Page 78 of Desperate Creed

The Jeep started to rock violently. He felt like he was riding a bucking bull. Riding the wrong way.

Even with his head down he could see shadows flying by. Objects hit the windows. The Jeep was being pummeled. Branches continued to crash and snap, so constant now, it sounded like fireworks.

Something ripped above him. A loud crash and a whoosh. Suddenly, he felt the rain and the wind inside the vehicle. The sunroof had blown out. Another crash and he ducked his head as glass shattered against his helmet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and kept his head down. But the force had changed. The wind inside the Jeep tried to peel him away. He could feel the storm sucking at him, threatening to dislodge him.

Creed held on tighter. He gripped the front seat then his fingers searched for the shoulder belt. Awkwardly he wrapped it around his wrist. His mind flashed to the passenger in Baby Garner’s car. He had no idea if staying with the vehicle protected or doomed him, but he new one thing for certain. He was not leaving Grace. This monster would not separate them.

The whistling rush of wind surrounded them now. The pressure was so intense Creed was sure his helmet wouldn’t matter because his head was going to explode. He held on as the creature’s hot breath sucked at him. It peeled his shirt off his back. Then it tried to do the same with his skin. It tugged and punched at him. His bare back felt sandblasted, poked and stung by a thousand bees.

He gritted his teeth and continued to hold on.

Grace’s crate shifted. Now it pressed against his ribcage, digging in and threatening to cut off his breath.

He opened his eyes and tried to look down at it. In the darkness, lightening flashed like strobe lights, making everything look like it was moving in slow motion. Pieces of debris flew in the air. Some of it hit him now that the windshield no longer was there. The rumble was so intense he could feel the vibration all through his body. Curtains of rain started filling the inside of the Jeep.

He wanted to see in the crate beneath him. The blanket still covered it. Were the steel-grated doors still latched or had the force sucked them open? Was Grace still with him? She had to be. Would he know if she had been sucked out from under him?

His left hand was tied to the shoulder belt. He pushed his feet against the metal frame of the Jeep to better secure himself. Then, he released his right hand. He had to be sure she was okay.

As the winds pulled at him, he twisted his arm enough to allow his hand to weave under the blanket. His fingers felt the metal grate. He poked a finger in between and almost immediately was rewarded by Grace’s soft tongue.

A flood of relief washed over him.

She was there! She was able to respond.

“Hold on, girl,” he yelled, but he could hardly hear himself. It had to be almost over. “Just a few more minutes. Hang on, Grace!”

The storm was on top of them, snarling and clawing, poking and stabbing at his back.

It couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t hold on for much longer.

Just then, the vehicle jolted like hitting a speed bump at sixty-miles-per-hour. It slung Creed up against the remaining roof then dropped him hard, slamming the breath right out of him. He gasped for air, his mouth sucking in dirt and choking him more than helping.

The Jeep bounced. It skidded. Forward, backward, sideways.

Then suddenly, they were flying.

56

Southern Blessings

Maggie tried to scroll through the text messages and missed calls that were coming through now, a string of pings at a time. It should have been a relief to be connected again, but each one only made her feel more helpless.

“The mobile cell tower must be close by,” she told Frankie. “I’m getting a whole bunch of messages I missed.”

Frankie was feeling no pain, but she should have monitored her better. The woman was clearly drunk. Which presented a new problem. Maggie realized the alcohol could cause dehydration. Earlier she had found a case of bottled water. The expiration date was two years ago, but everyone was parched from the stifling heat. She’d handed out bottles to the others when she distributed the packages of frozen meat. She plied Frankie with water trying to compensate for her mistake.

“I really am better with dead people,” Maggie said out loud before she could stop herself. She’d had two sips of the whiskey hoping it would relax her and keep her from thinking how damn hot it was. Hoping it would stop her from noticing how the ceiling and walls were closing in on her.

“I can’t drink anymore water,” Frankie complained. “I’ll need to pee.”

“And that would be a good thing. It’d mean you’re hydrated.”

There was movement in the dark. The woman who had been sitting with the teenaged boy was wandering over to them. She left the boy back in the dark while she weaved her way around the toppled support beam and the pile of debris that separated Maggie and Frankie from the others. She used her cell phone’s flashlight and stepped carefully.

Maggie had guessed that she was maybe forty. Her shoulder long, dark hair stuck to the sides of her head. She was sweating profusely. It could have been the unflattering light, but Maggie thought the woman’s eyes looked glassy and her skin pasty.