The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📕

Dev, but his roommate was already striking up a conversation with their host. “What happens if the house collapses on top of the door?”

Maybe not the best question in a time of crisis, Cage thought. As he watched, faces around the room turned toward Dev and William, some with curiosity, others with fear.

It seemed their position in the center of the space made Deveron’s question ring out, alerting everyone.

Williams, at least, stayed calm. “There's a second door over there.”

He said it loudly enough to be sure everyone heard that they had other options. That he’d planned ahead. He pointed to the side, and Cage noticed a door outline behind a pile of supplies. Metal shelves lined a wall with food and jugs of water. It didn’t matter if they couldn’t get out. Butler had them stocked.

The man kept talking calmly. “You can see that I don't even open it, but it exists for the exact event you just mentioned. So if the house falls on the upper door, we have a secondary exit.”

It was almost too easy. A simple answer to a concerning question.

If only everything else could work as well and be as easy to pre-plan for.

Butler was opening his mouth again, but the noise outside seemed to chew at his words and swallow them.

Once again, all eyes turned upward, as if they could see through the ceiling above, through the floor of the house, and all the way up through the roof.

If it was still there, Cage thought, but then told himself that he wouldn’t have missed the building getting torn apart above them. As thick as the cinderblock was, it wasn’t dampening all the noise. Still, Cage didn’t know what they could do about Sarah except pray to any gods that might be listening. He wasn’t in a position to be picky.

As the noise ground through the walls, louder and louder, even the soft conversations in the corners came to a halt.

The relentless grind of the wind was now occasionally punctuated by sounds of the house getting beaten and pummeled. A crack made everyone jump, and then a heavy thump followed. But the time Cage heard something wrench above, no one was even fazed by the noises except the smallest of children.

He watched as the young mother pulled them closer, her lips moving as she must have been telling them something soothing. He still stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, though the floor hadn’t shaken once.

But then it did.

42

Joule hit the bottom of the twitchy cellar steps and whirled around to watch. Jerry stomped down behind her, each piece of wood bending under his greater weight.

She saw the angry flash of sky in the distance as he turned around in an attempt to stand on the steps and still grab at the cellar doors. Joule realize the problem—there was no light down here. As Jerry tugged at the doors, what little she could see faded into the shadows.

She decided to be grateful that there were handles on the undersides of the cellar doors. But how would they keep them closed as the wind picked up? Hanging onto the doors would prove too dangerous, even for Jerry, who outweighed her by who-knew-how-much. What was down here that she could use?

She scrounged through what she could see, even as she checked the corners of her brain for an idea. They had tossed the pieces of the padlock aside when they yanked it off. Would the small curve of metal even stay in place? She didn't think so. As soon as the doors rattled, it would bounce around and fall off without the lock to hold it in a secure spot.

Though she wouldn’t have said her eyes had adjusted, she could still see a bit with the light that filtered through the gaps. The spaces wouldn’t play well if the twister went over them, which was all the more reason to get these doors secured by some means other than “Jerry holds tight.”

Sure enough, there were shelves down here, filled with things that might be turnips, or rutabagas. She recognized a bag of potatoes, but they'd clearly been purchased at the grocery store. Joule would have laughed, but it would have burbled out into a high pitched hysteria, so she held it in.

“Got anything?” Jerry called down from his odd perch on the steps.

“Still looking.” She didn’t look up as she searched as best she could in the fading light.

Jerry stayed put, with his thick fingers laced through the two door handles, holding it shut. It didn't seem yet the wind was actually trying to steal it from him. And it was entirely possible that the storm would shift direction and they'd never be in danger. But having already been carried away by one tornado today and left with very little memory of what she'd endured, Joule wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

She scrounged further until, “A-ha!”

Under the steps was a wooden box with a hinge lid. When she lifted it, it creaked but she was thrilled to find tools.

“Here!” she called, holding up a short crowbar, and watching as Jerry slid it through the door handles. It didn't seem to be the right size to jam into place, leaving Jerry holding it much as he had held the door handles.

That sucked. She rummaged through more, pawing in the dark through rusted screwdrivers and hacksaws and old door knobs. Eventually, her fingers brushed against fabric and she felt her way through the dark box until she pulled out tie down straps and then several bungee cords.

“Here!” Once again, she held her find up to Jerry, who very neatly anchored the crowbar into place with a figure eight of bungees.

“Good,” he said into the dark. Between the day being wiped away by clouds and the doors being secured against the remaining daylight, there was little left to see by.

“Do you have a light?” she asked. Her eyes were now useless. Her hand went to her shoulder