Tempest (#1 Destroyers Series) (2 page)

“The school should be coming up.” He turned
down a side street. “I’m sure they’re still using the same building
since I went there.”

“Good,” she breathed. It was hard to believe
she'd be attending her father's old school in only days. She still
couldn't understand why he'd moved her here, other than nostalgia
and that new job offer. His parents had died a long time ago and he
was an only child, and none of his old friends had even spoken to
him much since he'd moved up to Michigan to marry her mother. Did
he just want her to believe all the stories he'd told her about his
most annoying English teachers and the secret door in the storage
room where everybody snuck back through to smoke? Somehow, she
didn't think so.

A curtain of rain moved aside, leaving the
road ahead clear for a second. One of the telephone poles ahead of
them listed slowly towards the pavement.

A fist of panic squeezed Janelle's insides.
The pole didn't look stable. Like it might--

The cruiser passed it safely, but her father
started to hum as he drove after it and closer to the descending
pole. He hadn’t noticed it.

Janelle grabbed the sides of her seat. “Um…”
It was all she could manage.

With a great roar of wind, the pole lurched
down, wires whipping overhead like hungry snakes. Her father
slammed the brakes, but the truck screeched and went into a
skid.

“Dad!” Janelle broke her paralysis and raised
her hands as the pole descended. It was all over. Done. She'd never
see any sunny beaches or watch any lifeguards after all. She
squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

It never came.

She lowered her hands, unable to believe the
sight only feet away. "What the--"

The telephone pole had stopped falling feet
above them and now trembled against a burst of wind…a burst going
in the
opposite
direction as it had before.

There was no holding back her panic now.
“Go!” Janelle slapped the dashboard so hard her palms stung, barely
noticing her father sitting there, staring and muttering something
under his breath.

With the squealing of tires, the truck
lurched forward. Janelle twisted around in time to see the pole
fall to the street as if released by a tired giant, dragging its
wires with it. Sparks shot up from the ground and died.

“That was way too close.” She folded her arms
to keep them from shuddering, but it wasn't doing any good. “Yeah,
we’re completely safe.”

Her father turned up the air conditioning and
smiled, of all things. “Please, take a deep breath and calm down.
We’ll be fine. I know these storms.”

“Know these storms? What’s wrong with you,
Dad? This isn’t making any sense.”

He said nothing to this.

Janelle leaned against the window to get as
far as she could from him, trying to hide the flare of anger
shooting up inside her. This demanded answers, but she swallowed
her words, eyeing the road ahead. It would have to wait until
later, when she calmed down. She just wanted to get inside that
shelter,
now.

The cruiser led them down a third street, one
free of telephone poles. A yellow sign emerged from the rain.
Palm Grove High School.
They’d made it.

Another soaking later, Janelle burst through
the double doors and into a hallway lined with families on blankets
who remained silent as she came through. A string of emergency
lamps lined one wall, casting an eerie light on all the huddled
families around them. Her father pulled her to his side as they
walked down a crowded hall and around blankets. She thought about
ducking out of his grasp and getting away from him. Like other side
of the school away. After his display, all she wanted was time
alone to think.

“You can sit over here.” An old man in a
brimmed garden hat rolled a blanket across the floor as they
approached. “But maybe you should dry off first.”

Janelle shook off her dad’s arm, taking a
towel the old man was holding out. It hung down to her feet as she
dried off. Shooting the man the most grateful look she could, she
took a seat on the blanket and leaned against the wall. She’d never
dreamt her first week in Florida would be anything near this
lousy.

* * * * *

An hour passed and the howling outside only
got louder, gusts making the sides of the school whistle and groan.
Children started to shift on their blankets while their parents
held them close. One little boy asked for some cheese puffs and
kicked the blanket when his mother said she’d left them out in the
van.

And meanwhile, her father remained silent,
staring at the wall opposite him. Whatever he'd wanted to tell her
back at the house, it was gone now, and it wasn't the time to ask
him and start an argument around all these people.

Janelle plucked her silver dolphin necklace
from under her tank top, rolling it in her fingers as she focused
on its tiny smile. It had belonged to her mother, before a patch of
black ice and a tree had taken her life in a car accident when
Janelle was two. She closed her eyes, holding onto one of the only
memories she had of her, the one of her mother leading her around
the yard, letting her pick up the Easter eggs hidden in the grass.
For a moment, it drove out the wind and rain beating on the
roof.

The dolphin’s fins poked into her fingers
after a while, so she let the necklace fall against her chest. The
memory blew away in a fresh gust against the building, one strong
enough to make something hit the doors outside. Their new house
might not look good when they went back, especially since her
father hadn't taken a step to board up any windows or even put tape
across them, like they were supposed to do. Water might even be
rising around it as she was sitting here, like with Hurricane
Andrina six years ago. The pictures on the news of roofs peeking up
from floodwater and bodies under sheets had plagued her nightmares
when she was ten. But Andrina had been a Category Five, and this
storm was a Two. It wasn’t the same, right? The sinking feeling in
her stomach didn’t agree.

“So, just moved to Florida? I saw you taking
stuff out of a moving truck yesterday.”

Flinching, she faced the old man who’d lent
her the towel, feeling bad for forgetting to thank him. “Yeah.”
Then she added, loud enough for her father to hear, “We could have
hung out at a motel for a couple more days, though.”

“Yes. Now wasn’t the best time to move in.”
The man removed his hat and addressed her father. “So, what brings
you here?”

“No jobs up in Michigan,” he said. “I grew up
here in Palm Grove, but when she was a baby—” he pointed to
Janelle—“my wife wanted to move north to help her parents. But I
got a job offer down here last month.”

“Where at?” the old man asked.

“I’m starting at an insurance place next
month. They need a programmer.”

“Sounds like a good job. Say, I never caught
your name.”

“Lucas Duvall. This is my daughter, Janelle.”
Her father shook hands with the old man.

“Name’s Ed. I think I live across from
you.”

The wind outside stopped as if choked off.
The battering rain on the roof ebbed away. Heads perked up and the
drips from the ceiling came down with a little less intensity than
before. Janelle expected another gust to hit the building, but it
never came. The storm couldn’t be done already.

“It sounds like it's over.” The kid who'd
asked for the cheese puffs stood and peered at the doors.

Janelle let her shoulders slump. It seemed
like he was right. A sliver of pale sunlight hit the brick wall
near a trophy case, only to disappear a second later. Cheese Puff
Boy looked and down the hall for his mom, who’d walked past Janelle
to the bathroom a minute before.

The weather radio droned away, and she wanted
to kick herself for not remembering such a basic fact.

It seemed to get louder and louder in her
ears, making the tension seize her neck and raise her shoulders
again. “Gary has made landfall in the Palm Grove area and has
weakened to a Category One storm with estimated winds of up to
eighty miles per hour. It is expected to be downgraded to a
tropical storm very soon. As of now, it is headed west at ten miles
per hour.”

Murmurs flowed up and down the crowded hall,
but the kid didn't seem to notice. He was too hungry, too
oblivious. Bunching up his blanket, he started for the door.

“Um…” Ed raised a finger.

Janelle’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t good,
but she was closest to the door. This was all hers. “No!” She shot
up and bolted for the doors as the kid disappeared through them,
out into the deceptive calm. “It’s not over. It’s the e—”

"Janelle, let me go," her father demanded,
his words night to the day he'd been speaking in on the way
here.

She ignored him, jumping over one of the
lamps with an arm outstretched and ramming her body into the door
as it closed. The door flew open so fast that it banged against the
wall of the school. The sound drowned out the footfalls of her
father and from the sounds of it, half of the hallway coming after
her.

The air outside was damp, still. Thin clouds
stretched and floated overhead. Ponds had replaced parking spaces,
and leaves stuck to the windshields of every vehicle. Somewhere
down the street, a power line hung low over the pavement.

"Kid!" she yelled, scanning the lot.
Babysitting wouldn't be a career choice for her. At least, not for
kids like this.

There he was. Hands on the door of the
nearest van, tugging in frustration. He stared at her, but didn't
move. The clouds continued to roll overhead. They might only have a
few minutes before the other side of the storm hit. There was no
time for diplomacy.

"Janelle--" her father started behind her,
all no-arguments.

He hadn't listened to her earlier. Why should
she listen to him now? “Come back in.
Now.”
Janelle lunged
forward and took the kid's wrist. “I'm telling your mother what you
did."

She prepared for protests. Screaming.
Arguing.

Not this.

“Ow!” The boy thrashed, his voice a genuine
scream of pain. He thrashed against her grip as it rang in her
ears. “You’re hurting my arm! Let go!”

Janelle watched her hand as it came open,
freeing the kid's wrist. It looked unhurt. Unbroken. How could she
have hurt him? She hadn't even held onto him that hard.

The boy rubbed his arm, staring up at her
with wet eyes. They widened at her as if she was some sort of
freak. Janelle could feel the sweat forming around her brow line in
his gaze. Had she really hurt him? It was impossible.

“You okay?”

The kid ran through the small crowd of people
around the doors and vanished into the school, leaving a sick
feeling that slowly bloomed inside of her.

A lone raindrop hit her on the forehead.

“Let’s get back in.” Her father emerged from
the bodies around her, gray eyes wide with concern. “Be a bit more
careful with your strength next time.”

“What strength?” Janelle held up her bony
arms, trying to shake off the unease inside her, hoping that her
dad couldn't see the worry ready to burst out of her in the form of
tears. Nothing like
that
had happened before, and nothing
else made sense.

She turned to go back inside, but sudden
movement in the middle of the parking lot caught her eye.

A vortex of mist and water spun between an
SUV and her father’s silver truck, shimmering in the pale light and
not making a sound.

Janelle leapt back as her heart stopped. A
tornado. That’s what it was. She’d read that hurricanes could spawn
them. But this one was eight feet high and the sky was still a calm
gray. It was all so…

Weird.

“By golly. What is that?” Ed appeared at her
side and stood with his mouth dropping open.

“Dad?” She backed right into him.

“Janelle, inside. Now.” Her father pulled on
her shoulder. The dictator was back. “I said go!”

She couldn’t move or look away. Her mind
raced around, searching for an explanation. The vortex tightened
and spun faster, spraying droplets on the surrounding cars like a
sprinkler in July. Maybe a water main had blown loose or something.
Or the winds had come together just right over a puddle and--

The vortex exploded, sending water to the
ground in all directions. Gasps shot up from the crowd. An army of
droplets flew right at her, splattering over her skin and
re-soaking her clothes. She blinked them away to look for the
cause.

A teenage boy of fifteen or sixteen stood
right where the vortex had spun a moment before.

She blinked, trying to make sure she was
seeing this right. If Janelle was soaked, this guy was drowned.
Stringy black hair stuck to the back of his scalp and his purple
T-shirt clung to his skin as he wobbled in place like a newborn
calf. He raised a dripping arm, reaching for something to hold
onto. His palm flopped down on the windshield of the truck, but to
no avail. He let out a sound like a dying horse, tumbling to the
pavement with a thud.

“Oh, my god,” a woman cried out from the
doorway.

Janelle looked back at the people gathered
behind her. Nobody moved. Ed stared with huge eyes while her father
swallowed. It was just like that story she'd heard about in school,
about people just standing around waiting for someone else to go
help the person getting murdered in a parking lot. What was it
called? The bystander effect.

“What are you waiting for? Someone else to
help him?” Janelle rushed towards the body on the ground. She’d try
to figure out what she’d seen later. Now they needed to get this
kid inside before the other side of the hurricane hit.

Janelle squatted down in a puddle of water
and seized his limp left arm, curling her fingers into his wrist. A
strong, steady pulse beat underneath his skin. This guy was just
unconscious. Thank God. She let out a huge sigh of relief.