Chapter Forty-Four #2
Wind drives the rain in waves across the marsh, bending the tall grass low. A loose shutter somewhere slams in rapid, uneven bursts. The kind of sound that jolts you and prickles the back of your neck.
Kayla and Emery are on the screened porch, dragging the wicker chairs through the door one by one. Rain whips through the screen, spattering their faces and darkening their clothes. Kayla’s braid has come loose, strands plastered against her cheeks; Emery’s waves are damp and sticking to her neck.
“Oh, good, you’re here.” Kayla huffs as she pushes the last chair inside. “Finally.”
“We had to finish Rosie’s,” I say, sharper than I intend. The wind is already stealing half my voice. “What else is left?”
Emery gestures toward the windows. “The shutters and whatever plywood we can find. It’s going to be lightning soon.” She can’t hide the worry from her voice.
Tate and I don’t waste time. We jog back down the steps, boots splashing through shallow puddles forming on the wooden docks. The air smells like wet earth, decaying marsh grass, and the metallic bite of ozone—a storm so close you can taste it.
“What’s our supply look like?” I shout over the wind.
“Bare bones,” Tate replies, eyeing the stack of warped boards leaning against the wall. “There are a few extra pieces in the bait shop. I’ll grab them.” He’s already jogging across the lot, head ducked, shoulders hunched against the gusts.
I start securing the hurricane shutters on the side windows while I wait. My fingers slip on the cold metal, and the bolts screech as I drive them in. Emery and Kayla move through the building behind me, the faint sounds of boxes thudding and doors slamming traveling through the walls.
“Kayla, I mean it, stay away from him.” Emery’s voice carries through the thin walls. This building will be lucky if it survives this storm.
“I will,” Kayla says, annoyance edging her tone. “He’s only twenty-six though. Not that much older than me. I’m almost eighteen.”
“Kayla.” Emery’s tone is impatient. “Atlas gives me the creeps. That alone should be enough to deter you.”
I don’t like what I’m hearing at all, and I almost abandon my task to go give Kayla a firmer warning, but a flicker of movement catches my eye—Tate pushing violently on the bait shop’s door. It sticks, like it always does, but opens with a sharp crack. He disappears inside.
I don’t know why, but unease ripples low in my gut.
A minute later, Emery appears at my shoulder. Her face is flushed from effort, rain dripping off her chin. “The screened porch is as good as it’s going to get. How’s it looking out here?”
“Almost done,” I say. “I heard you talking to Kayla through the window. What the hell is going on?”
Something in Emery’s tight, worried expression makes me clench, but she doesn’t have time to answer me before Kayla’s at her side.
“My friend is swinging by here to give me a lift home,” Kayla tells us, chewing on her lip. “The rain feels a little lighter now, so I feel like it’s a good time to bounce.” She hugs herself, shivering. “My mom is already freaking out about the power, and the kids are going crazy.”
I suck in a breath. “Yeah. You’d better get home.”
“Thank you so much for your help, Kayla.” Emery pulls the teen girl into a hug. “Please think about what I said,” she whispers.
Kayla pulls back, rolling her eyes. “I will. Promise. You guys be safe!” She stands on her tip toes to hug me and I let her.
“Let us know when you get home,” I say, just as Tate jogs up with two smaller pieces of plywood tucked under each arm.
“This is all I’ve got,” he says, “Let’s make it work.”
Thunder cracks so loud the metal shutters vibrate.
“That’s my cue,” Kayla says, backing away. “Bye guys.” She gives us a weak wave and runs off.
We finish the last window as the sky flashes a white-blue streak, lightning spiderwebbing across the clouds. Thunder breaks closer by the second.
Tate wipes the rain from his brow. He glances at the marsh, jaw grinding. “We should split. Roads are going to get ugly.”
“It already is ugly,” Emery says, shifting closer to me.
Tate forces a quick smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s meet back here when the worst of it passes. Check the boats.”
Something in his tone scrapes against my Spidey sense again. He doesn’t check his phone. Doesn’t glance at the radar like he normally would. It’s not how Tate normally does things.
Emery’s gaze drifts toward the bait shop door—for just a second—brows knitting. I know she senses it too: a wrongness, subtle but sharp, like the moment before a trap snaps shut. Even the rain seems to pause between gusts, the air going strangely still.
“Yeah, okay.” I nod, draping an arm around Emery. “Be safe out there.”
Tate salutes me and jogs for his vehicle. I check the dead bolt on the research center before we make a run for my truck.
As I open Emery’s door for her, she hesitates and glances back at the research center—windows sealed, porch dark, the whole place swallowed in shadows.
“Feels like we’re leaving something behind,” she murmurs.
“At this point we have to,” I say. “Let’s go before this gets worse.”
When we pull out of the lot, I catch one last glimpse of Tate’s truck idling near the bait shop, headlights cutting through the rain like a warning. He hasn’t left yet.
And for reasons I can’t yet name, dread settles deep—cold and certain—as the storm closes in.