The Storm King(34)

Nate set out for the silhouette of a detached garage. He probed its windows with his flashlight. As he did, a rattle descended from the sky. It began at the tops of the trees and then fell to the roofs of the house and garage, filling the night with the percussion of a million drums. Hail. The pellets themselves were a quarter of an inch across, and they covered the ground in no time.

The garage door was unlocked, and Nate was the last one inside. He flicked on the lights and watched the hail skitter across the gravel driveway and bounce into the air like popping corn. He thought he saw a whirl of movement in the dark beyond the scant range of the light. An eddy of shadow in an ocean of black.

“Earth to Nate?” Johnny said. “I said his car’s here and there’s lots of stuff to play with.” Johnny pulled an ax from where it hung on the wall. He kicked one of several red jugs, and it thudded dully. Adam’s black Mustang glowered at them under fluorescent lighting.

“But we want to make it seem like an accident, right?” Tom said. “Like with the Pharaoh?”

Nate wasn’t sure. No one searches for culprits or assignations of blame when weather is involved. In addition to cover, storms supplied plausible explanations for all kinds of damage. Under the guise of a storm, they could take something from Adam. But at the same time, Nate wanted to make him afraid. He wanted to make sure the bully would think twice before hurting anyone ever again.



“We could clog his exhaust pipe,” Johnny said.

“What’ll that do? Like wreck the engine?” Tom asked. “Or send fumes into the car? I mean, we don’t want to kill him…right?”

“We could use the gas on the garage,” Owen said. He pointed to the red jugs. “People would blame the lightning?”

“They can run tests to know the difference,” Tom said. “They’ll know it was set on purpose.”

“But if you want to send a message to Adam, to stop hurting people or whatever, then send a message,” Owen pressed, echoing Nate’s own thoughts. “If it looks like an accident, how’ll he know he’s being punished?”

Nate remembered what he’d decided on Halloween, that pain had to be burned away. “Let’s see what else we’ve got,” Nate said. He liked the idea of setting the garage on fire, but Tom would need convincing. His friend was right about them being able to run tests for accelerants. Nate just had to figure out if this mattered to him.

Johnny and Tom followed him to the rear of the garage while Owen stuck by the door.

“Gotta say, I kind of think O has a point,” Johnny said once they were on the far side of the garage.

“Arson?” Tom said. “I was just thinking we were going about this all wrong.”

“So you’re chickening out.” Johnny shook his head. “Shocker.”

“What if we go through Adam’s computer and—”

“Owen said you’d do this,” Johnny said.

“Get into his email and—wait. You were talking about me with Owen?”

Nate couldn’t see Owen from where they stood, but Tom wasn’t exactly whispering.



“He told me you didn’t get it,” Johnny said.

“Get what?”

“The point. When we were alone we let people get away with hurting us, but now that we’re not alone we can finally hurt them back. Nate knows what I mean.”

In the fluorescent light, Tom’s face flushed yellow.

“You were never alone, Johnny,” Nate said.

“Right.” Johnny looked away and snorted. “It’s a nonstop twenty-four-seven-share-a-thon with you.”

“How many times have you slept over at Tom’s house when you’ve had a problem with your dad?” Nate said.

“Forget it, Nate. None of that really matters,” Tom said. “Not when you’ve finally found someone who gets you.” He stalked away from them. Tendrils of sediment filtered from the ceiling as the garage door slammed shut behind him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings,” Johnny said.

“Really.”

“But you know he doesn’t get it. I’m glad he doesn’t. But you do. I saw it in your eyes on Halloween when we trashed Lucy’s house,” Johnny said. “You’re hurt, but the pain makes you strong. And I think you like it.”

In the distance, Nate heard Tom shout something, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Someone’ll hear him.” Johnny shook his head and started for the door. Nate followed, but Tom burst back into the garage before they’d gone more than a few steps. Panic had thrown his eyes and mouth wide open. The night behind him wasn’t as dark as it had been.

Outside, the grass blazed. A sheet of flame masked the house and clawed at the sky.

Nate and the others rushed toward it. The fire that glistened along the house’s siding was a liquid thing. It ebbed and surged with the rhythm of the wind and a pulse of its own. It didn’t seem real.



Owen stood in front of the inferno. His wide silhouette seemed to contract against the curtains of flame. The two red gasoline containers lay on their sides near his feet.

Tom pushed the larger boy, shouting something Nate couldn’t make out.

“We gotta get out of here,” Johnny said. Rain lashed his face.