A/N: This one-shot was written for the Weekly One-Shot Challenge (Week #1). Check it out in the Sookieverse forum! The topic for this challenge is: "Holy Strawberries, Batman! We're in a jam!"
The Magnet
I grabbed my cellular off the nightstand and flipped it open to glance at the waiting text message. A smile danced across my lips. I'd been so busy at the bar lately that I hadn't had a lot of time to spend with a certain Viking. Them's the breaks, right? Because we were both drenched in work, he'd taken to leaving me delightful and dirty texts after he knew I'd fallen asleep. I giggled at today's particularly naughty message, something about skinny dipping in the watering hole out behind Jason's house. The water was mighty warm now as summer came up, and Eric's cool body against mine would be the perfect remedy for that extreme heat. I felt a surge of adrenaline and it took a minute to ease off. Careful, Sook, gotta put another crazy-long shift in tonight.
We'd lost a waitress down at Merlotte's, and I'd volunteered to take on the extra shifts. I'd worked almost sixty hours since Friday, and it was now Tuesday. Luckily, I happen to know that Tuesday is probably the quietest night in a given week. The bar would be dead, and even though I was working with Arlene, the stress level would be pretty minimal. Of course, I'd rather have a night off, but what are you gonna do?
I threw my cell, my keys, a bottle of aspirin (just in case), and a can of Coke into my bag, grabbed a bite of dinner off the table where Amelia was munching away, and ran out the door.
"I'll see ya!" I yelled over my shoulder.
"Late tonight?" Amelia yelled back.
"You know it!" I turned around to reply. I shot down the back steps and slumped behind the wheel, started the engine, and rolled out over the gravel.
It was a gorgeous night in June, truly one of the most beautiful I'd ever seen. The sky was clear and breathtakingly blue even though it was almost five o'clock. I turned on the radio and listened to the mid-block news report. George Pearson, our parish reporter, was gabbing on about some thunderstorm farther south.
"Renard Parish looks to be a miss for the system rolling up from the gulf tonight. This storm is expected to go over our heads and bypass us for the border to Texas. No funnels as yet reported, but the boys down at the NWS are keepin' an eye on 'er anyway."
I shrugged. It had been awhile since I'd heard of a tornado smacking into Shreveport, let alone Bon Temps. That is, the real tornado, not the vampire-created variety. I chuckled thoughtfully, remembering the night the Rattrays got what was coming to them. The radio went back to another long string of classic rock, and I leaned back in my seat.
The bar was stone-cold dead when I pulled up in the employee parking lot, alongside Sam's trailer. I parked under a gnarled old weeping willow tree and grabbed my purse off the passenger seat. I pulled open the back door and sauntered in, a few minutes before five. Sam looked up from his desk as I walked into his office to stash my things in his bookshelf.
"Heya Sook," he smiled at me. He was getting up. Sam was working the bar tonight because Terry Bellefleur was in the kitchen. Our actual cook had been off with some sort of stomach bug for almost a week. Luckily, Terry was a decent chef. "Look, I'm real happy you've been able to take all these shifts. That new girl I hired, Alyssa? She'll start workin' tomorrow night."
"Sure, Sam. It's no big. Besides, I probably owe you for lettin' me off so much."
"Call it even?" He shrugged and held out his hand for a shake. I took it and even gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Even Steven," I replied.
It was going to be a good night. I could smell it in the air.
"Evenin', Arlene," I smiled at my former best friend. She didn't look up from where she was buffing a table with a white bar rag. I shrugged and stuck my head in the kitchen window to wave to Terry. He was slicing tomatoes (like we would need them…), but he nodded his head to me.
"Evenin' Miss Sookie," he grinned under a heavy blond beard.
Sam followed me out into the restaurant and sidled in behind the bar top. He reached up to the television and put on the news, just to have some noise in the background. No bar man likes the quiet, and Sam Merlotte was no exception. If we weren't going to have a full crowd (and we weren't), he was going to have the silence of filling ketchup bottles and salt shakers. I sat down in front of the bar and started lining up the shakers in rows of five. I had a system. It was an unusual system, but that was what made life interesting.
I poured the salt into the shakers in diagonal rows, filling each one about halfway, then switching to another row, then doubling back. Okay, so maybe it's a little weird, but darnit, how exciting can you make salt shaker duty, huh? While I worked, I glanced up periodically at the news report.
"In Nah'Lans today, two African-American teenagers were shot by police during an armed robbery at the Walgreens drug store in this metropolitan residential neighborhood." The on-site reporter pointed to a police-tape shrouded corner in front of a small Craftsman shack in terrible disrepair. I shook my head and looked across the bar at Sam. He frowned and looked back up at the television. "One of the teens was identified as Christopher Watkins, a basketball player recently accepted to Tulane. The boy was seventeen years old."
"That's just plain sad," Arlene frowned, standing over my shoulder. She reached around me to grab some of my full shakers. "Kids feelin' like they gotta rob a store just to prove they got balls or somethin'."
"It doesn't take balls to get shot," Sam sighed. He took a glass down off the shelf and began polishing it with his rag. "It just takes a lack of brain cells."
"Or being in the wrong place at the wrong time," I sighed, glancing at Sam. I remembered when he'd been shot in the leg. Then again, he wasn't exactly robbing somebody. He was just sitting in his office.
"Or that," he agreed.
"In weather news, a tornado watch is in effect from the southern most boundaries of Shreveport up through the northern most parts of Renard Parish. Earlier today, a funnel cloud was seen forming around Baton Rouge, though no twisters touched down on the area. The humidity in northern Louisiana has the potential to cause a more dangerous storm as the system moves northwest. If you are in one of the watched areas, please remember to stay away from doors and windows, and have an emergency evacuation plan at the ready."
"Where are the kids tonight, Arlene?" Sam asked, looking over at her. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes filled up with concern. That was Sam Merlotte, forgiving and thoughtful.
"There with their grandma. She has a shelter at her place in case anything does happen. But heck, I don't think it will. I mean, I can't even remember the last time we had a twister in the parish."
"Besides, it's so clear out," I nodded my head toward the picture window at the front of the bar. The sun was still out and projecting a stream of yellow light on the tables and the floor. "Not a freakin' cloud in the sky."
"It's Tuesday," Terry grunted from the kitchen window. He set three baskets of hamburgers and fries on the counter. "Slow news night."
We took our burgers, all four of us, and sat around a table in the middle of the bar. Gosh it was slow, really freaking slow. Not even old Jane Bodehouse, the resident drunk, had stopped in tonight. Maybe her son had fueled her habit to keep her off the roads, what with the watch and all. We all complimented Terry on the fine craftsmanship of his food. He'd served mine with extra pickles and grilled mushrooms and a slice of swiss cheese. I blew him a kiss across the table and the redness on his cheeks flew all the way up to his hairline.
After a half-hour, a yellow bar across the bottom of the television screen told us that the watch had been called off. By then, I was on ketchup bottle duty. Sam was inventorying the liquor supply. Arlene was dusting the crosshatch drapes that framed the windows. Terry was polishing the stove top and baking a pie. The pie smell filled up the entire bar and smelled divine. Terry had a particular love for cream pies, so he'd make and bake the shell and then he'd fill it with pudding and layer it with homemade whipping cream. When summer came, he'd make tons of different pies, including a whole bunch of fruit pies. I had to watch my waistline around Terry.
At a few minutes after seven, the watch came back on, along with the persistent beep of the national weather service alert. I stuck my head out the door to see how the sky was doing. There was a dark cloud about six miles outside of town, give or take. It seemed to be takin' its sweet time inching toward us.
"We could just close up," Sam shrugged. "Call it a night, go on home?"
"I tell you, we're getting an inch of rain, maybe a little thunder, and then it's over with." Arlene frowned. She needed the hours. Heck, we could all use the money, even if we were bored out of our minds.
"Alright, well just in case, I'm gonna clear some room in the locker." Sam loped down the hall and I heard the employee door open. He wouldn't share this with the rest of our crew, but I knew he was going out to give the air a bit of a sniff. Sometimes animals can just feel trouble brewing. The backdoor shut again and we heard Sam moving around in the cold storage locker next to the kitchen.
The old alarm at the firehouse started squealing at seven-thirty, and I looked up from where I'd been pouring pepper into the pepper shakers. I glanced at the television to see Judy Collins, the Shreveport weather girl appear on the screen. The yellow bar for the National Weather Service appeared beneath her. It clashed with her orange suit jacket.
"The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning for Renard Parish. A funnel cloud has been spotted forming over the parish. If you are out of doors, please return to your homes immediately. Find a safe place in the center of your home, in a basement, or in an underground shelter. You are advised to keep phone lines clear in the event of an emergency. Once again, the National Weather Service…"
I looked away from the screen to glance at Sam. I couldn't help but feel a little shock of excitement burn through me. It was quickly replaced by a surge of absolute terror. A tornado in Bon Temps?! Who would've thought?
I stuck my head out the door again as the sky lit up with light. The evening sun was being blotted out by our approaching thundercloud. Bolts of lightning shot down to the ground and jumped back up into the sky. It was a sight full of awe. I couldn't help grinning. The hail came down suddenly, landing on my head and arms. The pellets were tiny, about the size of fine gravel, but they still hurt a little.
"Hey Sam!" I yelled, sticking my head back in. "We got hail!"
"Sookie, lock the door and get in here! Arlene, pull the curtains shut. It'll hold back some broken glass, if we get hit. Terry, turn off the gas."
We ran around to follow Sam's orders. I shut off the overhead fans, but left all the lights on, and the television. Terry turned off the gas feed and went outside to shut the valve on the propane tank in the parking lot. Arlene shut all the curtains and pushed all the chairs into their tables. Then we all crowded around the television and waited.
"The National Weather service has reported a tornado sighting in Renard Parish, on the outskirts of town near the interstate. Citizens of Bon Temps are to find shelter immediately in a safe location at the center of your home, in a basement, or in an underground shelter. You are advised to stay away from power lines, windows, doors, and motor vehicles. Do not attempt to reach family and friends if you are away from your home. Find the nearest shelter and wait out the storm."
"Okay folks, inside the locker." Sam pushed us down the hall single file. Terry pulled open the locker door and we filed in. I sat down on a pile of frozen burger boxes. Arlene shivered beside a gigantic tub of whole pickles.
"How long are we stayin' in here, Sam?" Arlene muttered, holding her hands over her arms. It was mighty cold in the locket with the door pulled shut.
"Until the danger's gone," Sam sighed.
"When are we gonna know it's gone?" Arlene pushed him.
"We aren't," I frowned. "Just sit down and listen."
I won't lie to you and say I expected something to happen. We shivered in the cold storage locker for fifteen minutes, and I was ready to give up when there was a sudden crashing sound, and the walls of the locker vibrated in a way I didn't know was possible. I shoved my body against one of the corners in the back of the room, and not a shred of me cared that those walls were frosty and freezing. The walls continued to rattle. Arlene grabbed onto Terry, and the two of them huddled against the pickle jar. Sam leaned into the door, holding onto the handle as thought it might yank free. Outside, we could hear creaking and cracking noises, but they were so muffled by the steel walls of the locker that I couldn't make out what they might belong to. I let out a full-fledged scream when the wall shared with the kitchen suddenly crunched and dented. I slipped and slid to the door and clutched Sam. He took me against his chest and held me tightly. Despite the cold, his torso was hot under his clothes. I glanced up at his eyes. They were darker than normal. I didn't know what that meant.
"Sam," I whispered in a moderately high-pitched voice.
"Its okay, Sookie. We're okay." He rubbed my back, up and down, and held me against him as if we might break loose of one another. I shut my eyes and we waited it out.
The noise stopped a minute later. Sam carefully let me go and positioned me against the wall of the locker. I was rigid with terror. Terry and Arlene were locked into one another, and they looked almost comfortable. Sam yanked on the locker handle and pushed with his shoulder. The door gave way and fell open. I followed my boss out of the locker and into the humid night.
The hail had stopped, but the sky hadn't cleared up yet. Know how I know? The fucking roof was GONE. We had a perfect view of the sky from the middle of the hallway because our roof had simply disappeared. I reached out and grasped Sam's hand. He looked at me over his shoulder, then nodded forward. We shuffled cautiously through the bar. The restaurant was in shambles. I looked up again to see that the roof was still sort of intact at the front of the building. I kept turning, around toward the back of the building. I tugged fiercely on Sam's arm.
"What, Sook?" He blinked, following my eyes to the kitchen. Terry's pick-up truck had rammed into the kitchen, right through the way. It had slammed head-on into the back wall, right where I'd been standing in the cold storage locker.
"Jeezus," Sam exhaled.
"At least we still have power," I sighed. I looked over at the television, miraculously still hanging from the ceiling, and still working too. I think my mouth hung open a little. I watched Judy Collins, Channel 7 weather girl, read from a fresh report.
"We have confirmed sightings of a tornado in Bon Temps. The twister has touched down and is continuing on a north, northwesterly path through Bon Temps. If you are in Bon Temps, remain in your shelter! I repeat, remain in your shelter! The National Weather Service has issued a warning for a tornado in Bon Temps, possibly an F4. If you are in Bon Temps, remain in your shelter."
"What's an F4?" I whispered to Sam. I was so scared, I couldn't even sound like myself.
"It's bad, Sook. It's really, really bad." He took me by the shoulders and marched me back toward the locker. I didn't want to go back in there. If we stayed in there, we'd be crushed by Terry's truck.
"Sam," I whimpered as he pushed me. I halted in our progress. We stood in the middle of the bar. "I'm scared."
"It's okay, Sook. I'll take care of you." He hugged me to him, but I still wasn't ready. I couldn't go back in that steel box.
"We can't…we'll be crushed!" I pointed at the truck with a wavering finger.
"They're steel walls, Sook. We'll be okay. Please," he urged me. He pushed me. But I wasn't going back in there, not if I could help it.
I could hear the wind howling with force. The roof echoed as hail stones came back down on us a second time. Still, I couldn't make my legs work. Sam got under me and lifted me up off the ground. I let out a squeal of protest and kicked my legs, yelling at him to put me down. I felt like an animal about to be thrown into a cage against her will. I clawed at whatever part of Sam I could reach. He wouldn't let go of me, but I just couldn't go back there. I wasn't going to be stuck in a box like a freaking tuna!
The roof made a weird rumbling noise and the wind picked up even faster. Sam didn't even have time to run. What was left of the roof crunched and crumbled and gave in, dropping down on top of us like a pile of bricks. A tree had toppled over outside and smashed into it. The wind was roaring now with another twister, but I was pinned to the ground, about three feet away from Sam, my legs stuck under railroad-tie sized chunks of wood, insulation, and all manner of roofing shingles. I looked over at Sam. He'd changed suddenly, maybe thinking he could have made a dash for it and then pulled me free. He was smashed under more roofing material, and he was whimpering pathetically.
The hail smacked into my neck and hair and back. I was pinned face down, and you better believe I was in a crazy amount of pain. That adrenaline I'd felt before was really surging through me now. Mixing with the pain, the terror just fueled me into a weird kind of mental chaos that I couldn't really explain or understand. I looked over at Sam, and I'm sure my pupils were dilated. He gave me a funny look, even though I knew he was in as much pain as I was.
"You know what Robin would say a time like this?" I asked my boss, the collie. He cocked his head to one side. "He'd say, 'Holy strawberries, Batman! We're in a jam!'" Sam stretched toward me and licked my face.
Okay, clearly I'd lost my mind.
"Terry!" I yelled as loudly as I could manage above the howling wind and the driving rain and sleet.
"Sookie? You're alive!" Terry yelled back at me.
"I'm alive! You think you could help me out here?" I yelled back. Then I looked at my boss. This whole situation was less than ideal.
"Sam," I whispered to my boss. "You gotta change back!"
Sam whimpered.
"Come on, Sam! What am I going to tell Terry? Hi, your boss is a dog and he's crushed under a roof? He'll think I've gone batshit insane!"
Sam whimpered again. He squirmed under the roofing material. Yep, we were stuck alright.
"Sam, please!"
I could hear Terry rustling through the mess that had once been Merlotte's Bar. I guessed I'd have the next day off. Good thing I'd worked so many hours in the last week. I was gonna be out of work for awhile…
"Sookie?" Terry yelled from behind me. "I can't get to ya! We got live wire over here!"
Oh fuck oh fuck. Now I was going to get electrocuted too? Great.
"Sam!" Terry yelled. "You got a radio?"
I looked at Sam. He leaned over to lick my cheek. I guess that was an answer in the affirmative.
"Sam's unconscious!" I yelled back at Terry. "If his office is still there, try looking in his desk drawer. I have a cell in my purse too!"
"I'll look!"
It had stopped hailing and if I turned my body just so, I could see that the clouds were parting, even if it was still raining. I could hear Terry in the background on the radio. Then I heard more stumbling.
"Sookie?" Arlene called out.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay, sugar?" She sounded concerned, which was something I was no longer used to from my former best-friend.
"Not really," I sighed. I tried to project my answer, but it was hard.
"I called an ambulance. They're on their way over. The radio guys said we were probably the worst hit. Parts of Bon Temps didn't get nothin'."
"That's good," I looked over at Sam. He had his eyes shut.
"And Sookie?" Arlene yelled again. I waited for her to speak again. "I…I called your friends."
"Which friends?" I blinked, a little confused. Did she mean Amelia? Was Amelia okay? Oh God.
"Bill Compton," Arlene answered in a slightly smaller voice. "And that guy from Shreveport."
I think I might've stopped breathing for a second. Arlene, the girlfriend of an FOTS thug, the girl who hated vamps and hated me because of my association with them, had called my ex-boyfriend and my current…whatever because I was in danger? Wow. People sure do some crazy things in a natural disaster. I looked over at Sam. He'd managed to change back, even though he was all naked now. Well, mostly naked. His clothes were shredded, but at least he had some.
Bill Compton knelt down over me a few minutes later. His cool hand touched my face for a moment. I tried to crane my neck to see his face, but that was just ridiculously painful and fairly impossible. Pain raced up and down my legs and arms as he lifted away the roofing material that had pinned me to the ground. Then he helped free Sam as well.
"Sookie," he said when he knelt beside me again. His hand touched my spine. I made a noise that resembled pain.
"I don't think it's that bad," I sighed. "How's Sam?"
"I think he may have broken his leg." Bill's voice indicated a frown, maybe even a brow creased with worry.
"Sookie, take my blood," he said softly. He was stroking my back. It hurt, but I didn't want to say anything. It was nice having him next to me, even if I wished he was someone else.
"Eric's coming," I sighed. I didn't want blood, but if I was going to take it, it wouldn't be Bill's.
I felt that familiar warmth and calm that passed through my bond with the Viking. It almost suppressed the incredible pain in my legs, and I was thankful at once for the tie I shared with him. It seemed like I was in dire straits pretty often, but I appreciated getting the warm fuzzies no matter what. I could hear the siren of the ambulance outside what was left of the bar. Feet clomped over to me, and the warm fuzzy of Eric's presence nearby kept me from screaming out loud when the team of burly men lifted me up off the floor and tied me down to a backboard. I saw my tow-headed lover standing in front of the emergency vehicle, waiting for me. I couldn't hold my arms out to him because I was strapped down, but oh God how I wanted him to hold me.
He had such concern in his eyes, and he bent down to kiss my lips. I didn't even want him to stop kissing me.
"You seem to be a magnet for trouble, my lover," he chuckled. I appreciated the humor. I needed it.
"If I wasn't, I wouldn't know you," I smiled crookedly.
"You have a point." He touched my face, what part of it wasn't covered by the straps of the backboard and the thick plastic brace around my neck. "You certainly have a point."
The End.