5. Carrie #2
She could make out the bobbing storm lantern twenty yards ahead, Andy’s silhouette hunched as he skidded sideways down the walk, benches and flowerpots tumbling along the path.
Matt was already past her, his feet slapping through ankle-deep water with a speed she didn’t think he was capable of.
She found her own stride, ignoring the sting of wind-driven sand on her cheeks, focusing instead on the dark, sodden shapes streaking into the breach—Muttley first, Luna right behind.
Each flash of lightning lit up the cove like a crime scene photo.
For a split second, Carrie saw the whole field of chaos: the dock, bending under the strain of the storm; the silver seam of the channel, boiling and wild; the skeletal outline of the mangroves thrashing beneath the onslaught.
Beyond the dock, a strange, unnatural glow illuminated the water in a ripple of phosphorescent green, like a signal meant for nobody who would care to see it.
If Maggie were here, she’d have thought it beautiful—nature showing off, even when angry.
While Matt’s large frame fought against the driving wind, Carrie’s smaller one battled against it with every step, feeling as if she were trying to move a brick wall.
She yanked the slicker tighter, the wet rubber chafing at her throat, and squinted through the downpour.
She couldn’t see the dogs anymore, just a swirl of leaves, shredded palm fronds, and the frenetic beam of Andy’s storm lantern as he zigzagged through the blinding rain.
“Matt!” she screamed, but her voice came out as a shredded wisp, instantly gobbled by the wind and hurled toward the gulf.
Fear burrowed hot and sharp below her ribs.
Matt had gone after Andy, no question. A headlong, foolish charge into the worst of the squall.
Carrie punched her own legs forward, boots sucking at the grass and stones as if the earth itself didn’t want her to go further.
It was impossible to breathe with the air so thick with flying salt and water, each inhale a slap of the sea that stung her teeth and left her gasping.
For a lunatic second, she thought, This is how people get themselves killed, chasing after an idiot who ran out into a hurricane and then some hero went after him .
She rolled her eyes, adding: Now two other people have to go find the hero who doesn’t know they were probably being played and that Oscar might already have doubled back.
But then she fought against the thought, along with the pulling mud, and pressed harder.
While Oscar may have played them, and this was probably some crazy diversion, Andy didn’t deserve to die chasing after Oscar, who was also someone’s kid and could have bitten off more than he realized, charging into the storm as a diversion to search the main bedroom.
A blast of lightning fried the sky, making Carrie jump as she glimpsed a shape up ahead: the shed near the old beach path, its tin roof buckling and flapping like a wounded bird.
The dogs had gone that way, she was sure of it, and she could see a faint glow of light right before she walked slap into a solid object. Glancing up, she saw it was Matt.
“Carrie,” Matt had to yell above the wind. “Go back.”
“No, I can’t leave you,” Carrie said stubbornly. “I locked the front door in case Oscar tried to double back.”
“That idiot kid,” Matt hissed. “I have to catch up with Andy, but I can’t do that while worrying about you.” As he said that, a gust of wind hit Carrie in the back, sending her into Matt’s arms, which instantly closed around her. “I can barely stand in this wind. It’s shoving you around…”
“Like a big bully!” Carrie shouted.
Matt snorted with a grin. “Nice analogy. Please, go back to the house. I’ll get Andy and the dogs.”
Carrie’s protest died in her throat as another violent gust slammed into them, nearly sending them sprawling.
Her fingers dug into Matt’s raincoat, anchoring herself against the howling chaos.
“Matt—” The word tore from her with raw urgency.
Their faces were inches apart, rain streaming between them like tears.
“I’ll be okay,” he growled, his voice barely audible above the storm’s fury.
Then his mouth crashed against hers with the same wild force as the hurricane around them.
The kiss burned through the cold, his hand gripping the back of her neck, their bodies pressed together as if the wind might rip them apart if they didn’t hold on tight enough.
When they broke apart, both gasping, the taste of salt and rain lingered between them, electric as the lightning splitting the sky. Before either of them could register what had just happened, wild barking came from behind Matt. Carrie was about to dart forward, but Matt stopped her.
“Go back to the house,” Matt ordered. “I’ll take care of whatever that is.”
Before she could argue, Matt turned and disappeared into the swirling vortex of rain and wind, his broad silhouette dissolving like a mirage in the silver-gray sheets of water.
With the barrier of his body gone, the wind hit her with the force of a freight train, knocking her backward into the churning mud that sucked greedily at her boots.
She stumbled, arms windmilling against the howling gale, and managed to steady herself against the trunk of a palm tree, its fronds thrashing like desperate fingers above her.
Turning toward the house—now just a smudged yellow glow through the tempest—she surrendered to the wind that pushed against her shoulder blades like some hidden ally of Matt’s, urging her homeward with insistent, violent hands.