Chapter 6: First Storm

The line yard sat behind a chain-link fence at the end of a gravel road.

There was a steel shop with a roll-up door, two bucket trucks, a diesel generator and a stack of wooden poles as long as a bus.

We had been there three days when the first real storm came.

It came out of a clear afternoon, with no warning at all.

The sky over the river turned dark purple, and the air smelled of hot metal.

"That's not weather," said Hollis, standing in the yard with his head back.

"No," I said.

"It's early."

"Earlier than what?"

He looked at me and did not answer.

My palms had started to itch an hour before.

Now they burned, steadily, and the hair on my arms stood up.

Thunder broke so close that the shop windows rattled.

Emmett came running across the yard with his jacket over his head.

"The gate's chained," he said. "The truck's outside, and the line along the road just came down!"

"Where?" said Hollis.

"Across the road. A big wire. I can't bring the flatbed in with it on the gravel."

Hollis was already moving.

"Nobody touches it," he said. "It could be hot."

He took three steps toward the fence.

Emmett, who had never in his life done what he was told, went over the gate.

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