Chapter Two
Ro
Water floods the tires, and we hydroplane. Gasping, I turn into the spin. My heart pounds in my ear, and I grip the steering wheel tight.
“Ro!” Betti screams, grabbing the oh-shit handle above her head, as the car is forced to the right by the wind and rising water.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” I straighten us out. Licking my lips, I survey the road ahead. “Hold tight.” I gun the engine.
Water splashes up, and I keep the vehicle moving to prevent it from stalling out. We’re racing time and the rising water table. We need to get to higher ground. Turning back isn’t an option, and the place we’re going feels too far. I blink back the saline. I don’t have time for weakness.
The rain battering the roof of the car is a harsh reminder that Mother Nature herself seems out to get us.
Creeping up past the tires, the flooded areas have water kissing the bottom of the door.
Pedal slammed to the floor, I hop the dip ahead.
We crash down onto the slippery, muddied road, and Betti screams.
I steer us back on track, ignoring her muttering in the seat beside me.
This is taking everything I have. A loud crack follows an ominous groan—a tree a yard ahead bows and tumbles down like a giant cut at the knees.
I can’t stop. Gritting my teeth, I jerk the car to the left, thrown into an impossible game of chicken.
The leaves of branches scrape the passenger side of the car, kissing the window with a silent promise that next time they won’t miss. Trembling, I lean back into the seat, breathing heavily.
“Rowan. Are we going to make it to Grans?”
“Of course we are.” There’s no other choice.
I exhale as hills rise from the landscape, signaling higher ground.
Escaping the severe flooding, I’m able to focus on keeping the car on the road.
The tightness in my chest eases. You’ve got this, Ro.
Gaining ground, we put more distance between us and the severe flooding.
The windows fog as the temperature continues to plummet.
Wet scrubs stick to my skin. I brush my frizzing hair away from my face.
When the familiar landscape appears ahead, I sigh.
We’re getting close. The stillness starting to settle over the atmosphere as the humidity spikes is deceiving.
It’s not a sign the storm is passing over; it means we’re getting close to the grand finale.
High-pitched squeals pierce the quiet. I cringe. Some hurt animal is out there, fighting for its life. More wails join. Grunts and snorts ring out, closer.
“What the hell?” I whisper.
“Oh my God,” Betti says softly.
The ground shakes. The headlights catch a hint of dark brown.
“Shit.” Impact rocks us. A heavy thud and scream follow.
“It’s a pack of wild boar,” Betti screams.
The car continues to plonk on for fifteen minutes until we reach the parking area. Turning off the car, I rest my head on the steering wheel.
“Rowan?” Betti’s voice quivers.
“Just give me a minute.” My voice cracks, and I take a shaky breath. We’re nowhere near out of the woods.
“Let’s go.” Pushing back into a sitting position, I unbuckle my seat belt and pop the trunk, mentally calculating the supplies I brought with me.
This is going to be tight. Moving to the back, I open my go-bag and pull out a head lamp. Placing it on my head. I press the button. A powerful beam of light illuminates the area in front of me. I shrug on my travel pack and heft the plastic container of survival items.
“Grab the bag you packed, and that other box.” I nod towards the cardboard box.
“Jesus. When did you go prepper on me?” Betti whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. She has no clue how much of my time goes into planning our lives. Things don’t simply work out for the best. I make sure they do.
“Be grateful I over-plan. It’s saving our ass right now.”
Grunting, she hefts the second box and slams down the trunk.
“I need you to step exactly where I do.”
“Okay.” I hate the fear that’s crept into her tone.
The beam of light is our lifeline. Flooding brings out all kinds of critters. It’s a two-hundred-to-three-hundred-yard trek through a wooded area. Surviving a poisonous snake bite isn’t on my to-do list. Something scutters away from the light. I pause mid-step and smirk at the crawdads and crabs.
“Ro?”
“Just some crustaceans.” Continuing along the overgrown path, I hold a sagging branch up to let her pass.
Foliage rustles to the right of us. I quicken our pace.
Alligators are more scared of us than we are of them.
Usually, incidents involving bites come with familiarity to people who feed them and extreme hunger.
If we keep to ourselves, they should do the same.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead and soaks my back.
Humidity makes the forest feel more like a rainforest as we continue down the path.
I scan the log in front of me. Finding it clear of snakes, I step over it gently.
I spot the cabin on stilts ahead in the moonlight.
Screens cover the windows, and the large sequoia stands guard the same as it always did. The wood is faded, but sturdy.
Moss from trees drapes over the roof.
“Is that it?” Betti asks skeptically.
“It’s home for the next couple of days.” I glance over my shoulder. Her wrinkled nose and upturned lip stir my anger.
“Is there even running water or electricity?” She frowns.
“We have the filter system set up and a generator. That’s more than some people have.” I narrow my eyes.
“Hmmm.” She purses her lips. I count to ten and exhale. She’s been through a lot. She’s not even eighteen, so I can’t be upset when she acts like the child she is. Continuing forward, I power walk. There’s prep to do before the storm hits.
I haven’t been here in over six months. She’s going to need some TLC.
We reach the stairs, and I give thanks to the sturdy trees that act as an extra anchor, woven into the houses’ supports.
Battling the wind, I put my head down, grabbing the handrail, I walk up the worn stairs, grateful to find them sturdy and strong.
We reach the door, and I pull the keys out of my pocket.
Easing it into the tumbler, I turn, pushing the door open. The musky scent of stale air is cloying.
“Yuck,” Betti whispers.
“You open windows, and I’ll work on getting us some light and checking on the filtration system.
” Plunking the plastic bin onto the floor, I use the headlamp's light to make my way to the closet.
I take the two rusted green Coleman lanterns off the shelf along with a box of matches.
Bringing them to the kitchen counter, I strike the match and light them.
The soft glow reveals the cozy space my Nana loved.
Family photos line the walls in frames that need a good dusting.
Cypress wood flooring matches the cabinets, counters, and tables.
Each piece was lovingly built by an ancestor.
There’s a wealth of skill and caring built into every nook and cranny of this home.
I admire the quilt tossed over the back of the couch and the knitted blankets thrown over the La-Z-Boy. Her dollies line the tops of the round wooden tables that rest against the walls.
“You’ve got the light. Thank goodness.”
“Mmhmm.” I turn on the tap. It clunks to life, running a rusty red. “I’m going to let this run for a minute while I get started tidying up.”
Safely sheltered, I’m able to think clearly again.
Gathering the cleaning supplies from under the sink, I do a quick dusting, removing the stale blankets, and replacing them with fresher linens from the closet.
Swapping the bedding, I gather the dirty items into a basket and get changed into a fresh set of clothes.
Clad in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with a high bun, I return to the kitchen.
I smile at the sight of Betti with a mop bucket full of soapy water and cleaning rags. Wiping off the flat surfaces with a pine cleanser, she seems to be coming back to herself. Right now, we’re both still running on adrenaline. The crash is inevitable, but I don’t have to think about it now.
“Thanks for pitching in.”
“Least I can do.” She shrugs.
“Okay.” I open my mouth and close it. Now isn’t the time. “I’m going to check on the water filtration system and change the filter.”
Nodding, she continues to scrub at the table. Fuck. She just watched our father expire. That has to be messing with her head, and counseling will be a nightmare, because she can’t share what really happened.
Deflated, I walk to the utility closet. Opening the door where the water line comes in, I check the filter for signs of sediment and place a fresh filter in to be on the safe side.
It’s about to get a workout with the flooding washing things downriver.
How long do I have until they find my father?
It depends on how severe the storm and flooding are and how long recovery will take.
I was seen going to the house. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say my father refused to go.
Drunk, he could’ve fallen on his own, right?
Can I ask Betti to keep this secret? I think of the darkening wounds around her neck.
My nostrils flare, and my hands ball into a fist. Lowering my head, I rein in my anger.
She doesn’t need to see me like this. Has he been hitting her for a long time?
I try to stay up to date on every aspect of her life, but teens hide things.
Especially when they feel like it’s going to cause a problem.
She’s complained about how much I work often.
Was she worried this would put more on my plate?
My mother never left us. The reality crashes down around me.
I slam my eyes shut, shoving the palms of my hand into my eyes, and I choke back a sob.
All this time, I cursed her name and hated her for relapsing and running off, when she hadn’t.
I was so quick to believe the worst of her.
Sniffling, I fight against the flood of emotions, rushing at me like an unrelenting wave.
He spent years watching us struggle, never offering a penny.
Why had he hated us so much? I never understood it.
That kind of vitriol should be reserved for your worst enemy, not your children or your wife.
He wanted to break us, and he did. LosingBenoit, and the future we built, collapsed my soul.
I’ve been sleepwalking for years. And for what?
I let that man extinguish my fire. Shame washes over me. Curling into myself, I let the tears flow silently. Everything could’ve been so different. If I had gone with him—
Then Betti would’ve been alone with a madman, and she would’ve disappeared just like your mother.
That’s a reality I couldn’t have lived with.
Wiping away the tears, I struggle to lock away my thoughts and breathe through my mouth to even out my shaky breaths.
I can’t change the past. But I can move forward differently.
If there’s a chance I’m going down for murder, I plan to live every second I have like it might be my last bit of freedom.
I’ve done enough keeping my head down, doing what’s expected of me, and putting everyone else first to last a lifetime.
I’ll get Betti through this, set her up to live independently, and then I’ll live.
Thunder booms overhead. Lighting streaks across the sky.
“Ro,” Betti cries.
First, I have to get us through his nightmare.