The Storm

Broken Branches and shopping carts tumbled through the parking lot under the incredible wind. What little rain came down was sideways and felt like an assault of gravel and BBs. Even nine hundred miles inland, we were feeling the effects of the hurricane. They said its arms had just reached the coast. Can’t imagine what the eye will hold.

“Zach, get your sister back in the cart. I think we can fit more water.”

“She’s too big for the cart, mom. She wants to stay down here,” Zach argued.

Shelly pulled on the grocery cart and looked up at me with curiosity and a hint of concern. “Why are we buying so much water, mommy?”

“Just in case, honey.”

“In case of what?” She was smart.

“In case everyone dies and there’s no water anywhere. Not the sink, not the bath tub, not even the toilet.” Zach teased. He didn’t know how right he was.

“Stop it, Zach!” Shelly cried.

“Zach, don’t scare your sister. Mommy and daddy just like to have extra water in the house. Now be good and you two watch the cart, okay?” Shelly gave me a confident nod and Zach rolled his eyes. “Zach, please.”

“It’s just hurricane season,” he moaned. “ I don’t know what you’re flipping out about. We’ve had a hurricane every year.”

We never used to. And never like this. The crowded store went quiet as the structure of the building began to groan and creak. Somewhere, a nervous employee turned up the music and tried to drown our fears. “Watch your sister,” I said. Hopefully we had raised him well enough to know how important it was that he listened right now.

The aisles were heavy with people and thin on goods and in a few short days everything would be off these shelves. I grabbed an abandoned cart and pushed across the aisles to beverages. A few jugs of water were left, enough to fill my cart. I hauled each one in as quick as I could, jug after jug. They made quite the mountain range in the basket that came to a pinnacle in the corner, a mini Olympus Mons.

A scruffy vagrant pushed his cart toward me. “Miss!” he shouted. “You can’t take all that water.” His wide eyes never blinked as he stared me down. His mouth twisted under his patchy, greying beard.

“There’s no ration,” I argued. “I can take as much as I need.”

He drew in closer. “And what about the rest of us? What we need?”

“I’m sure there will be another shipment at the end of the week,” I said as I pulled my cart away.

“Hey!” he shouted. His cart crashed into mine and pinned it against the shelves. “I need that water!” Customers passed the aisle more quickly to avoid the impending conflict. The creep reached into my cart with his dry, cracked hands – complete with broken, dirt encrusted nails - for a jug and I swatted his hand away, sending the water splashing down the aisle. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and closed his other hand into a fist. I circled my hand and grabbed his wrist, turned into him, and planted my waist into his thighs. Thrusting up, I yanked his arm, and tossed him over my hip. His head bounced and cracked against the tile floor and he twitched, unconscious.

I ripped my cart away from his and kept my eyes to the floor. It was self-defense.

“Miss,” a deep, but calm voice said from behind me. “Sure looks like that man slipped on a spilled jug of water.” I turned around to see a strong farmer who coached our high-school wrestling or football team. “For just two of your waters, I can make sure that’s the way everyone hears it.” I pulled out two jugs, placed them on the floor, and slid them over to him. I’d had enough and just wanted to get out, get away from the madness.

Zach and Shelly were fine, but the check-out line had barely moved. Because of the storm, their machines were down and the poor cashiers stared at our items, unable to take anything for themselves until the mobs had their way with the store. I politely wished the cashier luck and safety while Zach helped the bagger load our cart. Just as we pushed our cart through the exit of the building, the lights went dark and the sliding doors stuck open, welcoming in the winds of the storm. Customers roared in frustration and cried in panic.

“To the car. Hurry.” I handed Zach the cart and wrapped my coat around Shelly and we dashed through the dark parking lot. Zach handled the trunk and I strapped Shelly into her car seat. My engine roared to life, Zach hopped in the car, and we slipped out of the parking lot.

Waves of rain assaulted the car. Drops so thick that it sounded like the sky was dumping marbles. Shelly cried, “Mommy, I want to go home!”

“We’re almost there, honey,” I reassured her. My eyes darted back and forth from the wavering, cracking trees, to the turmoil of the windblown streets as we passed abandoned and wrecked cars. My stomach was pulled deep and hollow by nerves, knowing that the real storm was still days away.

The underpass between the store and home had flooded during our brief trip. Fording it could drown my engine, but the banks to the bridge above were steep and fenced with trees. The longer I debated the higher the waters rose. A car behind us honked. It was unbelievable there were other people on the road. I never should have brought the kids. The car flashed its lights and honked again so I blinked my hazards to signal for them to go around. A huge pick up roared past my driver’s side and ploughed ahead into the standing water. Throwing the car into gear, I followed its wake as it pushed the water away and zoomed out the other side of the underpass. I slammed on the gas to rush ahead as the wake hit the walls of the underpass and came back to close our brief window of opportunity and the returning water slapped against the back doors with a deafening thud. Shelly was crying, but we made it,

A few downed trees punctuated the ride home, but our street and driveway were clear. Adam opened the garage for us and helped bring in the groceries and supplies. We put the kids to bed and assured them everything would be okay. Adam and I watched the news and the predicted forecasts. Some models showed it would travel east to west along the coast and circle the globe two or three times before it died out. Doomsday evangelists said this was going to be our own spot like Jupiter, a never ending storm.

A break in the clouds and rain took us outside. Adam and I looked up to the dimming sky and saw Earth, the evening star. Reviving a clean, dead planet was one thing, but purifying a toxic dump is near impossible. That was the whole reason we left eons ago and now there was nowhere left to run. Most histories agree that we had barely survived the cataclysmic weather of Earth before we managed to revive and escape to Mars, but the super storms of angered planets may finally wash humans out of history.