I sit in my room, on my bed. I'm flipping through my AP Calculus book on the elements. At 15, I'm studying AP in Calculus and Trigonometry, Chemistry, Biology, and Physics.
"Jemma!" Yells William, hurrying into my room.
"Yes, William?" I say, mildly exasperated at my older brother.
"Mum and I are going to go to the shop to buy me some college clothing. Want to come?"
"No thanks William." I say, giving him a weak smile. I hate the fact my brother got to go to college at the end of the summer, no matter how much I wanted to go early.
"Okay." He shrugs. "See you later!"
"Bye!" I call after he turns around, and I go back to my book.
My Mum, Dad, my brother and I live in the middle-of-nowhere American Midwest. We moved from England when I was in sixth grade. I have very few friends, because my intelligence either makes me someone to avoid or a target. My brother though, was insanely popular, playing quarterback in American Football, and dating the prettiest cheerleader in the first year. I was insanely jealous, until I scored higher on my averages throughout the year than him by quite a bit. That was when I first realized that brains would be better then brawn, eventually at least.
After a little while, I acquired one friend, Skye. She is obsessed with computers and doesn't mind my obsession with science and school.
"Jemma!" yells Dad from downstairs.
"Coming!" I call, shutting my book and hurrying down.
"I'm going out with you Mum and Brother. Would you mind starting dinner for me? I pre-made the meatloaf, and it's in the fridge. Just put it in the oven."
"Sure!" I reply cheerfully as I love cooking and baking, since it's practically science.
"Thanks, Sweet Girl." He says, kissing my forehead before leaving.
I smile as I walk into the kitchen with purpose and turn on the oven, and pre heat it. I take the meatloaf out of the fridge and place it on the counter.
Half an hour later, I'm sitting on the couch in the living room, just outside the kitchen, when I hear a shrill alarm.
I sigh. I suppose it's just another tornado drill. Getting up, I go hide in the basement, in a corner, and use a pillow to cover my head.
Luckily, I have my phone in my pocket. I reach it, and call Skye.
"Skye!" I say into it.
"Jemma!" she gasps "Jemma! It's not a drill! It's here; It touched down on main street! Jemma, where are you!"
"I'm safe in my basement! Where are you?" I answer, fear clenching my stomach.
"I-I'm at school. I was in the computer lab when the alarms went off. There's a lot of thunder, but I don't know what's happening, and oh my god, Jemma, I'm so scared." She says.
"It's okay. We'll be fine. We'll be fine." I say, frantically
"It's getting louder! Jemma I-" then the connection cut off.
My phone buzzed and I see Mum is calling.
I answer
"Jemma! Jemma! Can you hear me? Jemma!"
"Yes, Mum! Yes!" I say
"Sweetheart! Get to the basement! Get down!"
"I am! I'm good Mum! How're William and Dad?" I cry
"Jemma! Jemma, Sweetie, We love you! We love you! We- GET DOWN! GET TO THE BACK!" my Mum cuts herself off, the phone seeming further from her mouth.
"Mum!" I scream into it.
I then hear wind howling, muffled screaming, glass breaking and then, static.
"MUM!" I cry, but only static replies.
Then I hear something worse, something that sounds like a steadily approaching freight train. My chest constricts with fear as it gets louder and louder. Suddenly, the wind is yanking at me, whipping my face, in all directions. I scream at what looked like most of my house is ripped apart before my eyes, and as glass, wood, and concrete bits tear at my skin and clothing. I sob as the sound of the tornado fills my ears.
Something looking a lot like the old television remote smacks me in the head, and I fall, like a corpse, on the floor. I feel something warm in my hair and know immediately that it's blood.
As soon as I determine that, everything goes black.
When I wake, dim sunlight is in my eyes.
I shakily stand and see that most of my house is either in the basement or gone. It leaves me with a hollow feeling, looking around at its dilapidation.
My stomach growls painfully, but I have no food, and no water. The dim rays of sunshine come through the cracks in what appears to be my kitchen floor, which collapsed into the basement, trapping me, by crushing the stairs and cutting me off from any other exit.
I swallow, I have no idea what to do. Then I catch sight of the oven.
Racing over to it, I open it, and find a smashed meatloaf in its metal pan, under the tin foil.
I rip open the tin foil and start eating ravenously, until I realize I may need to save as much of this as possible.
After only a couple more bites, I get up to look around.
I pass by the basement's powder room's mirror, now shattered. I take in what I look like. Bags under my eyes, hair a bloody, matted mess, Cuts covering my arms, face, leg and exposed feet, my clothing in tatters. I blink at the hollowness of my gaze. It looks like I've lost everything.
And then it hits me. Dad. Mum. William. Skye. My house. I know enough to know they're gone, all gone.
I turn around and vomit up all the meatloaf I'd eaten onto the floor. My head spinning with the weight of the pain I'm feeling. I retch, and gag, until I can't anymore.
Standing up straight, I wipe my mouth with my disgusting sleeve, and resolve to find a way out.
It's been nearly six hours, but it's hard to tell because my watch face is cracked. I've found an exit, but it is a very small window, covered with debris. I know that if I am going to leave, I need to take as many supplies as I can.
I find some mostly durable Tupperware and put the rest of my meatloaf in it. I found a pipe which would've carried water to my kitchen sink, used a metal pole I found to crack it open to get fresh water. I bottled that up in a slightly more durable Tupperware. I am wearing a pair of Willy's military combat boots, which I found in a box down here from when he went to his military camp when he was eleven. Luckily, the boots fit perfectly. I also threw on my Dad's bulletproof vest from when he was young, and in the police. It was too big, but it felt like it would protect me, and it smelled like him. I used a piece of wire to tie my hair in a ponytail, ignoring the blood clumps and flakes that fell from it as I did. I have an old blanket, an even older basket, filled with the remaining mementos to my family I could find down here. I put everything into a ratty back pack of my Mum's, and start to clear the debris of what looks like my living room, to get to the small window that I could wriggle out of to escape.
It was supposedly near one pm when I finally removed enough debris to get to the window.
I shoved my bag up, before hoisting myself up and out. I sliced my arm on the broken glass, and it began to bleed pretty badly.
Using a scrap of my clothing, I tried to stop the bleeding, before looking around at my street.
It was destroyed. Our house actually made it through perfectly fine compared to everyone else's. I know instantly no one on our street, or as it looks, the neighborhood, survived. Bile rises in my throat, and I turn to vomit, but only manage dry heaves, having not eaten anything since last vomiting.
I begin to get dizzy as I walk, the blood loss catching up to me. Fighting it, I stumble further, and further, up and onto Main Street, which has a two foot deep trench in the middle of it, and nothing anywhere else. Everything on Main Street is gone. Only scraps of what once was remains, like glass or wood splinters. My breath catches as I see movement. I stumble closer and see it's a person.
"HELP! Please help!" I scream
The figure turns, and I see it's a young man. He looks about my age.
He starts running over.
"Hey! Oh, god! You're bleeding! Is your hair bloody? How old are you? Are you okay?"
I recognize his accent. It's Scottish. I loose consciousness as I take in his looks. He is taller then me, with bright, blue eyes and golden curly hair.
Everything goes black again.
When I open my eyes, I see I'm in a small building, on the floor.
I try to sit up, but find I'm not strong enough.
"Oh, good. You're awake." Says a familiar voice. I look up to see the same boy I met earlier.
I blink at him. Then I realize my head and arm are bandaged and all of my cuts are patched up.
"You lost a lot of blood. The cut on your head wasn't deep, but you're lucky your arm wasn't worse. You and I…" he swallows. "You and I are the only survivors. I've checked. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. How old are you?" he says
"I-I'm 15." I rasp out, my throat dry and chalky after his last statement.
"I'm 16. My name is Leo Fitz." He extends his hand to shake. I notice he extended the wrong hand. Then I realized my shaking arm is injured. Smiling for the first time since the tornado, I shake.
"Jemma Simmons." I say, weakly.
"Alright, Jemma." He says.
"How long was I out?"
"A week."
"A week!" I shriek back, horrified.
"Yeah. You needed to heal."
"How long has it been since the tornado?"
"About ten days."
I quickly do the math and realize that I slept for three days the first time I passed out.
"So, what did you bring with you?" he says, gesturing to my bag.
"You didn't look?" I ask, my respect and admiration for him growing even more.
"No! 'Course not! My Mum would wring my neck if I looked in a woman's bag!"
I do something surprising then. I laugh.
"I have some food, probably rotten meatloaf, water, some blankets and a couple family mementos."
"Sounds good. Since we're paired together, I was wondering, what do you want to do? We could leave, walk and see how far we can get before we find a town, or we stay here, indefinitely."
"We need to go. I-I can't stay here…I, I, My Mum, and brother, and Dad they all…my friends…" I trail off, and start vomiting whatever was recently in my stomach all over the floor, sobbing.
He rubs my back, holding my hair out of the way.
When I'm done, he hands me a water and a mint.
Then I throw my arms around him and sob, not caring that he is practically a stranger.
All I know is it is only me and him, against the world, and he's honest, moral, kind, and sweet.