Taken by Storm Page 11

  She shined the flashlight across, and indeed, could see what he described.

  The moon chose that moment to peek through the clouds and lend itself to their flashlight. Leila felt Ryan’s breath leave his body at the same time she inhaled. Darkness had been their friend; they hadn’t been able to see how far the water went. They still couldn’t. It didn’t end after a block, or two, or ten.

  There was no end in sight. She swallowed hard.

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are we there yet?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He’d known they were surrounded by water, but his mind had downplayed the devastation, unable to grasp the fact they were basically standing in a shallow lake. Normally the river flooded and within a few hours, the water went away—or at least decreased so it wasn’t sitting around. Why wasn’t the water gone? Sheer volume? Too much for the sewers to handle and it had nowhere to go? Maybe more kept coming from upstream as well, and it was a perfect shitstorm combination.

  And still Leila made him laugh.

  “At least it’s fairly shallow.” He held her tighter and stepped off the curb.

  “It’s all relative, Tall Guy.” She sounded a bit worried as the water rose another few inches as he led them onto the street. “You know, anyone following us would have a delightful view right now, what with my skirt basically masquerading as a belt.”

  He’d like to see that. She was hitting the humor hard, but the stress stretched her voice higher than normal, hiding nothing. He was glad of her joking because he honestly felt like his heart was breaking for the town he loved. How many people had been hurt, were hurting, would be hurt before the water went down?

  He kept a steady pace but felt the mud, the dirt beneath his feet under the water. How much silt had the river dragged into Silver Springs? How deep would it be, how long would it take to clean up? Because it would need to be cleaned up. It was all contaminated and would turn from contaminated mud to near cement they’d have to break up, which would turn to dangerous dust that blew around infecting people with whatever was in it. E. coli. Hepatitis, maybe, never mind all the bacteria floating around breeding inside it. Everyone in town would be at risk for a bacterial infection, and that didn’t take mold into account or injuries in the recovery process.

  But they’d persevere. The town was strong, and they always pulled together as a community when something happened. Every year the river flooded, there’d been more people volunteering to sandbag than they’d had equipment. Businesses closed, and their staff moved to bring hot drinks or food to the sandbaggers, or to grab a shovel, or to even deliver the sandbags into flooding areas. No one did it for any other reason than they wanted to help, and they couldn’t imagine doing any differently.

  Ryan had missed it when he’d left for school, that community spirit you just didn’t find in a big city. It had seemed harder to make connections with people, harder for people to open up. You said hello to a senior lady, and they gazed at you suspiciously, and held their purse tighter in case you were a mugger. When there was no shared history, there were no ready-made connections. Here, people knew his family, knew him. And he knew them.

  Which was why the flooded cars and businesses punched him in the chest. He knew these people. He knew Carla, who owned the little coffee shop that’s windows were smashed out. Had she been trapped inside, and had to smash her way out when the water pressure became too great to open the door? Had she panicked? Was she alone? Had she been hurt? Maybe she hadn’t been inside at all but had been in a safe place, and the windows shattered from a passing branch.

  And here was Coalescence Art Gallery. He was glad he couldn’t see inside and witness the drowning of paintings and sculptures and someone’s dreams. They weren’t a big city gallery, but they genuinely cared about art, and promoting local artists. Darlene, the owner, always went out of her way to make people feel special, and the art was always outstanding. Ryan didn’t know much about art, but he appreciated beauty, and the gallery put so much of it into the world. Art was something insurance wouldn’t cover, and he felt awful for the artists and Darlene—because she’d be just as devastated.

  He kept walking. And he knew Vida, who had been one of his favorite English teachers, whose car was parked outside the bookstore. Had she gotten trapped in her car on the street, or had she been safe inside when the wave hit? The water would have been so much worse initially, with all the force behind it. It would have knocked anyone off their feet, swept them away. His friends and neighbors could be hurt, and he had no idea. If he’d stayed home today … No. Then I wouldn’t have been there for Leila. Been with her.

  “You could probably put me down now.”

  Except he wanted to keep her close. “There’s more glass, and I’ve been stepping on a lot of stuff. Maybe in a block.” Or seven. There was no glass underfoot that he could feel; he just wanted to keep her close and safe.

  “I’d really rather walk myself.”

  “Don’t be stupid, you could cut your feet.” He cringed as he said it, knowing she’d freak at his choice of words. Sure enough, he felt her stiffen.

  “Put. Me. Down.” Her voice was colder than the water.

  “Leila—”

  “Now.”

  Reluctantly, he bent and released her. If there’d still been broken glass, he’d have kept right on walking with her on his back. But there really wasn’t a reason she couldn’t walk herself, and he’d pissed her off. If he held her on against her will, not only was it wrong and a dick move, but he was in danger of her strangling him and using his corpse as a raft.

  As soon as her feet hit the pavement, she was off, wading in front of him as fast as she could. Her legs must have been working overtime like two shapely propellers, getting her through the water so quickly.

  “Leila, slow down.”

  “Screw you.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re overreacting.” Already he missed her warmth against his back. And the flashlight. “Slow down.” How the hell was she motoring through the water so fast? It was halfway up her chest.

  “Yeah, well whatever. No point sitting around, stretching out our time together. I want to get the hell out of here, back to dry land and civilization.”

  Her tone grated against his pride. “Civilization? What, as opposed to the hole I live in?”

  “It’s not exactly picturesque at the moment. Shit!” She dipped a bit as her feet slipped on something, the flashlight’s beam arcing up at the sky, but she held onto it.

  “Slow down!” He caught up with her quickly, having the long legged advantage. “We need to go left, and head up to Watertower Ridge. It’s guaranteed to be drier up there.”

  The flashlight violently shook in her hand, and he couldn’t tell if it was from cold or anger. Probably both.

  “Fine.” She turned and he slowed so they fell in step. She sped up, and so did he. She slowed down, and he matched pace. She sped up again and he’d had enough.

  “Stop being reckless.”

  “Reckless?”

  “We don’t have to hold hands and skip through the water like best friends, but would you at least stay beside me so you don’t get hurt?”

  She mumbled something. He wished he could see her face in the dark.

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘because I’m sure safe near you!’”

  She was still pissed about that? He stopped walking. “I’m sorry I made you stay with me at the bar when the others left. How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry for that? All I wanted was to make sure I kept you in a safe place, and yeah, I fucked up. We should have left with the group. We’d already be in a dry place with a warm drink.” He said the words but didn’t feel even the tiniest bit sorry.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Either you’re pissed at me for making us stay or you’re over it and we’re good, but the back and forth is starting to piss me off. I don’t even know where the fuck you’re coming from.”r />
  Leila stopped a few feet ahead of him and made a growly shriek of frustration. “How are you this stupid?”

  “A lot of practice!” he snapped, sick of her still holding onto that grudge, rubbing his bad decision to stay at the bar in his face. “God, do you ever let things go?”

  “I do now!”

  She shoved the flashlight at his chest, turned, and splashed up the street. He fumbled to get a good grip on the light, narrowly avoiding dropping it into the water. What the hell was wrong with her? If they lost the flashlight they’d be left completely in the dark. By the time he shone it at her, she’d made it half a block. Half a block up the wrong street.

  “Come back! You’re going the wrong way! Leila!” He shone the light at her in time to see her flipping him off over her shoulder.

  “Leave me alone!”

  Yeah, like that was going to happen. He huffed and started toward her.

  ***

  Stupid. He was such a dumbass and so was she. I need to get the hell away from him as soon as possible. He’s like emotional radiation. At first I feel like everything’s shiny and warm, then I realize parts of me are falling away, and soon there will be nothing left.

  Well, that was over. All that was over. She was such an idiot—even after all they’d been through, he still thought she was mad about the blackmail situation! That he could be that clueless just showed he saw her as nothing at all but last night’s lay. She picked up the pace, hating that she’d given him the flashlight.

  The water was so fucking cold it hurt. The sooner she got out of it the better. Something scratched her leg, and she jumped, visions of branches, or debris turning into alligators (though the only alligators anywhere near her lived at the zoo), which quickly turned to visions of dead bodies grasping for her under the water. She’d always had an overactive imagination, but zombies? Ridiculous. There could be dead bodies, which made her want to cry and scream and jump back onto Ryan’s back, because the thought that she might be walking through peoples watery graves deeply disturbed and saddened her.

  So she focused on anger instead, and fear of the injury to her leg itself. Great. Now that would probably be an open wound, and bacteria would get in it, and it would get infected and she’d die, or need her leg amputated, all because of Ryan. He called her name and she gave him the finger over her shoulder so he wouldn’t see the tears of fear and anger and frustration, and think they were something they weren’t.

  “Leave me alone!” She walked faster, vision blurring. She blinked the tears away and took stock of her surroundings. Seventh Ave. Okay. I need to head up to Third, and then cut down Center Street. It wasn’t exactly the way the others had gone, but it was close enough and she was pointed in that direction. Forward motion.

  I hope Kyle is okay. Where had he been when the wave hit? Leila had a feeling that would be the big question around town when all of this was over. Like the moon landing or nine eleven. People would start using it as a point of reference. Before or after the flood. Lives would be redefined based on the new timeline of the disaster. Some people might not know where their families were, if they were okay at all, so she was lucky knowing that Kyle was fine earlier, and had been at work when this happened. At least he’d have good people around him, and all the proper equipment needed to get through it. She focused on that, needing him to be okay, not daring to entertain thoughts of him being anything other than fine.

  Had Dad and Maggie found out about the flood yet? They’ll have landed hours ago, probably called to check in, left a voicemail. Leila hoped they were so caught up and happy spending time together, that they had unplugged from the outside world and were blissfully unaware of the condition of the town, though they’d only worry about her and Kyle and the people, not their house and things. They were comfortable, but the least materialistic people Leila knew.

  Her foot slipped a bit, but she righted herself before dunking under the water. It smelled awful. If a dank cave opened its mouth after a thousand years and yawned in your face, Leila was pretty sure it would smell just like Silver Springs did at that moment. She would be throwing away the clothes she wore as soon as she got home. No amount of washing would get the smell—or the memories—out. Her shoulder was beginning to burn from holding the bag above the surface, so she switched hands. Another something scratched at her leg, and she shuddered and walked faster. It might be faster to swim, but that would take more energy than walking slowly and would put even more of her body into the water.

  And had her mom heard? Had anyone outside of the county heard? This was huge, but it was a tiny town and communications were out. Word would be spreading, but not to get news crews on board—they’d be trying to get outside help in, reinforcements for the fire department and hospital emergency staff. The hospital would have been evacuated, so where were they taking people? Nothing ever seemed to change in this town, so she assumed the second floor was still the seniors’ ward. Would they have evacuated the whole building or just the ground floor?

  Lives would have to be rebuilt after this, hers included, though she was lucky to live in a dry city. If she’d thought the wedding had made her re-evaluate her life, it was nothing to the re-evaluation that gripped her now. I am going to get through this. But what if she didn’t? What had she done with her life? She made decent money, had a career, and while there wasn’t a huge opportunity for advancement, it had always seemed good enough.

  It had taken a flash flood to show her that “good enough” was no longer good enough. Digging around in people’s mouths was helpful and necessary. But it wasn’t fulfilling, and it sure as hell wasn’t what she’d dreamed for herself as a kid. Where had the passion gone? She’d wanted to write—had written for the school paper—but had thought it a stepping-stone to journalism and maybe one day, books. What the hell had killed that dream?

  Her parents had been supportive. But her practicality reared up, and instead of going to university and pursuing an English degree or journalism, she’d decided to put school off until she could pay for it herself. While comfortable, neither of her parents were rich, and she didn’t want to take out a bunch of student loans.

  She grabbed a nearby streetlight, using it to propel her a little farther. Her quads were burning. If she didn’t run four times a week, she had no idea how she’d be faring right now.

  Dental assisting school had taken a year, and she’d been offered a position at the office where she completed her practicum. And she hadn’t looked back. The money was good, her coworkers better, and she got to help people. Sure, the patients were never really happy to be there—who was ever excited to go to the dentist—but it was useful. She paid off her schooling and had saved up a pretty tidy savings account. And somewhere along the way, writing had fallen by the wayside.

  She wanted to leave beauty in the world. Create something beautiful. Whitening a smile, assisting a filling were not what she had in mind. And I’m not going back to that. I’ll be taking my savings and enrolling in school, going for my dream because why the hell not?

  Leila had never been one to want kids to live through them. Kids couldn’t be the dream because you can’t live for someone else. But if she died, it would be the end of the line for her genes. The culmination of her ancestors experiences, all the things they’d fought and loved and lived for would be done. What had she given to the world to celebrate being in it? I could be snuffed out at any moment, and my legacy would be some porcelain veneers. Of course, her brother would carry on her family’s line. If he had kids. But even if he hadn’t, he’d already given more to the world, made real changes by the lives of people he’d saved.

  All of those people would go on to live their lives, contribute to the world. Maybe save other lives. Maybe invent things that saved more lives, or improved on technology to make millions of lives better. The chances of that were slim, with everyone he saved being in Silver Springs, but it was the possibilities he’d created that lived on. A million possibilities for incredible things to
happen, all because of him. And she’d done nothing.

  She slipped again, having more trouble pulling her feet free of the mud than before. She was glad they’d taped above her ankles, as the gravel in the mud scratched and bit as she pulled free. Suppose I have Ryan to thank for that. I wouldn’t have thought of that myself. Then again, I might not have had to if I’d left with the others and walked their way.

  Or worn pants and shoes today.

  Or stayed at Dad’s house.

  Something tugged at her leg.

  “Leila, stop!”

  “Ryan, I’m fine!” He was so bossy.

  “No, Leila, stop walking right now!”

  Something in his voice registered through the annoyance that he wasn’t just being bossy. But she’d already lifted her foot.

  It never touched the ground.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Either she hadn’t noticed the water rushing by in front of her or she hadn’t been strong enough to resist it after he yelled for her to stop. He rushed forward, but she went under.

  “Leila!” he shouted, frantically shining the light around the place she went down. It would do no good for him to go under after her—unable to see an inch in the brown water, he’d miss her if—when—she came back up. So he stood still with his heart hammering his chest, blood pounding in his ears like a bad horror movie.

  Seconds stretched until it felt like minutes had passed.

  “Leila!” God, please. Please. He didn’t even know what to ask for, just pleaded to the water to give her back to him. He should have made her go with him, made her stop, thrown the stubborn woman on his back and forced her to stay safe in his arms. “Leila!” For the first time since the waters hit, he was scared.