Delayed, Nathan Kingsly [read aloud txt] 📗

or from earlier today, and she waves us over. It’s hard to tell time with the storm casting a dark shadow no matter the hour.

Walking over, I release Emma’s legs, and she slides off.

“Not what you had planned, huh?” she says.

“You could say that,” Emma replies.

There is hail scattered, the size of bouncy balls, but so many of them that the ground looks like a blanket of snow. Tree branches swinging, in danger of ripping off as their trunks stress to bend with the wind. The door frame rattles, the glass shivers as the groaning wind continues to whip against it.

Two men come out of a side room, hauling two sandbags each.

Glancing at Emma, “Stay safe, and close,” I demand, and without hearing a promise back, I head over to help.

The closer I get to the door, the floor squishes under my shoes. It’s already starting to get inside. The closet is lit by a single flashlight, MacGyvered with some string to point at the mound of sandbags from a wire shelf. Grabbing two bags as the others before, we meet at the doors giving a nod before we start to create a pattern, much like bricks for a house, against the door.

When I think about it, I turn around; Emma is gone, so is her older companion. The urge to go searching for her is almost too much to ignore, but in doing this, I also keep her safe.

Once we're done with one door, there are others to cover, and after we barricade ourselves in, I pray there won't be a fire.

When I search for Emma, it’s several hours later. I find her huddled on the floor with several women, talking at once. Items passed from one person to the next, one person writing down something on a piece of paper, and I realize this chaos is inventory. They have three flashlights stored around the room, the most light I have seen since the lights went out.

Before I can escape unnoticed, she spots me in the corner of her eye and waves me over. I shake my head, and she laughs.

“Ladies, meet my husband, Liam.”

I can feel the scowl on my mouth.

“Oh, you were right. He is cute,” a woman says to my right.

“I don’t know... tattoos aren’t my thing,” another says.

I take a step back, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The ladies are either smiling or laughing at my expense.

“We won’t bite, ” someone says.

I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Someone’s calling me.” No way am I going to get caught in that trap, there were other things that needed to be done, and I'm going to find them. Where she is, it is safe enough. There are no windows, and she is far enough from an exterior door. If things go south, I know where to find her.

But in case, I point a finger at her, “Don’t wander.”

“We’ll see.” She winks, her wicked smile brightens her face, and there are a few awes from the other women before I back out of the doorframe.

The guy that had the checklist for the lunches walks past with a tower of towels.

”Hey,” I call, trying to get his attention.

He cranes around the stack, “Me?” He asks as he spots me.

“Yeah, got something else for me?”

“They need help in the basement.” He clicks on his flashlight before he reaches the corridor. “Follow me.”

When we get to a door, I hear several people raising their voices and something else I can’t place until taking a few steps down the dark hole. A gasp escapes me when my leg's submerged past the ankle with water. My shoe fills with it, and my toes shift to adjust to the sudden cold of the intrusion.

Off in a corner, a light flickers as someone shifts, and it takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust to see what I'm looking at.

“Where the hell are those towels?” The voice is rough.

“Right here.” My companion says behind me, and I move out of his way to follow him to the group.

“What’s going on?” I call.

“One of the water lines is leaking,” someone says.

“Anyone shut off the valve?” I ask.

“As if we hadn’t thought to do that,” someone says flatly.

“We need a ladder,” another says. How many people are down here?

“What about--” I start.

“No need to repeat what we know.”

“A piggyback to reach?” I continue.

It gets quiet. “Are you volunteering to be the base?”

“Sure.” I roll my eyes.

“Tom, get up on his shoulders. You know where it is, and you can take the kid to the valve.”

I hear Tom tread water as he comes closer, and I force myself not to jerk away when a hand lands on my arm. Working in pitch black is on my list of never to do again.

Crouching down, I grab hold of his legs as I lift us both back up. He’s about a buck fifty, and I follow his instruction to where the valve is. Water pours down, and I end up having to close my eyes as I put one foot in front of the other.

There’s a sigh of relief when the water stops pouring from above, but now that is no longer an issue the other problem becomes clear.

“How long will it take to fix?” I ask.

“Not sure we can. We don’t have the tools here. Thankfully it isn’t the main, but that means some guests don’t have running water.”

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think they will mind sharing,” someone suggests, but I know I will mind.

“Got any duct tape?” I ask

“Son, tape won’t hold back the amount of pressure we’re dealing with. This line is staying off.”

Worth a shot, but then I recall the hole in my window. “I’m needing it for something else,” I say.

“Sure, we have some in the supply closet that had the sandbags stored in it. I’ll take you.”

“I helped with the sandbags; I know where to go.” I go up the stairs two at a time. Once I get to the hall,