Authors: Asha King
She leaned back and crossed her arms at her chest as she shivered. Nothing she could do about her tank top soaked through to her bra but there was no reason to advertise anything.
The sound of rain drowned out Robbie’s approach and it was only when he appeared at the driver’s side that she realized he was there. He climbed into the truck swiftly, slamming his door and sealing them in from the elements.
“Wow.” He shook his head and slid the key in the ignition. “Can’t remember the last time we were hit this bad.”
“We needed it, though,” Addie said. And it was true—the grass had gone a brown-yellow weeks ago, and if their dry summer continued, it was bound to affect farmers in the area.
“Yeah, I kinda hope it lasts a few days.” He turned the key and the old engine revved. Immediately he fiddled with the dials until heat blasted them. The truck was stuffy to begin with but Addie was grateful for the air drying the water from her face and hairline.
Robbie pulled the truck out of the lot and onto the street. The windshield wipers swished constantly and yet visibility was still low. Beyond the rain puddling on the glass, Addie glimpsed downtown Havelock ahead; the only lights came from cars, as all the traffics lights and streetlamps were down. Cars had slowed to a crawl, everyone sufficiently cautious and waiting at the main four corners for their turn to go.
She didn’t need to give Robbie directions as he turned the truck south and headed away from the downtown core—he knew where she lived. Most people did. It was a mostly white town and while people were friendly enough, the young, single, bellydance-teaching woman of color stood out rather obviously, especially since she wasn’t born and raised here but moved to the area a few years ago. She didn’t mind terribly that she didn’t fit in. She never had, no matter where she lived, and as long as her neighbors were pleasant—which they were—she wasn’t going to let it trouble her.
The space between the houses grew wider the farther they went. Just two miles from downtown and the area immediately rolled into the country. Robbie slowed the truck as they approached her small, single-story bungalow on the water and he turned into her empty driveway.
The house was dark and grim but the grass already seemed to be greening happily in the rain. Her beds of wildflowers looked happy as well—she could all but feel them buzzing pleasantly. The rain barrels out back would be full as well, ready for the next time they had a prolonged drought.
“Thanks,” Addie said, the plastic bag of her things clutched to her chest and crackled as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Very much appreciated today. Think the power will be down tomorrow too?”
“Maybe. Even if it’s not, people will probably be busy restocking groceries and running errands.”
That was true—given how spotty power could be in the summer when storms hit, she was surprised it always seemed to shock people in town when it happened. Tomorrow the grocery store would be packed.
She had a class booked for tomorrow, Friday afternoon, but she’d be best to cancel it. “I’ll make my calls tonight, then. We’ll come back on Monday.” Addie fished her keys from her bag, rushing even though she dreaded heading outside.
“So...” Robbie drew her attention just as her fingers grasped her key ring. “The power comes back tomorrow, do you...” He hesitated and she felt the question before he even asked it.
He was a sweet guy—tall, good-looking, in his mid-twenties like she was—but she felt nothing like
that
for him. Addie didn’t date widely, never had: she relied on her gut, and her gut was definitely saying no.
But she also didn’t have a huge number of friends in town. So she offered a smile. “Maybe. Give me a call?” He managed the community center where she ran her classes—he’d have her number on file, she knew.
“Sure. Oh, and...hey, you know, be careful. Out here.” He lifted his strong chin, gesturing at her house and the lake beyond it. “Been hearing things. Wild animals spotted a bit too close to town.”
“Will do. Thanks again.” She took a deep breath and then jerked open the door, hopping onto the driveway. Whatever parts of her had dried were immediately soaked again as she got the door shut and raced across the lawn, skipping the path to the door and taking a shortcut. A small, sheltered porch waited, and it would’ve offered her shelter if the rain was going straight down. Instead, the wind knocked it sideways, battering both her and the front of her house.
They keys were slippery but she got them in the lock and the door opened. Seconds later she was safe and dry inside.
Despite the fact it was only three in the afternoon, her bungalow was dark, looking closer to dusk than afternoon. She was chilled through and left a trail of water in her wake as she walked through the house for the back hallway and bathroom.
The air buzzed restlessly and she couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach as she stripped, dried off, and pulled on a terrycloth robe.
Something
was coming, something that had her insides tied up nervously and sent a breath of dread down her spine.
She’d never felt it quite this strongly before, not since years earlier when her grandmother lived here and she was a little girl who visited with her mom. Normally Addie lived her quiet little life and only occasionally had a twinge of worry about things. But this...this was something else entirely.
Addie pushed at the feeling and padded back toward the main area of the bungalow. Her long hair was wet against her back, the terrycloth soaking up extra moisture, and water trailed from the front door. Towels were needed for the old hardwood, definitely, just as soon as she got more light going.
Her living room was small and cozy, with a worn but comfortable couch and loveseat set covered in overstuffed, plush cushions. The fireplace was welcome come winter, and low hanging lamps gave the space a warm glow—or normally did, when there was electricity.
Without the lamps working, Addie stopped instead at the north wall, in a small space behind the couch, where she crouched at the low-sitting altar. Its dark walnut wood was polished and cared for, but worn over time with scratches and grooves. Still, she loved it—one of the remaining items inherited from her late grandmother. It could’ve passed for a bookshelf, which was what her mother had used it for, but Addie remembered Granmama Deveraux’s spot for it in the screened-in porch and the cushion on the floor in front of the altar where tools of her practice waited.
Addie didn’t use it for much herself—didn’t really know what to do with it, the things her grandmother used to say barely still there in her mind. Her mother had Granmama’s things in storage, the house boarded up over the years until she died and Addie took over everything.
But even if Addie didn’t
use
the altar in a formal sense, she did keep a row of candles across it and those she lit with a Bic lighter set off to the side. Flames leapt from the white pillars, warm and flickering. She took a deep, calming breath, and willed the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach to settle.
It didn’t work.
It’s nothing. Just the change in air pressure from the storm. Chill out.
Addie grabbed a candle and stood, wandering around the living room again to light more candles and brighten the space, but worry dogged each step no matter how she tried to ignore it.
Chapter Two
He ran.
How long he’d been running, he didn’t know. Or where. All thoughts left his mind and it was just him, four paws striking the ground, slipping in mud. Rain soaked his pelt, wet grass swished at his sides.
Thunder and lightning violently tore at the sky, like gods tearing into the atmosphere in pursuit of him. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, he didn’t think—if Lincoln clawed through the air to pluck him from the ground right in that moment, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
He ran harder.
His sides ached with each breath, muscles burned in his body, and his pulse slammed in his veins. Still, he couldn’t let himself slow. He’d run until he couldn’t, then walk until unconsciousness took him.
And that might be coming soon. He’d bled, heavily, for too long. The coppery scent still tickled his nose. He snorted it away, kept running. He might be leaving a trail but he couldn’t bear to stop long enough to cover his tracks. He only hoped he’d put enough distance between him and the place he’d left that the rain would wash away any sign of him.
He broke through the woods and slowed just long enough to focus on his surroundings. Water ran in the distance and laid over there was the scent of humanity.
Humans. Avoid humans
. He had trouble forming actual thoughts in this form but that remained with him: he needed to avoid people. Every fiber of his being cautioned him of this.
Night had descended, though he couldn’t remember when. Thick clouds above let loose torrents of rain that showed no sign of stopping. Exhaustion played black spots over his vision but he blinked hard and pushed on.
Avoid humans. Avoid
—
But there was another sense there, something tugging at him. His head swiveled, ears flickering though he didn’t hear anything abnormal. He breathed, didn’t smell anything off.
Still. Still, there was
something
...
Instinct guided him forward. He slinked low in the grass as to not be seen. A road was ahead, and a large, rickety truck rolled by, headlights blasting through the grim night. After it rolled past, he darted down a ditch and across the wide road. The pavement, with its firmness and lack of give, sent shocks up his legs as he took three leaps across it. Once more he touched down on the grass and down another ditch.
Houses here. Few and far between, but even the fields that separated them smelled of humanity. Caution overtook him as he skulked forward, eyes twitching to look everywhere at once. Even as he tried to increase his pace, he found himself slowing—he was too exhausted, too injured. Running on pure adrenaline had kept him going but he’d paused just long enough for all the pain to set in.
He swayed, again, and tried to right himself. His steps were slow and heavy as he continued forward, all rational thought leaving him. Whatever tugged him forward grew stronger and he was left only to follow it.
****
A firm hand rapped on Adelaide’s front door.
Addie paused in front of the old woodstove tucked in the corner of her kitchen. Though she had a regular stove, she was glad the bungalow had one that didn’t require electricity for nights like this; water was coming to a boil on the stovetop for a cup of herbal tea.
The power was still out and a dozen candles were set throughout the living room and kitchen with one in the bathroom. The front door was shadowed, however. She padded quietly across the hardwood, body tense from head to toe.
The knock sounded again.
Her steps increased until she was at the large, heavy front door. She pulled back the curtains at the window to the side and peered onto the dark porch. With a relieved sigh, Addie opened the door. “Lori.”
Her neighbor stood there in a yellow, waterproof parka with matching boots. Lori’s car was in the driveway, the interior light on and revealing her husband in the driver’s seat.
“Bringing goodies to help you overnight!” the middle aged woman said in an overly cheery voice. Even in the low light, her full cheeks were bright pink and smile was wide. She extended her arms and offered Addie a waxy, grocery-store banana box covered with a plastic bag.
“Oh, I don’t need—”
“We’re handing them out to everyone.” Lori waited with that smile glued to her face and Addie relented at last, accepting the box. “Water, some granola bars and non-perishable foods, new batteries, emergency candles and matches, and a travel first aid kit.”
In case I trip in the dark and need a Band-Aid?
But Addie smiled politely. The couple weren’t exactly “preppers” in the traditional sense—they weren’t about to make it onto a TV show with their preparedness for disasters yet—but they liked to think they were the go-to people for neighbors in case of trouble. Lori bought cases of canned soup and bottles of water in bulk once a month and Addie didn’t even want to imagine what their basement looked like.
“Thank you, Lori,” Addie said, clutching the box and leaning against the doorframe. Chilly, damp wind touched her bare arms and while she knew she should invite the woman in, she really didn’t want to.
“Now you be careful,” Lori cautioned. “No telling who’s out there.”
“I keep the doors locked.”
“Yes, but I know you end up out there with those damn cats all night.”
Addie had become the unofficial neighborhood cat lady over the years; many of the felines were dumped out in the country and all found their way to her door. Some were feral and few would come anywhere near her, but she fed each and every one of them nonetheless.
“I’ll just make sure the shelter is secure and that they have food—I won’t be long,” Addie said.
Lori shook her head, the hooded parka crackling restlessly with the movement. “My dogs have been making an awful racket. Watch yourself, I don’t trust what’s out there tonight.”
“Will do.” Addie stepped back and waited until Lori retreated from the porch before closing and locking the door again.
With a heavy sigh, she set the rattling box down beside the couch and pulled the plastic bag from the top. Basically a twenty-four-hour supply kit, from what she could gather.
Her kettle whistled so she left the box behind and headed for the kitchen. A mug of herbal tea already waited—one of the very, very few recipes of Granmama’s that Addie’s mom had written down—and she retrieved the kettle and poured the boiling water. A few minutes to steep—she could spend that time checking the shelter out back.
After drying off and getting cleaned up that afternoon, she’d slipped into comfy yoga pants and a tank top. A hoodie waited on a hook by the back porch door, which she slipped on along with a pair of tennis shoes. She’d be soaked through quickly enough, but she pulled up the hood anyway, then grabbed a flashlight before she yanked the sliding door open.