There was no silence to hear. There was no air to breathe. All Sally met as she crossed into the street was a deafening wall of wind and water, an assault swift and sturdy enough to whip her feet aside at any moment. All around her, torrents of ice-cold water froze her jeans to her legs, numbing them to the honed strikes of hailing rain. Lump after lump of storm debris careened towards her from the sloping street out of the village, unearthed fencing and crumbling brick walls clustered into rogue wrecking balls that tore through any trace of resistance. Minutes after setting off, Sally threw herself against the side of a house to dodge a falling tree. Her heart lived in her mouth after that.

    Sally had lived through brutal storms before. As a young child, she had spent nights squeezed into Ronan's room to make way for families who lived by the river, in case flooding conspired to sweep them away with their homes. Calls of thunder often broke through the wailing winds on rough nights, the booming bass rocking her ribcage and keeping rest at bay until the sun peeked over the horizon. The next morning, she would swallow her sadness as the radio news laid out the losses in agonising detail, her gut wrenching at the lives taken, the stories lost. 

    Such retrospective descriptions never came close to capturing the sheer power Nature wielded around her now.

    A veil of water drowned out Sally's sight, yet the blurred forms of collapsed sheds, overturned plant pots, and escaped bicycles skidded through the river of rainwater that ran around her calves. Wallowing clouds mingled with shrouds of mist to suffocate the world until its colour bled away, its shine dissolved under rushing black waters, and roaring gusts devoured every trace of its peace. Flashes of lightning caught Sally's eye again and again, yet the thrill of the thunder blasts never failed to shock her hairs to their finest edges.

    Sally did not dare to look back at the sea as she fought her way up the trail to the farm. She did not need to, as the image of the bloated waves battering the bay endured in the back of her mind, the thought of her father and brother trapped on their tiny tin vessel packaged with it. The sea around Porthdruro had given her family life for decades. She did not want to see the power it held to take that life away.

    Shivering every step of the way, Sally's sluggish mind churned up the hazy image of Flick's face to keep her going. The memory it chose came from her first encounter with the girl, leaning out over the windshield from the driver's seat, her arm extended to invite Sally to join her. Her heart fluttering at the thought, Sally turned to anticipate the car rolling up behind her again. It never came, and as she struggled forward without looking, her foot sank into a sodden mound of soil. Sally clawed for balance at the slick fence post beside her, gasped, then fell into the muddy lake that consumed the track ahead of her.

    The world around Sally disappeared into a black sea. The tang of earth and rainwater soured her mouth. The slow chill that lurked in the water claimed her body. Motionless in the mud, she felt the urge to stay there forever float at the margins of her mind, a small whisper cutting through the ghastly howls. Pressing on seemed ridiculous when there was nothing ahead but rural roads reduced to swamps by the storm, and turning back was signing up for her own demise at her mother's infuriated hand. 

    Save for finding more puddles to swill in, there was nothing Sally could do.

    Suddenly, two pictures fell between the threads of Sally's thoughts, each one a scene so vivid she believed she had lived them before. The first was of her father and brother stranded among a clutch of lifeless sea rocks, their boat twisted to scrap metal by the storm, their bodies wracked with exhaustion and untreated wounds. After that scenario, a view of her mother followed, stranded in the shelter of the family's scarred cottage, burdened with knowledge of her husband and son's plight yet powerless to affect it. They were helpless. Sally was not.

    Climbing out of the mud was tougher than Sally expected, and she needed a few attempts to stump up the strength to dislodge herself from the dirt. Once up, she lowered her face to dodge the rain-filled headwind and shuddered at the sight of her own state. Filth spread like a pestilence across the front of her coat and onto her palms, under her nails, and more onto her cheeks than she wanted to know. Her shoes were unrecognisable blocks of mud. No matter what happened now, her mother's rage at her daughter's bedraggled appearance would surely blow Sally to pieces.

    One look up brought Sally a glimpse of a pale yellow glow through the mist, however, and she let the hope it planted warm her frozen body. Eyes fixed on the light, she braced herself for another hard march through the storm. She had reached the farm.

    The twin needs to be heard over the gale and to confirm she had really reached her destination drove Sally to knock harder than she had ever knocked before on the farmhouse door. As her knuckles screamed in pain, the door split open by the slightest fraction to reveal an eyeball. It glanced around before landing on her shape. "Sally?" a voice squeaked just sharply enough for Sally to tell it was Polly Rowe. "What in the blazes are you doing out here?"

    "I need to talk to Martin," Sally cried over the wind, her hair whipping into her face. "It's urgent, I promise!"

    Polly grumbled behind the door, then opened it fully. "You'd best come in, out of this rotten storm," she said, shielding her eyes from the spray that poured through the doorway behind Sally. Slamming the door shut once her guest was inside, Polly turned to face Sally, shrieking as she took in the mess consuming the girl. "The state of you, lass! The state of my carpet! Dig your way here from the Isles, did you?"

    Cold fatigue chattered Sally's teeth together as she studied herself in the farmhouse's light. As well as her coat, mud and water soaked the best part of her jeans and, somehow, her cardigan, and a string of nicks and cuts lined her hands. A soreness on the side of her head warned Sally a large bruise was going to mark her there sooner or later. "Sorry..." she whispered, discovering a patch of mud in her hair.

    "No use being sorry for it now. We have to get you sorted out, before you do yourself more damage." Examining Sally's clogged hair, Polly nudged the girl towards the blue-carpeted stairs. "The bathroom's upstairs, you can clean yourself up in there, first things first."

    "No, wait!" Sally whipped out the note from her coat pocket, all but the tips of its corners spared from the storm's wrath. "I need to give this to your Martin, he needs to get the lifeboats to my dad and Ronan! Please!"

    Polly's eyes widened, and she took the paper out of Sally's hand. "Out on the sea? Blasted idiots! Is there anything but wool in either of their skulls?" With a groan, she flashed the note at Sally and pointed up the stairs again. "I'll see Martin gets this now. You go up there and sort yourself out."

    "I should come with you, I can explain –"

    "Now, lass!" Though her tone was biting, it was concern that lingered in Polly's face. "It might be my husband's farm, but he knows who's boss. If I ask him to do something, he'll do it, and he'll not be bellyaching about it, neither, believe you me!"

    As if the woman had uttered a spell, the adrenaline pumping through Sally's body evaporated. She slumped against the oakwood banister, dragged to earth by the weight of water that swilled in her clothes. "Thank you," she whispered as Polly lunged forward to catch her. "Really."

    Her host shook her head, mumbling under her breath. "You're just like your father, lass," Polly sighed, guiding Sally onto the steps. "You're foolish enough to go out to sea in a storm, and you're stubborn enough to stay on the ship as it sinks and all. Daft and bloody-minded, the pair of you."

    Sally narrowed her eyes. "Right," she said, too tired to protest.

    "But you're carrying big hearts around, and I'll always put a pretty penny on you to go the extra mile to get things done." Polly patted Sally's arm, squeezing around her sore muscle. "Your dad and brother will be fine, Sally. Go look to yourself now. The bathroom's just to your right from the top of the stairs."

    "Thank you," Sally repeated as she started climbing the stairs, undoing the buttons of her coat. She looked over her shoulder to utter the sentiment a third time, yet Polly had already left to deliver her message. Nervous, relieved, and tired all at once, Sally made her way to the bathroom.

    As she stepped onto the landing, Sally's heart skipped in her chest. In the dusty blue-tiled bathroom ahead of her, Flick ran a red towel over her face and caught sight of Sally in the mirror. "Coming all this way through a storm to see me? I knew you were tough, but wow. That's some next-level commitment, Sal," Flick said, one strap of her white vest top travelling down her bare arm as she turned. "Though not even you can pull off the 'dumpster diver' look, sorry."

    Feeling Flick's eyes on her again exposed how tense Sally had been during the days she had missed it. With a single look, Flick put her further at ease than any family time or brotherly pep talk could. "I had a rough go of it to get here," Sally said with a weak laugh, looking down at her sodden clothes and shrinking at the mud streaks her shoes left on the carpet as she shifted her balance. "Polly told me to sort...this out, so I'll just wait for you to finish up and then I'll get to scrubbing."

    Flick whipped her gaze over Sally's shoes, coat, and face. "Better take my bedroom, then, because scrubbing that up is going to take so long, you might as well move in here." She tossed the towel over the radiator and shrugged as it fell onto the tiles, then crossed to Sally's side. Her hands landed on Sally's shoulders, and in one move she whipped the dirt-covered coat from her frame. "Face it, sailor. Only hope can save these lost souls now. Hope plus a wicked chemical bath, that is."

    "Soaking all this? It's probably for the best, but..." Sally fidgeted by the handrail, stunned at how much filth had penetrated her coat's armour to taint the rest of her outfit. "Would Polly mind? I don't want to take up her bathroom for hours on end just for my clothes."

    "Chill, Sal! Auntie Pol's already sick of the sight of you for leaving muddy footprints all over her carpet, I'd bet," Flick said, smirking at the tracks that led from the front door right to Sally's feet. "She's got an old washtub stashed somewhere, anyway, and it's big enough to do the trick, no problem."

    Sighing with relief, Sally smiled and gripped the banister. "If you're sure she won't mind, we can do that."

    "We? No way, bud." Sally's coat fell into a heap on the floor as Flick took her hand, leading her into the bathroom and closing the door behind them both. "Your gross clothes won't be clogging up the bathroom, sure. But if you think I'm letting you leave here looking like a swamp monster, you're fresh out of luck!"

    The weight of Sally's clothes dragged on her limbs, and the mud around her hands and face dried to her skin in the warm bathroom air. "I couldn't ask you to sort all this out by yourself, Flick," she said, her voice quiet. "It'd be so much trouble."

    Flick raised her eyebrow and set her hands on Sally's cardigan, unfussed by the dirt coating her fingers as she took hold. "And your parents tried to call me trouble," she said as she undid the cardigan's buttons. The last button released after a struggle, and Flick tossed the cardigan open with a flourish. "There's your head-start. The rest is your problem. Strip off and hop in the tub while I dig up a bag to carry all this junk in."

    Seeing Flick step back towards the door, Sally gave in to the urge to reach out and catch the girl's parting hand. "Flick, I..." she began, small shocks rolling along the length of her fingers beside Flick's. After a few false starts, she shook her head. "Thanks."

    "Don't get all mushy on me now, bud. Puffy red eyes aren't in style right now." Flick looked Sally up and down again, then squeezed the girl's hand. "Just...next time you decide to screw around in the middle of a flooded wasteland, don't forget to invite me. Anything that messes you up this much has to be wild, and I want in!"

    With one last wink, Flick disappeared through the doorway, shutting the door as a grin bloomed on Sally's face.