stopped. You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” No, not really, but he can’t worry about his knee. He feels around until he’s pretty sure he’s found the zipper again. “We gotta get out of this fucker.”
Iggy’s there, helping him, but the force of the water is still crushing them against whatever boulder is impeding their progress, and more debris is piling up. It’s worse than the first time Malcolm ever played tackle football. He caught the ball, and three other kids piled on top of him. Smothering him. Keeping him pinned, unable to fight or control anything.
He hates this feeling, being out of control.
They can’t fight the pressure or the cold. Malcolm’s fingers are numb, unable to work the zipper. His teeth chatter hard enough to hurt his jaw. Iggy clings to him, breathing hard through panicked sobs, and Malcolm wants to cry, too. He doesn’t know what to do except keep the tent fabric away from their faces and hold on tight to Iggy. The flood can’t last forever. Flash means something, right?
The pressure against the tent subsides almost as suddenly as it began, and the water level soaking through lowers. Rain still pelts from above, and the creek still roars too close for comfort, but the worst seems to be subsiding. Malcolm releases a chaotic laugh and hugs Iggy tight, both of them shaking.
“It’s over, we’re okay,” Malcolm gasps.
