Storm Born

 

 

STORM BORN
 

Amy Braun
 

Storm Born
, a novel by Amy Braun
 

© 2016 by Amy Braun. All rights reserved.
 

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author.
 

Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design
 

ISBN:
978-0-9938758-6-1
 

For my loved ones and Mother Nature, who will hopefully never send minions like this down on us.
 

Praise for Amy Braun
 

DEMON’S DAUGHTER
 

“
I’d say the Cursed series is going to be one to watch for any urban fantasy fan.
” – Ivana, One Book Two
 

DARK DIVINITY
 

“The twists and turns of both storylines were both interesting and unpredictable. I especially enjoyed the fact that Braun never sacrifices emotional development to the rip-roaring pace.” Christina Ochs, author of
The Desolate Empire
series
 

CRIMSON SKY
 

“
One word to describe this book: “In-freaking-credible”!! I admit I don’t give out many 5 stars, but this one is it. It is a “one-sit” wonder. I started reading after work and didn’t put it down until the very end.
” – Nell, One Book Two
 

“One thing is for certain this author keeps reader’s hearts thumping with explosive scenes and heart wrenching endings.” – T’s Blogging
 

“There are so many twists in Crimson Sky, you will be hooked immediately. Though this is an excellent stand-alone book; I see a great start to an action packed series. I would highly recommend this to any reader, regardless of genre preference.
” – Boundless Book Reviews
 

PATH OF THE HORSEMAN
 

“
This woman is officially an auto-buy author for me!
” – The Bookish Crypt
 

“Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” – John Wayne
 

“Cheer up, the worst is yet to come.” – Philander Johnson
 

Chapter 1
 

“They’re almost here,” my father said.
 

I watched the heavy storm front dragging over the violently churning ocean. It towered over the houses and shelters, a menacing wall of pitch black cloud. The darkness beyond it seemed endless, like the horizon was being swallowed up by a black hole.
 

So much for this summer’s tan
, I thought to myself.
 

Spastic light cracked past the windows of the house. The flashes weren’t lightning, though the rain was falling heavily onto the roof of our house. Gusts of wind pummeled the streets, pushing the palm trees so hard I was certain they would bend in half.
 

We’d proofed it as much as we could for the Centennial, but it wouldn’t be enough. Even though we knew this was the year, that history and technology had given us the tools and warning we needed, it hadn’t made a difference.
 

Nothing could have prepared us for the Centennial Storm, or the
things
that came with it.
 

The flashes of light increased in frequency. With them came a low, rumbling sound from overhead. It sounded like thunder, but wasn’t. It didn’t crack in a loud burst and grumble back to the clouds. No, this went the
opposite
way. The thunder started in a low menacing growl, then became louder and louder until it was a roar that sent a shudder through the entire house.
 

My vision still had white spots from the light flashes. My father grimaced as he slammed the last of the iron hatches shut and locked the window closed. The thick metal looked like it belonged on a bank vault, but it didn’t reassure me like it should have.
 

We hadn’t won the Lottery, so we weren’t to be evacuated underground, and there was nowhere we could run. The Centennial didn’t just hit our unlucky little state of Florida.
 

The Centennial hit the entire
world
.
 

I suppose we should have been a little more grateful to the Storm Protection Union for making sure we had supplies and a thoroughly reinforced house, but honestly, I would have rather been underground with the rich and powerful, and the lucky Lottery winners. They might be trapped under five hundred feet of earth, but at least they were safe. All the rest of us could do at this point was ride it out and hope for the best.
 

The “thunder” that had made our house violently shudder before was now shaking it. Photo frames collapsed and shattered on the floor. Chairs skidded and toppled. Sofa legs and tables squeaked as they scraped over the floorboards. Something over our heads ripped. I clutched my father’s arm and looked up. Pieces of the ceiling were being torn away; exposing meager joists, crumbling drywall, cracked plaster, and fragments of a tumultuous grey sky.
 

My father grabbed my hand and dragged me to the storm-shelter in the basement. My mother and little brother were already inside, waiting for us. James was ten, and he wasn’t strong enough to reinforce the house. Especially not with his asthma. I was twenty-one and used to lifting heavy things around at my job– whoever said being a waitress was for the weak had clearly never done the work before– so I took Mom’s place to help Dad.
 

We were supposed to be done ten minutes ago, but with Dad’s back problems and my stupid curiosity with the Centennial, we stayed up here longer than we should have.
 

 I swore it would be the last time I ever stopped and stared at a hurricane with dread fascination.
 

Dad reached the basement door and knelt down to pry it open. The veins in his neck bulged and his face was tight with pain. I wanted to help him, but it was a set of dual metal doors with two thick iron
door pulls acting as handles, both of which were only big enough for one set of hands to grip. All I could do was wait, shoving my trembling hands through my hair and try not to have a complete meltdown.
 

I couldn’t hear anything over the raging storm. Looking around, I could see more furniture bouncing across the floor. The tremors from the thunder rippled up my legs, sinking into my bones. My entire body felt like it was caught in an electric shock, though there was no pain.
 

I guess I should have been grateful. The worst injury I’d ever had was a sprained ankle, and I intended to make sure that the worst thing I ever endured.
 

Dad finally heaved the door open, the metal groaning heavily. I peered down, seeing the wide terrified eyes of James and my mother. He was crying; his little arms wrapped around her so tight he was all but strangling her. My mother held him close, gripping his inhaler like it was a sword. Her eyes, bright and blue like mine, were bulging from her head with fear.
 

I knelt down and was about to climb into the basement when I looked at my father.
 

Beads of sweat sheened across the line of reddish-grey hair on his forehead. His eyes were pinched shut with pain, his hands clamped over his shoulders. He must have pulled something–
 

The front door groaned and swung open, smashing into the wall so hard it left a dent. Beyond it, I could see the hammering rain, the ocean water flooding the streets, tumbling garbage cans and mailboxes…
 

And the flash of white light that streaked down from the clouds.
 

My heart clenched in my chest.
 

We were in the center of it. They were here.
 

Another gust of wind screamed through the door, pushing a gale of water into the front entrance. My father and I staggered back. The water snapped around our feet and poured into the basement. My mom and James both screamed. Salt water continued to flow inside. In seconds, it covered our ankles.
 

My Dad’s eyes flicked to the door, then locked with mine.
 

“Get inside, Ava!”
 

I hesitated, thinking about the way he was holding his shoulders, the pain he was trying– and failing– to hide. He was going to close the door, but with his back issues and pulled muscles, he wouldn’t be able to do it fast enough, if he could at all. The basement would flood, and we would all drown.
 

“I’ll get the front door!” I shouted at him.
 

“No!” he yelled back immediately. “Don’t even think about it–”
 

“I’m not hurt!” I roared back. “I can close the door and open the basement door again. Just hide!”
 

My Dad didn’t want to leave me, but he knew I was right. He was too hurt to do close both doors. I wasn’t exactly Xena, Warrior Princess, but I had enough strength to close the front door, get into the shelter, and close it behind me.
 

Salty ocean water whipped around my calves. It funneled into the basement where James and Mom were screaming for us to get inside. I grabbed my father’s arm and started pushing him down. He tried to fight me, tried to protest, but he grimaced when I touched his shoulder. I made sure he was able to hold the ladder, then grabbed the heavy metal door and pulled it shut. The door was watertight, so there was no chance they would drown. The water had been high, but not high enough to cause them real distress.