Written in 62 minutes.

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Late June 2000

It was the silence that jerked her out of a sound sleep.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, saw Jason still sleeping next to her, then laid there for another moment, trying to orient herself. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, looked towards the terrace and realized with a start that the doors were still closed—

The night came flooding back to her—dinner, sleeping with Jason, being grabbed by Dario, the hurricane—and—she looked back at Jason with a wince—she must have fallen asleep after he had.

The house was quiet—the wind that had swirled outside like a roaring train had died down, and she couldn’t hear any rain, not even soft drops. Had the storm completely passed over them or—

Elizabeth crawled out of the makeshift bed of blankets and found the radio they’d tucked away. She glanced at Jason, then at the radio, and decided to let him sleep longer. He’d desperately needed the rest, and she really didn’t even know how long they’d been out.

With her hand clutched around the radio, she climbed to her feet and headed down the hallway, eager to make sure that her room had escaped any storm damage so far. She pushed the door open, and breathed a sigh of relief. Her terrace doors remained closed, and the storm doors were still locked in place.

The room was bone dry, and she could make out the edges of her canvases, so they were safe.  So far so good, Elizabeth thought, then switched on the radio fiddling with the knob until she found a station. She closed the door behind her so Jason wouldn’t hear the radio.

“It’s the top of the hour, just after three in the morning, and we here at 88.7 The Jams are here with a storm update. We were lucky to only get a sideswipe from the storm,  but it still caused some nasty flooding. Never make a woman angry, that’s what I always say. The eye is passing over West Plana Cays and the island should hunker down for a nasty second dose of wind and rain. Mariah was last measured at 109 miles per hair, just a hair under a category 3. The front bands of the storm are attacking the Cuban coast, but here in Turks, we’re going to have a sunny and beautiful day just as soon as the storm clears out around eight—”

Elizabeth switched it off, set it down on her dresser, then dragged her hands through her hair. It had dried and frizzed slightly after being out in the rain earlier. She rooted through her drawers, trying to find something to put it up. They’d had maybe an hour and a half of sleep, which wasn’t enough so she was going to let Jason stay asleep a little longer.

Hair secured and feeling better with it off her neck, Elizabeth picked up the radio and pulled the door open, stifling a yawn. She stepped into the hallway, trying to remember which windows hadn’t any outside protection. She wanted to see the beach, get a sense of how bad the damage might be. She knew Jason wanted to clear out of here as soon as possible, and hoped there wasn’t too much damage to the garage.

Elizabeth took a step towards the guest room at the rear of the house, where Emily had staked out her claim back in March, but heard some rustling from the front of the house. If Jason was up, he was gonna be worried when he didn’t see her—and then annoyed she’d let him sleep.

Oh, well, he’d have to get over it, she decided, heading back towards the living room. He wasn’t superhuman—

And he wasn’t there.

Elizabeth stared at the empty blanket for a long moment, bewildered. If Jason was awake, why hadn’t he called for her?

“Jason—” Elizabeth shifted her grip on the radio, holding it in front of her more protectively, sweeping her gaze over the large open living area, most of which was cast in shadows and poorly lit by the battery operated lamps. “Jason—”

“I’m right here.”

Elizabeth breathed an easy sigh of relief when Jason melted out of the shadows of the kitchen, two bottles of water in his hand. “You scared the crap out of me,” she said, setting the radio on the table and coming over to meet him.

“I heard the radio,” Jason said, handing her a bottle of water, then drawing her against him, pressing his lips the top of her hair. “I figured you were getting an update. And that I’d get you back for letting me sleep.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” she muttered. “The eye is passing over us, and it’s just after three.” She made a face. “And I wish you’d slept longer—”

“I feel fine.” He rubbed her back, reassuring. “Did the storm get worse?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s like 109 now.”

“That’s pretty bad.” Jason sat on the stool by the kitchen island, only slightly wincing. “How long until the back of half of the storm starts?”

“They didn’t say. It’s a Turks station, and they didn’t get a direct hit.” Elizabeth sipped the water, then set the bottle on the island. She headed over for the terrace. “Can we go outside and look?”

“It’ll be pitch black,” Jason reminded her. He got to his feet. “But yeah, I want to see what kind of damage we can make out.”

He’d only taken a few steps when the lamp between them winked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. “Elizabeth?” he called.

“I’m right—oof—here—” Elizabeth muttered, rubbing the knee she’d just whacked into the table. In a regular storm, there’d be some lightning to give some extra light, but of course, they’d boarded up pretty much every light source. She fumbled for the batteries they’d put on the table. “We should have changed the batteries, but I fell asleep, too—”

Glass shattered in the back of the house, and Elizabeth whipped her head up, heart pounding. The package of batteries in her hands, she slowly climbed to her feet, terrified to speak. To give any sense of her location. She heard Jason breathing across the room, the pace of it picking up. But he said nothing.

She heard footsteps, grunting. Something thudded. Her hands trembled as she fumbled to find the lantern, to match the batteries correctly. When she slammed the last one home, she flicked the switch.

It illuminated the room and Elizabeth screamed, seeing Jason being shoved back against the wall—both hands fending off a baseball bat being wielded by a figure she’d only seen three times—

Twice in a bar, and then earlier tonight, in her room. Dario Colon.

The gun, the gun, she had to get to the gun—Jason had left it on the other table. Elizabeth darted forward, but Dario finally wrestled control of the bat, sending Jason off balance. He fell backwards, cracking his head against the pillar extending from the ceiling to the floor.

He turned, grinned at her. “It’s finally us, puta. Just you and me—” He saw the gun at the same time she did—and lunged—

He reached it first, scooping it up. “Oh, did you want this?” He spun it by the trigger guard in a loop around his index finger.  “Do you even know how to use it?”

Elizabeth backed up, her heart pounding so fast and hard she thought it might come up her throat. “What do you want? You-you can have anything—I know people with lots of money—”

“So do I,” he taunted, taking another step towards her, continuing the twirl the gun in one hand and the bat in the other. “You think money will make this go away? That it will be justice?”

“J-justice—you talk about justice?” Elizabeth’s fists balled at her side, her mind racing, cataloging every thing in the house, anything that might be used as a weapon. Her palette knife maybe. But it was down the hallway. Would she have time to get to it—

Dario twirled the gun again, but this time his finger hit the trigger and a bullet fired. He hissed and ducked, dropping both the gun and the bat. The gun clattered to his feet—but the bat—it rolled.

Elizabeth switched off the lantern at the same time she dove for the bat, Dario hissing and grunting in the background. With the bat in her hand, and the lantern in the other, she took off down the hallway towards the back of the house, his roar of protest and footsteps pounding after her.

The door to Emily’s room was open, and she raced towards it, taking just the extra amount of time to swing it shut so that he ran into it at full speed and fell down, slowing him down just enough for Elizabeth to see that the window had been completely blown out. She climbed through it, keeping her hands tight on the bat, and on the lantern. She’d need both if she was going to survive.

It was pitch black outside, and the roar of the ocean waves crashing against the shore line. The wind was starting to pick up. Elizabeth raced towards what remained of the garage—most of the roof was gone.

She ran around one side of the building, then stopped, leaning back against the metal wall, clutching the bat against her. She set the lantern down carefully at her side, then listened.

And when she heard the footsteps coming toward her, she swung around the corner at head height. Dario appeared just as her bat made contact with the side of his head and his eyes were nearly comical as his head was whipped to the side by the force of the blow.

He went to his knees, sputtering. Rain began to fall around them, but Elizabeth didn’t notice, didn’t stop to think. Because all that mattered was putting him down for the count and getting Jason help.

She swung, low and long and cracked him upside the jaw. Dario went flying back, laying spread eagle on the ground, his eyes staring up at the sky.

She waited, then crept forward, his body illuminated by the lantern a few steps away on the ground. His chest didn’t rise or fall. She kicked at his leg. Nothing. At his arm. Nothing.

He was dead.

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