CHAPTER TWELVE THE SOUND OF SIRENS

Brayden—

Darkness falls, and I’m pacing the floor. TJ sits on the foot of the bed, watching the weather report on the flat screen, but just seeing those swirling air masses on the radar has my gut in knots. I haven’t been able to get through to Rebel, and I’m worried. I hate that she’s at the garage alone.

Another force of wind buffets the windows, rattling the glass and shaking my nerves.

“Will you relax? Jesus, it’s like you’ve never been through a storm before,” TJ snaps.

I continue pacing, ignoring him. I can’t tell him the reason I’m so worried.

“Brayden, seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Guess I don’t like tornados. Living in California, I haven’t been through one. Have you?”

“No, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’ve seen the video of the aftermath of storms like these. It’s not pretty, TJ.”

“Okay, but it’s not near us.” He gestures to the TV. “I’m watching the path. We’re not in it.”

Parting the curtains, I try to see the sky, but it’s just a sheet of rain, until I hear a pinging sound. I look back at my brother. “You hear that?”

He stands and comes to the window.

Cars are parked in the lot, and we watch the marble size hail bounce off the hood of the nearest one. Then a few golf ball size ones bounce off the pavement.

“Shit. Look at those dents. That car’s gonna be totaled,” TJ mutters.

It’s a long hour before it’s finally passes, and the rain eases off to a sprinkle.

There’s a pounding on the door, and TJ opens it. Red Dog stands there.

He jerks his chin. “Come on. The clubhouse got hit.”

“What?” I surge to my feet.

“Shades called on a landline. Cell towers are down, I think. None of us have been able to get a call out. The manager brought the message to Prez’s room. They’re all okay, but the clubhouse sustained a ton of damage. Come on.”

We grab our cuts and head to our bikes. All the chapters converge in that little breezeway, with the bikes all wedged in tight. It’s like trying to unpack a jigsaw puzzle.

Everyone finally gets access to their bike, and we head out. The New Orleans boys take off first and get way ahead of us.

“Be careful. There are reports of trees are down, and we could run into flooding and downed power lines,” Red Dog warns.

It’s slow going, and we have to find new routes around several flooded intersections.

After a long while, we make it to the neighborhood. We can’t even get close to the street the clubhouse is on. It’s bad, with roofs missing, debris everywhere, and a couple of trees down. We park in front of a junkyard a block away, spotting the other bikes, and hike in.

The trek is dark; the power’s out to most of the street.

I suck in a breath at the damage to the neighborhood houses surrounding the clubhouse. “Jesus, Christ, TJ. They’re decimated.”

“My God,” he murmurs.

I can only hope most of them are already abandoned, but I know at least a handful had occupants. We pass several people wearing pajamas and holding pets walking away from what was once their home. They look in a daze of disbelief, like a trail of zombies moving over the remains of an apocalyptic city.

There are no sirens here. No emergency vehicles. The fancy neighborhoods across town will be the first rescued from their despair. This side of town will be the last stop, the last to receive help, even though they are probably the most in need of it.

As the clubhouse comes into view, the first thing I notice is the chain-link fence that once surrounded the front is now knocked down and parts of it is crumpled like it was nothing more than a ball of tinfoil. Several windows are blown out, and the roof is missing large sections, exposing the wooden tresses underneath.

We move around the property to assess the outside before heading inside. The backyard is a mess. Oil drums we had used as fire pits just the day before are scattered through the yard, and where picnic tables once sat, now sit pieces of splintered wood. The lone tree on the property seems to have managed to stay standing, but a large branch is snapped off.

Tall pine trees that once lined the neighboring property have fallen over, crushing the fence and landing in the backyard.

I follow TJ and the others inside, none of us saying much. I can’t even find the words to describe what I’m seeing.

Inside seems to have fared much better, but the shattered windows allowed the wind to make a mess of the house. Everything is wet and slung throughout the place. Shattered glass crunches under our boots, and broken barstools litter the main room.

“Everybody, gather around,” Shades calls over the crowd of brothers. “Our place needs some major work, but we came out much better than those around us. I want to send groups out into the surrounding area to make sure no one needs help. Real help. Griz, you and Heavy go check on Miss Doris. She’s been alone in that house since Mr. Richard died last summer. And JJ, you and Gator go check on the Andersons. They have that new baby. You make sure they and the rest of the people on this block are okay. Give any help you can.”

The men nod and move off to do their president’s bidding.

I spot Blood moving through the crowd of shell-shocked brothers and sidle up next to him.

“Shades is sending brothers out into the neighborhood?” I ask Blood as I watch other small groups heading out to check the surrounding area to see if anyone needs assistance.

“Yeah. Smart move.” He glances sideways at me. “You know we always need the town people on our side. We help them, they help us. It’s a mutual relationship. It’s time we remind them why it’s good to have us in this neighborhood, because the cops sure as shit aren’t showing up here anytime soon. They’ve got their hands full with more palatable neighborhoods.”

“Always thinking two steps ahead. Must be exhausting.”

“Part of the life of president.”

Without drawing the attention of those standing near us, I whisper through gritted teeth at Blood. “Has anyone heard from Rebel? I can’t get a hold of her.”

Blood doesn’t look at me, but I see his jaw clench. “Goddammit,” he whispers under his breath. “Hey Shades? You hear from Skylar or Rebel?”

Undertaker’s head snaps up at the question, and I remember that Skylar is his daughter, making Rebel his grandchild.

“Skylar is at the house. She’s okay, but she’s a wreck because we can’t get in touch with Rebel. She tried to head over there, but the road to our home has trees down blocking access and she can’t get out. I was just about to ride over to the garage.”

“Let me do it,” Blood suggests. “You’re needed here to direct these boys on cleanup. I’ll take”—he scans the crowd around him before his eyes settle on me—“Brayden. In case there’s any debris we need to clean up.”

I give a curt nod, relief pooling through me. He played that so well. There’s no way anyone suspects the real reason he wants me to go with him.

As we walk past Shades on the way to the door, he grabs hold of Blood’s shirt. “You call me as soon as you get there.”

“I got her,” Blood assures him.

We walk past the property and head in the direction of our bikes.

“Look at those trees.” I point to what look like tall gnarled sticks jammed into the ground. All the leaves and small branches are stripped from them, leaving them bare.

“Yeah, you can always tell the tornado path from those trees. I always think it’s eerie when I see them.”

“Have you seen a lot of tornado damage living down south?”

“Some. But the worst damage I ever saw in New Orleans was Katrina.”

“Oh yeah, the hurricane.” I see the bikes just up ahead.

“We talk about this neighborhood being forgotten, but that whole fucking city was left to hell’s wrath.” He shakes his head and grabs his helmet. “Thankfully, some big names came in to start the humanitarian work. Because FEMA sure fucked that one up.”

“FEMA.” I shake my head. “Feeding Everyone My Ass.”

“Tell me about it. In all seriousness, though, Shades is going to have his work cut out for him.”

“How so?” I ask, quirking my head. “I mean, I know the damage.”

“That will be the least of his worries.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gentrification. I saw it in New Orleans with Katrina and again in Tuscaloosa with the April 27th tornado that tore apart that city. The vultures moved in and bought up land and built expensive condos, pricing out all those who previously lived there. Shades can’t let that happen here, or the Evil Dead clubhouse won’t stand a chance.”

“Damn, I didn’t even think about that.” I swing my leg over my bike, and we start the treacherous ride out of the city and into the suburbs. It’s weird once we hit untouched areas. They almost look out of place.

The closer we get to the garage, I start to see the damage ticking up again, with power poles downed like dominoes and billboards shredded. Thankfully, it’s not as extensive as Ensley. Pelham must not have taken a direct hit.

We roll the bikes across the parking lot and my stomach drops, seeing the garage doors bent and shoved inward.

Scrambling off my bike, I run across the lot before I even rip my helmet off. Blood is at my heels.

“Rebel!” My voice booms through the garage.

I shove air pressure machines and computer carts out of the way as I try to get to the storage closet. There’s stuff piled against it and I toss it all aside, my muscles straining. Finally, I’m able to yank the door open, but it sits empty. “Rebel!”

Oh God. If she didn’t make it to the closet in time, she could be injured somewhere. It’s dark inside the building with the power off, so I flick on my phone’s flashlight and scan the room, continuing to bellow her name.

“Rebel! Where the hell are you?” I call out, a little frantic as I move around the garage.

“Shut up,” Blood snaps, holding his hand up. “Do you hear that?”

A muffled thumping noise carries to us, then a low dog whimpering. We both stand stock still, trying to figure out the direction.

I look down and remember Rebel mentioned possibly hopping in one of the oil change pits. One has a car above it, but the other is covered in debris.

“There.” I point and scramble toward it.

Together, we muscle the garage door off it, then slide the metal access open, revealing a three by eight cement pit with a ladder leading down. Rebel stands, cradling Daisy to her chest.

I jump down, forgoing the ladder, and pain shoots through my hip, but I ignore it and pull her into my arms. “Thank God you’re okay.”

She clings to me. “I was so scared.”

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Daisy isn’t a fan of being sandwiched between us and squirms until I release Rebel, allowing her to set the pup down.

I cup her face in my hands and pull her lips to mine. We kiss each other like it’s our final act until I hear a throat clear overhead.

We break apart, both panting, but I don’t release Rebel. Instead, I rest my forehead against hers, staring into her violet eyes, committing every fleck in her irises to memory.

“You hurt, Lil Bit?” Blood asks, squatting down.

“No. I’m okay.”

“We better haul ass to the clubhouse or your dad is going to go ape shit,” Blood says, setting the landline in its receiver. “I don’t have cell service, and the power and phone lines seem to be down.”

“Is my dad okay?” Rebel asks him through a quivering voice.

“Yeah, everyone’s good. But the clubhouse took a hit.”

Rebel and Daisy follow us out in her truck, and we all meet at the motel. The men are crowded into my father’s room, many spilling out the open door and into the walkway.

Blood shoulders through them, Rebel on his heels. She drops Daisy to the carpet the moment she clears the doorway and runs into her father’s arms.

“Daddy!” She clutches him tight.

He presses a kiss to her head. “Thank God you’re all right.”

My father leans against the dresser, his arms folded, while Daytona slumps in a chair. I also spot the Oregon and Temecula presidents. Undertaker steps up to give his granddaughter a hug.

Once their reunion is over, my father speaks.

“I’m going to leave six of my guys here to help with the cleanup and rebuild. TJ, Brayden, Marcus, Billy, Rafe, and Kyle.”

Shades nods. “That’d be appreciated. Thanks.”

“I’ll leave some of mine as well,” Undertaker offers. “Blood, Sandman, Joker, and So Cal, you boys will stay.”

“We can leave people, too,” Daytona offers.

“Hell, I appreciate it. We’re going to have a lot of work ahead of us, not only with our clubhouse, but helping get the neighborhood on its feet, too,” Shades replies.

Cole lifts a chin to Crash. “Go extend their motel stays.”

“You got it.” Crash shoulders his way out.

Shades shakes Cole’s hand, then Undertaker’s and Daytona’s. “Thanks for all your help. Weather is supposed to be good for the next few days. You should take advantage and put some miles under you. Again, I appreciate the help.”

“That’s what brothers are for, son,” Undertaker states. “Anything you need, we’re here.”

Shades nods. “Let’s go find an open restaurant and have a meal together before you all head out.”

“Yes, thank God,” Sandman mutters. “I’m starved.”

Everyone laughs, and we shuffle to our bikes.