Manufactured Witches by Michelle Rene

Author:Michelle Rene [Rene, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose Writing via Indie Author Project
Published: 2016-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Everyone was asleep the next morning when the storm rolled our way. I was the only one awake when it first made itself known to the world. At least, that’s what I thought.

It came rolling in electric, charging the very air with static. I sat up in bed as the first glimpses of dawn light turned everything turquoise in my room. This feeling I knew. It was a hard thing to not know traveling as much as I had through the breadbasket of America. The rolling hammer of a dust storm was all too familiar to me, and one was heading our way. If we were really lucky, it might only bury parts of the house in dirt. If we're unlucky, it could bury us all alive.

All the tiny hairs on my arm stood on end. The gentle howling outside whispered frightening things on the horizon. When I touched the metal lamp on my bedside table, a shock of electricity arced to my fingertip.

I didn’t bother with the window. No need to see what was coming to know its name. The dust storm would be upon us shortly, and I had to warn the others. I threw my clothes on in a whirl of fabric, not bothering too much with more than my undershirt. Not the smartest thing to do, but there wasn’t any time. Besides, I doubt anyone would notice.

When I threw open the door, Camille stood in the hallway. She stared at me with wide eyes. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sight of her.

“Camille! You scared me. You…”

“You felt it?” she asked.

There was no joy, no inflection to her. This was Camille frightened. It made everything about ten times scarier.

“Yes. Dust storm.”

“Alright. Nothin’ I can do about it. We gotta get the house shut up. I’ll get Nan and Polly. Start boarding up the windows best you can. Start with Jacob’s window. He won’t move, so that’s the first one to close.”

I didn’t need to say a word. Camille ran into Polly’s room, and I went to the kitchen to find Jacob. He was in his usual seat spinning in place. I had never seen him nervous, but he was staring at me with fear in his face.

“Jacob, where is the wood Camille uses to shut these? I gotta get yours done before it hits us.”

Jacob shook his head at me and pointed to the door. Never had he said a word to any of us, and I guess he wouldn’t now either.

“I know I gotta go outside. Where is the wood? Are there panels?”

He shook his head again and pointed to the door. There was a rise in my belly, the foreboding kind. I didn’t have time for this nonsense.

“Jacob, you gotta tell me! Talk!”

He shook his head harder and slammed his hand against the window frame. The understanding rammed into my brain like a sledgehammer.

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