Storm

Genre: Disaster Thriller

“Woah, you see that?” Deidra jumped, nearly spilling hot tea on her sweater.

“What?” She snapped, annoyed, jolted from staring into space. This weather always made her jittery. The chamomile tea was doing little to help.

Luckily Filip was used to it. He paid it no attention. “There’s someone out there.” “Look.” He beckoned her over to the window. She turned quickly, yanking the curtains shut. “I wish them the best.”

“They might need help or something.”

“Call Storm Rescue.”

He rolled his eyes, “Come on, Dei, what if it was you stuck out there instead?”

“I wouldn’t be foolish enough for that to happen. Nails are in the box under the sink. Don’t forget to do board up the bathroom window this time.” She plopped down on the couch, pressing play on the VCR. Old school one-upped Wifi in endurance. The storms had to work harder to defeat it.

“They could be hurt.”

“Make sure to use the landline cell reception is down.”

“Aite, hear me out. What if we call Storm Rescue, and while we wait, I go outside just to check and see how they’re doing?”

“What if they’re a serial killer? What if they fancy the taste of human flesh? What if they’re just waiting for some unassuming sap to rob. We could play this game all day. The point is, you're not opening that door.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Filip walked to the kitchen counter, dialling the number.

“Since you’re over there, pop me some popcorn, will you?”

As far as Deidra was concerned, this conversation was over.

~

The wild and booming thump inside Deidra’s chest made it impossible to intake anything more than shallow breaths. Dilated pupils widened, rooted by fear. Her own fingernails wreaked havoc down into her palm. In the back of her mind, she knew the scream bubbling up her stomach would soon escape, whether she wanted it to or not. Thunder rumbled overhead, flooding her in a fresh bout of dread. If she could regain control over her own body, she might have seen the hand before warm fingers enclosed themselves around the back of her neck. The scream tore through her then, raw and unruly.

A familiar roaring wiggled its way through her hysteria, cutting it down at the root and morphing it into something much more violent. The couch cushion became the weapon of choice. She slammed blow after blow into Filip, who was bowled over in a laughing fit.

“Why would you do that?” Each word was punctuated by another blow.

He struggled to respond through the siege of uncontrollable laughter.

“Why do you-” he broke off gasping for air, “watch that stuff, — if you can’t...— handle it?”

She huffed, sitting back on her heels.

“I have yet to find another thing that distracts me from this weather.”

For a split second, the whole room lit up, just before the lightning strike flung them into deep darkness.

“There goes that.”

The generator would kick in about three minutes later, but the TV didn’t make the cut on the list of things labelled “necessity.” Deidra sighed. The storm had won this round.

It's fine, it's fine, she repeated in her head. We’re well equipped for this.

As if they heard her, the string lights danced across the walls in their choreographed flicker. Popping on one after the other, they swallowed up the darkness with their soothing, amber glow. The heating kicked in next, swiftly stomping out the cold that was already trying to creep its way in.

“See, we have nothing to worry about.”

“Right. Nothing to worry about.”

“Wait, did you board up the bathroom window?”

“No.” The sharp twang of metal scraping against metal ambushed their senses, heads whipped around to the sound.

“I’m afraid he didn’t.”

The man twirled a silver switchblade on his thumb, but all Deidra saw was the muddy water his boots dripped onto her wooden floors.

“Cosy little house you got.” He nodded in appreciation, inspecting the space.

“Nice touch with the string lights. Not my usual taste, but I think I’ll keep those.”

“Serial killer, psycho with cannibalistic tendencies or plain old opportunist?”

Filip bristled. This really was not the time.

“What?” She shrugged. “He’ll kill us either way. I just wanna know if any of my earlier guesses were right.”

“Umm, good question.” The man tapped the blade lightly on his chin as he ambled around. Deidra cringed, watching him leave a trail of mud. Filip was blocking her with his body, but she could still see the muck he left in his wake.

“I’ll take two out of three. You’re ‘bout the sixth house I did this to for the year. Guess that makes it serial, and the window in your bathroom is broken. You probably should've boarded that up, strong winds out there.”

“Imagine I reminded him twice about it.” Deidra rolled her eyes as Filip glanced at her in disbelief.

“Should’ve listened to your wife man.”

“Look. Money, food, what? We’ll try to help you however we can. Put the knife down, and we can talk. Maybe get you some dry clothes? You can stay here until Storm Rescue comes. I called them a while ago. They should be here soon.”

He chuckled, “think we both know no one’s coming.”

“Here’s when I would slit your throats and put you outside, let the storm work its magic, but you seem like sweet people. So how ‘bout this, if you survive the night out there, I’ll leave with food and money, and you can forget all about me.”

“Please, we won’t last an hour.” Filip grimaced. Deidra’s face had drained of colour. She stood like a grey stone statue, stuck in time.

“Then I do you a favour and kill you first. Your choice.”

“I’d rather you kill me,” she whispered.

“Wait! No, she didn’t mean that. Let’s not do anything rash.”

She ignored Filip, staring the intruder dead in the eye.

“I’m not going out there.” Something slammed against the door as if to emphasize her point, rattling the nearby windows.

“Kill me.”

“Wait. Stop, we can work something out.” The plea rang on deaf ears, and before he could think it through, Filip was tackling the man to the ground.

She watched in a daze, already disassociated from the brawl taking place at her feet. All she could hear was thunder rolling in her ears. She would rather die than step foot out there. Then the door flung open, and Deidra saw red.

She didn't know how it happened. Maybe Filip did it on purpose, trying to force the man outside, maybe the constant battering weakened the hinges. Whatever it was, it no longer mattered. Rain soaked the floor in seconds. The rampage of the wind pummelled everything it touched.

The torrent drowned Filip as he struggled to block the onslaught of blows to the ribs. At one point he was winning, but he knew that was no longer the case. Then the rain washed him in warmth, oozing down his face. A hand yanked him by the foot, dragging him out of the doorway. The blows had come to a halt, and the world went quiet again. A coopery tang in the air told him all he needed to know. It wasn’t the rain that warmed his swelling cheek.

Deidra stood above him, switchblade in hand.

“Who opened the door?”

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Hurricanes and Climate Change https://www.ucsusa.org/resources/hurricanes-and-climate-change