Read Online Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) by Joseph Pittman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joseph Pittman
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Adam groaned as he stood up, hopping over to the front door while hoping to avoid getting a splinter in his exposed bare foot. He knocked loudly with his fist, calling out, âHello, we need some help here, anybody home?â Waiting two beats and getting no response, he shrugged once in Vanessaâs direction, and seeing the anticipation cross her face, he used his elbow to crash through the square window. The glass shattered easily and fell to the floor in dangerous shards, unlike the window of his wrecked car. Adam stepped away from a nasty slice that nearly impaled his foot. Then he reached in, careful to avoid the lingering glass, turned the dead bolt, and then pushed open the door. It swung wide with a slight creak of age or neglect, letting a musty smell drift outward, as though the air inside had been trapped and desperate to be freed, now taking to the wind with a exhale of relief.
Adam and Vanessa gave each other one last look before stepping inside the musty home.
âHello?â Vanessa called out.
âI think weâve pretty well established that no oneâs home,â he said. âCome on, I donât know about you but I could use a shower. Wash this mud off me.â
âLetâs see about finding a working phone first,â she said, moving farther into the house. âThe sooner we find help, the faster weâre back on the road. There is our reunion to attend. Isnât that why weâre here?â
âThe reunionâI think itâs already begun,â Adam remarked.
Her eyes shot him a nervous look, fingers absently tugging at her damp, limp hair, before gazing back inside the house.
Adam closed the door behind him, not bothering to turn the lock. Why bother? What were the odds someone else would stumble upon the house? As he followed behind Vanessa, he noted that the living room to the left of them was still furnished, albeit covered in clinging white sheets. Like only ghosts wafted about, living here beneath a coating of dust. They made their way toward the rear of the house, coming upon a sizable kitchen, obviously the heart of the home where family played, worked, talked, ate. Adam could almost envision the occupants, a kindly older couple making large, old-fashioned meals for their visiting children, grandchildren, distant relatives. He could see the woman of the house standing over a large pot, boiling the fresh corn she picked just that morning from the side of the road. Adamâs stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet of the room. He wouldnât mind an ear of sweet, buttery corn right about now. Heck, heâd even eat the stalks.
But what most interested him right now was what he found on a wall separating the kitchen from the pantry. An old rotary phone, complete with the twisting black coil that connected receiver to base, was mounted on the wall near the stove. Like something reaching out from the set of Mayberry. Where was Aunt Bee along with some fresh-baked cookies? Vanessa reacted first, picked up the hard receiver and putting it to her ear. Even had her expression not faltered, Adam could have guessed the phone wouldnât work. Because in the silence of this house, even a dial tone would have been deafening.
âI think that phone only calls the nineteen-fifties.â
She frowned wanly.
âWell, so much for that brilliant idea,â she said, leaving the receiver to twist in the air. The way it swung off its cord, Adam was reminded of the weaving porch swing and how it had given off false hope of life. This house seemed to embody the idea of souls having left the building, like theyâd just missed whoever called this place home. The images in his mind were not unlike those depicted in movies about a full-fledged Armageddon, leaving the world empty. A hollowness pervaded the room. But nothing destructive had happened in the world, only a fierce summer storm had swept by, wreaking its vengeance on a small part of
Adam groaned as he stood up, hopping over to the front door while hoping to avoid getting a splinter in his exposed bare foot. He knocked loudly with his fist, calling out, âHello, we need some help here, anybody home?â Waiting two beats and getting no response, he shrugged once in Vanessaâs direction, and seeing the anticipation cross her face, he used his elbow to crash through the square window. The glass shattered easily and fell to the floor in dangerous shards, unlike the window of his wrecked car. Adam stepped away from a nasty slice that nearly impaled his foot. Then he reached in, careful to avoid the lingering glass, turned the dead bolt, and then pushed open the door. It swung wide with a slight creak of age or neglect, letting a musty smell drift outward, as though the air inside had been trapped and desperate to be freed, now taking to the wind with a exhale of relief.
Adam and Vanessa gave each other one last look before stepping inside the musty home.
âHello?â Vanessa called out.
âI think weâve pretty well established that no oneâs home,â he said. âCome on, I donât know about you but I could use a shower. Wash this mud off me.â
âLetâs see about finding a working phone first,â she said, moving farther into the house. âThe sooner we find help, the faster weâre back on the road. There is our reunion to attend. Isnât that why weâre here?â
âThe reunionâI think itâs already begun,â Adam remarked.
Her eyes shot him a nervous look, fingers absently tugging at her damp, limp hair, before gazing back inside the house.
Adam closed the door behind him, not bothering to turn the lock. Why bother? What were the odds someone else would stumble upon the house? As he followed behind Vanessa, he noted that the living room to the left of them was still furnished, albeit covered in clinging white sheets. Like only ghosts wafted about, living here beneath a coating of dust. They made their way toward the rear of the house, coming upon a sizable kitchen, obviously the heart of the home where family played, worked, talked, ate. Adam could almost envision the occupants, a kindly older couple making large, old-fashioned meals for their visiting children, grandchildren, distant relatives. He could see the woman of the house standing over a large pot, boiling the fresh corn she picked just that morning from the side of the road. Adamâs stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet of the room. He wouldnât mind an ear of sweet, buttery corn right about now. Heck, heâd even eat the stalks.
But what most interested him right now was what he found on a wall separating the kitchen from the pantry. An old rotary phone, complete with the twisting black coil that connected receiver to base, was mounted on the wall near the stove. Like something reaching out from the set of Mayberry. Where was Aunt Bee along with some fresh-baked cookies? Vanessa reacted first, picked up the hard receiver and putting it to her ear. Even had her expression not faltered, Adam could have guessed the phone wouldnât work. Because in the silence of this house, even a dial tone would have been deafening.
âI think that phone only calls the nineteen-fifties.â
She frowned wanly.
âWell, so much for that brilliant idea,â she said, leaving the receiver to twist in the air. The way it swung off its cord, Adam was reminded of the weaving porch swing and how it had given off false hope of life. This house seemed to embody the idea of souls having left the building, like theyâd just missed whoever called this place home. The images in his mind were not unlike those depicted in movies about a full-fledged Armageddon, leaving the world empty. A hollowness pervaded the room. But nothing destructive had happened in the world, only a fierce summer storm had swept by, wreaking its vengeance on a small part of
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