Children of the Storm

forlorn.
        Then, behind them, another figure emerged from the palms, this one a man who stopped just where the woman had stopped and looked after them.
        Saine?
        Not big enough.
        Henry or Mills?
        Too big for them.
        And Dougherty wasn't home, so it must be Peterson.
        As Blenwell watched, aware that danger was coming and that his place was out there with the woman and the two kids, not here by the window like a man of stone, Peterson ran forward and slammed into Sonya with his shoulder.
        Both she and the child crashed forward to the ground, rolled, and then became separated.
        Then Peterson leaped past them, making for the boy who, having seen this first attack, was now running full tilt for Hawk House, weaving on weak legs and losing ground all the time.
        Blenwell whirled away from the window, grabbed up the rifle that stood against the chair, and ran into the hall.
        When he reached the kitchen, his feet pounding on the tile floor, he heard Lydia calling to him, though he had no idea what she was saying.
        “Stay there!” he shouted.
        He fumbled with the door latches.
        She was still calling his name.
        “It's okay!” he shouted. “Don't leave the cellar!”
        He pushed open the door.
        Wind hit him .
        Rain soaked him in the instant and pummeled past him to clatter on the hard kitchen floor.
        Against the wishes of the wind, he pulled the door shut and, holding the rifle to his side, hoping the rain would not damage it and make it useless, he went onto the lawn and hurried toward the battling figures down near the palms.
        Despite the fact that the storm made running all but impossible when you were headed into the wind, as he was, he reached the scene before Peterson had managed to kill anyone. Alex was lying on the ground, either exhausted or stunned by a blow from Peterson who was now running clumsily toward the little girl. Sonya stood, helpless, watching all of this, her shoulders slumped, her hands spread out in front of her as if she were pleading with someone, though there was no one near to her.
        Blenwell went down on one knee and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He had done a lot of target practice with the gun, and-when he was depressed and forgot that they were not responsible for his problems-he considered using it on Dougherty's parrots. But this would be the first time in his life that he had ever used a gun against a man.
        He sighted in, estimated the movement of the wind and allowed for it, then slowly squeezed the trigger.
        The gun jerked against him, but he heard its report only as another sudden growl from the storm.
        Peterson kept running.
        He fired again.
        The madman was spun around, like a tackled football player, his speed cut in the instant, and he went down, hard.
        He stayed down.
        It was over.

----

    AFTERWARD
        
        Though it had been filtered through the perfume of the bougainvillea vines that grew over the one end of the front porch of Seawatch, the breeze still brought them a tang of sea and sand. Of course, few of the bougainvillea's flowers had survived Greta's wrath, and not many new blossoms had opened yet, but still the refreshing sea smell was a delightful surprise to Sonya and Kenneth as they sat side-by-side in two antique rattan rockers. It reminded them of the sea when it was tame, of the pleasures one could get from the sea-and those were aspects of its majesty which they had not had occasion to think about for some days.
        Looking out on the peaceful green lawn, the stately palms, the glimpse of white beach and the placid sea, Sonya could hardly understand how such a peaceful place could have turned, for two long days, into a nightmare of rage and destruction, both human and natural.
        The storm had gone three days ago now, and the Doughertys had been home almost as long. Bill Peterson, whom Ken had shot cleanly through the neck, had been taken back to Guadeloupe for burial by his family which was stunned by what had happened. The police had come and gone, as had the doctors, and now there was no more excitement.
        Thankfully.
        She had spent a full day or longer, during the storm, in Hawk House, bundled into a guest bed. The Blenwells had treated her and the children as best they could; and Sonya and her two charges had