Monsoon Rendezvous

Clara pulled Farzana close to her. They pressed up against the stone wall outside the far corner of the hospital. Samira stood a dozen feet away and lowered her gaze to the dirt, probably too shy to ask for a hug. Clara opened her spare arm and waved Samira closer. She dashed into Clara’s arms.

These girls should be at their shelter in place site. I never should have accepted their help.

“We’re going to be fine,” Clara said to the girls in Bengali.

“I’m scared of storms,” Samira whimpered, her own Bengali much more fluent than Clara’s. “Two of my friends died in a storm last year. Arafat and Nusrat. Mom said they died quickly in their sleep. Kabir, he lives down the street, said the house collapsed on them and he still hears them screaming. He says their souls are trapped in there forever.”

“I’m scared,” Farzana echoed with equally crisp Bengali. “I don’t want my soul to get trapped, Mrs. Clara. Not forever. I couldn’t imagine being in one place that long.”

Clara swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you lost your friends, Samira,” Clara said. “That’s why my team and I are here. To help prevent anyone from dying.”

“My uncle Moinuddin died, I think four years ago. I didn’t know him very well. Dad was the most upset. He had sad eyes for a really long time. Still kinda does.” Farzana’s face drooped as if she was mimicking her father’s face. “I asked mom why he was so sad, and she said because he—”

“Mom lost half her fingers last year,” Samira said, not one to be outdone. “She can’t carry water home from the stream anymore. My brother Jahid,” Samira looked up at Clara, “he’s had to carry twice as much water. He grumbles every day. It’s hard on his shoulders, he says. I think he just wants to play cricket. The Tigers have a junior training camp he wants to be invited to. He’s in denial about how bad he is.”

“He’s not bad,” Farzana said with a little pizzazz.

“Okay. Okay,” Clara laughed. “The storm isn’t so bad and we’re helping get people ready for it, right?” Although the wind had picked up far more than it should have so early in their predictions. Clara reminded herself to check the radar on her phone after seeing the girls off.

Samira rubbed the logo on Clara’s bright red jacket, depicting what used to be the silhouette of a person with arms out overhead, now turned shades of mud from playing with the kids.

“You give big…ugs, jus…him.” Heavy winds blew in from the north, cutting out Samira’s words. Sand came with it, and they all covered their faces with their hands to block the stab of a thousand needles.

“It…won’t…las…long,” Clara shouted, her words mostly lost in the storm’s power. It must have been the heaviest gust yet, and suddenly Clara didn’t feel as confident about their safety as she’d sounded a moment ago. The storm didn’t care if she was from a first world country and had a good job, stable home with her parents, and money in investments. It only destroyed.

The wind died, and the girls shook for a long time, like leaves rattling in the trees. Clara knew these patterns too well. The sudden violent gusts were characteristic of microbursts—massive downdrafts of cold air that could flip cars and tear buildings apart in minutes. They often came before the monsoons, nature’s warning shot that went unheeded too often. Last year, a microburst had torn through a village forty miles south, leveling everything in its path. Clara pushed the memory away, not wanting to think about what these winds might mean. Clara didn’t dare move. She wrapped the girls tighter in her arms, taking as much solace from them as they were from her. The storm didn’t care about predictions or preparations. It would come when it wanted, as fierce as it pleased.

“All okay?” Elijah poked his head around the wall, pressing down on his wide-brimmed straw hat like it might blow away any second. The hat had lost so much straw over the years, it should have disintegrated in the wind. He forced a toothy smile, but his teeth were more brown than white. Samira drew in tighter to Clara when Eijah’s gangly arms reached for her.

“We’re fine,” Clara said to Elijah in English, leaning forward to shield the girls from his touch. Although Elijah meant well and traveled with her team in Southern Asia, there was something about the way his eyes lingered on them a fraction of a second too long, and the way he licked his lips when he shifted his gaze, even if he had lips as dry and chapped as the earth of a paddy field awaiting the monsoon. His mannerisms were habit and she didn’t think he meant to creep anyone out, but he did.

“Good. Very Good. Would you like me to take de girls back to de shelter?” he said with a heavy Nepali accent. He insisted on speaking English so he could travel more with the team. He’d improved over the years he’d been with them but was far from fluent.

Samira tightened her grip on Clara’s arm. Clara pretended not to notice.

“No. I’ll take them. Thank you.”

“Dis a long way,” he said. “Dere are a lot of preparations to make dat I can’t, no? Important tings for you to do, no? Is no problem. I take girls to de shelter.” His toothy smile grew a little. Clara knew he just wanted to help. But the girls in the village didn’t trust men. Too many girls walking alone had been pulled into the forest and raped. Some girls were never seen again. Mothers made their daughters promise never to get near a man they didn’t know.

“Thank you. I’ll take them,” she said. Their village, Shaplapalli, was nestled a good nine miles away, much of it dirt roads or trails even cars had a tough time traversing. Still, it had a school built with brick and was the designated shelter in place for the two girls and their village. They should be there now, but the girls had appeared at the hospital entrance earlier, eyes bright with eagerness to help. When Samira said they could carry boxes just like the big people, Clara hadn’t had the heart to turn them away. She should have sent them straight to the shelter in the bus, but their excited smiles and rolled-up sleeves had worn down her better judgment. She hadn’t known then how the weather would turn. Now someone would be looking for them, and they were nine miles from where they should be.

“Okay. Okay. I here to help if you need’it.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Clara stood and dusted off her pants the best she could with the girls still glued to her side. She took a few steps, breaking free. They followed closely behind, never raising their eyes to meet Elijah’s.

Clara took the girls to the Save the Children (STC) command tent. The vehicles belonged to the organization, and she’d need approval to drive the girls home. Given the monsoon was expected overnight and nobody would be at the hospital to watch over them, she figured she’d get approval. Hopefully her team would pick up her storm prep slack and have the medical supplies ready for distribution.

“It’s going to be loud in there,” Clara said to the girls before they entered the tent. She heard the voices inside, all of them shouting over each other in English, one louder than the last. Typical evening at the command tent. She was glad to be a team lead and not a section manager. “Stay close and keep quiet, okay?”

Both girls nodded.

She lifted the tent flap and stepped inside, only to run into a man with his head turned away from her as he stepped into her path. It was like hitting a wall. She bounced back into the girls and they both yelped. The man turned and let out a good-natured laugh.

“Where’d you come from?” Blake asked in English. His overgrown beard and poofy hair made him the most unprofessional person in the tent, although his eyes sparkled with a confidence larger than he was. She’d disliked him from the moment they met a few days ago because he’d commandeered one of their vehicles and taken supplies into India. No way she’d let him do it again. Sure, everyone needed help, but their mission was here, not in India. She resented all the extra hours she’d worked to compensate for the supplies he’d taken that day. Also, he wasn’t a member of their team. She didn’t really know him, and Raj had redirected her inquiries to people that never answered their messages.

Her resentment was only stoked when she spotted the keys in Blake’s hand.

“I need the vehicle to bring these girls to the shelter. You’ll have to wait,” Clara said, her tone firm and arms crossed as she met his gaze

“Wait?” His eyebrows rose, and the tone in their contortion shifted from amusement to seriousness as he glanced from Clara to the girls and back. “I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s time sensitive. The hospital is a safe place to stay with the girls for now.”

The wind picked up again and the tent buckled. Clara pulled the girls inside and closed the flap, but it wouldn’t be long before the gusts blew the tent away, even with the sandbags and pegs holding it down. The hospital was the nearest shelter for many people, but they packed it tighter than the tent, so many people had remained home waiting in their rickety shanties to get killed. STC kept the status quo until there were no alternatives.

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath. Even while holding her breath, Clara smelled the pungent body odor of STC men who had sweated too much and hadn’t changed their clothes. She gagged, doing her best to pretend she was fine. No wonder God gave us olfactory fatigue.

When the wind dissipated, the girls opened the flap as if to look outside and Clara breathed in a little of the fresh air, thankful to them for not making her crawl out on her hands and knees; if smells could kill.

“You should go inside before the girls get hurt,” Blake said, crossing his muscled arms, the veins running up to his biceps and thick shoulders. She felt her face burn red, mostly from her anger. The noise in the room returned, forcing everyone to shout to be overheard.

“I need a vehicle to take these girls home. You can’t have it.” Clara took a step forward, standing as tall as she could to prove she wasn’t intimidated by his six-foot figure. At five-nine, she could easily stand toe to toe with him.

He shook his head and twisted around to the other people in the room.

Fine. Good. Did he understand? Clara shuffled past a few of the men to get to Raj, her section manager. Raj was surrounded by men and women, all talking at him at the same time. When he saw Clara, he winked at her and tugged lightly at his hair: the sign for help. Sweat bore down his face like he’d been splashed with a bucket of water. She smiled, wanting nothing to do with his entourage. Some she recognized as team leaders just like her. Others she’d never met; they dressed well above her pay grade.

She took a moment to decide if she should skip the line ahead of the other team leaders. Rohan constantly thought food was most vital for people. Priya liked to talk for the sake of talking, and she loved to flick her hair back every few sentences as if a photographer was taking pictures of her from the other side of the conversation. Emily shifted awkwardly, her mouth opening and closing whenever she might get a word in, only to be cut off by the next voice.

Clara made a hand signal, twisting her wrist three times like she was starting a car to ensure he got the hint. He pointed behind her and she turned to an apologetic-looking Blake.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “The girls will be safe here.”

Clara scoffed and pushed past him, leading the girls outside the tent. The road to the hospital was closed, so no vehicles could pass without police permission, but walking wouldn’t be a problem—aside from the exposure. The wind picked up again, stronger than before, nearly knocking Clara off her feet. The girls tugged at her arms, crying now. Goddamn Blake. If you’d just let us use the damn vehicle, it wouldn’t take more than an hour to get the girls home. Rain lashed against her skin like tiny bullets. Clara dragged the girls into the emergency room, stumbling through the main doors and immediately colliding with a chaotic crowd. The place was absolutely overrun. The police wouldn’t know what to do. If an actual emergency came…Clara hoped she wouldn’t be there to see it.

The building rattled dust and debris from the ceiling. A few light fixtures plummeted to the ground, smashing atop people standing below. Everyone screamed, looking for a place to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. Clara glanced outside and saw a mailbox fly past the door. She gained the humbling knowledge that even if they’d won the keys from Blake, they weren’t going anywhere. What the hell are you still doing out there, Raj? He needed to get everyone inside.

The girls continued to cry, along with many of the people in the hallway and waiting areas.

Clara kneeled and pulled the girls closer to her. “I’m going to check on everyone in the tent. Make sure they’re safe. You’ll be safe here, okay? Stay together and stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Before she lost her nerve, Clara tore away from them and headed for the exit. The automatic doors opened, and the wind blew Clara backwards. People shouted at her not to go out. A few cursed at her, probably for putting them all in danger, but she couldn’t translate their fast Bengali with so much noise. She ducked low, her arm up to cover her face, and marched toward the tent.

Except, when she looked in the place the tent was just standing, nothing and no one but sandbags lay on the ground in a rough rectangle.

“What are you doing? Get inside,” a gruff voice shouted at her. Blake took her forearm and pulled her back toward the hospital.

Clara jerked her arm backward but was helpless to break his vice grip. “They’re out there,” she screamed. “Everyone in the tent. The tent’s gone. But they’re out there.”

The wind died as quickly as it had come, like a blow drier turning on and off. The deafening noise turned silent so fast she questioned for a moment if she’d lost her hearing. Blake halted and released her hand. He glanced up at the dark skies, sniffing like he could smell the next blast in the air.

“What happened to them?” Clara said, her hands shaking. “They were all here a few minutes ago. All of them. Microbursts weren’t supposed to hit until tomorrow, early in the morning. How did this happen?” She covered her mouth as if to stifle a scream. They couldn’t be far. They’d probably left the tent before it blew away.

“Clara,” Blake said, taking a firm grip on her shoulders and forcing her to look into his eyes. “You don’t want to see. Go back to the hospital.”