Chapter 7
We polished off the rest of the beers, and when those were gone, we knocked back the vodka mixed with juice. The booze burned hot down our throats and hit hard fast, making our heads light, our bodies loose, the laughs coming easier and easing the tension from earlier.
But the buzz got cut short by pure panic.
The light drizzle that had started falling, making that nice patter on the roof, turned into something else in minutes. The wind howled out of nowhere, strong enough to rattle the windows, and the rain came down thick and heavy, pounding like it wanted to bust right into the whole house. The trees in the yard started thrashing wildly, branches snapping loud, trunks creaking like they were getting ripped out of the ground. We heard the first crash: a big tree toppled with a dull thud that shook the floor, landing right near the porch. Another one followed quick, taking the whole porch down with it. Wood cracking, roof dumping shingles onto the ground, pieces flying with the wind.
We bolted to the living room, clinging to each other, hearts in our throats. Jana grabbed her phone first, fingers shaking as she tried calling her parents, anybody. Nothing. No signal, no bars, zilch. I tried mine too, even though I knew it was pointless. The network had vanished, like the world outside had just shut off. The power went out seconds later: the lights flickered twice and died for good. The house went dark, lit only by lightning slashing the sky, flashing everything for split seconds and leaving us blind right after.
Jana started crying softly, slumped against the wall, phone still clutched in her hand like it could save us. I hugged her from behind, trying to sound calm, but my voice came out shaky.
"It's okay, Jana... the house is sturdy, it'll hold. We just gotta wait it out."
But I was scared shitless myself. The wind whistled through the cracks, cold, carrying the smell of wet earth and broken wood. The rain hammered so hard it felt like it might punch through the roof. Lightning lit up the wrecked yard: trees down blocking the path, branches scattered everywhere, the porch turned into a pile of rubble. We weren't going anywhere. We were truly cut off, locked inside with just the two of us, the storm, and the dark.
We sat on the couch, wrapped in the thickest blanket we could find, listening to the noise of the world outside trying to break in. Jana leaned her head on my shoulder, still sniffling, and I threw my arm around her, squeezing tight. The alcohol still buzzed in our veins, but now mixed with adrenaline, making everything sharper: the chill on our skin, her scent so close, my heart pounding fast against hers.
The storm showed no mercy. Lightning, thunder, wind howling. The house creaked but held. And we sat there, waiting, not knowing how long it'd last, not knowing what would come once the sky settled.
It all happened too fast. Storms like that up in the hills are common, with lightning lighting up the whole sky and thunder that feels like it explodes in your chest, but this one came different, more vicious, more ravenous. And it left the same way it arrived: all at once. The wind stopped howling, the rain turned to a lazy drizzle, and silence dropped heavy, broken only by water dripping in the dented gutters and the occasional creak of the house settling.
I went to the living room window that stuck when it opened, shoving it with my shoulder because the wood had swollen from the damp. No guts to open the door and step out, I just stood there eyeing the damage outside. The yard was chaos: trees crashed across the path like some giant hand had tossed them, branches everywhere, the porch a heap of junk, roof twisted with broken clay tiles. Around us, it was pitch black, just some weak lights flickering in the neighbors' houses—flashlights or candles in windows, barely cutting the dark, like the world had gone back a hundred years. I hadn't even thought to keep candles or a lantern in the house. We'd spent all that time in the pitch black, lit only by the dim glow of our phones with batteries almost dead, flashing red warnings.
"Jana, we're fucking idiots. See if there's any candles in the kitchen."
She stumbled off into the dark, feeling along the walls, while I stood there, leaning on the cold glass, staring at nothing. That's when I spotted a stronger light growing in the distance. It was heading our way, wobbling, flickering like a will-o'-the-wisp that couldn't decide whether to go out or stay lit. Looked like someone carrying a lantern or a bright flashlight, swinging with uneven steps.
A woman, maybe? I could make out long hair swaying against the glow, a slim silhouette against the black. She stopped now and then, zigzagged, like she was picking a path through the fallen trees and mud, but it was clear she was coming straight for us. Maybe a worried neighbor, I thought. Someone who saw the tree smash our porch and came to check if we were okay. Or just somebody lost in the dark, looking for shelter.
My heart raced again, but this time it wasn't just fear. It was curiosity mixed with relief. The light got brighter, closer, swaying steady, like whoever held it knew exactly where they were going.
When the figure with the light finally took real shape, Jana and I were scared out of our minds. The silhouette approached slow, slogging through the thick mud covering the yard, and the lantern's glow revealed it all: a guy around fifty, long hair hanging wet over his shoulders, makeup smeared by the storm. Red lipstick streaked at the corners of his mouth, black eyeliner running in thin lines down his cheeks, fake lashes still stuck on but crooked. He wore black rubber boots caked in mud, an old yellow rain poncho dripping water, and at his waist a big machete, the kind for clearing brush, swinging in its leather sheath. The smile he flashed was wide, but something was off about it, like it didn't reach his eyes.
"You girls okay?"