The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,152
see the bottom of the water, don’t drive through it.”
My eyes flew wide, and Sawyer must have heard her because he nodded. “It’s a heavy-ass truck.”
“That doesn’t apply to ocean waves.” I wasn’t scared. This was three billion levels beyond scared. I was fucking terrified.
“They’re expecting a twelve-foot storm surge. I’ve seen Vivian’s house, Jackson. It can’t take it. We both know it. And we both know there’s only one house that can.”
Hers. There wasn’t enough oxygen in this fucking room.
“I’m the best shot Finley has!”
Sawyer leaned against the wall and nodded slowly.
“Are you seriously going to sit there and let this happen? I’m right here, Jackson. I’m an hour away at most. That’s three hours before landfall. I can make it!”
“I can’t lose you, too!” My voice shook as hard as my hand.
“Driving is driving, no matter where you do it.”
She did not fucking go there.
Sawyer walked across the room, took the phone, and hit speaker. “Where are you, Morgan?”
“Sawyer?”
“Yep.”
“Don’t you fucking dare put her in danger,” I hissed at my best friend.
“She already put herself in danger. For Finley, Jax. All I’m doing is helping her out. Where are you, Morgan?”
“I’m just outside the Virginia Dare Bridge. It’s closed to incoming traffic.”
“They’re evacuating as many people as they can. Okay, I want you to go north to the William Umstead. Find it on the GPS.”
“I fucking hate you,” I seethed.
“Hate me tomorrow, brother.” His mouth flattened.
“Got it. I’m on my way.”
“Stay on the line, would you, Morgan? I think it might make Jax feel a little better.”
“Okay. God, it’s hard to see. The rain is coming in hard.”
“And it’s just going to get even sportier out there,” Sawyer responded.
“I see the bridge. It’s closer than I thought. Shit, there’s a guy and a concrete barrier.”
Shit. Wait. I was supposed to feel relieved. I didn’t want Morgan on the island…but if Morgan didn’t get to Finley, there was a high chance she wouldn’t make it. Morgan was right—Vivian’s house wasn’t made to sustain that high a surge. Was I seriously about to risk Morgan’s life for Finley’s? How the hell could I ask her that?
“There’s always a guy and a barrier,” Sawyer noted.
“Go to the left. There will be space to the left. I know how they set those up,” I said, hating myself the whole time.
“Okay, I see it. I can make it.” The rain filled the gaps in conversation hard enough that it sounded like she was in a storm of golf balls. “Sorry!”
I snorted a laugh. Only Morgan would apologize to the guard when she blew right by him.
“Tell me you have gas.”
“Three quarters of a tank,” she confirmed. “It’s raining, but I’m okay. The bridge is good.”
“Well, yeah, she’s not out there yet,” Sawyer whispered, his face tense.
“She shouldn’t be out there,” I snapped. But she was Finley and Vivian’s only chance.
“Okay, I’m in Manteo. How’s the weather down there, anyway?” she shouted over the barrage of rain.
My eyes just about popped out of my head. “Could you just concentrate on driving?”
“Bet you’re glad I’m not in your ear during a rescue, huh?”
“Don’t even start with me, Kitty.” Fuck, I was going to throttle her the next time I saw her. Then I was going to kiss the shit out of her. Just let them live.
“Here we go, there’s sixty-four. Sorry! I know, I know! Sorry! I think I just pissed off whatever’s left of the State Patrol out here, Jackson.”
“Trust me, they have bigger fish to fry than to chase you down. Now listen to me. You’re getting out to shore, and the wind is going to start throwing things around, so keep your eyes open.” I leaned forward, as if it would help.
“Okay.”
A minute, maybe two, passed with only the sound of the rain against the truck.
“I’m on twelve!”
“Good job, baby. Now just take it steady.”
“Whoa, whoa!”
“Morgan?”
“Sorry, there, um… I think that was plywood, but it missed me!”
My heart jumped into my fucking throat.
“Oh look, there’s another person out here! Nice to know I’m not alone. It’s really windy, though.”
“It’s just going to get windier.” And harder. And rainier, and then the surge would hit.
Sawyer flipped his phone around so I could see the screen. The station clocked the wind at ninety-six miles per hour five minutes ago. Fuck.
“Morgan, what’s in the back of the truck?” Why the hell didn’t I think sooner?
“About four hundred pounds of sand! Grayson called before I got too far and told me to stop and buy some.”