The Long Summer 11
Work on the site progressed at a snail's pace that afternoon. Small accidents plagued their attempts to frame up the basement. Bert was sent to the hospital, a cut on his hand required ten stitches. John pulled his hat off for a moment and a loose joint slid, knocking him out and prompting an ambulance call. Kevin, shot himself in the foot, of all things with the nail gun.
Xander sent him off to the hospital with another of the crew. He was down to four men and the rate of attrition was getting ridiculous. By four, when Jimmy managed to hit himself in the back of the head with a hammer, he called it quits for the day. The crew all but fled the scene.
He stayed, finishing up securing the joint and picking up the various tools. One eye on the sky and one on his work, Xander s patience felt worn to a frazzle. He pulled down some plastic to lie over the exposed wood and made sure the pump was set up. If it rained, they'd need to be able to pump out the excess water.
Loading a toolbox on one shoulder he started climbing upwards. The sky was darkening ominously. The storm the forecasters occasionally got right seemed to be rolling in ahead of sunset. Xander scowled at the purpling landscape. He just hoped he could get all the tools locked up before the skies opened up.
A long fork of lightening creasing down the sky followed by a thunderous boom that was so close, Xander thought he felt the ground shake told him he wasn't going to have any such luck. Fat, heavy drops of water began to fall faster and faster. The drops grew thinner and as Xander dashed towards the tool shed, it felt like a hundred little razors were stabbing at his every step.
Securing the box, he swiped a hand over his face and stared at the uplifted fingers. They were coated in blood. He opened the door carefully to look back outside. The rain was coming down in hard, sheeting waves. He couldn't see the pit from his vantage point.
But it was falling rain. Not blood.
This was of the good. Grabbing a handkerchief out of his back pocket, he swiped it over his face, mopping at the small set of cuts over one of his eyes. Probably just banged into something. Stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket, he set his hard hat more firmly and dashed out into the storm.
He ignored the stabbing sensation as he all but slid down the ladder into the site. The plastic was secure. He pulled a few more bits around the jackhammer and then scooped up the pair of casings that housed the power tools. He was clambering back up the ladder when a pain blossomed in his chest.
Breath lodged in his throat, it hurt so bad he could barely open his lips to scream. He pushed upwards. He needed to get out of the rain. He kicked a foot at the pump's controller and it rattled to life.
Keeping his head down, he pushed onwards for the tool shed and it took every ounce of effort to yank the door open. He stumbled inside and dropped the casings. Hands to his chest, he blinked balefully at himself. His work shirt was shredded. He lifted away a remaining piece of fabric and stared at it.
The t-shirt beneath it was sopping, but from the stinging sensation it was sopping with more than rainwater. His hands came away sticky and red. Who the hell said it could rain razorblades? Xander thought grumpily. He sat down, yanking his hat off and running his fingers through his hair. Thankfully, there seemed to be none of those little slices on his scalp.
He could hear the rain outside sizzling against the shack walls. He was just going to have to wait it out, he thought. The storm was likely to blow over fairly quickly. They didn't seem to care for lingering over long in the area.
"It's coming." A voice whispered.
Xander blinked and shook himself out of the half-stupor he was starting to fall into. He looked around the shack, but the only sound was the wind whistling. Leaning his head back against the wall, he let his eyes close again.
"Just the wind." He muttered. "Just the wind."
But the wind seemed to continue its mournful recitation. "It's coming." It teased, whatever it was. Xander ignored it and just tried to catch a doze till he could escape the shed for his car.
Work on the site progressed at a snail's pace that afternoon. Small accidents plagued their attempts to frame up the basement. Bert was sent to the hospital, a cut on his hand required ten stitches. John pulled his hat off for a moment and a loose joint slid, knocking him out and prompting an ambulance call. Kevin, shot himself in the foot, of all things with the nail gun.
Xander sent him off to the hospital with another of the crew. He was down to four men and the rate of attrition was getting ridiculous. By four, when Jimmy managed to hit himself in the back of the head with a hammer, he called it quits for the day. The crew all but fled the scene.
He stayed, finishing up securing the joint and picking up the various tools. One eye on the sky and one on his work, Xander s patience felt worn to a frazzle. He pulled down some plastic to lie over the exposed wood and made sure the pump was set up. If it rained, they'd need to be able to pump out the excess water.
Loading a toolbox on one shoulder he started climbing upwards. The sky was darkening ominously. The storm the forecasters occasionally got right seemed to be rolling in ahead of sunset. Xander scowled at the purpling landscape. He just hoped he could get all the tools locked up before the skies opened up.
A long fork of lightening creasing down the sky followed by a thunderous boom that was so close, Xander thought he felt the ground shake told him he wasn't going to have any such luck. Fat, heavy drops of water began to fall faster and faster. The drops grew thinner and as Xander dashed towards the tool shed, it felt like a hundred little razors were stabbing at his every step.
Securing the box, he swiped a hand over his face and stared at the uplifted fingers. They were coated in blood. He opened the door carefully to look back outside. The rain was coming down in hard, sheeting waves. He couldn't see the pit from his vantage point.
But it was falling rain. Not blood.
This was of the good. Grabbing a handkerchief out of his back pocket, he swiped it over his face, mopping at the small set of cuts over one of his eyes. Probably just banged into something. Stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket, he set his hard hat more firmly and dashed out into the storm.
He ignored the stabbing sensation as he all but slid down the ladder into the site. The plastic was secure. He pulled a few more bits around the jackhammer and then scooped up the pair of casings that housed the power tools. He was clambering back up the ladder when a pain blossomed in his chest.
Breath lodged in his throat, it hurt so bad he could barely open his lips to scream. He pushed upwards. He needed to get out of the rain. He kicked a foot at the pump's controller and it rattled to life.
Keeping his head down, he pushed onwards for the tool shed and it took every ounce of effort to yank the door open. He stumbled inside and dropped the casings. Hands to his chest, he blinked balefully at himself. His work shirt was shredded. He lifted away a remaining piece of fabric and stared at it.
The t-shirt beneath it was sopping, but from the stinging sensation it was sopping with more than rainwater. His hands came away sticky and red. Who the hell said it could rain razorblades? Xander thought grumpily. He sat down, yanking his hat off and running his fingers through his hair. Thankfully, there seemed to be none of those little slices on his scalp.
He could hear the rain outside sizzling against the shack walls. He was just going to have to wait it out, he thought. The storm was likely to blow over fairly quickly. They didn't seem to care for lingering over long in the area.
"It's coming." A voice whispered.
Xander blinked and shook himself out of the half-stupor he was starting to fall into. He looked around the shack, but the only sound was the wind whistling. Leaning his head back against the wall, he let his eyes close again.
"Just the wind." He muttered. "Just the wind."
But the wind seemed to continue its mournful recitation. "It's coming." It teased, whatever it was. Xander ignored it and just tried to catch a doze till he could escape the shed for his car.