Hurricane Crimes Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Book

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Hurricane Crimes

  by

  Chrys Fey

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Hurricane Crimes

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Chrys Fey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-171-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To all of my family and friends in Florida

  Beth was going to die.

  At least according to the nervous weatherman on her flickering television screen. An image of what was supposed to be Florida wavered in and out, except it was barely visible beneath the swirling mass of a Category 5 hurricane named Sabrina, which seemed to have a vendetta against the sunshine state. She never once sidled away from Florida but came head-on while gaining strength like a warrior preparing for battle.

  Before the first gust of wind swept over the land, the governor put Florida on a state of emergency. Authorities advised everyone to board up their houses and leave. If you didn’t, you were practically signing your death certificate.

  Beth Kennedy didn’t have family and had nowhere else to go for safety. Then her car decided to break down, leaving her stranded at home. Apparently, it was conspiring with Hurricane Sabrina for her demise. She boarded up all the windows; stocked up on batteries, bottled water, and canned goods; and was going to hunker down to wait out the storm. Anyone who planned to do this was either stupid or crazy, this again from the nervous weatherman. And she didn’t like it when someone called her stupid.

  Crazy? Perhaps. Stupid? No.

  Outside, gale force wind was punching the sides of her house as rain pelted the boards protecting the windows. The roof above her head groaned as if in pain. She doubted her fence would last much longer.

  She peeked out the window next to the front door, which was shaking violently in its frame. The street beyond was littered with debris, her neighborhood was empty, and the town she called home was ghostly. She was probably the only person in all of Florida who hadn’t left.

  Beth strained to see through the horizontal rain. At first, she thought she was seeing things, but there was no mistaking the blue car fighting against the fierce wind and rain. It was going too fast and swaying dangerously from side to side. She watched helplessly as it lost control and slammed into a tree a couple of houses down. The hood crumpled up like a crushed soda can.

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. She pressed her nose against the glass, searching for any sign of movement within the car. There was none.

  Without a second thought, she tugged on her raincoat, bothered with a few buttons, and then wrapped her hand around the cold doorknob. She could feel the violence outside vibrating through the metal.

  She took a deep breath to brace herself and wrenched the knob. The instant the door was cracked open a gust of wind shoved its way through, yanking the door out of her grasp and slamming it into the wall. She stumbled back when the wind collided into her chest, knocking free the breath she had sucked in seconds before. Her hands groped for the slick doorknob and she had to use all of her strength to wrestle the door closed.

  An invisible hand plastered her into the hard wood, grinding her spine into it. She pushed forward and pulled herself along the length of the concrete wall; she practically had to claw her way.

  When she stepped beyond the wall, wind slashed at her and rain hit her like liquid bullets. Her maple hair flipped over her face, wrapped around her neck, and whipped her cheeks. Walking down the driveway was a war between the steep decline and the gusts eager to see her face-plant into the cement. She reached the bottom without toppling head over feet, waded through the water flooded at the foot of the driveway, and began to make her way to the wrecked car.

  The sky above was a thick, whirling mass of gray clouds. It looked angry. Wet leaves and pine needles blanketed the road and water flooded the ditches, creating two rivers on either side of the black pavement. Pine trees were bending in every direction as the wind ordered, nearly snapping them in half.

  She passed one of her neighbor’s houses. The mailbox had been ripped from the ground and was nowhere in sight. She trudged on with her shoulders slumped, her head down low. Suddenly, a huge gust swept down the road and plowed into her back. She fell.

  Her knees cracked against the pavement. Rain and dirt soaked into the fibers of her jeans, and the palms of her hands skid over the road. Then a large branch dropped with a rustling thud inches in front of her. She stared at it with wide eyes. The wind flew over her, grabbed the broken branch, and dragged it all the way to the end of the road.

  Realizing how close she had come to losing her head, she glanced over her shoulder to check for more flying debris, and then shoved to her feet. The elements fought against her the entire way to the car.

  Her palms were stinging and her knees felt bruised, but she didn’t pause to catch her breath. She peered through the rain-streaked window. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving. Praying the driver was okay, she beat her fists against the slippery window.

  “Hey, are you okay?” She pounded her fists harder. “Can you hear me?”

  The driver began to stir. She watched the person’s head lift, ever so slightly, and roll over the steering wheel until they were looking at her through the window.

  A man’s face peered at her, and she saw a gash on his forehead. His eyes were foggy as he tried to focus. A second later, his eyelids lowered.

  Beth cursed. She tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge. She inched to the back door, knowing she had to unlock the front to get him out. Her eyes ticked from the window to her already aching hands. If she were Superwoman, she would be able to punch it out and save the day, but she wasn’t. She glanced up and down the road, unsure of what to do. Then her eyes landed on the bricks that used to surround her neighbor’s, now missing, mailbox.

  She faced the wind. Instead of thrusting her forward, it shoved her back. She lowered onto all fours and crawled to the bricks. They were so deep in the wet earth she had to claw one out with her nails. She pulled the brick free, as the mud made an awful sucking sound, and stuffed it into the pocket of her raincoat.

  The pounding rain quickly washed away the mud from her fingers, and she crawled back to the car with the brick weighing her down. When she finally reached the car, Beth had to grab the slippery bumper to pull herself to her feet. Then she positioned herself before the window, clutched the muddy brick in her hand, and wielded it with all her might. She was afraid the window wouldn’t break, but it shattered with the blow, spraying shards of glass all over the backseat of the car.

  Seeing the wet glass sparkling on the seat, she stripped off her raincoat and dropped it over the cushions to avoid cuts. In that short amount of time, the rain soaked her shirt and plastered it
to her body.

  She placed her palms on the roof of the car and lifted her legs into the opening. Her palms slid over the wet metal. She would’ve slipped if the soles of her sneakers hadn’t stepped onto the rim of the window in time. She quickly slipped through the hole and onto the back seat.

  Wind rushed in after her, but compared to the atmosphere outside of the car, it was a lot calmer. She climbed between the two front seats and onto the passenger’s side.

  She shut off the engine and stashed the keys in her pocket. Beside her, the unconscious man didn’t move. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, the cotton stretched over his back, and she could see his back rising and falling with each breath he took. That was a good sign.

  She tentatively laid her hand on his shoulder. “Excuse me. Can you hear me? I need to get you out of here. It’s not safe.” To prove it, the car rocked back and forth on its wheels. When he didn’t respond, she lightly shook his shoulder to rouse him.

  He groaned, mumbled something she couldn’t understand, and then turned his head to her. His hair was the color of dark chocolate. The gash on his forehead, where his face had met with the steering wheel, looked mean. A bruise was already swelling and coloring his cheek.

  “Hi,” she said softly. He blinked at her. In doing so, she focused on his eyes and noticed they were violet. She licked her rain-moistened lips. “My name is Beth Kennedy. What’s your name?”

  He frowned for a second. Her own eyes, a shade darker than her hair, implored him to recall his name. “Donovan Goldwyn.”

  Beth smiled at him. Her face was gleaming wet, water dripped off the ends of her hair onto her lap. “Hello, Donovan Goldwyn. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  His violet eyes focused on her fingers. “Four,” he answered. “And I really hope you’re not holding up two.”

  She chuckled. “No, you’re right. Can you move?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll help you.” She braced her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away from the steering wheel. She heard a pained breath hiss between his teeth. “I know you don’t want to move, and I don’t blame you. But if we stay here, we’ll die.” She unclasped the seatbelt, eased it carefully away from his ribs, and unlocked the door. “Don’t try to get up. I’ll be right back.”

  She pried open the passenger’s door and jumped out. Muddy water swallowed her feet, her shoes squished uncomfortably. She had to use her body to force the door shut, and while leaning into the car, she made her way around to the driver’s side. With the door open, she squatted down to talk to Donovan.

  “We’re going to swing your legs out first. You’ll have to shift your body. Are you ready?” He nodded and lifted his left leg out. When his boot touched the asphalt, she slipped her arm around his waist to help him rotate. As he turned, she swiftly lifted out his other foot. “Okay, you’re going to stand now. I’ll help you.” She counted to three.

  Donovan bared his teeth and growled in her ear as she pulled him to his feet, absorbing most of his weight. She would’ve fallen straight back if not for the door catching her and holding her upright.

  Going back to her house took twice as long as it did to get to the car with the rain flicking her skin and splashing into her eyes, and the vengeful wind yanking her arms and legs, tripping her feet, ramming into her chest, and jabbing her in the face. She endured it all on top of supporting a full-grown man with a possible concussion. Every step she took felt like five.

  After much effort, they finally reached her driveway. She lifted her head to the wind, thinking it was over, but she was wrong.

  A rock the size of her fist was bouncing down the road at fifty miles per hour. The air caught it and chucked it at her. She braced, shut her eyes, and tilted her head away. The force of the hit against her shoulder threw half of her body backward as she cried out in pain.

  Seeing nothing but blinding white light, she fell to her knees, bringing Donovan down with her. Tears got lost with the rain on her cheeks. Currents of electricity burst from her collarbone to her fingertips. She seethed between her teeth, trying to breathe through the pain. Her shoulder bone was screaming, and her broken skin stung.

  Rain beat on her back and head. Wind howled triumphantly. Above her, the circling plumes of clouds were turbulent.

  Hurricane Sabrina, the crazy bitch, was swatting at the coast with her chubby arms, and her wide ass wasn’t even straddling Florida yet. This was just the beginning, and Beth already felt defeated. To her, that was unacceptable!

  She struggled to her feet, struggled even more to get Donovan to his, and tugged him up the driveway. She had barely turned the doorknob when it flew out of her hand and banged against the wall with such velocity chunks of plaster showered the hardwood floor, which the wind immediately swept away.

  Beth propped Donovan against the couch. He swayed unstably, but she had to let him go to close the door. Her attempt succeeded part way. On the other side, the wind was vehemently trying to keep it open. Her left arm was numb and useless. She didn’t have enough strength to push the door closed with one shoulder, so she dropped onto the floor, firmly planted her feet onto the wood, and shoved with all her might, incorporating every muscle in her legs.

  A gust hit the door, applying all of its air particles into its effort against her. She slid backward on the hardwood floor. Grinding her teeth, she put her hands behind her and thrust her legs out. The door banged shut, sending shock waves up her legs to her hips.

  She collapsed onto the floor, panting. For several seconds, she felt paralyzed with exhaustion. She would’ve stayed like that while Sabrina raged, but she heard something hit the floor a few feet away. Her eyes sprang open to see Donovan. He had stumbled into the coffee table, knocking off a flashlight, and tumbled onto the couch.

  “Shit,” she mumbled and shot to her feet. She was by his side in a flash. Her damp hands cupped his face lightly, and her maple eyes scrutinized the blood and bruises.

  “I’m going to have to clean this,” she told him. She retrieved a fully-equipped first-aid kit, a hand towel, and a bowl of warm water. “I’m going to clean the blood away first.”

  Donovan nodded.

  With gentle sweeps, she cleaned away the blood coating the side of his face. She dipped the red-stained cloth in the bowl of water, rung it out, and continued the process.

  All the while, Donovan’s violet eyes were on her. It was unnerving.

  “Do you remember my name?” she said.

  “Beth.”

  The way he said it sent chills down her spine. She averted her eyes to the cut on his forehead. “Do you know where you are?”

  “I assume we’re in your house.”

  “State? City?”

  “Florida,” he answered. “I don’t know what city. I live further south and got a late start evacuating.”

  “Didn’t you hear it was dangerous to leave now?”

  She nearly added “you moron.” Luckily, she caught herself in time.

  “I guess I thought it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  In the background, the weatherman was droning on and on about the dangerous weather conditions. No kidding!

  Beth rummaged through the first-aid kit for sterile cotton balls and peroxide. “This is going to sting,” she warned.

  “I know what peroxide does,” Donovan stated.

  With a raised brow, she touched the medicine-soaked cotton ball to the nasty gash on his forehead. Despite his claim, Donovan flinched and took in a sharp breath.

  “What were you saying?”

  Donovan squinted at her. “I guess it’s worse than I thought.”

  “Well…” She leaned closer to examine the cut and droplets of water dripped off the ends of her wet hair onto his chest. “It doesn’t look too deep. I don’t even think you’ll need stitches.”

  She looked down at him, her gaze connected with his, and she sat back quickly. “I think there’s adhesive strips in here that’ll help keep it closed.” She searched for th
em. “It’ll hurt though because I’ll have to pinch the wound together.”

  “Just do it.”

  Beth quickly pinched the gash with her fingers and applied two strips as he made animal-like sounds. “This’ll help take the edge off.” She gave him pain reliever and held a bottle of water to his lips. “We should get you out of these wet clothes. Do you think you can stand?”

  “Won’t know until I try.”

  She took his arm and helped him up. “Are you dizzy?”

  He stood still. “No.”

  “Are you nauseous?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good. I don’t think you have a concussion. Can you walk?”

  “Sure.” She was reluctant to release him though as she led him to her bedroom and told him to sit on her bed. He shook his head. “I don’t want to get your bed wet.”

  “It’s fine.” She gave his shoulder a light push that took his feet out from under him and he sank onto the sage-green comforter.

  Her bedroom was warm and peaceful. On the wall across from her four-poster, king-sized bed was a giant landscape painting of a beach at sunset. A sailboat navigated over the horizon and pretty shells lined the shore. Underneath the painting was a long chestnut dresser where Beth was crouched with her hands buried in the contents of a drawer.

  She pulled out a folded pair of basketball shorts. “Unfortunately, this is all I have that you can wear. The good thing is they’re large.” She handed him the shorts and a towel. “You better change before the lights go off.” On cue, the lights flickered. She gave him a flashlight. “If you need anything, call my name.”

  “I will. Thank you, Beth.” She nodded and shut the door at her back. The lights dimmed as she made her way down the hall.

  On the television set, which was fighting to stay alive, was breaking news. She caught bits and pieces of it as she emptied the bowl of blood-tainted water and threw out the cloth. It was about a high-speed chase that had occurred about a half-hour ago. Beth shook her head. Apparently, Donovan wasn’t the only idiot driving around during a hurricane.