They waited in the cabin that night, confused about what they had experienced in just the past couple of hours. The randomness of all the week’s events, from the near death on the highway, to the eccentric desert nomad, to the seemingly unexplainable paranormal power the old man had over the afternoon’s storm. All of it seemed too much to comprehend, to process into a single coherent narrative.
Laura sat on the couch between intermittent walks to the water pump, flipping through decades-old copies of defunct nature magazines. Jack was his usual restless self, pacing the room, staring out into the blackness of the desert.
“What do you think is going on?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“He won’t let us leave.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Really?”
“He’s harmless. Who knows how far away we are from civilization.”
“So.”
“He knows more than we do about how to get out of here.”
Jack could not accept that. He wasn’t going to be bested by this old man. Not in Laura’s eyes. “We should start out tomorrow.”
“Where are we going to go, Jack?”
“There has to be someplace else. Something close by.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she said.
“What?”
“In the morning.”
“Hmph.”
He paced on, always hoping that the next look out the window would bring salvation. He walked around the kitchen area, peeking into the three cupboards for anything that would resemble food. A late-night snack to ease his racing mind.
“Stop snooping around.”
“I’m not snooping, I’m starving. This crazy old man has to have something to eat. He doesn’t eat rocks, does he?”
Laura glared back at him. Late-night sarcasm never sat well with her. She watched as Jack paced the floor, first to the cupboards, then to the window, then back to the cupboards.
Nothing.
His stomach growled in anger, demanding its owner remedy the situation as quickly as possible. He kept searching and re-searching the area when what sounded like a sonic boom echoed through their bones. Dropping the magazine on the floor, Laura shot up, ran to the front door, and out onto the porch. Jack followed tentatively behind her.
To the west, over the mountains, they could see massive thunderheads against an otherwise clear sky. Another storm with twisting, churning motions like they had seen in the afternoon, but now at a distance that did not reach them. Where they stood, the air was still and calm. Up on the mountain, a vortex was unleashing its wrath on the stones and peaks. Black and gray swirling in a spiraling spectacle of Van Gogh’s twisted mind.
“Wow!” was all Jack could muster. He had loved storms as a boy, what boy didn’t? But this was of a magnitude he had never witnessed.
Laura stepped to his side and grabbed his arm, amazed at what she saw and a bit fearful at the same time. “Is that coming this way?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like it’s moving at all. Just sitting up there.”
“I wish Boots was here.”
“Ha! I hope he’s up there.” Jack smirked. “The guy could use the bath.”
Laura playfully slapped at him as a lightning bolt lit the sky. The crack took half a minute to reach them, but hit with an intensity as if it had struck the cabin. Her playfulness left her and she snuggled closer to Jack. They stood in silence watching Armageddon over the western sky.
In a breath, like black water sucked down a drain, the storm dissipated. Instantly. Unnaturally.
“Did you see that?”
“Uh, yeah . . .”
“What . . .”
“I don’t know.”
The silence strangled them. They felt exposed. Two souls in the middle of nowhere forced to huddle against each other for support and understanding.
“What is going on, Jack?”
“I have no idea.”