Ten by Gretchen McNeil Page A

Gunner pulled raincoats off the pegs on the wall while Meg cracked open the front door. The rain blew horizontally across the front yard in sheets so thick they obscured the view of the Taylors’ house. The structure seemed to come and go between gusts of wind, as if it were fading in and out from another dimension.
    “Are you sure it’s safe?” she asked. She pictured a giant wave washing T.J. and Gunner out to sea and her stomach knotted up.
    T.J. pulled the hood of the coat low over his head. “We’ve got the footbridge. We’ll keep one hand on it at all times. Should be fine.”
    Nathan stood behind Meg and opened the door wide. “Dude,” he said, pointing down at the isthmus below the house. “I don’t think so.”
    Meg’s eyes jumped to the roiling sea. A savage wave crashed over the tiny strip of land, temporarily submerging it. Then the water was sucked back out, and the isthmus emerged from its cover. Meg caught her breath.
    “The bridge is gone.”
    “Shit,” T.J. said. He pushed out onto the porch for a better view.
    “That is not good,” Kumiko said.
    T.J. turned and walked back into the house, stripping off the yellow rain slicker. “Completely gone,” he said. “The storm must have destroyed it.”
    Vivian stuck her head out the front door. “You can get across without it, right? The waves aren’t that bad.”
    “Are you insane?” Kumiko pulled her back inside. “Without the bridge even a small wave would suck you under.”
    “But we can’t just sit here.”
    “Then you try it.” Kumiko folded her arms across her chest. “Be my guest. I’ll watch you. From up here.”
    “Kumiko’s right,” Kenny said calmly. “There’s no way we’d make it.”
    Vivian’s eyes practically popped out of her head. “You mean we’re stuck here?”
    T.J. nodded. “At least ’til the storm lets up.”
    Meg gazed into the downpour. A lull in the wind and rain exposed the outline of the Taylors’ house across the isthmus. It seemed so close, so comforting, and yet they couldn’t get there. She slowly closed the door and leaned her forehead against it. None of her ideas had worked. They were trapped.
    “What do we do now?” Kumiko asked. She had Gunner’s hand gripped in her own.
    “We should take her down,” Kenny said quietly. It wasn’t a question, and though his voice was soft—barely above a whisper—Meg got the distinct impression that Kenny was trying to contain his pain. She didn’t want to see him unleash.
    Apparently, Vivian wasn’t worried about pissing Kenny off. “Take her down? Are you insane? That’s a crime scene. The police will need to investigate.”
    “Last time I checked, suicide wasn’t a crime,” Kumiko said.
    Kenny was resolute. “We can’t just leave her there.”
    “Why not?” Vivian asked.
    “It’s disrespectful.”
    “It would be disrespectful to move her. What if we destroy evidence?”
    “Calm down, CSI,” Kumiko said.
    Meg thought of Minnie huddled on the floor in the garret. While she appreciated Vivian’s point—God help her—without any way to contact the police and without any idea of when Jessica might arrive, it seemed too horrible to leave Lori’s body hanging there. What if they were stuck on the island until Monday?
    “I agree with Kenny,” she said. “We should take her down.”
    T.J. nodded. “Me too. Anyone else opposed?”
    Nathan, Gunner, and Kumiko shook their heads.
    “Fine,” Vivian said. Her face flushed red with anger. “But I’m not taking any responsibility for this. If the police ask me, I’ll tell them it was your idea and I tried to stop you. You’ll all get in trouble. Not me.” And with that, Vivian stormed off down the hall.
    “If she stomps off every time she doesn’t get her way,” Kumiko said, smiling after her, “can I have permission to disagree with every single thing she says?”
    “That shouldn’t be hard,” Meg said.
    “Now what?” Gunner asked.
    T.J. looked at Meg. “Do you really