Hugh Howey - The Hurricane

“That’d be awesome,” she said.

Daniel thought he noted a bit of a blush on her cheeks as she looked away from him and toward her plate. But it could’ve been the light reflected off the large hunk of juicy tomato she was steering toward her mouth.

After thanking Edward and Anna for the incredible meal and helping scrape the dishes into their compost bucket, Daniel gathered his newly charged devices and headed home. He felt a bounce in his step, even as he powered on the Zune and listened to radio chatter about the worst hurricane since Katrina. They were still talking about the landfall being “near Charleston,” which Daniel supposed gave the outside world the best geographical context. He was guilty of doing the same when he was out of town and people asked him where he was from. “Near Charleston,” he would say. And that was precisely where hurricane Anna had struck.

He turned up his driveway and looked toward the sound of the buzzing chainsaw, expecting to find Carlton wielding it, but it was his dad. Daniel steered his direction and pulled his ear buds out. He stepped over yet another tree that awaited transmutation into firewood.

His dad cut partway through a log, rolled it over with his shoe, then sliced through the rest. As the stubby cylinder rolled away from the tree, he killed the saw, which came to a rattling stop.

“Back already?” His father set the chainsaw down and pulled a rag from his back pocket. He wiped the sweat from his face and the back of his neck, a gesture that yanked Daniel through the years to a long ago past. He pictured his dad with his shirt off, a tool belt slung low over one hip, a rectangular pencil tucked behind an ear, a ten-penny nail held between pursed and concentrating lips, a hammer wielded like a dexterous extension of his flesh—

Daniel had no idea if his dad had been sober back then, but in his mind he had been capable of anything. He looked past his father to the house he had built with a few friends, a massive tree crashed right through the roof. One dormer was crushed, the other standing. Before, the house had appeared to be winking, now it looked more like it had suffered a blow, like it had a black eye. It had gone from something happy to something that needed stitches.

“Your mom put together some fine sandwiches if you’re still hungry,” his dad said.

“I filled up on salad, if you can believe that.” Daniel patted his stomach. “Is everyone still eating?”

“I think they’re working on your sister’s room and the living room.” He waved his hand at the yard. “This feels productive out here, but it ain’t really that necessary. It’s just busy work to keep from thinking on all else we can’t do.”

“Well, the Reddings down the street are gonna take their four by four to see if the roads are clear. I was wondering if we could borrow the chainsaw. They’ve got a chain and some other stuff to help move trees.”

His dad knelt by the chainsaw and opened a black cap. He leaned the machine to the side. “Let me top up the bar oil for you. You should take the gas can as well. Fill ’er up if anyone out there is pumping.”

He went to the tall pile of neatly stacked logs and grabbed a green container from the top. A thick, molasses-like oil dripped from it and into the chainsaw. “You know how to crank and use this thing?”

“I’m hoping Edwa—that mister Redding does,” Daniel said. “I’m mostly going along ’cause they said we could see if the roads were clear all the way to Hunter’s girlfriend’s house. I’m thinking they must be blocked in for him not to have come home yet, especially since he knows he has the only car.”

His dad put the cap back on the oil canister and tightened the plug on the chainsaw. He stood up and pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket again, wiping his hands on it. “Maybe I should come with you,” he said.

Daniel waved his hands. “No. That’s okay. I don’t want to impose on them—”

“Impose? I’ll be coming along to help.”

“That’s okay, Dad.”

“Let’s go ask your mom.” He picked up the chainsaw and turned toward the house.

“Dad, I really don’t want you coming along.”

His father threw a hurt look back at him. Daniel immediately felt bad for how it had come out.

“It’s just that there’s a girl going along, and I really don’t want you embarrassing me.”

His father smiled. “It’s my chainsaw. I traded what was left of my boat for it and a ride. So if it’s going, I’m going.” He winked and marched toward the front door.

“Wait,” Daniel said. “You traded your boat for that saw?”

His dad stopped. “What was left of it,” he said.

“And how much was left of it?”

He shrugged. “Not enough to float, probably.”

“For a chainsaw,” Daniel said.

His dad turned around to face him. “These things are worth their weight in gold after a storm. You’ve seen that for yourself.”

“So you knew mom would let you stay.”

“I knew you guys would be in need of one.” He looked up at the tree leaning against their house. “Hell, I betcha I could whittle away at that thing if I was roped in and had some help.”

“And now you’re using it to come along and see Hunter.”

His father smiled. “Let’s not pose it to your mom quite like that,” he said.

With that, he turned and bounded up the steps toward the screen door, while Daniel remained rooted to the sidewalk, the deviousness of his father competing in his brain with the man’s generosity. He had a hard time sorting out which motivation had swept him back into their lives. The awful truth was that he preferred to think it was the former, so he could stay comfortable hating his dad. Once a person got used to the feeling, it wasn’t so bad. It was all the back and forth that proved exhausting.

••••

Daniel remained silent while his father introduced himself to Anna and Edward. A heavy chain was lifted from the garage floor and rattled into a coil in the back of a beat up Ford Bronco. Daniel’s father placed the chainsaw beside it, and Daniel added the small red canister, sloshing a quarter-full with fuel. They loaded up, Anna and Daniel sliding into the back seat, the adults up front. Edward pulled out of the garage. An elderly couple crouching by the recharging station turned and waved as they pulled down the driveway. Edward coaxed a friendly beep out of the Bronco’s horn.

“Just to warn you guys, it might be a short drive.” Edward turned to Daniel’s father. “We couldn’t even get out of the neighborhood yesterday.”

“There’s a way,” his father said. “If the street’s still blocked, I’ll show you how we got in along the power lines.”

They took a sharp turn at the end of the street, and Daniel reached for the oh-shit handle where it would have been in his mom’s car. It wasn’t where he expected, so his other hand went to the bench seat to steady himself. It landed on the back of Anna’s hand, which retreated as if bit.

“Sorry,” Daniel whispered. He wiggled in his seat to demonstrate a new level of commitment to keeping his balance.

“It’s okay,” Anna said, folding her hands in her lap. The two of them gazed out their windows and enjoyed the breeze as the Bronco rumbled through the neighborhood.

“There’s a bad one up here,” Edward said. He pointed over the dash and slowed down as they passed a house that had lost half its roof. Globs of pink insulation hung in the trees like cotton candy. Rafters stuck out like ribs over a gaping void, like God had been in the middle of a heart transplant when he got called away.

“We talked to the owners yesterday,” Anna said. “They’re staying with neighbors. Their story of the night of the storm was horrific.”