Still Here

Some curse words.

The cackling intensified. They should be settling in for the night, so I hurried to finish gathering eggs. As I opened the coop door, the wind wrenched it from my grasp, and it slammed hard against the window. I looked up, and the cloudless day was now a murk of gray clouds moving north. After heaving the door shut and latching it, I lowered my head and powered through the gusting air. Leaves bombarded me as I passed the corncrib, and in the distance, the small-town siren wailed against the forces.

My heart and pace quickened. I hurried down the sidewalk and through the back door. The television blared with a beeping noise. Then the warning followed.

“Authorities have issued a tornado warning for north Leek County. Meteorologists have spotted a tornado two miles southwest of Bourbon, moving northeast at thirty-five miles an hour. If you live in or near Bourbon, take shelter immediately…”

I set the bucket on the table and called for my old dachshund, Sasha. She simply raised her head from the rug and laid it back down.

Plunk… Plunk, twigs hit the kitchen window.

“Good lordy! You fatty, we need to go down to the basement.” I huffed, lifting her up and into my arms.

Flinging open the basement door, I heard the wind howl through the cracks in the back door. It rattled, pushing my heartbeat even faster. Sasha trembled. I hugged her tighter. The steep basement steps creaked under my weight as I slowly descended. My feet left the wooden boards and hit the concrete floor as debris pounded against the basement window. No time to grab better protection. I pulled a folded sheet off the top of the clothes dryer, crouched at the bottom of the steps, and flung it over myself and the dog.

Sasha looked up at me with her big brown eyes as she quivered. I bent close to the cold cement, shielding her with my body.

“It will be okay, girl. It should end soon.”

The television above went quiet.

Bang! Something slammed into the roof—or maybe the side of the house.

The sound echoed through the basement and into my chest. I put the sheet in one hand and protected my head with the other. The dog shook under me, and I realized I was shaking just as badly.

“I guess it is time to kiss my own ass goodbye.”

The wet nose on my cheek that followed my words made my taut face relax into a half-grin.

Clunk, clunk—clunk.

More limbs?

The hard concrete made my knees ache, the pain radiating up my thighs as I covered my ears, trying to muffle the thunderous hum that seemed to pierce even the cement blocks.

The air under the sheet grew thin, and the impulse to peek overtook me. Green leaves were being forced against the window like a collage, and the holes between them were an eerie turquoise. My head returned to the cover.

My husband is getting out of work right about now, and it's going his way.

“Stay there, don’t be driving in this,” I muttered, as if he could somehow hear me.

Sasha panted heavily. “I know, girl, just another minute or so.”

The clanking, swooshing noises faded into only our breaths.

“We are still here,” I said, my hand stroking Sasha’s back.

I pulled off the sheet and threw it back on the dryer. With the dog tucked under my arm and using the stairs’ rail, I heaved my way upwards. Water trickled down the stairs from somewhere above. My brow furrowed, and I stepped faster.

A puddle of water in front of the back door, extending almost halfway down the entrance hall, was slowly seeping into the crevices of the hardwood floor.

“Crap—at least I have rubber boots on.”

Making my way through the dimming light to the kitchen, I sat Sasha down on the floor and ran to the bathroom.

Two, four, yeah, six towels should do.

With my arms full, I hurried across the brown-swirled carpeting and back to the entranceway. I threw the towels down and stomped on them lightly. They soaked up the liquid, but not enough.

I pulled the back door open and pushed on the screen door. There was more resistance than usual. Bracing my feet, I leaned into the door and shoved. The large branch scraped across the concrete step. There was enough room to take out the dripping towels. The cold fabric warmed my skin as I twisted it as hard as I could. Repeat. Wring. Mop. Repeat. Eventually, the floor was only damp.

The time—what time is it?

Clocks are not working. Check my cell phone.

Coffee table next to the sofa.

5:45 pm.

Marty should have been home fifteen minutes ago. The thought made my heart thump hard.

He calls me if he is going to be late.

I swiped the screen and found his number under contacts.

Plunk my finger down on call.

The connection hesitates, and I raise it into the air.

Ring… Ring… Ring.

“Sorry, the person you are trying to connect has a full inbox.”

“Crap!”

The pit of my stomach tightens.

Retry.

It rang twice, and then a click.

“Marty, are you okay?”

Silence.

I stepped onto the sofa, teetering on its unstable softness. I brought the phone closer to my ear.

“Hello, are you there?”

Nothing.

I glared at the screen, and it popped up, showing that the call had ended. My hand tightened around the phone’s hard plastic shell as I held my breath.

The phone suddenly chimed. Marty Edwards came up across the caller ID.

My finger swiped the green icon, and I exhaled in relief.

“Marty, are you okay? Where are you?”

A moment of heavy breathing.

“Yes, that was super scary. There is a barn in the middle of Highway 12. I will have to find a different route.”

My knees weakened

Marty was alive.

Now, I could go peer out the windows to see what the storm had done.