Hurricane Read Online Free PDF Page B

tiny dot of light that doesn’t even reach the houses across the street, much less farther away. I stand still for a moment and keep passing the light all around the town. I don’t see anything, but I hear people crying out. I move toward their voices.
    I take two steps off our front porch and sink into the mud. I scream out, scared that it will suck me all the way down, but the mud comes up to only my knees. My heart pounds and I am frozen for a second.
    I take some deep breaths before finally struggling to push through the mud again. I manage to move one foot and then the other, slow and hard, slogging as if I’m moving in slow motion.
    I keep waving my flashlight so that the people calling can see and yell over to me and I can find them, but this stupid light is so weak! Where are all the houses? Where are … And now it hits me. The Ramírez house, which used to stand right next door to ours, is mostly gone .
    I force myself to look into the darkness, squinting as hard as I can trying to find the other houses, but I can’t see anything . I don’t know what time it is, but it must be nearly sunrise, because as each second passes, I can see farther and farther down the street.
    Oh my God!
    It’s not just the Ramírez house that is gone; so are the Arroyo and Álvarez houses and the Larioses’ house and … All the houses are gone!
    All I can see is a river of mud. Far on the other side of the village there is a sudden fire. Flames rise up for a few moments and then they fade away.
    This can’t be real, can it?
    If all the houses are gone, where are all the people?
    Where are the people who were sleeping in those houses?
    Where is everyone?
    All the voices I heard calling for help a few moments ago are suddenly quiet. There’s a terrible silence.
    But now I hear moans coming from where the Ramírez house used to be. I try to hurry there, but I move too slowly through the mud. The roof has been torn off their house and lies in the street, flattened out. The walls of the house are buried, and only the tops stick up. Mud is everywhere, brown, wet, and thick. It looks like the filthy fur of an animal.
    Where are Mr. and Mrs. Ramírez?
    Only a few days ago Vera Ramírez smiled at me and waved. I waved back. It was quiet that day, calm and relaxed, with only a warm breeze. Suddenly I see Mr. Ramírez. He is sticking up out of the ground. His hair is matted down with mud. His eyes dart around as he whips his head back and forth. I try to reach him, but I can barely move.
    I look down and can’t see my feet. The mud covers my ankles. How many times have I kicked a soccer ball on this street, the street that is gone now. How many times have I run past the Ramírez house or the Álvarez house—or all the houses—heading home after school?
    Mr. Ramírez’s cries jar me. At first, I can’t make out what he’s saying, but now I hear him more clearly.
    â€œVera!” he calls over and over again. For a crazy second an image pops into my head of Vera and my mom making tortillas or fried bread together.
    â€œVera!” Mr. Ramírez calls again.
    I call back to him, “I don’t see her!”
    â€œVera?” he yells to me.
    â€œNo, Mr. Ramírez. It’s me, José Cruz.”
    â€œWhere is Vera?” he moans.
    â€œI don’t see her,” I yell again, finally reaching him. I am close enough to grab his wrist. His skin is freezing cold, and his bony arm feels like it could snap in my hand.
    I ask, “Can you move your legs? Are you hurt?”
    â€œDon’t worry … about … me. Find Vera!” Mr. Ramírez gasps. His voice sounds raspy and weak, and while he tries to talk, he keeps stopping to get his breath.
    I fight back tears and force myself to think of something to say. “I … I don’t know where she is, Mr. Ramírez. I … I don’t see her. Let me help you first. Then we can