Hurricane Kiss by Deborah Blumenthal Page A

another one and as I’m about to insert it, it slips from my wet, shaking hand, sinking into the pool of swirling mud covering my sneakers.
    â€œOmigod,” she says.
    We drop to our knees searching.
    Things don’t just disappear, where the hell could the damn key have gone? The rain is pelting our backs, dripping over our heads like we’re under faucets. In seconds, it could have floated ten feet away. Tree branches snapping from the live oaks are airborne, smacking our backs. And this isn’t even Danielle yet, it’s just a hint of what’s to come.
    JILLIAN
    I sift the mud through my fingers. A key doesn’t disappear. It’s here somewhere. I rake through the dirt again and again.
    â€œWe’ll find it,” River says, almost to himself.
    I look up at the building with its brick façade and red steel doors. The wind gusts are smacking the American flag, pushing it back and forth. Shouldn’t they have taken it down to protect it? Where was the custodian?
    This isn’t my school now, it’s a refuge. I look at the overhang above the door and the covered walkway. Where would we hide if we couldn’t get inside? In the giant stinking metal trash containers they use for garbage after renovation work? An unlocked car somewhere? A house that someone forgot to lock? We left his dad because the freeway wasn’t safe.
    Some of the houses across the street are boarded up. Is anybody home in any of them? Would they open their doors to us if they were? If we can’t get into the school we’ll have to break in somewhere, but how, with our bare hands? It’s not like people are hiding in their basements to protect themselves here. There are no basements in Houston, except for the buildings downtown and some of the houses in River Oaks, one of the wealthiest parts of the city. The ground is too marshy. I look at my watch. Nearly six o’clock About two more hours until it gets dark.
    â€œOw!” A thick branch flies by and whips my arm, scraping it, leaving me bleeding.
    River doesn’t even look up. He keeps searching through the mud, fixated, oblivious, picking up clumps of it and letting it run through his fingers. I go back to doing the same thing. Five minutes go by, and then ten, and we can’t find it anywhere. The only things I sift out of the mud are stones and bloated, gelatinous worms that I fling away.
    We’re on our knees in filthy, soaking wet clothes, sweat mixed with rain dripping down our faces. Yard garbage is now airborne as we search, hands buried in mud that draws us in like quicksand.
    â€œWe have to get inside somewhere.”
    River ignores me.
    â€œIt can’t end this way, it can’t,” I say. I might as well be talking to myself because he doesn’t answer. “After we left the car and came all the way back here.”
    I look all around. What do we do? Where do we go? I get up to start looking for someplace, anyplace to hide.
    â€œGot it,” he says, finally, pushing a wet tangle of hair away from his eyes with the back of his hand. He gets to his feet and tries the key again.
    It doesn’t work.
    â€œRiver …”
    â€œBe quiet, just be quiet, OK?”
    I bite my lip. He inhales deeply as he struggles to work the key out of the lock. Is it jammed in now? He gets it out then flips it over, trying it again.
    A heavy click. The key turns over. Finally.
    â€œYes!” His face relaxes. He pushes, but the door doesn’t give. Nothing. Why? What’s wrong? He tries again, pushing with the heel of his hand. Still nothing.
    How can that be?
    He presses his shoulder against it and pushes harder. It doesn’t budge.
    â€œWhat …?”
    â€œStand back!” He steps away and then runs up, hurling his entire weight against it. There’s a frightening creak as though wood is being split apart, but the door gives way.
    He heads into total darkness, and I follow him.

Chapter 14
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