Death by Snow Day

You know how deadlines tend to cluster? No? Well mine do. And I've got a bunch coming up. So naturally last week was a complete bust in terms of getting any writing done. President's Day on Monday, sick child Tuesday-Wednesday, snow days Thursday-Friday.

Two days off of school for a whopping 6 inches of snow. Every parent I know was tearing their hair out last week. And then yesterday, the local weather people said it would snow from last night until tomorrow.

So far, not a flake. Which is a good thing. School's in session today, and I might actually have a shot at squeaking in under these deadlines. Of course the flip side is that, once again, we're going to get no snow, and we desperately need the moisture.

And my boys and I didn't get to build an igloo, which I'd really wanted to do. Because really, if there's no school due to snow, you ought to be able to build an igloo. Don't you think?

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But on the positive side of things, my article on Concussion came out in Science News for Kids. If your kids are out sledding, playing hockey, ice skating, or doing other winter sports, you might want to check it out.

How do you get work done when life gets in the way?

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Not quite according to plan

Ah, family camping trips. Fun and adventure. Or something like that.

This past weekend, we planned to take our boys camping for the first time. They were beyond excited. In fact, they were so excited that two weeks ago, Beloved Husband and the boys set up the tent in the back yard to let it air out (I was out of town at the time). Apparently, they forgot it was outside, and a thunderstorm hit around 5:30 in the morning. A few hours later, BH dumped several gallons of water out of the tent. I guess Mother Nature thought it needed a good wash. 

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For two weeks after that storm, we had no rain. Not a drop. Even the clouds - when they bothered to appear - were half-hearted and wispy. Weather forecast for our camping weekend: sun, sun, sun.

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Last Thursday: we get the last of the supplies. Weather forecast for the weekend: wind. Okay. We can handle that. It's always windy here (although to qualify as "windy" with the meteorologists here, it has to exceed about 30 mph). We'll just be sure we've got extra tent stakes. Besides, the tent can't blow away with all four of us in it, right?

Friday: we collect everything we need: tent, sleeping bags, thermarests, yadda yadda. The boys have never been quicker to help than when we asked them to get everything together in one place. Weather forecast: 30% chance of thunderstorms. Hmm. We can take our chances with that, since 30% chance of storms means 70% chance of no storms.

Saturday morning. We pack up the car. The boys are racing to put stuff in the trunk as fast as they can, and they're both itching to buckle up 30 minutes before it's time to go. Just to be on the safe side, we check the weather forecast: 70% chance of storms. Severe thunderstorms. BH and I dance around the issue of whether or not we're really going to pitch the tent and pretend we're going to camp, or whether we're going to crush two weeks of anticipation while the sun is still shining. We give the boys a heads-up that weather might end our trip early.

Saturday afternoon: Keep checking the clouds rolling in. No towering thunderheads, no sign of rain, just a lovely afternoon for fishing, grilling, and other fun stuff. Might be a good night for camping, after all.

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Saturday evening: Burgers for dinner, and the first sign of some seriously dark clouds on the way. News from someone with a decent data connection that a severe storm's about an hour away. Twenty minutes later, huge drops begin to fall, each one wetting a quarter-sized spot on the ground (I'm only exaggerating a tiny bit). We scramble to collect our stuff and hike to the car.

The drops are so cold and so big they feel like hail (the 6YO is convinced they are, until we tell him they're far too wet and don't hurt nearly enough to be hail). By the time we reach the car, we're completely drenched. BH starts the car and we head home.

The world turns gray. Wind buffets the car, driving rain in a constant onslaught against the driver's side. Then the clatter-thunk of hail joins the thrum of rain. Hail stones slide down the windows until they're bounced off by splashes of rain. Ahead of us, the painted line on the road disappears. We see an oncoming car's headlights only when it's about 20 feet away. The slightly rutted road starts flooding.

I spot a stand of trees on the left side of the road and tell BH to pull over next to it. He does, and we wait out the worst part of the storm in the shelter of the trees. Once we can see the road again, we continue on. On the other side of the lake, the roads are dry -  the storm hadn't gone that far south.

So much for our sun, sun, sun.

I blame the tent.

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W is for Writers, Wine, and Weather

Last night, we had a writers' night out.

Four hours at La Cocotte, five courses of fabulous French food, each course with a paired wine, while a thunderstorm raged outside.

It was a delightful evening.

And it was the last time the four of us will be able to go out like this. We'll miss you, Amber!

I'm over at The Rapscallion today, go check it out!

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There's no place like home...

After four (miserable) days in Budapest, we were finally going home! Caught the airport shuttle, arrived with plenty of time to get checked in. Flight on schedule. My heart soared.

Half an hour later, Beloved Husband asked, "So... why haven't they announced any flights?"

I glanced around and shrugged. "Maybe they're just clustered together."

Beloved Husband got up to look at the departure board. He scowled and returned to his seat.

"We're delayed by an hour. All incoming flights from Germany are delayed."

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Great. So the big snowstorm they'd predicted on the day we were supposed to leave didn't materialize, but the one they'd predicted for our return did. My mind raced... We were going to be stuck here, I just knew it. In the airport. Overnight. With two young kids and nowhere near enough diapers for the youngest. Dear God, why hadn't we stayed home?

We checked the departure schedule every five minutes after that, but the new time held. Our plane arrived, and we were ready to board. Except for one small problem.

"Final boarding call for flight... to Milan." This was the twelfth final call, and we quickly learned that they were planning to hold the plane for the TEN people who had not yet boarded. At our gate. And we would have to wait, too.

After about 20 minutes, someone had the bright idea to open a new gate so we could actually get on our plane. We were finally on our way, long after we were supposed to have landed in Berlin.

The flight is about an hour and 20 minutes. After 2.5 hours, I started to wonder what was going on. Eventually, the pilot came on to tell us that the airport wasn't allowing any planes to land. We would continue circling and see what happened.

Ten minutes later: "We will be landing at Schönefeld. Tegel still isn't accepting any planes. We're going to cut our losses and get on the ground." Good thing we hadn't left a car at the airport!

Within minutes, the landing lights on the wings came on and the landing gear went down.

"Wow, that was a smooth landing!" my mother-in-law said.

"We didn't land yet." I pointed out the window, where a blizzard obscured the end of the wing. "I sincerely hope it doesn't look like that when we're on the ground."

And then we landed! Everyone on the plane cheered. We taxied a short distance and stopped.

"Look outside," my mother-in-law said. It looked exactly like it had when we were in the air.

"We have to wait for a 'follow me' car--I don't know where they want us," the pilot explained. Outside the window was nothing but white. No sign of anything, including the airport terminal. The follow-me car parked us right there, in the middle of who knew where.

"Well, at least we're back in the city," I said, looking at the bright side.

"We have to wait for a bus to come get us," the flight attendant announced. "At least fifteen minutes." People stopped putting on coats and sat back down. Fifteen minutes later a small car pulled up and a woman came on board.

"There are several planes that had to land here," she explained, "and we don't have many buses. It will be at least 40 minutes before a bus can come get you." The flight attendants immediately brought out food and wine to prevent a riot.

Just as they finished serving our row, someone said, "The bus is here!"

Crap! I was holding a full glass of wine in one hand, with no place to put it because I had to put the seat tray up to get Snuggle Monkey. So I chugged it. We carried the boys down the steps, through about ten inches of snow, and onto the bus. We'd made it. We were officially back in Berlin.

Rrrrrrrr! The bus lurched a few inches forward. Pause. Rrrrrrr! Another lurch. Giggles and guffaws came from all around us. Again and again, the driver tried to get us going, but the snow was too deep. Then he tried backing up. Rrrrrrrrrr! Nothing.

"Would everyone please move to the back of the bus?" More laughter as everyone crammed together in the back half of the bus (good thing we'd been on a small plane). That did it. We started to move.

And then we were in the terminal. The cold air clung to us, and we wondered whether we would get our luggage, or if it would be left out there in the middle of the snow field until the plows had cleaned things up.

"Take the boys home," Beloved Husband said to my mother-in-law and me. "I'll wait here either for the luggage or to fill out lost luggage forms." Brilliant idea!

We led the boys outside, through the snow, in search of a taxi. Found one, got everyone buckled in and followed four plows home on the Autobahn. It took forever. Oh, and we had to pay for a second taxi, yet again. But we were home!


What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fiction based on fact. Snuggle Monkey did not plunge us into darkness; the rest was true.

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Lost in the Labyrinth

All Christmas day, we were stuck inside the hotel. Outside, the winds howled, blowing rain sideways past our window. Just above freezing; not the best kind of weather for sight-seeing. So instead of experiencing the wonders of Budapest, we sat inside. Thank goodness Santa had brought the boys some new toys to play with.

On the second day of Christmas (December 26th—Christmas is a two-day affair in much of Europe), we ventured outdoors. The temperature had dropped and the sidewalks were now covered with drifted snow. We had packed according to a weather forecast that predicted zero precipitation, so we were utterly unprepared. The boys couldn't keep out of the snow. Within ten minutes they were whining about their cold, wet feet.

We trudged up to the castle district, hoping to at least see something before we left the next day. Naturally, the castle was located at the top of a hill, so the winds were stronger than ever. After a few stiffly posed pictures at the Fisherman's Bastion, we searched for the Labyrinth. A dank underground tunnel system never sounded so inviting.

We arrived as they were setting up the annual Christmas candle-lighting event. Once a year, on December 26th, 1,000 tea candles light the inside of the Labyrinth, a series of caves beneath Buda Castle.

The tiny lights lined the passageways and made them seem almost cozy. And they were beautiful. I was really enjoying our trip for the first time.

"I wonder if there are any bats down here,"  Boss Man commented as we looked around.

"Bat! I'm a bat!" Snuggle Monkey said.

And then his little hand was no longer holding mine. He grabbed both sides of his unzipped jacket and held them wide, flapping his "wings." He looked like a tiny dracula flitting among the candles. I worried a bit that he'd get too close to the candles, but he seemed to be staying away from them. I let my guard down.

"I'm a super fast bat! The fastest bat in the world!"

Whoosh, he ran, down one side of the cavern. Candles flickered wildly in his wake. He wheeled around and came racing back toward us. Whoosh! Behind him, the candles went out, like a series of dominoes falling. He raced around us, as we stood in our dead-end section of the cave, which was rapidly getting darker with each flame that died. The last tealight, over to my left, sputtered and went out.

They turned off the electric lights after they lit the candles. In the utter darkness, I noted the warm, damp air against my face. And then the wails broke the silence.

"MAMA!!!!"

"PAPA!!!!"

The shouts ricocheted off the walls in a deafening din. I reached one hand out in the general direction of one of the wails.

"I'm here," I said, trying to keep a steady voice as I searched for my son in the darkness.

"Don't move," Beloved Husband said. "We'll find you. Just stay where you are. Keep talking."

"I'M HERE!"

I'm here... I'm here... echoed all around us.

"In a quiet voice please," Beloved Husband said. Wow, he was staying really calm!

Sweeping my arms in front of me, I started up a constant stream of quiet chatter. I wasn't sure if I was trying to calm my kids, myself, or my mother-in-law (who has since decided she won't be joining us on any more family trips to explore the cities of Europe). Or maybe, like a bat, I was trying to echolocate my way to my kids.

After a few moments, I located Boss Man, and my husband found Snuggle Monkey. Both were sniffling.

"What about me?" my mother-in-law asked.

"Take my arm, Mom," Beloved Husband said. "I can see a faint light down that way."

"You do?" I looked in what I thought was the direction of the passageway but didn't see anything. I did, however, hear feet shuffling away from me.

"Wait!" I said to my husband as he led us to what I hoped would be a way out.

"We're going to have to stock up on night lights after this," I muttered as we crept down the passageway.We seemed to be moving at a snail's pace—literally. I felt as if I could only go a few inches at a time, and Boss Man's grip threatened to permanently cut off circulation from at least two fingers.

"Wait, I hear someone," Beloved Husband stopped walking, and I ran right into him. Boss Man stepped on Snuggle Monkey's foot, which elicited a wail.

I peered into the darkness, hoping I might see that faint light he'd mentioned. And then I was completely blinded by a bright white circle of light that was right at eye-level about three meters away. Pain shot across the back of my eyes and I squeezed them shut. The afterimage lit up green and orange against my eyelids.

"Mi folyik itt?" came a voice out of the darkness.

"What? Sorry? Do you speak English?" Beloved Husband asked.

Beloved Husband explained as the worker pulled out his lighter and set about re-lighting the candles. Then he escorted us to the entrance. Apparently they didn't want us in the Labyrinth during their special once a year candle-lighting event. Sadly, I can't really blame them

What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fact.

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Fact or Fiction - taxi edition

This is the first of a new series of posts: Fact or Fiction Friday. Writing non-fiction as an engaging story is essential, and I also write fiction, so I'm going to post bits here that either recount actual events or are complete fiction. Can you tell which?

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I rushed out to finish last-minute shopping. I wanted to get everything crossed off my list before the snow hit and public transportation went from every-10-minutes to unreliable-if-it-runs-at-all.

The online weather forecast continued to predict heavy snowfall. Secretly, I prayed for it… hoped it would cancel our flight the next morning. Every time I walked through the doors of a shop onto the street, I inspected the sky. Low, dark clouds; very promising. And then I spotted the first snowflakes.

It begins! I rubbed my hands together in glee. No Christmas travels this year. No stress of wrangling two energetic, loud boys in a foreign country while trying to simultaneously enjoy the sites and soak up the culture. We could kick back and relax at home.

Into another shop I went, giddy with thoughts of staying home. A few minutes later I came out, fully expecting to find a growing blanket of white. No such luck. No more flakes, just clouds again. Well, maybe it will start up again soon. Maybe it will snow all night.

By nightfall, no snow had fallen. I checked the forecast every 30 minutes to no avail. Finally, my husband and mother-in-law persuaded me to order a taxi for the next morning.

I grumbled but did it: a large taxi for the five of us, plus our luggage. They knew we were headed to the airport, knew exactly what we needed and when. I went to bed still hoping to wake to a blizzard.

In the morning, I glanced out the window, devastated to find that no new snow had fallen. Not so much as a centimeter. We finished packing and lugged everything out to the curb at the appointed time.

The boys chased each other around their grandmother while we waited. We had budgeted just enough time to get to the airport and check in, given that the roads were not well plowed.

After several minutes, we started to get fidgety.

“Call them,” Beloved Husband said.

“I don’t know the number.” I was stalling, and he knew it. He was also prepared: he rattled off the number, so I had to call.

“Hi, I ordered a large taxi but it’s not here.” I gave the address and she found my order.

“Yes, I’m afraid there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”

“But I ordered one last night.”

“I see that but there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”

Good grief, can she say anything else? “We're already late for the airport. We need a taxi.”

“I’m sorry, but there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”

A note of panic entered my voice. “What are we supposed to do? We’re going to miss our flight!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”

I could feel a hot little ball of fury growing in my chest. What’s the point of ordering a taxi if they don't send one? And yet, some small part of me thought: this is it! We’ll miss our flight!

“Can you send a regular taxi then? My two-year-old can sit on my lap,” I suggested, since the dispatcher didn’t seem to be able to come up with a solution on her own.

“No, you can’t do that,” she replied. “You have to have a large taxi for five people and there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”

I came within a millisecond of throwing my cell phone in a snow bank. Doing my best not to scream obscenities, I asked, “Well then what CAN you send us?”

“Two regular taxis.”

“Then send them! Immediately! Right this second! We're going to miss our flight!” I snapped my phone shut, fuming. A taxi that has been ordered isn’t available and their default option is to NOT SEND ONE?!?! Unbelievable.

Five minutes later, a taxi pulled up, and we loaded the luggage and started to get in, thinking we might get lucky and not have to pay for two taxis. But then the driver noticed there were five of us. No second taxi was anywhere in sight, but the driver insisted that it was coming and no, Snuggle Monkey could not sit on someone’s lap. We would have to wait.

We got the boys in, and just as the driver was about to get in the driver’s seat, he noticed that they needed child booster seats. So we all had to get out again while he got them. As he was doing this, the second taxi arrived. My husband and his mom climbed in that one while I got the boys and I buckled into ours.

And then we took off. Our driver raced along the icy streets. Initially, I was pleased—he was taking our timing problem seriously. But then he headed into the forest, where he passed cars on blind curves and careened close to snowbanks, trying to get to the Autobahn faster. Visions of my husband watching as a head-on collision killed his wife and kids in the car before him flashed through my mind.

Somehow, we made it onto the Autobahn in one piece and got to the airport in record time. In retrospect, the taxi incident was a sign that we should have stayed home.

What do you think? Fact or Fiction?  I'll reveal the answer next Friday.

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Stormy Memories

The winds picked up outside, but I only heard the growing howl when the air conditioner cycled off. The change roused me from my shallow sleep and I listened, tense, wondering how bad it would get. Then the AC cycled back on, drowning out the noise. I fell into a fitful sleep once more.

Until the house went silent.

The whine of the air conditioner abruptly stopped, the nightlight in the hallway went out, and the house felt like a silent tomb without the hum of electricity. Outside, the winds gusted stronger, and I could hear rain slashing against the windows. How the others remained asleep was a mystery to me.

Hearing someone in another part of the house, I got out of bed.  No need for a robe on a sultry night like this. Or was it morning? I glanced out the window, but it was impossible to tell.

My father-in-law stood in the kitchen. The emergency radio was on, and a monotonous voice recited the counties getting hit hardest, then a rundown of where the tornadoes were expected to hit next. No sign of them in our area, which was a relief.

We'd spent days preparing: stockpiling food, bottled water, batteries. We had tried four stores before finding batteries for the flashlights. The stores had been overflowing with people; like holiday shoppers, they had dashed for the items most in demand.

All the while, the sun had been shining in a clear blue sky that belied the monstrous storm churning in the Gulf. Now we had to hope that the supplies we had obtained were enough to get us through.

Having gotten little sleep, I desperately wanted coffee, but without electricity, there was none to be had. So I took some candles offered by my father-in-law and wandered into the living room.

In the dim light, the trees danced with a striking grace. As one, they leaned far to the left until some of the longest branches brushed against the ground. Then the wind abruptly shifted, and they twisted wildly in another direction. Limbs tore from the trunk to go flying into the pond. The windmill-styled weather vane spun so fast, I wondered if the axle would wear through.

After a while, the rest of the family woke and came wandering into the dimly lit room. The sun was up, now, but we could see nothing more than a dark gray sky.

The winds continued to strengthen, and the windows bowed under the pressure. Light coming through them bent at odd angles and the reflections of the candles swayed under the power of the storm. I wondered how long it would be before the windows broke. And where we would go when that happened.

The rain came in waves, sometimes as a wind-blown mist, other times in a torrent that masked everything outside. The winds continued to howl.

"Mama, come see!"

I left the safety of the couch to approach the window. At the edge of the yard two deer lay on the ground, waiting for the hurricane to blow itself out. They surprised me. I don't know what I thought the wild creatures would do during a storm like this, but just waiting it out--exposed--sure wasn't it.

Behind the deer, the trees  twisted in unnatural ways, bowing to the strength of the winds. And then, without warning, they straightened.

The rain all but stopped, the trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the glass panes stood still in their frames.

The eye was upon us.

Satellite photo of Ike approaching the Texas coast by NASA

Two years ago today, my family and I were visiting my in-laws in Texas when Hurricane Ike hit. It was the only hurricane I have ever experienced, and the eye passed right over us. We spent about 45 minutes in the eye before the force of the back eyewall hit.

Trees were uprooted, cars and homes were damaged, and we were left without power for nearly a week. But we were lucky. We were just far enough inland to avoid the extreme damage experienced closer to the Gulf. The windows held after the wind direction changed. The damage was relatively minor. And for that, I will always be extremely grateful.

What is the most awe-inspiring event nature has thrown your way?

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Stolen Moments

You know those moments when you get unexpected free time? When you thought you had one thing to do, and suddenly, you don't? The stolen moments that feel so much more valuable than scheduled free time? Yeah, those.

I have one right now.

I got home with the kids, and they immediately skipped next door to play. And here I am with what will probably turn out to be an hour and a half to myself. It feels different from my alone time during the day, when I've planned out what I will work on, and actually stick to the plan (for the most part).

Because right now, I can do anything.

I know what I should do: research magazines looking for nonfiction science/nature/environment articles, revise my MS, work up quiz questions for my students, write a query letter, work on a new PB idea.

But this is my stolen time. The afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves of the trees outside and my plants have long gone untended, due to the excessive rain we received these past few weeks. This afternoon is the perfect stolen moment, so I'm going to enjoy it outside.

What do you do with your stolen moments?

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Creativity challenge: Thunder mountain

I have two hours until I start working again, and I want to spend that time writing a non-fiction PB that I've been researching.  I also need to get that magazine article in the post... which means that I'm cheating today, because I've already posted this (for the Weather Blogfest), but it's my offering for the current creativity challenge. I wrote the scene for both the blogfest and the challenge, so it is not part of a WIP, although I plan to expand on it and turn it into a short story.

If you wrote something based on the image prompt, please put a link to your blog in the comments (or email it to me at anpstevens [at] gmail [dot] com, and I'll post it for you).

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand. The trees trembled and the ground vibrated.

Sammie cursed. It was getting closer. No storms for two months, and the day she and Tex went hiking, the thunderstorms were right on top of them.

Sammie looked at the hillside, trying to find a good place to shelter. No hope for caves. These mountains were too young for that.

Nothing here would do. She scanned the hill on the other side of the stream and saw what she was looking for.

“Tex.” Sammie turned to look for him, but he’d disappeared. Unbelievable.

“Tex! Where the hell are you?”

Another flash. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, thr—

The thunder rolled across the mountain like a wave. As if on cue, rain began pelting down from the sky.

Sammie tugged her hood over her head and scrambled up the hillside.

“Tex!”

“Here.” Sammie heard the call to her right. She found him lying in a ditch.

“What are you doing? Get up.” She grabbed his arm and tugged. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Tex pulled his arm back and shook his head. “Ditches are safe during storms.”

“Dammit, Tex, there won’t be any tornados. Lightning.” Sammie pointed up. “Think lightning.”

Tex half-rolled to see where Sammie was pointing. He scrambled to his feet.

“Don’t hide next to the tallest tree on the mountain,” Sammie said. She turned and headed downhill.

Tex caught up with her. “Where are we going?” She could hear the tremor in his voice.

She pointed. “There. Come o—”

The bolt of lightning was close. The trees threw long shadows before them and the ozone stung Sammie’s nose. One one-thousand, two—

Thunder hit like a sonic boom and made them both jump.

“Hurry!” Sammie said. They slid down the hill toward the stream, the ground slick with rain and mud. The stream was flowing fast, now: miniature rapids tearing around the rocks.

Sammie jumped across, landed on a rock, and slipped. Her knee cracked against the rock. Tex landed next to her and helped her up.

Limping, leaning against him, Sammie guided Tex toward the aspen grove.

She paused at the edge. Tex tried to pull her in. “We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

Sammie shook her head as she pulled off her rings.

“Take off your belt,” she said.

Tex stared at her. “What?”

“Take it off.” Sammie tugged the earrings out of her ears. “Do it, Tex. No metal.”

Tex fumbled with the buckle on his belt. His fingers were slippery from the rain.

“Here,” Sammie said. She undid the belt and yanked it free. She dropped it on the ground next to her mud-splattered jewelry. Then she shrugged out of her pack and left it, too.

Tex followed suit and they scrambled to the center of the aspen grove.

“Don’t sit, just crouch down.” Tex did as Sammie said.

Sammie’s knee wouldn’t bend. She stuck her injured leg to one side and crouched low on the other, head down to keep the rain out of her eyes.

Moments later, the world turned purple-white and Sammie heard sizzling. An instant later, thunder ripped the sky open. Sammie’s teeth chattered with the vibration that ran through everything: the trees, her bones, the mountain itself.

Sammie’s ears rang from the thunder. The scent of ozone was sharp, but as it faded, Sammie noticed a pungent note. Like a campfire. She looked at Tex, confused.

He was looking over her shoulder. “Fire,” he said.

Sammie turned to see flames at the edge of the grove.

* * *

Feedback and criticism are welcome!

And don't forget to enter my contest! Random.org will choose a winner on Wednesday morning.

Weatherfest entry

I don't usually blog on weekends, but I happened upon the Weatherfest at A Little Slice of Nothing last night. Given that my current creativity challenge prompt is a storm, I couldn't resist. 


* * *

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand. The trees trembled and the ground vibrated.

Sammie cursed. It was getting closer. No storms for two months, and the day she and Tex went hiking, the thunderstorms were right on top of them.

Sammie looked at the hillside, trying to find a good place to shelter. No hope for caves. These mountains were too young for that.

Nothing here would do. She scanned the hill on the other side of the stream and saw what she was looking for.

“Tex.” Sammie turned to look for him, but he’d disappeared. Unbelievable.

“Tex! Where the hell are you?”

Another flash. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, thr—

The thunder rolled across the mountain like a wave. As if on cue, rain began pelting down from the sky.

Sammie tugged her hood over her head and scrambled up the hillside.

“Tex!”

“Here.” Sammie heard the call to her right. She found him lying in a ditch.

“What are you doing? Get up.” She grabbed his arm and tugged. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Tex pulled his arm back and shook his head. “Ditches are safe during storms.”

“Dammit, Tex, there won’t be any tornados. Lightning.” Sammie pointed up. “Think lightning.”

Tex half-rolled to see where Sammie was pointing. He scrambled to his feet.

“Don’t hide next to the tallest tree on the mountain,” Sammie said. She turned and headed downhill.

Tex caught up with her. “Where are we going?” She could hear the tremor in his voice.

She pointed. “There. Come o—”

The bolt of lightning was close. The trees threw long shadows before them and the ozone stung Sammie’s nose. One one-thousand, two—

Thunder hit like a sonic boom and made them both jump.

“Hurry!” Sammie said. They slid down the hill toward the stream, the ground slick with rain and mud. The stream was flowing fast, now: miniature rapids tearing around the rocks.

Sammie jumped across, landed on a rock, and slipped. Her knee cracked against the rock. Tex landed next to her and helped her up.

Limping, leaning against him, Sammie guided Tex toward the aspen grove.

She paused at the edge. Tex tried to pull her in. “We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

Sammie shook her head as she pulled off her rings.

“Take off your belt,” she said.

Tex stared at her. “What?”

“Take it off.” Sammie tugged the earrings out of her ears. “Do it, Tex. No metal.”

Tex fumbled with the buckle on his belt. His fingers were slippery from the rain.

“Here,” Sammie said. She undid the belt and yanked it free. She dropped it on the ground next to her mud-splattered jewelry. Then she shrugged out of her pack and left it, too.

Tex followed suit and they scrambled to the center of the aspen grove.

“Don’t sit, just crouch down.” Tex did as Sammie said.

Sammie’s knee wouldn’t bend. She stuck her injured leg to one side and crouched low on the other, head down to keep the rain out of her eyes.

Moments later, the world turned purple-white and Sammie heard sizzling. An instant later, thunder ripped the sky open. Sammie’s teeth chattered with the vibration that ran through everything: the trees, her bones, the mountain itself.

Sammie’s ears rang from the thunder. The scent of ozone was sharp, but as it faded, Sammie noticed a pungent note. Like a campfire. She looked at Tex, confused.

He was looking over her shoulder. “Fire,” he said.

Sammie turned to see flames at the edge of the grove.