The Storm

Chapter Five

Ruby, Louisiana

T he road continued on into the forest of cypress trees I had seen off in the distance from the main road. Because of the water, it looked more like bayou country now, and not northern Louisiana. Stands of water appeared in the mossy overgrowth. Trees in the rain-soaked ground had fallen over from the wind. The drizzle continued as the sky grew darker, partially hidden by the overhanging limbs of the trees. I felt like I was in a movie. A scary one. This was far from Brooklyn, and every scary book or movie that I had ever read or watched came across my mind. "Was the road getting narrower? Or was it my imagination getting the best of me?" I wondered. Bumping into a deep pothole startled me, and muddy water flew off in every direction. "Take it easy, Zach," I thought. "Take your time!" I then came upon an old, wooden, low-water bridge with high floodwater flowing just under it. I stopped the Jeep, questioning whether I should cross or not. I knew that I had no choice, as there were no other roads, according to Major Peterson. I crept across, praying all the way with a knot in my stomach and a twitchy foot on the gas pedal. Success. I made it across, and now on my left I came upon some old, abandoned, run-down houses - not from the storm, but from years of neglect. The roofs were caved in, with old shake shingles covered with green algae and moss. It appeared that the trees and underbrush were eating them alive,

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