Page 8 of Leveling

Chapter 5

Luna had knowntwo types of men in her short life. The men of her family, who expected her to do her part for the survival of the group, gave her rules and chores and expected her to fulfill her part.

The other type of men were the ones she met, who wanted to take care of her, to lift her board, to tell her where to go, and how the world worked. The second type of man expected her to be weak.

Beckett was different, he offered to help and asked for her help. He tossed her a rope, without question or command, and caused Luna to falter for a second. Would he instruct? Or tell her to hold it until he came back for it? But no, he gave her the rope so she could do half the work. It was surprising and kind of cool.

Together the two spread tarps and battened them over the trunks and strengthened the tie-downs on the kitchen’s canvas roof. When Luna looked out at the horizon again, a mountainous pile of clouds had bloomed. They were moving in the Outpost’s direction.

Beckett asked, “What do you see?”

Luna heart was beginning to race. She took a big gulp of air and answered with the calmest voice she could muster, “About an hour before the rain and there will be some wind in the middle.”

Beckett covered the generator with a tarp and strapped the supplies to hooks situated along the walls.

Finally, there was nothing else to tie down or cover, and the rain, according to Luna, was about ten minutes away. The wind had picked up a bit. Luna appraised their work. “I think it looks good. I’ve passed many a storm without this much preparation or cover.”

Beckett shook his head. “I suppose you have, but I don’t know how you do.”

“It’s just—something you get through, I suppose.” She checked over her shoulder at the sky. She was trying to put a nice spin on things but really wanted to get inside the tent. Shelter would be good for once.

Beckett started the generator. Large floodlights attached at each corner blared on. They swept back and forth and around, lighting the Outpost, signaling that it was here in the dark. It is here, we are here, don’t crash, it is here.

The ocean turned gray and brooding. The sky remained blue on one-half but darkened on the other, spreading. The clouds grew menacing, a dark wall of storm. The rain’s front edge approached. Luna pretended like she wasn’t afraid of the storm, assuaging her fear with role-play: she was Anna Barlow, unafraid of the weather.

She said, “That’s lovely. I love watching a storm,” and turned to take in the scope of the rooftop. “You know, I haven’t spent the night at this Outpost in years. I’d forgotten how pretty it is with the garden and the glass, the sweeping lights and the endless view.”

Wind ruffled the back of her hair as if creeping up behind.

Beckett was too nervous to chatter about beauty and the view and had no desire to hide it. He grunted, “Umhhhm,” in reply and checked the knots on the generator’s tarp for the fourth time.

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