Hurricane Power by Sigmund Brouwer

hadn’t seen Carlos’s friends—if you could call them that—on the way home, even though I’d been watching for them. At suppertime,I’d been so distracted that Mom asked me if something was wrong. If I had thought there might be something she could do to help, I would have told her. But it didn’t seem right to get her worried about something I had to deal with, so I’d kept my mouth shut.
    Even falling asleep, I’d been thinking about those two guys and wondering what hold they had over Carlos.
    And now he was on our doorstep at three in the morning? It didn’t make any sense to me.
    â€œWho is he?” Dad asked.
    â€œA guy from school,” I said. “The one who thought I pulled a gun on him.”
    â€œI see,” Dad said. His short hair stuck up in all directions. Much like mine probably did. “Guess you had a chance to talk to him. That explains why he knows where you live.”
    Then I realized something. All Carlos knew was my name. I hadn’t told him where I lived. This was getting stranger by the second.
    I followed Dad down the stairs.
    We found Carlos bent over in the frontentry, leaning his hands on his knees. He was breathing heavy. Sweat popped from his forehead like he’d run to get here.
    â€œHi,” I said.
    He straightened and tried not to pant. “Remember today you said maybe you could help if I asked?”
    I nodded. Dad was beside me.
    â€œI came here because I got nowhere else to go. It’s Juanita. My baby sister. I think maybe she’s dying.”
    Carlos moved his dark eyes from my face to my dad’s.
    â€œYou’re a doctor. Can you save her?”
    All I knew about Carlos was that he was proud and stubborn and, until now, had wanted me far away from his life. For him to be here and begging for help told me he was desperate.
    Dad must have understood that. He didn’t even hesitate.
    â€œI’ll get my coat and car keys,” Dad said, “and tell your mother where we’re going. You guys meet me at the car.”

chapter seventeen
    Dad carried a small leather bag filled with emergency medical equipment. And he was wearing a baseball cap. He threw one at me as he got into the car.
    â€œYour hair looks goofy,” he said. He tugged his hat down on his head. “And I’m afraid mine looks as bad as yours.”
    â€œThanks,” I said, not meaning it. Still, I put my hat on.
    Dad started our Jeep Cherokee. He adjusted the rearview mirror to look at Carlos.
    â€œTell me where to go,” Dad said, backing the Jeep into the street.
    â€œYou turn right at the corner.”
    Carlos gave Dad directions turn by turn. Other than that, we said little as we drove. It had rained during the night. The streets were oily wet, and as we passed beneath each streetlight, the drops of water on our windshield glinted like round diamonds.
    Finally we reached a huge old house on a street near the school. Dad parked. We all got out.
    Carlos walked ahead of us without a word.
    We followed.
    The grass had not been cut in weeks. As we walked up a crooked sidewalk, I saw bicycles buried in the yard like rusting skeletons. Ahead, in the shadows that fell on the house from a dim streetlight behind us, I saw that some of the windows were broken. There were few lights on inside the house.
    It occurred to me to wonder if Carlos was taking us into some kind of trap.
    Before I could say anything to Dad, we were at the front steps.
    Then inside.
    The air smelled stale. Like old garlic and grease. And cigarette smoke. And a little like a cat’s litterbox. Somewhere deep inside the house a television blared.
    Carlos flicked on a light.
    We were in a hallway. I saw four doors, all shut, each with a name written on it in blue pen. Some names had been scratched out to make way for new ones.
    I also saw a set of stairs leading up.
    Carlos took the stairs.
    I heard crying above us. I heard voices below from