Travis Lindsay shuddered. He couldn’t help himself. He had never seen–or felt–anything quite so frightening, so powerful, so absolutely raw.

The storm had broken over the lake. The boys in cabin 4–which was known as “Osprey”–had seen it coming all afternoon: big bruised fists of cloud heading straight for the camp, the sky dark as night even before the dinner-bell rang. They had gathered on the steps of the cabin to listen to the growling and rumbling as the storm approached, and watch the far shore flicker from time to time under distant lightning.

There was a flash, and Nish began counting off the distance: “One steamboat…two steamboat…three steamboat…four steamboat…” A clap of thunder cut him off, the sound growing as it reached them. “Four miles,” Nish announced matter-of-factly. Nish the expert. Nish the Great Outdoorsman ever since the Screech Owls’ trip up North, when he nearly froze to death because of his own stupidity.

Then came the first overhead burst, and not even Nish dared speak. Directly above them, the sky simply split. It broke apart and emptied, the rain instantly thick and hard as water from a fire hose. The boys scrambled for the safety of the cabin and the comforting slam of the screen door. Travis had his hands over his ears, but it was useless. The second crack, even closer, was like a cannon going off beside them. The air sizzled as if the thunder clap had caused the rain to boil, and the walls of the little cabin bounced in the sudden, brilliant flashes of light that accompanied the explosion.

Not even a half steamboat, Nish, Travis thought to himself. Not even a row boat between flash and thunder. The storm was right on top of them!

The six boys in “Osprey” moved to the window. Wayne Nishikawa in front, then Gordie Griffth, Larry “Data” Ulmar, Andy Higgins, Lars “Cherry” Johanssen, and, behind them all, Travis Lindsay, the Screech Owls’ captain. They could barely see in the sudden dark of the storm, but then lightning flashed again, and instantly their world was as bright as if a strobe light had gone off. The streak of lightning seemed to freeze momentarily, like a great fiery crack in the dark windshield of the sky. Again they heard the sizzle of fire. And again thunder struck immediately, the walls bouncing, Travis shaking. He felt cold and frightened.

Another flash, and they could see, perfectly, as if in a painting, the girls’ camp across the water. Travis wondered if Sarah was watching. Sarah Cuthbertson had been captain of the Owls before Travis, and her new team, the Toronto Junior Aeros, were in six cabins out on the nearest island, along with the three girls–Jennie, Liz, and Chantal–who played for the Owls.

In the long weeks leading up to the end of the school year and the start of summer hockey camp, Travis thought he had anticipated every part of the upcoming adventure. Swimming…swinging off the rope into the lake…diving from the cliffs…waterskiing and fishing and campfires…even the mosquitoes. But he hadn’t imagined anything like this.

The storm held over them, the explosions now coming so fast it was impossible to tell which clap of thunder belonged to which flash of lightning. It seemed the world was ending. The light over the lake flickered like a lamp with a short circuit. The rain pounded on the roof. The door rattled in the wind. And Travis shook as if he were standing naked outdoors in winter instead of indoors, in a track suit, in July.

It wasn’t the cold so much as the feeling of helplessness, the insignificance. Being afraid of the dark was nothing compared to this. He’d gladly trade this unearthly light for pitch black and a thousand snakes and rats and black widow spiders and slimy one-eyed monsters lurking at the foot of his bed back home, where there had never, ever, been a storm like this one…

KKKKKKRRRRRAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!!

They saw a flash and heard a snap of thunder–but the sound that followed was new! It was a cracking, followed by a rushing sound, then a crash that made the cabin jump and the boys fall, screaming, to their knees.

“What the hell?” shouted Nish.

“The roof blew off!” yelled Data.

But it wasn’t the roof! They were still dry! Andy Higgins, who was the tallest, was the first to stretch up and look out to see what had happened.

“Look at that!”

Now they were all up to see.

“What happened?”

“Lemme see!”

Travis looked out through the rain-dimpled window. One pane of glass was broken, and wind and water were coming in on their faces. Outside, the lawn had vanished. Across the grass, lying right between their cabin and “Loon,” the next cabin over–where Willie Granger and Wilson Kelly and Fahd Noorizadeh and Jesse Highboy were staying–was a huge, shattered hemlock, its trunk split and its wood as white as skin where the bark had been ripped away.

It had missed both cabins by a matter of inches.

Travis began to shake even harder.