The Edge of Hell: The Mitchell Brothers Series Book One

16

Flying debris slammed into the side of the Mitchells red brick house, shattering windows and ripping shutters from their hinges as Wolstan pushed Mae through the front door. A violent gust ripped the knob from his grasp, then tore the whole door off before he could pull it closed.

Glass crunched beneath their feet, and the wind shrieked and howled like plaintive spirits, knocking pictures off the walls and tearing curtains through the broken windows.

"DOWNSTAIRS," he hollered, shielding Mae with his body against the tiny shards of glass pelting them while he struggled to pry the basement door open.

The roar intensified. The house trembled. And Wolstan turned his panicked gaze to the hole where the front door used to be.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his palms grew sweaty, and his stomach dropped to his toes. The churning, swirling mass of destruction swept ever closer.

Twisting the knob, he clutched Mae to his chest with his left arm and pulled on the door with all the strength of his right. He wanted to shout in victory when it swung open with a loud pop and whoosh of air. But he refrained.

A gust of wind slammed the door closed behind them amidst an explosion of glass and debris raining on the house. They stumbled down the flight of wooden stairs in the darkness.

The scent of damp earth assailed his nostrils, and the echo of their footsteps mixed with the cacophony outside, creating an unnerving clatter and rumble.

"Wait here," Wolstan said, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor. He walked around Mae toward a row of shelving along the far wall. "I'll light a lantern."

He fumbled in the dark, blindly searching each of the five shelves until he found a lantern and box of matches. Keeping his back to Mae, Wolstan bit his tongue as he struck a match and lit the wick, knowing now was not the time for questions.

Grit coated his teeth, making him wish he had a glass of water handy to rinse out his mouth. Blowing out the match, he closed the hatch with a shaky hand and turned the wick up before shoving the matchbox in his pocket and facing her.

His stomach dropped to the floor as his eyes raked from her disheveled head to her toes, taking in every last stitch of oversized men's clothing on her willowy frame.

He really had caught her leaving. It wasn't some awful dream.

What would have happened if he hadn't been compelled to follow after her when he heard Mae talking on the stairs? The thought was too disturbing to contemplate.

Giving himself a mental shake, he swallowed and clenched his jaw and hung the lantern on the ceiling hook near the foot of the stairs.

"Do you know if Berta and the others got somewhere safe?" She asked, lowering her haversack to the stairs before sitting on the third to last step.

Wolstan nodded as he leaned against the stone wall, flinching when several groaning shrieks reverberated through the house. "They're in the root cellar, where we would be if you'd been in your room instead of out on the road walking toward Georgia."

She scowled at him.

He scowled right back and folded his arms across his chest.

"What about your mama, Declan, and Emerson?" She asked a moment later, her attention focused on the ceiling when several heavy, sharp thuds and the screech of breaking wood came from the upstairs rooms. "Do you think they're—"

"They're going to be fine," Wolstan interrupted, unwilling to allow her to finish the terrifying thought. "You'll see."

Mae stared at him, but Wolstan turned his attention to the thick shadows beyond the lantern's reach, worried she would see the frayed emotions he was barely able to keep under control. "We've survived tornadoes before."