Hurricane Kiss by Deborah Blumenthal Read Free Book Online Page B

belt and reaches up to turn a knob that slides opens the sunroof.
    What is he doing?
    RIVER
    I can’t sit in this goddamn car anymore and wait to die. I feel like my hands are tied behind me in a straitjacket and I can’t move. I flash back to the center and want to heave. I thought those things were used centuries ago, that even hellholes like the one I was in had abandoned them. I was wrong.
    I watch my dad. He sits there without moving, his face showing nothing. I wonder sometimes if he has feelings anymore or whether everything inside him has dried up and all that’s left is a hard shell—the focused badass marine who has a job to do and does it without questioning anything or listening to anybody else.
    Retreat, hell!
    Ready for all, yielding to none.
    He’s so brainwashed by their mottos he closes himself off to the truth.
    I stare around me at the scene, and it’s like watching a horror movie about life on earth about to end. I want to get away from this goddamn car and these people. I want to run. It’s the only way I feel alive. It’s the only way I know I still have a beating heart inside me. Running stops the pain. It stops the panic. It stops the memories. Christ, I need to get out of this car. Now! I slam my fist into the roof and enjoy the pain.
    JILLIAN
    â€œDanielle,” River yells out, making a megaphone with his hands as he stands up on the seat, his head outside the car. “You stupid bitch.”
    â€œRiver,” his dad says, in a low, controlled voice, “get back inside.”
    â€œYou bitch,” River yells even louder. “B-i-t-c-h. B-i-t-c-h, b-i-t-c-h, b-i-t-c-h, b-i-t-c-h. Eight hours away, huh? You’re right above our heads, aren’t you?”
    He’s yelling at the top of his lungs, like he’s trying to connect with a sound system in heaven that will carry him on its frequency so he has a direct line to Danielle.
    â€œB-i-t-c-h, b-i-t-c-h, b-i-t-c-h,” he goes on, probably ripping his vocal cords out.
    Fury, rage, all pouring out of him. Do I laugh or cry? He starts pounding, pounding, pounding his fists on the roof of the car.
    BOOM, BOOM, BOOM BOOM BOOM.
    â€œStupid fucking gas guzzler, traffic victim,” he yells. “I could have gone to Austin and back on my bike by now.” He pounds and keeps pounding.
    â€œRiver!” Harlan yells again. “You’re going to smash the goddamned roof in.”
    People in the cars around us are staring now, convinced they’re watching an insane person. But then their faces start to change, and they’re laughing with him because he’s giving voice to what everyone is thinking and feeling. They’re all as angry and frustrated as he is, ready to shriek their heads off too because of how this freakish storm has disrupted their lives, not knowing what, if anything, they’ll have when they return, and it scares the hell out of them.
    Only they’re also probably thinking why bother, what good would it do? They’re hot, thirsty, and tired enough, so let him be the show.
    River doesn’t have to worry about getting busted for disturbing the peace. The cops couldn’t get to him if they tried.
    Harlan stares out his side window, a vein in his jaw throbbing.
    â€œDanielle,” River yells out again, just when I thought he would stop. “Are you going to kill us all, huh? Drown us, or what? Tell me, I want to hear the plan. Are you going to blow our heads off, or drown us after you destroy our lives and everything around us while we’re jailed in our cars trying to escape you? You’re a sadistic bitch, Danielle.”
    He goes on like that.
    â€œYou lowlife bbbbbbbiiiiiiiiiitttttttccccccch.”
    â€œRiver,” Harlan says in a low, measured voice. River still ignores him, and Harlan’s face reddens. “River!” he says, punching the steering wheel.
    When is he going to stop? Is he completely out of his mind? I