Cheyenne opened the door and slipped outside, pausing when she took in the threatening clouds. Although it was early evening, the sky was dismally gray and cloaked with a veil of heavy vapor. Crimson streaks stained the hazy billows as if the asphyxiated sun struggled to break free of its smothering shroud.
Odd. She wrinkled her nose and squinted as she stared up at the scarlet splash. Probably just rain. Unconcerned, she shrugged and started down the stairs to her car.
During her short drive home, the sky grew alarmingly bleak. Cheyenne peered out her windshield, staring up at the gloomy fog and praying the weather held out a few more blocks. Even though she didn’t live very far from work, it looked as though a heavy storm was about to break, and she wanted to be somewhere safe before it hit.
“Tornado season,” she groaned. It was the only time of the year she hated sleeping alone. Aimee, her roommate, would probably be out all night; and Milo, her worthless cat, would no doubt be of little protection. She’d likely vanish after the first crack of lightening, disappearing into one of her many inconspicuous hiding spots, not to be seen again until the ferocious storm had ended.
Cheyenne giggled as she thought about the first time she’d come across one of Milo’s covert locations. She’d been hunting through the closet in search of a favorite pair of pants when she’d noticed two glowing orbs staring back out at her from beneath a mountainous pile of clean clothes. She’d shrieked in alarm, sending an equally stunned Milo tearing out of the closet like a bat out of hell. Cheyenne laughed again. She loved that crazy cat.
As she turned into the parking lot and pulled into her designated spot, she noticed the trees swayed back and forth, as if caressed by a giant invisible hand. She stared, fascinated when several leaves tore free of their mother’s limb and merrily danced about in erratic motion as though mocking their grounded parent who could do no more than wave her fists and thrash in place.
Mentally shaking herself free of the brief trance, Cheyenne killed the Mustang’s engine and reached for the handle. Newspaper, Styrofoam cups, and other bits of debris swirled about her feet in a frantic zephyr. Her long, black hair whipped around her face, smacking her forehead and stinging her cheeks. Irritated, she pulled the defiant wisps out of her eyes and reached into the back seat for her purse.
The sky exploded with white light, bathing her surroundings in a brilliant, crystal-like gleam. Cheyenne screamed and pulled her arm out of the car just as the wind slammed the door shut. A frigid gust plastered her against the cold metal like a decorative hood ornament.
A thunderous blast roared through her ears. She muffled them with her palms, but the noise persisted. It crept between her cupped fingers and bellowed through her brain, loud and foudroyant, like the beating of a massive bass drum.
Cheyenne pushed herself away from the car and ran toward her apartment. But the wind shoved her forward, sending her sprawling face-first onto the ground. Her head smacked the concrete and a burst of glittering sparklers flitted through her swooning brain.
