Chapter 38 Pane
Pane
Rowe jumps up from the floor, where she’s surrounded by pigs. She throws her arms around my neck and holds me tight. “Thank goodness you’re safe. I was so worried.”
I hug her with Tallulah tucked under my arm. “Not even a tornado could keep me from you,” I joke, but not joke. “I brought a friend that you might be missing.”
She takes Tallulah and hugs her close. “Where did you find her?”
“She ran up to the truck when I pulled in.”
“And Stella?”
The unicorn neighs nervously. “Was with Tallulah.”
Rowe balks. “What?”
Stella steps into the shelter, dragging her chain behind her.
Rowe runs a hand down her leg. “She must’ve gotten scared and pulled it from the wall. But whatever. It doesn’t matter how, just that she’s here. Come in. Come in. It’s a tight squeeze, but we can do it.”
Rowe coaxes the unicorn inside, and I grab the door to shut it. The screaming wind changes in pitch. The sound becomes deafening, resembling a freight train.
The hairs on the back of my neck stiffen.
The tornado is here.
Tree branches and leaves fill the air. Twigs scrape against my arms when I grab the door.
Tiny shards of leaves wedge themselves into my eyes, blinding me.
It’s impossible to see, and all I can hear is the blaring tornado as it bears down on the farm, and I pray that, God willing, the storm jumps over the Wadleys and spares us.
Through the grit filling my eyes, I manage to see enough to find the knob and pull the door tight.
The silence inside the room is somehow more terrifying than the howling outside. Rowe puts Tallulah on the floor and moves to me. I wrap my arm around her, hugging her close as we both listen to the storm.
Beside us, Stella blows out air. The unicorn takes up most of the room. The rest of us are wedged together, but the piggies don’t seem to mind.
They’ve found the starfizz berries and are keeping their mouths occupied.
I wipe debris from my eyes and look down to see Rowe smiling at me. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For getting Tallulah and Stella.”
My arm tightens around her. “You’re welcome.”
Above, I hear a crash. Even though the noise is muffled, it sounds and feels like the earth is being ripped apart. The shelter trembles and shivers like the wind is doing its best to grab hold of it and yank it right out of the ground.
Concrete spills from the seams in the ceiling, sprinkling my hair and shoulders. The single bulb in the center of the compact space flickers.
Rowe holds her breath.
This could be it. We could die here. The top of the cellar could be ripped right off and all of us sucked into the storm.
I will not die without having told Rowe how I feel about her.
My grip on her tightens just as she wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face in my chest. I pull her in, inhaling her sweet scent, and cradle her head.
“If we die here—”
“We’re not going to die,” she says, sounding muffled and not very sure of herself.
“You need to know how I feel.”
Her head pops up. “Are you seriously doing a deathbed confession right now?”
I scowl. “These could be our last moments.”
“Are you trying to jinx it?”
“No, I’m trying to tell you how I feel,” I snap.
“Starting a conversation like we’re going to die here is—”
“Will you just be quiet and listen?”
She pulls back and glares at me. “Fine.”
This woman. I swear, if the tornado doesn’t kill me, she just might. I cup her hand to my chest and stare into her eyes.
“Rowe Wadley . . .” The shelter shakes again, and she flinches.
Her gaze darts around, then lands back on me.
“Before I met you, I was on autopilot. My life was about the company.” A bitter laugh escapes me.
“What I thought was important, I now see is immaterial. You have shown me that life is worth so much more. Don’t look so surprised.
This place, this town, you—you have all become my home.
You are my home, Rowe Wadley. You are my life. ”
She blinks. “What?”
I nod. “You are my world. The people of this town are my world. This farm—”
“These animals?”
Oh, God. Even in the middle of dying, she’s cracking a joke. “Yes, they mean the world to me, too. I want you to know that when this is over, I’m not going anywhere.”
She peers into my eyes, really searching—for a lie, for the telltale sign that I’ll abandon her. But what she doesn’t realize is that I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to spend my life out of a suitcase, packing up and going to the next hotel. I don’t want to do that ever again.
“Pane—”
The structure shudders, and the light flickers—once, twice—before blinking out.
Thrown into darkness, all I can hear is the sound of breathing before Rowe’s hands slip from mine.
“Stella?” she says.
The unicorn snorts.
“Stella?” Rowe repeats calmly. “It’s going to be okay. Just light your horn.”
Right. I’d forgotten that the unicorn is afraid of the dark.
I place a hand on Stella’s shoulder and feel her muscle quiver under my palm. She stamps her foot and backs up, breathing even harder.
Maybe touching her wasn’t the best thing.
“Calm down, girl,” Rowe says.
The air in the shelter shifts. Outside, the storm’s still raging, but in here, the scent of terror is thick. It’s like a cold blanket has cloaked itself over the room.
The unicorn stamps her foot and blows some more. She knocks into a shelf, and it crashes to the floor behind us. Piggycorns squeal and Buster the Cat hisses as they all dart over my feet, running for cover.
The unicorn neighs. Rowe keeps pleading with her, but Stella bumps into more shelves, and more concrete dust falls from the ceiling, peppering us.
Meanwhile, it sounds like the world outside is being torn apart, tree by tree.
Stella pounds the floor, and one of the piggycorns shrieks. The unicorn will trample all of us to death.
“I’ve got to get her out of here,” I say over the sounds of Stella’s panic attack.
“But she’ll die,” Rowe argues.
“She’ll hurt us if she keeps on! Rowe, we have to.”
More shelves fall and are pounded by hooves. Wood sprays into the air, splattering against my clothes. Piggycorns squeal. Stella neighs so loudly that it sounds like shrieking.
Everything’s coming undone.
If I can just open the door, maybe she’ll run out.
Just as I reach it, a light slowly flares to life and Stella goes quiet.
“Pane,” Rowe whispers.
I turn around to face them. The first thing I see is Stella standing calmly on top of splintered and broken shelves that now litter the floor.
Above us, the bare bulb dimly glows. Outside the wind has died down. The storm’s passed, leaving in its wake a deafening silence. But inside, the hum of electricity fills the cramped room that smells of farm animals.
And in the corner, cowering just behind Rowe, stand all the piggycorns, including Tallulah, the runt.
She looks proudly up at Stella, and Stella looks back down at her.
Because Tallulah’s horn is glowing.
It’s glowing just like the light in the cellar.