Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16 7:30 P.M. SPLASH. Charlie fell hard into the cold water. The waves grabbed him, tossed him, carried him away. He sank down until his feet touched something solid. He pushed off and shot back to the surface. He came up sputtering, coughing.

He looked around but could hardly see through the pelting rain. But he knew the water was filled with wreckage. He could feel it. Every second something smacked him, scraped him, stabbed him. A barrel, a wagon wheel, part of a fence. Charlie protected himself as best he could, but the wreckage kept coming. A dresser. A metal sign from one of the shops downtown. They slammed into him from the left and right, from in front and behind. Charlie used his arms and body to push things away. He kicked his legs hard to keep his head above the waves. But the water was too rough. And then, suddenly, he couldn't kick his legs. He was caught on something. With horror he wondered if it was snakes. But no. It was rope. A piece of rope had wrapped around his legs. He kicked harder and harder, and clawed wildly at the water. But it was no use. He started to sink.

And then came a big gust of wind. Something massive smashed into Charlie's leg—a tree branch, or a light pole, maybe. A stabbing pain shot up and down Charlie's body. He froze and couldn't move. And next thing he knew the rope had fallen away. He burst up out of the water. He managed to grab a door that was floating by, and to haul himself on top. He rolled onto his side and vomited up seawater. He found some strength to lift his head and peer through the darkness. He couldn't see much. It was too dark. But for a few seconds, the moonlight broke through the swirl of clouds, and Charlie got a look at what was around him. There was water, of course. But not like an overflow. Not like any flood he'd ever imagined. This was the ocean. Churning, raging ocean, for as far as he could see. It was just like Mr. Early said—Galveston swallowed up by the sea. He saw some houses still standing, rising up out of the sea. He looked frantically for the Pottses'

house. Were Mama and Papa and Lulu still safe? The moonlight disappeared, and it was pitchblack again. Whhhooooossh-WOMP. Something flew by Charlie—a brick or a roof tile, maybe—and nicked him on his chin. He cried out, then lay back down, pressing his cheek to the wet, cold wood of his door raft. The wind shrieked. Whoo-eeeeeesh! Whoo-eeeeeesh! Whooeeeeeesh! And in between gusts, Charlie heard a shout. "Help me! Over here!" The waves pushed his raft closer to the shouts. It was a person, clinging to what looked like part of a wagon. "Help me!" Charlie managed to slow down his raft. A sliver of moonlight lit up the person's face for a second.

It was the face that had haunted Charlie's dreams. The wind screamed. Whoo-eeeeeeeesh! "Gordon?" Charlie said. Whoo-eeeeeeeesh! "Charlie?" Charlie hesitated for a few seconds. This was the person who had thrown a rat at him, who had almost stabbed him with a stick. But this was also the boy who had a papa who screamed at him. Who called him weak. Who made him cry in the middle of a hurricane. Most of all, Gordon was a just a kid—scared and alone in the middle of this nightmare. Like Charlie. Charlie made room on the door, and Gordon climbed on.

该页暂无翻译