The Wolf's Boy

Chapter Fourteen: Silent Nightmare

Kismet’s body rocked in slow motions.  His eyes shut and his limbs numb in sleep.  His hair flipped up from a harsh breeze and a rippling blanket rushed over him. Kismet inhaled, and to his astonishment, he couldn’t breathe. A piercing sting tunneled up his nostrils and into his head, wakening him to his senses.  His arms flailed out and his legs found themselves weightless. Kismet flung his eyes open and was greeted by a wave of gritty, warm water.

               Kismet threw his head up to where he believed he would find the surface. Instead of freeing himself the confusing currents, his head collided into the back of his dresser. It hadn’t been there before, how did it get there? Kismet stretched his feet out and found the floor. He pushed himself up and clawed his way to the top.  The closer the surface met him, the more he began to fear what he would see when he’d break through.

                At last, Kismet freed himself from the water. He inhaled deeply and coughed until he found his breath. He looked around at what used to be the kitchen and eating room and instead saw dishes, utensils, and furniture bobbing up and down at such a speed, Kismet would have sworn they were trying to breathe as well.

               “Prestige? Jovie?” Kismet screamed.  But through his hoarse voice, chattering teeth, and the roaring of water, Kismet knew it would be impossible for them to hear – and even if they did answer him, he wouldn’t hear them. Kismet swam over to the table and climbed on top of it. His heart was pounding and all he could see was water. There was no where he could turn and see beyond the rushing waves. The only ways he could escape was to swim through the door, or to break through the roof. Either route he chose, the water wasn’t going to wait on him. Through cold, numb lips, Kismet managed to whistle two long notes. “Prestige!” 

               The boy balanced himself on his two legs and began peeling away the paint off the ceiling. His fingers began bleeding and the quick of his nails were cut several times. Kismet tore away violently, but it appeared that he was making no progress. He pounded against ceiling and yelled in frustration. The table rocked beneath him, sending him down on all fours. His breath faltered and his muscles began contracting in pain. Kismet looked out to the window, and to his happiness, he could see the sky. The table lowered and the waters around him settled to where he could swim out of the house.

               Kismet slipped off the table and began paddling to the window. He pushed aside chairs, torn curtains, pillows, and other objects he had remember either being mounted on the wall or set in another room. The one item he took with him was the rifle. He wasn’t sure if it was loaded or not, but he couldn’t chance leaving a weapon behind. Once he clambered out the window, he was surprised to find the water rising above the knees. It was raining as well and the sky was coated with a gray fog. Strong winds shoved and pulled him, taking him everywhere but his desired course.  His eyes were set on the barn.

               The hatchet. Get the hatchet and find my family! Shirley? I wonder if she’s fine?

               Kismet looked behind him, hoping to see that only his land was affected by the floods, but he was wrong – from his perspective, the whole world was under winds and water. Debris, leaves, and stray tree branches flustered in the air, knocking Kismet in the face and shoulders. He ducked as much as possible, but not having hearing to warn him of hazards, he was bruised and cutup badly before he reached the hatchet still clinging to the wall.

               From the corner of his eyes, he saw the stall doors of his horse and cows broken. The chickens’ coop floated by, revealing all six hens dead. Kismet grabbed the hatchet and fastened it to his waist. He waded out of the barn and looked out at the wild waters that still rose and fell like a panting monster. Kismet threw two fingers in his mouth, closed his eyes, and with all his strength, whistled two single notes. He held the second note as long as his lungs would allow him.

               Kismet lowered his hand and looked out towards the dark horizon. He squinted, hoping he would see his red wolf bounding towards him, but instead, it was only the shadows and his fatigue tricking him. The dark clump in the distance was not an animal, or a human, but the edge of a hurricane.