Free Hard Rain by Darlene Scalera Page B

flames.
    “It’s Michael’s surfboard. What’s left of it.” At least a third of the board was missing. He scanned the area.
    “The wind must have ripped it off the car’s roof,” Amy said.
    He made no comment, slowly easing the van back onto the road, searching for a sign of the boy or his friends. The wind pummeled the van, forcing it back toward the shoulder. Jesse struggled to control the vehicle as it veered. Spitting gravel joined the shells and pebbles clattering against the sides. The winds were too high, too strong. They passed a small marker. Padre Point. One Mile.
    “We’re almost there,” Amy said with an encouraging smile. Neither commented on the increasing fury outside. The rain continued to fall, and the van’s headlights shone into the grayness. Beach houses clustered several hundred yards back from the shore. As the van rounded a curve, almost to their destination, Jesse saw a small, weathered A-frame building with a faded painted sign proclaiming The Sea Shack. Two hundred yards away the flat land formed a point and disappeared into the sea. Waves rose and fell violently, colliding with each other. Above, a thickening bank of clouds merged into a dark gray wall. Jesse parked at the sand’s edge, the van’s headlights slicing through the gloom. Pieces of a surfboard, blue and red, lay scattered on the sand until the wind caught them and carried them several yards. Otherwise the beach was deserted.
    Jesse reached for the door handle. “I’m going to take a closer look.”
    Amy reached for her door handle.
    “Stay here.”
    The expression on his face stopped her from arguing. She let go of the door handle and watched Jesse, the rain and sand and shells pelting his body. He leaned into the wind as he made his way to the shoreline. She watched him several seconds, then a movement in the side mirror caught her attention. A cloud was coming from the same direction they’d just traveled. It hung low, sliding across the flat length of the beach, black and purple and darker than the sky that surrounded it. At first, she thought it an illusion, the blurred images of water, sky and storm playing tricks with her vision, fueling her imagination like a child seeing ghouls in the night’s shadows. She shifted to see the low, flying saucer shape stand on its end, reaching out a long finger to skim the beach. She leapt out of the van and ran toward the shore where Jesse stood. He turned as she screamed his name, catching her as she stumbled, and drew her to the hard solid wall of his chest.
    “What the—?” His arms automatically circled around her and she stayed in his embrace as she pointed out the long-fingered shape. It touched down and pulled up, as if determining if it was in the right place, then suddenly detached from the cloud, driven by a life of its own.
    They stood watching it for a moment, fascinated as the shape wobbled back and forth across the flat shore as if trying to decide which way to go. Not until itveered right, toward where they stood, did they move. Jesse’s arms still embracing her, Amy ran with him toward the A-frame two hundred yards from the shore. She glanced over her shoulder once, saw the long, spiny shape move up, touch down. They made it to the building, the world black around them. Jesse broke down the door and pulled Amy in. She swung around for one last look, saw a tree snap like a stick, felt the ground beneath the building tremble, then the building itself, the windows rattling in their frames. Jesse pulled her with him toward a door, looking for a crawlspace, but the building had been built on a slab.
    “Lie down,” he yelled.
    She did as he said, her body flat against the sand and grit that covered the floor. He arched over her, his body a breath from hers. She closed her eyes, the earth’s tremor moving through her. She listened to the sounds of things cracking and falling outside. She felt the wild thump of her own heart and that of the heart above her.