Page 40 of Anchored to the Storm

Styx simply kept working. “Stop being so anchored to your storm, Silly Rabbit.”

“I am the mother fucking storm, asshole.” I headed to the freezer for nuclear food.

He chuckled. “Said like a true Prez.”

“Stop trying to put me in a good mood.”

He only laughed harder.

After I ate, I put on dirty work boots, and headed into the pool. “Which coal-mining Snow White dwarf will you be today?”

Eyeing a wheelbarrow over his shoulder, he replied, “Sneezy, since Grumpy is already taken.”

My upper lip curled as I entered the tunnel. With it only being four feet tall, I had to stay hunched over for the completed section. Waterproof lights in the ceiling could be set to different colors. We weren’t sure what one Saleeni would prefer.

The part of the tunnel still under construction had temporary hanging lights. In the dirt, I got to my knees and started tearing at the earth with a pickaxe. The manual labor helped my mood and kept me busy from overthinking; however, after an hour, Sneezy’s cell rang. As he left, I heard him answering it, “Talk.”

Back to digging at dirt, I sneered, “Now who’s Grumpy?”

Within minutes, I felt weak, and I swear Sarah blew through me. Dropping the tool, I grabbed my stomach and started making my way back through the tunnel. “Sarah.”

Once clearing the entrance to the pool, I saw Styx’s back, and he was growling into the phone, “She’s elbows deep now⁠—”

“Sarah?”

He spun around, still speaking into the phone. “Get on it.” Sliding his cell into his front pocket, he told me, “Sarah is fine.” Whatever just went down, he was livid. His lips were flat.

I needed him to understand. “But I felt her⁠—”

“I bet you did!” he roared. “How the fuck does she know my name?”

Well, shit.

That night, I stayed clear of Styx, who totally lacked his usual humor, due to my nightmare that revealed his road name-slash-vow name. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhausted from more than one kind of upheaval, my eyes began to slide shut. I whispered, “Good night, Saleeni.”

The nightmare came fast, and it came hard:

As soon as my eyes open, they begin to water and burn, not wanting to stay open. I’m on the living room floor, right where I had been fighting him. I don’t remember the last hit that knocked me out, but my head hurts so bad I’m sure he used a bat or board of some sort.

My lungs seize as I roll over, choking on smoke⁠—

I bump into what feels like a body to my right. I rush to my knees, and the fire’s glow illuminates my mom, her lifeless—once vivid—blue eyes staring at me.

No! Mom!

I want to scream. I want to roar a promise of revenge but can’t get clean air into my lungs. I can only cough, pitifully.

Now my eyes water for another reason beyond burning furniture and smoke. She must have come to help me… Wait. But then who is hiding with⁠—

Instant horror stabs me, prompting me to get on my feet, struggling to stay upright. My concussion wins, forcing me to fall back down on top of my mother. Shame as blistering as the heat closing in. I’m so sorry, Mom. With one last glance at the woman who didn’t leave him in time, I kiss her forehead. I love you.

Attempting again to get to my feet, my lungs resist, but my heart insists. All the walls are burning, and the heat sizzles the sweat and hair from my skin, but I must find her.

Shaking with pure fear and adrenaline, I walk the only path not consumed by flames that promise death.

Breathing in the crook of my arm, I finally reach the kitchen. The walls and cabinets are all catching on fire. The table and chairs lie upside down as if they had been thrown. My mind blinks on and off. It’s hard to understand seeing my stepdad, facing a corner, his arms moving—doing something I can’t see.

Rushing closer, hunched over and still choking, I first see a melting plastic gas can in front of his work boots. Above the flames are little bare feet, kicking, desperate to avoid the heat below.