Page 31 of Devil's Due: Sarge

“Find the next town,” he orders, sounding what I bet he sounded like giving orders back in his military days.

“The next exit is less than a mile up the road on the right.” The GPS is having a hard time recognizing roads with all the weather hitting us. Sarge keeps the truck going at a slow, steady pace while we both keep our eyes out for some sign of the exit.

I almost miss it, but at the last second, I catch the white reflectors around what I think is a sign and point. “There.”

The wind still rattles the truck, shaking it violently as thick, round, icy balls of hail the size of quarters pummel us. We see the ones hitting the windows, but we can hear them pinging off the roof. I hope he has good insurance. With this storm, I think he’s going to need it. I’m beyond happy that his keen eyes pick out the road that I pointed to. He eases us off the highway. We can’t even tell until we’ve reached it that part of the road has washed away.

Sarge keeps steady pressure on the gas, but my heart is racing. Wind, zero visibility, hail, and now this… His knuckles have turned white gripping the steering wheel, but that’s the only sign of nerves he shows.

Oh my god, I could cry the moment the wheels hit dry—well, not dry, but not flooded out—land and we finally make it to the outskirts of the town, where there’s a hotel for us to check into. I can’t even decipher the name through the water continuing to pummel us. Only the neonVacancy.

The emergency alert pierces the cab again.

12

Sarge

Ifind a spot to park, unsure at this point if it’s an actual spot or not, but it’s not on the main road and that’s what I care about. With the truck parked and the engine cut, the wind pummels against the whole length of the truck, rocking it violently. Greer whips her head to look at me and there’s real fear there. Every fiber of my being needs to protect this woman—her eyes, they gut me.

“Wait here,” I order her, watching as her scared eyes grow huge. “I’m coming around to get you.”

She swallows, then nods, unbuckling her seatbelt. My door doesn’t want to open and it takes all my strength to push it wide enough for me to slip out. We have maybe a twenty-foot run between the truck and the hotel’s office. Even though it’s not far, I still have to consider whether or not it’s smart to make the run.

The rocking picks up, hard enough to lift the back tire from the blacktop. We have to get inside the hotel. It’ll be safer inside than out here, and so I let out an exhaustive breath, leaping from the front seat, being pelted by hail and rain as I run around to reach Greer’s door. All the water splashing against our feet has made the ground slick. She runs behind me, slipping from the useless wet rubber on the soles of her shoes. Our clasped hands are the only thing keeping her up. Then I feel her head press against my back, probably to shield her face from the onslaught of weather.

Nineteen feet.

Eighteen feet.

With the wind gusting so hard, I’m being pushed back one step for every two I take forward.

Ten feet.

Six feet.

“Almost there,” I yell to her to be heard over the roaring weather, practically drowning myself in the process.

When I’m finally able to jerk the door to the hotel open, coughing up water and completely spent of energy, the wind catches hold of the door, wrenching the handle from my hand and slamming it against the exterior wall, hinges be damned. It takes the both of us to pull the door back shut again.

Greer and I, soaked to the bone, leave puddles on the lobby’s carpeting as we approach the reception desk.

“Need a room,” I say, breathing heavily, to the young guy who’d obviously been fretting about the weather given the unruly state of his hair. Black strands hanging every which way as if he’s been running his fingers through it. I mean, I’d be nervous, too, if I were him. The kid’s skinny enough to be blown into fucking Oz with one good gust of wind. He’s standing behind the desk gawking at us like we’ve appeared by magic rather than through the front door. He nods and starts clicking the keys on his keyboard. Throughout the entire check-in process, his eyes flit up, but instead of making eye contact, I realize it’s my cut. He can’t stop glancing at my cut and I get a bad feeling about this kid, but we’re stuck here for the night. There’s no way I can risk Greer’s safety to find another place to stay. Rather than start shit, I grab his attention the next time he raises his eyes and ask, “Tornado procedures?”

That seems to pull him back to our immediate concerns at least. He nods once. “I’ll put you in a ground-floor room. But…” The young man pauses. “Sometimes the ground-floor rooms get flooded.”

“What do you do in case of tornado?” I ask clearly this time.

“We have a reinforced room off the kitchen big enough to hold all our guests and employees. The owners put it in a few years back when a big tornado touched down. It took out over half the town.”

I guess that’ll have to be good enough. “Thanks,” I say while pulling my wallet from my back pocket, then I slide my credit card over to him. He finishes our check-in as two more soaking wet travelers enter the lobby. Now that I have our keycard in hand, he points down the hallway to direct us toward our room.

Greer has kept quiet this whole time, not totally out of character for her, but I feel her shivering next to me, and god help us, I need to get her into a hot shower to warm her up before she becomes hypothermic or something.

We find our room about three-quarters of the way down the hall on the left. I swipe the card to open the door, ushering her inside with a hand at the small of her back.

The rain continues to pummel the large window, shaking the glass. It’s relentless.

“Come on, baby…” I take her hand, pulling her into the bathroom. Her shivers have gotten worse, uncontrollable. After a quick check to assess her condition, I find her lips tinged blue—shit. I’m cold too, but my priority is Greer. It has to be Greer. “Can you get undressed?” I ask her.

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