Free Switch by John Lutz Page A

stubby hood.
    â€œMaybe we oughta go back,” Nicholson said. “See if we can outrun whatever’s headed our way.”
    â€œOrders are to deliver the prisoners.” Garvey drove faster. The hail slammed harder against the windshield, as if hurled by a giant hand.
    The prisoner chained in the back of the van with Daniel Danielle was a young man with lots of muscles and tattoos under his orange prison jumpsuit. He was scarred with old acne and had a face like chipped stone, with a crooked nose and narrow, mean eyes. He was easy to take for a hardened ex-con, but he was actually an undercover cop named Chad Bingham, there for insurance if something weird happened and Daniel Danielle made trouble.
    Bingham would rather have been someplace else. He had a wife and two kids. And a job.
    The easy part of the job was just sitting there sulking and pretending he was someone else. But the way things were going, he was afraid the hard part was on its way.
    The hail kept coming. Nicholson was on the edge of being downright scared. Even if it didn’t make landfall nearby, Sophia might spawn tornados. Hurricanes also sometimes unexpectedly changed course. He reached out and turned on the radio, but got nothing but static this far out in the flatlands, away from most civilization.
    Garvey could see his partner was getting antsy so he tried to raise Sarasota on the police band. The result was more static. He tried Belle Glade and got the same response.
    â€œStorm’s interfering with reception,” he said to Nicholson, looking into wide blue eyes. He had never seen the man this rattled.
    â€œTry your cell phone,” Nicholson said in a tight voice.
    â€œYou kidding?”
    Nicholson tried his own cell phone but didn’t get a signal. Both men jumped as a violent thumping began under the van.
    â€œWe ran over a branch or something that blew onto the road,” Garvey said.
    â€œPull over and let’s drag it out.”
    â€œNot in this weather,” Garvey said. “That hail will beat us to death.”
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” Nicholson asked, as a huge many-armed form crossed the road ahead of them, like an image in a dream.
    â€œLooked like a tree,” Garvey said.
    â€œThere aren’t many trees around here.”
    â€œIt’s not around here anymore,” Garvey said, as the wind rocked the van.
    The van suddenly became easy to steer. Garvey realized that was because he was no longer steering it. The wind had lifted it off the road.
    They were sideways now, plowing up dirt and grass. Then they bounced and were airborne again.
    â€œWhat the shit are you doing?” Nicholson screamed.
    â€œSitting here just like you.”
    The van leaned left, leaned right, and Garvey knew they were going to turn over.
    â€œHold tight,” he yelled, checking to make sure both of them had their seat belts fastened.
    The wind howled. Steel screamed. They were upside down. Garvey could hear Nicholson shouting beside him, but couldn’t make out what he was saying because of the din.
    The van skidded a long way on its roof and then began to spin. Garvey felt his head bouncing against the side window.
    Bulletproof glass came off in sharp-edged, milky strips, and he was staring at the ground. With a violent lurch, the van was upright again, then back on its roof. Garvey realized that as addled as his brain had become, his right foot was still jammed hard against the brake pedal.
    The van stopped. Hanging upside down, Garvey looked out the glassless window and saw that they were wedged against one of the rare trees Nicholson had mentioned. He looked over and saw that Nicholson was dazed and wild-eyed. And beyond Nicholson, out the window ...
    â€œLooks like a kind of low ridge over there,” he shouted at Nicholson. “We gotta get outta the van, see if we can burrow down outta the wind.”
    â€œEverywhere!” Nicholson yelled. “Wind’s