The storm dies down and eventually stops. Not long afterward, Will arrives, in his army-green beat up pickup truck just as Kayla described. Everything is going so accordingly, I take a few minutes to relax and really look at the brother and sister.
Their parents must be beautiful. Kayla is a tall, skinny girl with dark blue eyes, soft facial features and chestnut colored hair, styled into a short bob. Even in her work uniform, a short sleeved blue polo and dark jeans, she looks stylish. Will is handsome as well, with the same piercing eyes as his sister, a defined jaw, and soft-looking dirty blonde hair. He is in jeans and a band tee boldly declaring the name of a group I've never heard of. A few tattoos decorate his arms. I don't want to seem like I am staring, so I look away, but before I do, I make out a squid, a woman in a green dress, and a wolf.
Will is just as friendly as Kayla, and is all over the idea of taking a spontaneous drive to the north side of the country. I assume their parents either don't care, or they have already moved out, as they both appear to be my age, 19, or maybe even older. As I speculate their living situation, Will frowns as if just realizing his car only has a front seat section.
"I suppose I can fit you all in the front . . . but it'd be a tight squeeze" he says thoughtfully.
"No way!" Chelsea exclaims. "We want to ride in the back!"
. . . We do?
I guess we do. Why not? Chelsea and I climb into the back of the truck. Will tosses us a small blanket from the floor of his car. He knows its not much, but he believes if we sit on it, we may be slightly more comfortable. Kayla opens the window in the back of the truck so we can communicate easily.
"Breezy back here" I remark, breathing in the humid, salty air. I felt a little uneasy, but I didn't want to say anything, as I am always paranoid without reason.
Not long after we begin our journey does the rain start up again, this time worse than earlier. We have to stop, I tell the siblings. They disagree just as Chelsea did. They believe we can beat the storm. I realize what we just experienced was the eye of a hurricane, and my heart leaps up into my throat. There was much more to come.
We are speeding down a road next to an empty beach. The truck is treading and sliding on piles of rainwater. Sand is blowing in all directions. It's in my eyes and in my ears and in my mouth. We're nearing the end of the road. The road curls into a U-turn that leads . . .
Straight onto the beach? That's right. We are now forced to drive right onto the beach we've been driving parallel to. This is impossible. Roads don't just . . . Whatever. There's no time to overthink. Will finally slows the car to a stop.
"You've gotta keep going! We can't be this close to the ocean!" I scream.
The waves are becoming bigger and coming faster, crashing onto the shore and pulling back mercilessly. Will revs the engine and we speed forth, trying to cross the beach before the waves completely swallow the small area whole.
A wave crashes and pulls at the truck's wheels, but isn't anywhere near strong enough to effect us . . . until the next wave comes. It towers over us, menacingly, leaving us breathless for a second that lasted a century. It crashes down onto the truck. It would have left us drenched if everything were not already soaked from the rain. A few more waves like that one and we'll tumble helplessly out to sea.
Looks like I thought right. The truck cannot keep its balance and the ocean claims it as its next victim. This is it, I think, I'm going to be killed. My head is the first to break the surface of the water. I spot Chelsea still on the shore. She must have jumped out without me noticing. She is now running toward the far side of the beach. I look around wildly and spot Will, then Kayla. We fight desperately to swim away from the truck. We ride the waves back to the beach. The final wave rudely slams us onto the shore. I land on my back.
The current has brought us farther down the beach, and we catch up with Chelsea quickly. There is a concrete staircase at the end of the wall separating the beach from the road that leads here. I find it strange that the road just ends and doesn't start up again at the other end of the beach, and I keep my mouth shut as I realize driving the truck across the beach was futile no matter what, as the only way out was that little staircase.
We seek refuge and find it in under a large sheltered bus stop. The four of us sit in silence, pondering the day. I ponder my very existence. Chelsea pulls a small object out of the pocket of the lost-and-found jeans. It lights up and I feel like I've been slapped across the face. It never broke because she wasn't tossed into the ocean with the rest of us. She must not have been able to feel it before because the jeans were so loose.
"Do you mean to tell me," I started slowly, "that you've had a working cellphone . . . this entire . . . time."
END TRANSMISSION
