Free Scenes from the Secret History (The Secret History of the World) by F. Paul Wilson Page A

pulling her back toward the bikes.  He knew if he didn’t she’d probably stay in the open, storm or no storm, drawing her diagram.  She didn’t fight him.  Eddie followed.
    Just as they reached the bikes, the sky opened like a bursting dam.  They huddled in the center of a thick copse of young pines.
    “Under a tree,” Weezy said. “The worst place to be in a storm.”
    Jack knew that, but didn’t see as they had much choice. Even under the trees they were getting soaked.
    “In case you haven’t noticed, Weez,” Jack said, “we’re in the middle of the Pine Barrens.  If you know of a place without trees, I’m all ears.”
    Weezy said nothing more, just crouched on her haunches, her eyes closed and her fingers in her ears.  Eddie too.  They both jumped with every thunderclap. 
    Jack didn’t get that.  He loved thunderstorms – their fury, their unpredictability, their deafening light shows fascinated him.  Same with his father.  Many a summer night they’d sit together on the front porch and watch a storm approach, peak, and move on.  Sometimes Dad would drive him over to Old Town where they’d park within sight of the Lightning Tree.  For some reason no one could figure, the long-dead tree took a hit from every storm that passed overhead.
    The thunder grew louder, the lightning flashed brighter, the rain fell harder.  The world funneled down to the copse and little else.  Nothing was visible beyond their clump of trees.  Water cascaded through the branches and swirled around their feet.  Might as well have been in the shower – except Jack wished he could have cranked up the hot water handle.
    He felt his Converse All-Stars filling with water.
    Swell.
     
    3
    After a couple of forevers, the storm tapered off.  When the rain finally stopped they stepped out of the copse and shook themselves off. 
    Jack took off his T-shirt and wrung the water out of it.  Eddie followed suit. Weezy didn’t have that luxury.  Her Bauhaus shirt was plastered to her; she pulled it free of her skin as best she could.  Her soaked hair looked almost black, her bangs were plastered to her forehead, and her ponytail had become a rat tail.
    “Look at us,” she said.  “Three drowned mice.”
    “At least we didn’t get hit by lightning,” Eddie said.  “Let’s get home.  I need to dry off.”
    “But I haven’t mapped the mound yet.”
    Eddie rolled his eyes.  “You’ve gotta be kidding!  You can come back any time–”
    “Just give me a few minutes.”
    “Come on, Eddie,” Jack said, nudging him with an elbow.  “What difference is a few more minutes going to make?”
    “Okay, okay.  I’ll stay with the bikes.”
    She pulled out her notepad and regarded it with dismay.  “Soaked!”
    But that didn’t stop her.  She hurried ahead, hopped on the mound, and began retracing her steps.  The sun popped out as Jack followed.  Now he welcomed it.
    Weezy stopped where Eddie had broken through the crust and pointed to the edges.
    “See this?  I was so mad at him I didn’t notice before, but it’s really weird.”
    Jack saw what she meant.  Eddie had shattered a four- or five-foot length of the crust into about a zillion irregular pieces, but the edges of the broken area – the near, the far, and both sides near ground level – were perfectly straight.  Could have been cut by an electric saw. 
    The rain had done a number on the soft sand within the mound, washing it out and fanning it around the break like a cloud.  Jack didn’t know what kind of cloud it resembled, but he was sure Weezy could tell him.
    He kicked over a random shard of crust and spotted something shiny and black beneath it.  Before he could react, Weezy was on her knees and all over it.
    “What’s this ?”
    She started scooping away the surrounding wet sand, gradually revealing a black cube the size of a softball.  Gently, cautiously, she wriggled her fingers beneath it.
    “Why don’t you just pick it up?”