When the rain falls, p.1
When the Rain Falls, page 1
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Coming Soon
First published in 2021 by Linderson Creations Limited
Copyright © 2021 Sarah Anderson and Ashley Lindsay, under the pen-name Sasha A. Linderson
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-473-60340-3
Epub ISBN: 978-0-473-60341-0
Kindle ISBN: 978-0-473-60342-7
iBook ISBN: 978-0-473-60343-4
Linderson Creations Limited
Auckland, New Zealand
www.lindersoncreations.com
To Dad, for encouraging my wayward dreams, and to Mum, for keeping me grounded enough to make sense of them.
~ Sarah
To Grandma, I hope this book is better than the first time you read it.
~ Ashley
Chapter One
Levi
New Zealand used to be a place people wanted to live. If you looked hard enough, you could imagine why. Beneath the weed choked lawns, pot-holed roads, and houses crumbling from disrepair lay a country that could have been rebuilt if it was given the chance. But we were left to rot—shunned by the rest of the world.
The gate creaked as I pushed it open and walked down the cracked garden path. Dylan’s place was pretty flash, but you wouldn’t guess it from the curbside. That’s how it was everywhere these days—ever since the contagion destroyed our country. Worn-out houses lined tired streets that were in desperate need of repair.
I moved to knock on the door but it opened before I could make contact, and Traci, Dylan’s mom, bowled into me. I stumbled backward off the porch but managed to keep my balance.
“Levi!” she exclaimed. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I stooped to grab the keys that she had dropped. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t know you were coming over,” she said, flustered. “I would have made you boys something to eat.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Mrs. Saville,” I said as I handed her keys back.
“Dylan, Levi’s here,” Traci called out, before turning her attention to me. She smiled softly and studied me with a motherly gaze. “Have you grown? It feels like years since I’ve seen you.”
“It probably has been,” I said. Dylan and I had been friends since birth but didn’t hang out as much as we used to since he moved up to Auckland for university.
“What are you doing these days?” she asked me.
I was about to answer but Dylan cut me off.
“Stop pestering him about his future, Mom,” Dylan said as he sauntered down the hall. His blond hair was gelled into spikes, and a friendly smile spread over his face. A plain black t-shirt hugged his muscular frame. Dylan had got jacked. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.
“I wasn’t pestering,” Traci said and pursed her lips.
“I thought you were leaving, Mom,” Dylan hinted. “You said it yourself, the polling booths are only open for a couple hours this year.”
Traci checked her watch. “I’ve still got a few minutes. And I haven’t seen Levi since you two were in high school. You’ve grown into a fine young man.” She smiled at me the way mothers do.
Dylan sighed and rolled his eyes.
I shrugged and ran my fingers through my scruffy hair, embarrassed. “Thanks, Mrs. Saville.”
“Mom, you’re so embarrassing,” Dylan said under his breath.
“Fine, fine, fine,” Traci said as she adjusted her glasses. “I’ll go. There might be a lineup at the voting station anyway.”
“Who do you think will win the election?” I asked. It wasn’t really a question—everyone with half a brain knew the Prime Minister had rigged it. That’s why I wasn’t upset about not being able to vote this year. What was the point when the whole thing was a sham? Bloody waste of time, if you asked me. “Prime Minister Marion seems pretty confident about re-election.”
Dylan scowled. “He’s a fascist pig.”
“That’s harsh, Dylan,” Traci said with a frown.
“What? It’s true,” Dylan muttered. “He increased the voting age this year so us young liberals can’t sway the vote.”
“You young liberals are the reason behind all those riots,” Traci replied.
“They say twenty people were killed by riot police up in Auckland yesterday,” I said, recalling the news on the radio from the drive over.
“Exactly,” Traci said. “Like Marion said when he changed the age to twenty, voting is a privilege.”
Dylan’s cheeks flushed. This was something he was clearly passionate about. “You sound just like him.”
Traci tutted. “You’re being dramatic, Dylan. You’ll get to vote next time. Besides, you can hardly decide what to have for dinner. How do you expect to make a responsible voting decision?”
“Don’t you have a vote to cast?” Dylan said pointedly.
Traci shook her head, and walked toward the gate. She turned around and asked, “What are you two planning on doing today, anyway?”
“We’re going hunting,” Dylan replied.
Traci’s scowl was immediately replaced with a look of concern. “You’re not supposed to leave the city. You know this, Dylan. Marion’s troops are out there keeping the peace.”
“Honestly, has he brainwashed you, Mom?”
“You know the risks of being out past curfew. I don’t want to have to bail the two of you out of jail,” Traci said, evidently worried.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Saville. You don’t have to bail me out of jail,” I said to Traci with a grin. “Dad would probably let me rot in there, but I’m sure Mom would want me back.”
She gave me a reproachful look. “I’m serious, boys. Marion isn’t messing around. The military is enforcing it. Mrs. Greenwood said she heard they arrested some people who tried to escape the city last night.”
“Can’t you admit we’re grown up enough to make our decisions now?” Dylan asked.
Traci studied both of us, concerned. “You think it’s a joke, don’t you, how I get wound up so much all the time? I can’t help worrying that someday, something will happen.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Dylan insisted, crossing his arms.
“Well… just don’t go getting yourselves shot,” Traci eventually said, relenting.
“We’ll try not to,” I said.
She sighed and walked to the car. “Oh, Dylan, I almost forgot. Your dad called earlier. He’s working late again tonight.”
Dylan shrugged. “Must be a busy time at the Port right now.”
“Yes, but they’re short on staff after all the redundancies. I think more long nights are on the calendar,” Traci said.
“Maybe you’ll have to bail him out of jail for being out after curfew,” Dylan commented dryly.
Traci didn’t laugh. “The curfew’s serious, Dylan. Please be careful.”
“We will. I promise,” Dylan said, sincerely this time.
Traci shut the door of the car, and we watched her drive off.
“Sorry about that, mate,” Dylan said with a broad grin once his mom’s car was out of sight. “Mom’s been difficult since I’ve been back.”
I shrugged and walked up the step to the house. “I don’t mind.”
“How’ve you been?” he said, greeting me with a customary slap on the back.
“Don’t get me started,” I said as I followed Dylan inside.
“That bad, huh?”
The stark white hallway walls were hung with pictures of Dylan and his little sister. I stopped in front of one taken at our school ball over a year ago. So much had happened since then. The world had changed. Those were the carefree days before the virus hit. I thought back to that night, where we partied like there was no tomorrow. For some people, there wasn’t one. The virus was probably already circulating then. We just didn’t know it.
“You were so wasted that night,” Dylan commented, reminiscing.
“So were y
“Why did your mom pick that picture? You can tell I’m hammered.”
“Apparently, it’s the only one where my eyes are open,” Dylan explained as he continued down the hall to the kitchen. I laughed and followed him. The guns and cleaning kits were already out on the table.
“I thought we could give them a quick clean before we head out,” Dylan said.
I picked up one of the rifles—a Winchester model 70 bolt-action. “Sounds good.”
I grabbed the cleaning rod while Dylan sat down beside me and started cleaning the other gun. I gave the bolt a quick once-over and applied some wood cleaner to the stock. There was something comforting about the greasy smell of gun oil. I went through the motions mechanically, barely even thinking about it as I reassembled the gun and lay it on the table. I grabbed the old rag that lay over the back of one of the wooden chairs to wipe my hands.
“You’re quiet,” Dylan commented eventually, glancing across at me as he started oiling his gun.
I didn’t respond. Dylan knew my home life was pretty shit. I hated my dad, and Mom was on my case all the time. She meant well, but…
“What’s your dad done this time?” Dylan said, knowingly.
I tossed the rag onto the table. “He’s trying to force me to join the army,” I muttered. It was my dad’s way of trying to make me less of a disappointment. In his eyes, I was never good enough. And never would be unless I followed in his footsteps.
But I never would. My childhood was full of missed birthdays and lonely Christmases as Dad committed to the army way of life. When he was home, it wasn’t much better. My parents fought hard. Yelling and screaming. Smashing plates. Dad was distant and angry, pacing the house like a prison cell. Mom said the army changed him, and eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. So, they got a divorce. Dad was addicted to the life of a soldier, and I was hell-bent on never becoming one.
“If you’re not keen, don’t do it,” Dylan said.
I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. “You know him. Going against his will is playing with fire.”
Dylan placed his gun down on the table, and looked up at me with concern. “Did he hit you?” Dylan was my only friend who knew about Dad’s temper—he’d witnessed it firsthand.
“Nah. He got close though,” I admitted.
“Shit,” Dylan said as he put his gun away into its case. “Does your mom know about this?”
“No way. She’d freak out,” I said.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Dylan said with a grimace.
“It’s OK. I’m not looking for pity.”
“But… I do know a bit of possum hunting will make you feel better.” Dylan held up his rifle and grinned boyishly. “And I have beer.” He strode into the kitchen and pulled a six-pack of cheap stuff from the fridge. “Only the best for you, Levi.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I grabbed my coat and slung my rifle over my shoulder. “You know me too well.”
“I’ll drive. We’ll go in my car,” Dylan said. He handed me the beers and swiped the ammunition off the mantelpiece in the lounge. We trudged out the door to Dylan’s beat-up hatchback. Red faded paint, chipped in places with rust. I dumped the guns and beer in the back and slid into the passenger seat after pushing some empty energy drink bottles to the floor.
“Which road should we take?” Dylan asked as he coaxed his car to life.
“Take one of the back roads. We don’t want to get stuck at a checkpoint,” I said. The checkpoints were a stubborn remnant from the pandemic. Marion kept them up long after the virus was under control. The public was mad about it, but Marion insisted it was to protect us from a resurgence of cases. But there were ways around them. Backroads, dirt tracks, farm trails. If you knew your way around, you could get out of town unseen.
Dylan put the car into gear and we sped toward Dylan’s block of land that backed onto Crown forest. As I watched the familiar streets pass by, an uneasy feeling began to inch its way up my spine. The city streets felt oddly deserted as we barreled along as fast as Dylan dared to go. No cars. No people. Just us.
“Where the hell is everyone?” I muttered.
“Voting probably,” Dylan replied as we rolled up to a red-light, the only car in either direction.
“It feels quiet.”
“Too quiet,” Dylan said, grinning. He noticed my concerned look. “Also, it’s about to piss down with rain. No one wants to go out in weather like that.”
“You’re probably right,” I muttered, looking out at the storm on the horizon that had taken permanent residence over the mountain ranges and was rolling rapidly toward us, growling with thunder.
Once we reached the outskirts of the city, Dylan turned off the main road and took a maze of backroads until we had escaped the big smoke entirely. As we cruised along the open country highway, it started to rain. The odd droplet here and there. And it was quiet out here too. More so than usual. I thought back, I hadn’t seen a single car since leaving town. Strange. I peered over my shoulder again, still no one. The last rays of sun were peeking over the horizon to the west, but there were no lights on in any of the houses and nobody finishing up their last farm chores.
“Maybe we should turn back?” Dylan suggested as he watched the black clouds loom closer.
“We’ve come this far,” I said. “If the weather’s too bad, we can park up and have our beers in the car. Like the old days.”
For a second it looked like Dylan wanted to go back as he looked anxiously in the rearview mirror. But then, “Hell. Screw it. I’m keen. I’ll be going back to uni soon so we might not get another chance.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I agreed.
A couple moments of silence passed before Dylan spoke. “You should come with me.”
“What?” I asked as it began to rain harder. Within seconds rain whipped against the windows. Dylan turned the wipers to high and sat forward on his seat, trying to see better. He already had his lights on full beam as it was getting dark.
“Come to uni. We’d have a riot at the clubs in town,” Dylan said.
“Uni’s not my thing.”
The rain was coming down in buckets now. And Dylan slowed the car down as the road started flooding with surface water.
Dylan laughed. “But what? Working at that burger joint is?”
“You sound like my mom,” I grumbled as I wiped the window to defog it.
Dylan smirked. “Maybe if you had your life sorted, she wouldn’t be on you so much.”
“You can’t talk, all you do is party…I’ve seen the photos,” I said, a smile pulling at my lips.
“Mom doesn’t know that,” Dylan said, laughing. “As far as she’s concerned, I’m studying law, and my life is on track. You should come to university next year, though. We’d be —”
A dog ran out onto the road in front of the car.
“Watch out!” I yelled.
Dylan swerved and braked hard, the tires sliding on the slick tarmac. We came to a stop, the rain pinging ominously on the roof. My heart thudded in my chest.
Dylan was breathing heavily. “Shit. Did I hit it?”
I looked over my shoulder out the back window but couldn’t see anything through the teeming rain. “I can’t tell.”
“Don’t just sit there. Go check. It looked like someone’s pet,” Dylan said.
“It’s pouring out there,” I complained. “You do it.”
“A little rain never hurt anyone,” Dylan said. “Wuss.”
“Fine.” I thrust open the car door and stepped out into the rain. Within seconds I was soaked to the skin.
“Do you see it?” Dylan called from the car, sticking his head out of the window.
“No,” I said, wiping the water from my face. I scanned the road behind us but couldn’t see anything. Just as I was about to give up, something on the side of the road caught my eye. “Wait.”
Through the storm I could make out a small shape in the ditch. I ran over, and breathed a sigh of relief. A small, but sodden, Bichon Frise cowered in a puddle.
“Come here, little guy,” I encouraged it. “Come on.”
