Henry Franks A Novel - By Peter Adam Salomon Page 0,52

pipe to land one final time. A foot, indistinct in the darkness, stepped on his leg. Lightning, so close he could smell it, burned into his retinas until he couldn’t see at all. Another foot stepped on his chest, trapping the air in his lungs. He tried to breathe, to twist away from the crushing weight, but only managed a weak cough, wet with blood.

Thunder shook the house and then the weight was gone as the shadows moved closer to the front door, seeming to struggle just to lift the pipe for another blow. William tried to move, crawling across the floor, dragging his unresponsive legs toward his bedroom. Behind him, his attacker fought to stand on the rain-soaked floor by the open door. The pipe slipped, flying out into the storm, and the shadows scrambled after the weapon, leaving William alone in the darkness in a growing pool of blood.

“Henry?” Justine said.

He pushed the laptop away; the picture of Alexandra, more achingly familiar than he wanted to admit, was bright in the dark room. The sirens blared and he stood up, pulling Justine with him. He shook his head. “We need to go,” he said.

“They’ll be evacuating over one bridge, Henry. It’s going to be a parking lot.”

“Call your parents.”

She pulled the cell out of her purse, sliding it open. She turned it so he could see. “No service.”

Rain pounded into his cheek and William opened his eyes. The front door was wide open but it was too dark to see. He tried to stand, slipping on the floor, his head spinning. When he wiped his hands across his face they came away covered in blood, deep red in the stark illumination of another lightning strike.

He pushed with his feet and slipped down the hall to his bedroom door, using the knob to pull himself up far enough to slide the key in the deadbolt. He collapsed to the floor again, vision swimming. He shook his head trying to clear it, but it didn’t help.

On hands and knees, he crawled to the generator under the bed, hoping there was still gas in it. Over and over again, he pulled the starter until the humming filled the room. He dragged himself to the corner, pulling down the floor lamp by its cord until he could reach the button to turn it on. Light flooded the room and he looked back to the door. A long trail of blood covered the floor.

“Let’s go,” Henry said, pulling Justine toward him.

He carried his laptop, using the monitor as a flashlight to walk across the room and down the stairs. At the bottom, the floor was soaked from the rain and the door swung back and forth, unable to close. From his father’s room, light filled the hallway that Henry rarely walked down.

They raced to the front door and Henry closed it, shoving his shoulder against the wood so the lock would turn. The sound of the sirens diminished but the screaming of the rain and wind continued.

“Dad?” Henry said, trying to scream louder than the storm as thunder shook the house again.

Together, they moved to where the tile changed to hardwood. At the end of the hallway, the door to his father’s room swung ajar, light bleeding through the opening.

“Henry?” Justine said, her fingers moist in his as the blood streaks across the floor came into view.

At the door, Henry eased it farther open with his foot, not letting go of Justine’s hand. In the far corner a floor lamp lay on its side, sending a cone of light into the wall. Odd shadows danced as the lamp rolled slowly back and forth. A twin mattress sat on the floor, squeezed against the wall, nothing but a thin quilt covering it.

“Oh,” Justine said, her fingers squeezing hard enough to bruise although he couldn’t feel the touch.

Banks of medical equipment glowed green and red around an empty hospital bed and multiple IV stands, tubes snaking down, attached to nothing. Leather restraints lay open on the mattress and a respirator sat dormant next to them. More equipment, lining the walls, came into view as the door opened fully.

“Dad!” Henry yelled as his father’s body came into view, on the floor on the other side of the hospital bed. He dropped the laptop to the floor and worked his way around the room, stepping into a puddle of blood as he knelt next to his father. “Call 911!”

“No,” his father said, his voice choked and weak.