Starry Eyes(84)

He hauls our packs into his tent, minus our sleeping gear. “I’ll get everything set up inside the big tent,” he tells me. “You fill up our water bottles. Mine’s almost empty, and we’ll need it for cooking. Don’t leave my line of sight, and hurry.”

Thunder rumbles. I grab the water bottles and Lennon’s water filter, which is faster than mine. There’s a tiny path to the river that snakes between a pair of giant ferns. The water is running swiftly here, and though I could probably cross the river in a dozen steps, it looks deep. I bend by the water, careful that I have decent footing, and begin pumping water through the filter.

As the first Nalgene bottle fills, thunder rumbles. I mentally count the seconds and watch the trees. One, two, three, four, five— Lightning flashes.

Five seconds. That strike was a mile away?

“Hurry!” Lennon’s voice calls out from the campsite, making me jump.

“I can’t make the water filter any faster,” I mumble to myself. Finally, the first bottle fills. I cap it and get the filter into the second one, then start pumping.

I feel something on my head. Is that a raindrop? I slant my face upward. Definitely a raindrop. Two. Four. Twenty. It seems silly to be so concerned with collecting water when it’s about to fall all over us.

Thunder booms so loud, it’s deafening. But almost immediately, the sky lights up. And just like that, the rain comes down. Hard. I hear Lennon calling my name, but I’m trying to concentrate. “Shit, shit, shit!” I say, pumping faster.

But not fast enough.

The entire forest lights up with the loudest bang I’ve ever heard.

I lunge away from the river. The second bottle falls into the rapids, along with the pump filter. I’m disoriented for a moment, unable to hear anything. The bottle bobs and disappears under the foam. I start to run after it, but a stony hand grabs my arm.

“Leave it!” Lennon shouts, dragging me away from the river.

He grabs my hand, and I can tell by how hard he jerks me down the path through the ferns that he’s not fooling around. We’re in trouble.

My heart hammers as I race after him in the rain, the green scent of sorrel and moss rising up from the soles of my shoes. And I smell something else, too: like Christmas on fire. The lightning. It singed the treetops.

That scent terrifies me.

I scramble across slick, springy ground, and our tents pop into view. Before we can make it there, lightning strikes again. For the first time in my life, I truly get the whole Zeus-throwing-bolts thing, because that’s what it looks like. As though an angry god is zapping Earth with a giant laser gun. It sounds like a bomb, and shakes the entire ground. Shrubs, these enormous trees, us—everything.

I think I’m going to wet my pants in fear.

My mind has flipped off. I want to cry, but I’m too scared. I’m nothing but blind terror and am wholeheartedly convinced I’m going to die.

All these giant trees, and yet there’s nothing here to protect us. No shelter. No door to close and hide behind. No car in which to outrun the storm. And it makes me feel small and helpless.

Right before we make it to the tents, Lennon pulls me down on the ground and crouches over me.

Boom!

My world goes white.

I’m squatting in something that’s neither dirt nor mud, soaked to the bone, and the rain is driving down on us while burning wood fills my nostrils. It feels as if it will never end. Just kill us, I think. Go on, get it over with.

Lennon’s muscles are steel when the next strike comes. But I feel him jump, too. It’s as if we’re in the middle of a war zone. Seconds later, another strike hits.

But.

This one isn’t as loud. Or as close. The thunder and lightning are separating again. We wait—for seconds or minutes, I don’t even know. But at some point, the world doesn’t feel like it’s falling apart around us, and Lennon’s body loosens.

Is it over? I still hear thunder in the distance.

“We’re all right,” Lennon’s voice is saying in my ear. “Told you it was a big storm, didn’t I? And listen to that. It’s moving more slowly now. I’m still counting thunder. Slow means a lot of rain, but we’re out of the lighting zone for now. Come on, let’s get up.”

He pulls me to my feet, and I can’t see. “My glasses,” I say.

Lennon looks around. “You lost them somewhere.”

“I lost the water bottles, too.”

“One’s on the riverbank. We’ll get it later. And we have another filter. Worse comes to worst, we’ll boil water.”

And I can live without glasses for a couple of days. I’m too numb to worry.

He lifts up my chin. “It’s all good. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding.

“That was intense.”

“That was . . .” I laugh. I can’t help it. I’m not sure if it’s nervous laughter or just a release, but I’m pushing wet hair out of my face and laughing. “We just nearly got blown out of our shoes. We almost died.”

“No, Zorie, we just lived.” Lennon lifts up both arms and pumps victory fists, yowling. “We’re alive! We won!”

He’s right. We did live. Survival is a beautiful thing. I laugh again and hold up my dirty hands, letting them fill with rain until the mud washes away. Adrenaline is still coursing through my veins, and I feel invincible.