The Storm

The man on the radio had said it would be one of the worst storms in this part of Michigan in over 20 years. It would be a historic phenomenon with the potential to devastate the area. He said that they were to be prepared for power-outages spanning over several days or weeks.

Leslie sat shivering in the corner of her basement, listening to the droning cautions of the weather man, staring at the bulb of light over her that swayed ever so slightly. When the man would stop talking for a moment, she could hear the pounding of hail overhead and she’d clutch her knees tighter, her fingernails digging into her skin and leaving deep imprints.

She’d moved to this town because she’d heard that Michigan weather was relatively safe and, up until now, it had been. Only a few thunderstorms over the years that would occasionally have her tensing in her cushioned armchair in the living room, but not an unmanageable amount of stress.

Growing up in Kansas, she’d been through her fair share of terrifying storms and they had never gotten easier to deal with. When she was nine, her uncle’s farm had been ripped apart by a violent tornado. The powerful winds had even managed to toss his old 1969 Ford Ranger a couple of miles away. When they found it the next day, they discovered that it had been crushed like a soda can.

The night her family had gotten trapped while out celebrating her brother’s birthday, Leslie had seemingly been the only one wary of the dark sky above and the light rain that fell as they packed into the car to go to dinner. She had fretted the entire meal, much to the chagrin of her parents who had told her to calm down. That’s when the sirens began and the entire restaurant was shuffled into a back room, away from the front windows, to wait out the storm. Leslie’s sobs were not the only sound of panic in that huddle of strangers. By the time the storm had subsided, many houses and buildings in their small town had been flattened in only mere minutes, taking a few casualties with them.

Seeing the destruction a simple swirling gust of wind could do had completely terrified Leslie. To her it always felt practically unpredictable as well. She had wanted to eliminate that looming dread from her life.

She’d thought that moving to Michigan would be her escape from that threat, yet here she was huddled in her basement taking slow, deep breaths, struggling to calm her nerves and keep her limbs from trembling.

All day at work, people had been talking about the upcoming storm as though it was a sporting event. They eagerly debated whether the store would get shut down early so they all could go home. It was as if this was just a mild inconvenience at worst. Leslie had been trying to remain calm as her co-workers buzzed about being stocked up with food for days, just in case they were all stuck in their homes for a while. She had to believe they didn’t think the storm would be this bad.

The radio began to pulse with a static that would fragment the weather man’s alerts into a jumble of short phrases and words. Leslie picked up the radio, nervously fidgeting with the dial to try and reclaim the signal but each notch she turned, the static just became louder, nearly drowning out the man’s advisories to stay away from windows, to expect hail damage and wind gusts with enough force to pick up large debris.

“Come back, damnit,” Leslie found herself muttering helplessly through shuddering breaths. She didn’t want to be alone now. Her cat, Albatross, had hidden himself away under a shadowy shelf in the basement, doing little to comfort her. She’d brought his pet bed down into the basement, though currently it was unoccupied. It seemed ironic that she had managed to adopt a creature as terrified of storms as she was.

A few tears of anxiety and relief leaked out from the corners of her eyes as she managed to reclaim the signal of the weather broadcast. The man’s voice returned with his constant advisories, mostly clear but with a thin layer of static buzzing just underneath his words.

The bulb over her head flickered threateningly. Her neck tensed with each surge, and she practically jumped to her feet when a loud boom of thunder rattled the foundation of the house and the light finally went out, submerging her in darkness. Frantically reaching into her pocket she grabbed her small flashlight and one twist of its neck illuminated the room enough for her to navigate her way to her survival gear.

She scanned the provisions she’d stored under the stairs: stacks of various canned goods for both her and Albatross that would be enough to last them for a couple of months if need be, folded blankets, pillows, and winter coats and gear, a small bucket overflowing with packages of batteries, flashlights, lanterns, candles, and matches.

She dropped the flashlight and quickly snatched a candle and a box of matches. She struck the match against the rough strip once, twice, and a third lit the tip with a sudden flame.It was short lived comfort as her heavy sigh of relief blew out the small flame.

She spat a string of curses through a clenched jaw. Quickly striking another match, it immediately flared to life and she was careful not to extinguish this one too. She lit several candles and placed them at various spots around the room, bathing the stone walls in a flickering yellow glow.

More rumbles from overhead, and a crashing sound somewhere in the house had Leslie diving away from the stairs.

“Take shelter–sized hail–wind gusts over 200 miles per-hour,” The weather man chimed in periodically in between violent bursts of disrupting static. Leslie knew enough about storms to understand that the system overhead was producing ideal conditions for an EF Five tornado. Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks and her chest was so tight from the anxiety she could barely breathe.

Shoving her back against the farthest wall from the stairs, Leslie slid down to the floor, tucking her knees up close to her chest as she sobbed loudly. She could only imagine the worst case scenarios. What if she got stuck down here? Something could fall against her basement door and trap her down here for days or weeks before anyone notices that she’s gone. She saw images of her house in ruins. The wreckage would bury her and this basement would become her tomb. She’d be all alone…

More large chunks of hail slammed into the roof and the radio static began to overpower the weather man’s voice. Leslie barely recognized the train whistle-like sound that faintly accompanied the overwhelming noises around her. She slammed her hands against her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling rapidly, each gasp for air more difficult than the last.

It could have been several minutes or several hours, she wasn’t quite sure, before she felt something warm and soft trying to wedge itself between her chest and thighs. Leslie’s eyes flew open and she looked down at a black mess of fur desperately pressing against her. Albatross moved his head so that his big yellow eyes were staring up at her. She could see his mouth moving, but didn’t hear his pleading meows until she removed her hands from her ears.

She didn’t hesitate to scoop the cat into her arms. As she pulled him close to her, he purred loudly, the rumbling heavy against her chest. The sensation relaxed Leslie. Her tears wetted his fur, but he kept purring anyway, tucking his small damp nose further into her arm. She pushed away the thoughts of the horrors outside as his purring and her breath became the only thing in the world.

Maybe Leslie wasn’t alone after all. Someone understood her anxiety. Someone cared enough to comfort her even when they were just as terrified. Those violent sounds: the pounding on her roof, the crashing somewhere in the house above, the wind and thunder that made the whole building shudder, the weather man’s voice that occasionally broke through the fuzzy interference to utter more warnings and updates. Leslie and Albatross nervously waited out the storm together as it all faded into dull background noise.