appalling noise coming from?
Whatever its source, I didn’t think waiting it out in the barn was
safe.
Mom grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away
from the door. I resisted and shouted, “Let’s go to the cellar!”
but there was no way she could hear me. I tried to explain my idea
with gestures, but I’ve never been any good at charades, and Mom
kept trying to pull me deeper into the barn. I twisted free and ran
out the door.
I looked back. Mom was chasing me, shouting
something, her features twisted in an appalling mixture of terror
and rage. I ran faster. When I reached the cellar door, which was
mounted at an angle at the side of the house, I threw it open and
started down the dark stairs.
It was cool and noticeably quieter in the
root cellar. Mom stumbled down the stairs behind me. She was
frowning now instead of shouting, so I figured she agreed with my
plan to hide out down there. Dust rained off the joists above us,
rattled free by the neverending roar. I dashed back up the stairs
and closed the door behind Mom, plunging us into darkness.
I groped for the string that controlled the
single bulb in the root cellar, found it, and pulled. Nothing.
Idiot—I already knew the power was out.
I felt my way to one of the root cellar’s
ancient brick walls and sat down with my back to the wall. The dirt
floor felt cool even through my jeans, but that was a bit of a
relief after the heat of the barn.
Mom stumbled on my ankle, caught herself, and
sat down beside me. Her hand found mine, and we clung to each
other, waiting for the roar to subside.
My thoughts ground over and over. What could
make a noise that loud for that long? A nuclear bombardment, but
that didn’t seem likely. An asteroid strike would be loud, but it
wouldn’t continue for this long, would it? Maybe an earthquake, but
the walls weren’t shaking, just vibrating with the noise. I knew
volcanoes could be loud, but as the minutes stretched into hours
with no abatement in the noise, that seemed less and less likely an
explanation. Surely an eruption would end at some point?
I got fed up with waiting and wondering what
in the world was going on. I stood, wrenching my hand free from
Mom’s. I groped blindly toward the stair. When I found it, I
scrambled up on all fours and threw the door at the top open.
The noise instantly redoubled. It was fully
dark, but I could see okay by the light of the stars and moon.
Everything looked peaceful, despite the unearthly roar. I glanced
back—Mom was standing at the foot of the stairs with a scowl on her
face and one palm upraised in a “stop” signal. I mouthed “water”
and stepped out of the cellar.
I ran around to the back door of the house.
Inside, I groped around under the kitchen sink until I felt the
flashlight we keep there, thumbed it on, and used it to find a pad
of paper and a couple of pens. It was well past suppertime, so I
grabbed two bottles of water and a box of granola bars. I didn’t
want to stay above ground long enough to mess with anything more
elaborate. That got me thinking: what if we were forced to hide out
all night? I ran to the living room and grabbed two pillows and the
afghan, wrapping everything up into a bundle. Mom stormed into the
living room. She wrapped me in a hug and dragged me back toward the
door.
We returned to the cellar with the bundle of
supplies. Mom took the flashlight and began writing furiously on
the pad. “DON’T YOU DARE RUN OFF LIKE THAT AGAIN!!!” she wrote.
“We needed the supplies,” I scrawled beneath
her note.
“We need to stay safe.”
This wasn’t an argument I was likely to win.
“What is this?” I wrote and then pointed at my covered ears.
“Judgment day,” Mom wrote in a shaky
scrawl.
“No. Judgment day, you’d be raptured. I’d be
alone.”
“Not true. If not judgment day, what?”
“Dunno. Someone on the radio said the
earthquakes in Wyoming meant the volcano under Yellowstone was
going to erupt. Nobody believed him.
Whatever its source, I didn’t think waiting it out in the barn was
safe.
Mom grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away
from the door. I resisted and shouted, “Let’s go to the cellar!”
but there was no way she could hear me. I tried to explain my idea
with gestures, but I’ve never been any good at charades, and Mom
kept trying to pull me deeper into the barn. I twisted free and ran
out the door.
I looked back. Mom was chasing me, shouting
something, her features twisted in an appalling mixture of terror
and rage. I ran faster. When I reached the cellar door, which was
mounted at an angle at the side of the house, I threw it open and
started down the dark stairs.
It was cool and noticeably quieter in the
root cellar. Mom stumbled down the stairs behind me. She was
frowning now instead of shouting, so I figured she agreed with my
plan to hide out down there. Dust rained off the joists above us,
rattled free by the neverending roar. I dashed back up the stairs
and closed the door behind Mom, plunging us into darkness.
I groped for the string that controlled the
single bulb in the root cellar, found it, and pulled. Nothing.
Idiot—I already knew the power was out.
I felt my way to one of the root cellar’s
ancient brick walls and sat down with my back to the wall. The dirt
floor felt cool even through my jeans, but that was a bit of a
relief after the heat of the barn.
Mom stumbled on my ankle, caught herself, and
sat down beside me. Her hand found mine, and we clung to each
other, waiting for the roar to subside.
My thoughts ground over and over. What could
make a noise that loud for that long? A nuclear bombardment, but
that didn’t seem likely. An asteroid strike would be loud, but it
wouldn’t continue for this long, would it? Maybe an earthquake, but
the walls weren’t shaking, just vibrating with the noise. I knew
volcanoes could be loud, but as the minutes stretched into hours
with no abatement in the noise, that seemed less and less likely an
explanation. Surely an eruption would end at some point?
I got fed up with waiting and wondering what
in the world was going on. I stood, wrenching my hand free from
Mom’s. I groped blindly toward the stair. When I found it, I
scrambled up on all fours and threw the door at the top open.
The noise instantly redoubled. It was fully
dark, but I could see okay by the light of the stars and moon.
Everything looked peaceful, despite the unearthly roar. I glanced
back—Mom was standing at the foot of the stairs with a scowl on her
face and one palm upraised in a “stop” signal. I mouthed “water”
and stepped out of the cellar.
I ran around to the back door of the house.
Inside, I groped around under the kitchen sink until I felt the
flashlight we keep there, thumbed it on, and used it to find a pad
of paper and a couple of pens. It was well past suppertime, so I
grabbed two bottles of water and a box of granola bars. I didn’t
want to stay above ground long enough to mess with anything more
elaborate. That got me thinking: what if we were forced to hide out
all night? I ran to the living room and grabbed two pillows and the
afghan, wrapping everything up into a bundle. Mom stormed into the
living room. She wrapped me in a hug and dragged me back toward the
door.
We returned to the cellar with the bundle of
supplies. Mom took the flashlight and began writing furiously on
the pad. “DON’T YOU DARE RUN OFF LIKE THAT AGAIN!!!” she wrote.
“We needed the supplies,” I scrawled beneath
her note.
“We need to stay safe.”
This wasn’t an argument I was likely to win.
“What is this?” I wrote and then pointed at my covered ears.
“Judgment day,” Mom wrote in a shaky
scrawl.
“No. Judgment day, you’d be raptured. I’d be
alone.”
“Not true. If not judgment day, what?”
“Dunno. Someone on the radio said the
earthquakes in Wyoming meant the volcano under Yellowstone was
going to erupt. Nobody believed him.
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