CHAPTER 27

Unis sat in the dark for a moment, trying to catch her breath.  The wind drove a new torrent of 

hail on the door above her head and something large and heavy smashed into the house.  She gasped and began fumbling for the inside latch.  

Down a few steps she could hear her son shivering, she slid down to where she thought he was and began feeling for his shoulder, but instead she felt his cold, dripping hair.

“Thank you, Honey, we made it, we’re okay.”  But there was no response, only his rocking    motion, and she could tell that he was doubled over, curled almost into a ball.

“I’m going to light the lantern, aren’t we lucky that Dad always keeps things so organized down here?”  But the only sound was Dribble’s whining and the click of his claws on the concrete floor.

Unis felt for the Colman lantern and the box of matches that Mort had built a special shelf for.  “We’ve done this before, remember? “  She knew she was blathering but she could’t stop, her hands were shaking so badly she was afraid she would drop the matchbox. “Remember when you were twelve and you and Dad and I had to spend the whole night down here?”  She heard her voice saying in a strange, falsetto tremble.  “We ended up Just fine,” she prattled as the match took hold and she reached toward the lamp.

The  light gradually grew brighter.  Everything was in place: over in the corner, next to the Amanda deep-freeze, boxes of canned goods and extra clothes were stacked on wooden shelves.  The Sterno stove with extra fuel was stored over the old wringer washer, and there would be a portable radio and batteries somewhere in there too.

But none of that mattered.  Her son was doubled into himself, rocking with his arms tightly wrapped around his middle and his eyes closed.

“Oh Honey, Emmett, look at me.”  She tried to raise his head but he pulled away, drawing 

himself tighter and rocking more furiously.  Unis could feel tears burning behind her eyelids, she didn’t know how to reach him and she feared that this would send him ricocheting beyond any hope of coming back to the world.   And above their heads the kitchen phone began to ring.  Once, twice, three times.

“For pity’s sake, Mort,” she wailed up at the ceiling.  “Get off the stupid phone and go take   cover.”  The ringing stopped.  For the moment the wind died away and the only sound in the room was the scratching of puppy claws.

“Oh NO!  Down! Drabble, get down.”  The puppy was struggling to get onto her son’s lap, using his nose like a steam drill to break into EmT’s clenched arms.  And then it happened, Drabble broke through the line of defense and crawled up until they were chest-to-chest, wrapping his front legs around her son’s neck.

She stopped breathless and watched as her son’s arms slowly opened to encircle the pup, one strong and slender hand holding his rump and the other stroking Drabble’s ears in slow, comforting pats.

Unis stood with her hand pressed against her mouth.  Mort was right: Drabble was Emmett’s friend and could reach him in a way that no human could.

She let out the breath that she had been holding, and had to clear  her throat twice before she could speak.  “I’ll pull out the blankets,” she said.  “And then we can have some tea.”