Feb 17

Thunderclap

dropyourshortshere Add Comment (1)

Ok, I’m going to try something, so give me some feedback and maybe I’ll do more of it if it turns out well. Lately I have had the itch to write something, but trying to do more ‘book’ things has been daunting, so I thought it might give some random short stories a try. We’ll see what happens.

Ted came to a sudden stop. The sky had been darkening in front of him for the last hour, but he thought he could make it before it started raining. A single drop landed on his out stretched hand, a sign perhaps that he had better consider his options in a hurry. Off to the east, the sky burst forth with light, winked out, and after an uncomfortably short period of time, a thunderclap washed down the canyon.

It started raining.

Ted glanced down at the GPS. A half mile. That was all that was left between him and the cabin. All that was left on a 12 mile hike. The rain started to plop onto his hat and shoulders, little thumps. The ground was emitting a similar noise, dry at first, but becoming a stereophonic splashing whir.

How long was this rain going to last? Ted was pretty waterproof. He had seen to that before leaving the comfort of the Jeep behind. The light rain breaker started to cling to him as he hurried down the trail, offering little resistance to the coldness that sought to penetrate him. He could feel his bare shins getting damp. A shiver ran down him as he tried in vain to resist the urge.

Raining harder. Thunder claps more frequent now, all around. That last one Ted was sure he saw a fireball erupt from the base. The booms were way too close. The rain drops started beating harder, interspersed with hail. The rain was kicking a wind up now, a damp, cold wind. The trees and bushes were dancing in this summer shower, a dance they did all too often this time of year.

Ted was running with long slow strides now, his boots touching down in the puddles, displacing water, lightly sinking into the sodden earth. A quick glance at the GPS; less than a quarter mile remained. The cabin would be visible soon, just over the rise. Perched on the ridge, it had stood amongst the trees for so long, so lonely.

Ted cleared the rise and spotted it. Something was wrong. As he came closer, he slowed down, and noted that his boots were not as water proof as he had hoped, water squishing in and out of his socks. The rain was letting up, letting him see further. The thunder was moving away, but it was still booming up the canyon, like a creature wounded. Something was wrong here. What?

Ted approached the cabin with caution. In the half light of the storm he had a hard time making out the extents of the cabin, but now he saw what was wrong. A chill washed over him. 12 miles he had come. 12 lonely miles. To this.

The cabin stood, looking back, solemnly. The ancient pine that had always served as the western marker had a lean to it. A lean that terminated against the side of the cabin. It had crushed part of the cabin, but the cabin was still standing. Perhaps not as well as it used to be.

Ted stepped forward and opened the door. A half wet room presented itself. He stepped in, glad to be out of the rain at last. The rain had almost completely stopped now, just passing through it seemed. Ted surveyed the wreckage.

This week was going to be more work than he had bargained for.