Page 116 of Home Tears

“Tons.”

“Buckets.”

“Waterfalls.”

Jake grinned. “Oceans.”

Jonah had been right—Jake was the one she needed to talk with. Dani suddenly felt so many words to share with her sister. Maybe she was around. Maybe she wasn’t. Dani liked to think she believed in the afterlife, but from a world so cold and bleak, sometimes Dani thought that death just meant rest.

“I’m tired,” Dani announced. “I’m really, really tired.”

Jake cleared his throat, and then his radio crackled to life. A code orange was called for the Craigstown County.

Jake went still.

“What?”

He didn’t move.

“Jake. What?”

It was bad. She felt it in her gut, and she knew it now. She was just waiting to hear the words confirming it.

“A code orange means the dam burst.” Jake raised horrified eyes to her. “All that flooding, the erosion—it burst the dam.”

“The town—”

“—will be destroyed.”

“This is what Jonah was worried about. Those people went home.”

“I know. My God, I know. I have to go and warn them.” Jake scrambled into his car and gunned the engine. “Get to safety, Dani. Find Jonah. He’ll take care of you.”

Her nightmare was coming true. The first storm missed her. The flash floods were the warm-up, and now the second storm was coming for her.

The water was coming.

She threw a rock through the boat store’s window. There was no time to waste. They would need boats, lots of boats. Her heart pounding, it seemed to take forever for her to reach inside, unlock the door, and take a hammer to the keys’ locker.

Her hands trembled as she tried to find too many keys to too many boats. They wouldn’t fit. They’d fall. She nearly wept when one sunk in, fitting. Then a second, then a third. She was sweating, and biting down on her lip. She needed more boats than this.

Life jackets.

She needed those too.

Raiding a back room, she grabbed everything she could.

Duct tape. Flashlights. Candy bars. Flares. Even prepaid cell phones. Anything that might be needed. Then she grabbed another round of matches, lighters, and all items that would provide heat.

It took nearly two hours, and in the midst—she heard nothing. She was listening for something, anything, someone, anyone, even as she hit the releases on the boat carriers.

No one sprinted past.

No one was screaming, or crying.

Nothing.

The silence was eerie. It was like the town was in the eye of a tornado. But it was coming. She knew it was coming. The hairs on the back of her neck were raised, and hadn’t fallen back down.

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