Another Kind of Hurricane (27 page)

Zavion felt like he was in a different world, climbing up the mountain.

Everywhere Zavion turned, there was a plant he had never seen before. A tree he had never seen before. He thought about the few trees lining the streets back at home that had fallen. He remembered the oak tree that split just outside his house. He remembered his house. The church, the street sign, the swing set at the park. All of it blown over and cracked apart. He wondered if anything would be able to grow there now.

Here—where trees had fallen and were dead—was the bright green color of something new growing out from underneath.

Henry stopped at the fork in the trail. This was as far as he would go. He pointed. “That way,” he said. “That way will take you to the top.”

“Henry—”

“Nah, I gotta go.” Henry turned around. The wind was at his back now. It pushed him forward, it was so strong. Brae trotted in front of him. He sat and cocked his head to the side, confused. “What do you want to do, buddy?” said Henry. Part of him wanted Brae to come with him. Part of him, to his surprise, wanted Brae to stay with Zavion. He began to walk back down the trail.

“Henry,” Zavion said again. “Please—”

Henry took another step forward. The wind rushed past his ears. He heard Mom's voice riding on it.
You can't keep running away
. He took another step away from Zavion.
You can't keep running away
.

You. Can't. Keep. Running. Away
.

“I need you,” said Zavion.

Henry turned around. Brae was sitting in the exact same spot, only sideways, one set of paws up trail and one set of paws down. Part of him ready to go up with Zavion, and part of him ready to go down with Henry. Zavion shifted from one foot to the other. He rubbed his hands together.

If Zavion could be brave, maybe he could be brave too.

Henry walked back to Zavion.

“Okay,” he said. “Let's do it.”

—

The sky was a medium gray, like the feathers of a Canada goose. But the wind was steady and strong, so the sky kept moving, sort of rippling, like a giant hand stroking the feathers. Nothing was staying still. Not the goose-gray sky, not the trees, not the grass and ferns that bordered the trail, nothing. Henry wasn't either. He just kept on moving. He was afraid if he stopped for even half a second, he wouldn't get himself going again.

“C'mon, Brae,” he called. “We have to go up, boy!”

Brae raced ahead of him.

The sky was getting darker by the minute. Henry followed the white tip of Brae's tail like a flashlight. It was the
only thing he could see. It was better that way, not seeing where he was going. Even though he could walk this trail in his sleep.

Brae began to trot, and then he ran and Henry ran with him.

“You with me, Zavion?” he yelled.

Henry ran ahead and Zavion panicked. A purple-gray color was inking its way across the sky. It was getting darker by the minute. And the air was thick, like soon Zavion's t-shirt, jacket, jeans, and sneakers would be covered in that same purple-gray color. He knew the color, and knew the feel of the air. It was going to rain.

Zavion thought he might smell that musty, windy, floody smell. He looked up.

“No. I am
not
in New Orleans.”

He said the words out loud to keep that part of his brain—the part that might curl up into a ball and roll back to the hurricane, back to New Orleans, back home—to keep it straight and flat, to keep it connected to his eyes and nose and feet. He saw a tiny clearing in the bushes. He smelled a wet, piney, earthy smell. He felt the dirt and rock under his sneakers. He wrapped his scarf one more time around his neck. Put his hand in his pocket and felt the marble.

The purple-gray sky cracked open and the rain began to rocket down.

It was almost impossible to see. Zavion and Henry had to rely on their voices and hands to guide them.

“Are you with me?” Henry yelled. It was hard to yell into the wind.

“I'm with you,” Zavion yelled back. It was hard to hear.

“Let's get off the trail,” yelled Henry. “We'll be a little more protected.”

“Okay,” Zavion yelled back.

They stepped off the trail and walked into a denser, more wooded part of the mountain. The trees were close together here and their branches were like one umbrella overlapping another, and they slowed the crisscross of rain just enough for Zavion and Henry to open their eyes a little wider. Fallen logs lay across the ground, some perfect round tunnels and others caving in on themselves. Large groups of ferns fanned out like
playing cards in someone's hand. And rock outcroppings appeared out of the ground every few hundred feet, small mountains amid the trees and ferns.

“Brae!”

The way Henry's mouth moved and his neck tensed made it clear that he yelled the name, but the word seemed to get swallowed by the thickness of the rain and the thickness of the trees, and so it sounded no bigger than a whisper.

“Brae!”

Zavion called to Brae, and his word was swallowed too.

But somehow Brae heard the boys calling his name and joined them off the trail.

The rain fell harder. Slivers thrown from the sky, the ground, the air around them, black and purple daggers, the color of a plum or a bruise. It got darker in the woods. The trees and ferns and rocks became shadows of themselves, and then they shape-shifted into other things. Scary things.

Henry saw Wayne. He saw Wayne at the start line as the sun was coming up, running down the mountain, lying at the bottom of the cliff, his bent leg, the blood, his wide eyes.

Zavion saw his Grandmother Mountain mural. He saw himself slipping on the door, slipping under the water, coming up once, flailing his arms, jerking his neck, sinking back down.

Henry and Zavion saw these things, but they kept walking. Their socks wet. Their necks wet. They kept walking until the trees became trees and the ferns became ferns and the rocks became rocks once again.

Zavion's toe caught on something and he fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but the leaves were slippery and he fell back down before he managed to scramble onto his feet. He ran to catch up with Henry.

Henry slipped on a wet rock and crashed into a tree. He opened his arms before he hit and thwacked the trunk with his chest. Hugging the tree, he turned to look for Zavion.

The sky lit up with lightning, and Zavion saw Henry waiting for him.

The sky lit up with lightning again, and Henry saw Zavion running toward him.

Henry wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “You okay?”

“Honest?”

“Honest.”

“I have no idea. Are you?”

“I have no idea either.” Henry turned to look behind him. “Now where's Brae?”

Zavion cupped his hands around his eyes so he could see a
little better through the rain. “I see him. He's over there. Under that ledge.” He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Smart dog.”

“Yeah, let's get under there too.”

They ran.

Zavion felt, for a moment, like he was running a cross-country race.

Henry felt, for a moment, like he was racing Wayne.

They ran to where Brae lay huddled under a flat, protruding rock ledge. Henry unwrapped Osprey's leash from his wrist and clipped it to Brae's collar. “I don't want you to get lost, Brae. I know you're afraid.”

“He's afraid?” said Zavion. He sank down onto the backs of his heels.

“He hates thunder and lightning. They terrify him.” Henry buried his face into the wet fur behind Brae's ear. “Sorry I called you stupid,” he whispered.

The boys peered out into the pouring, pounding rain.

Henry pushed his hand into the back of Brae's neck. “It's okay, buddy,” he said.

“How do you know its okay?” said Zavion.

Henry stared at Zavion for a full minute. “I guess I know because of you,” he said.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Check you out. Brae's not the only one terrified of this storm. You want to turn around?” Zavion shook his head. “I didn't think so. See? You're facing it. And if you can, well…well…so can I.”

“But you already are. You're already facing it, climbing this mountain,” Zavion said. “That's why I can.”

“Nah, you are,” said Henry.

“No,” said Zavion.

“Yes,” said Henry.

“No. No, you are,” said Zavion.

“No.”

“Yes.”

The two boys threw their
No
s and
Yes
es into the thick, dark air, and the words hit the rain like stones, making circles that grew bigger and bigger and bigger, cutting through the sheets of water. And in the spaces inside those circles, Henry saw himself tugging on Wayne's shoulder as he lay on the ground and Wayne opening his eyes. Zavion saw himself diving into the water and pulling up wood and shingles and glass.

The circles dissolved into the air one after another.
No
dissolved into
Yes
dissolved into
No
dissolved into
Yes. No
, Henry couldn't save Wayne.
No
, Zavion couldn't save his home.

But
Yes
—maybe
Yes
—they could help save each other.

From under the ledge, the boys stared out into the storm.

It was kind of awesome. The storm on the mountain—yeah, it was kind of awesome.

—

“Are you okay now?” said Henry.

“I think so.” Zavion put his hand onto the back of Brae's neck. “He's not shaking anymore. I guess he's okay too.”

And then—

The thunder and lightning stopped.

The rain and wind slowed down too.

They took a good look at themselves. Zavion and Henry were covered with mud. Brae was too. Three brown bodies breathing hard as the rain turned from daggers to drops, as the wind died to a breeze, and as the sky became up and the earth became down once again.