Prompt #258. Natural disaster and its consequences. Whether that's flood, hurricane, forest fire, earthquake (San Fran, 1906, anyone?), volcano, or whatever - use a natural disaster in some way.
She climbed the mast quickly, knife between her teeth as she had seen her father do many times. That sail would capsize them if she did not cut it free.
A difficult task, with the wind pushing her this way and that. Towards the sea. Into the water. Towards their end. She would not survive a fall from this height, which meant no one else would either. In the absence of the crew, only she knew how to climb the rigging.
A gust of wind ripped through the meadow, rustling the leaves of my shade and trying to turn the page for me. When a slight change in temperature followed, I looked up to find dark clouds billowing far out to sea. We would have a storm this afternoon.
"Holmes?"
"I see it," his voice confirmed from the middle of the hives. "Can you tell how long until it hits?"
I shook my head. "Midafternoon, probably, but you know I do not feel the summer storms as keenly. I would suggest either a hurried trip to town now or waiting until tomorrow."
He stood to better see the incoming storm, allowing me to see him as well, and I smothered a smirk. The yelp earlier had been a sting.
"I believe I will go now," he decided after a moment. "Are you coming?"
"So you can stay longer and make me carry everything?" I shot back. "I think I prefer reading my book."
A growl tried to feign irritation, but he disappeared into the cottage when I merely grinned. He would finish faster if I stayed home, and not only because he could walk faster alone. An extra pair of hands provided my friend with someone else to carry the purchases while he spent the time talking with beekeepers. I only joined a trip to town when something provided a reason not connected with "because Holmes was going."
As he well knew. A change of clothes and his notes in relative safety soon sent him down the path, and I returned to my book. We needed food for tomorrow, I had an order at the tailor, and he had mentioned running low on several things he used to study his bees. He would be gone for at least an hour.
Hopefully no more, however, or else quite a bit more. The storm had grown immensely by the time I finished my chapter. I had not yet had the opportunity to watch a storm roll towards land, but this one looked uncommonly large. Starting as a dark spot near the horizon, the cloud had shot upward until it reached some invisible boundary, then began expanding, billowing and growing with the moisture from the sea. In less than thirty minutes, rain fell in a thick column to the ocean's surface. Lightning flashed cloud to cloud and occasionally cloud to ground, and the corresponding thunder grew ever louder. By the time I decided to retreat inside, the cloud had grown into a dark, booming giant, intent on dumping large quantities of water back into the waves. This would be an interesting storm.
One I hoped Holmes would not experience out of doors, but the path remained empty as I quickly closed every window and checked that the shed door had been latched. He had probably decided to wait out the storm in the company of one of his fellow beekeepers. They would spend the time discussing the creatures instead of enjoying nature's show.
For which I would rib him later. For the moment, I stationed myself in the sitting room, our wide picture window providing an excellent view. My first summer in Sussex had contained only rain thus far, and London did not provide enough space to truly watch a storm. I had not spent the afternoon in this manner for many years.
The show from a storm at sea differed from the view from below, I quickly remembered. Dust blown ahead of the storm died beneath a flurry of droplets. Scattered beads quickly became a heavier rain, then a true drenching. Constant lightning high in the clouds created never-ending thunder that rolled across the sky, and the many small raindrops grew larger. Big, wet, heavy drops thudded against the dirt, sending up first dust then water as more rain fell. Puddles littered the ground.
A passing thought hoped Holmes had put the cover on his bees before he left. I certainly would not go check now.
The rain strengthened, obscuring the cliff's edge in a wash of grey. The grey gained dots of white as tiny, pellet sized hailstones grew to peas, then pennies, then golf balls that undoubtedly damaged our roof. I would have to remind Holmes to get one of the young boys from town to survey what needed replacement. At our age, neither of us had any business being on a roof.
Thunder grew ever louder as cloud to cloud lightning became increasingly cloud to ground on reaching shore. Brilliant white streaked from the sky, each one lighting up a portion of my ocean view though I could not always see the strike itself. The hail only lasted a few minutes, but the torrential rain took longer to slow. Racing winds chased the drops into rippling lines of rain that covered the ground in patterned waves. Leaves broken in the hail drifted here and there on the chaotic winds. A bird flew backwards fighting the storm. Rain alternately beat the window and avoided the house.
I debated dragging my chair to the window. Did I want to risk missing part of the show to watch the rest without having to lean against the wall?
No. The storm could not last much longer, and I was comfortable enough. If I shifted my weight off my bad leg—
A blinding flash filled the sitting room with the deep red I normally associated with fire, then a near-deafening explosion sparked instinct to send me to the floor.
A bomb. That had been a bomb on the front lines, which meant the planes were headed this way. We needed to take cover.
No. I shoved the memory aside. No, I was in Sussex, not the trenches. I was not under attack. The only thing that could have made such a combination of light and sound was lightning, not an explosive.
Extremely close lightning. Wood cracked like a gunshot—
Planes strafed the ground, targeting anyone unfortunate enough to be caught without cover. Orderlies rushed to—
Glass shattered to snap me out of the memory, and shards mingled with wood around me. Our shade tree collapsed straight down for more than half its height before the stump sent the rest falling across the front of our cottage. By the time everything stopped moving, a wall of smoldering green and brown completely blocked the front door and my window.
And rain poured through the gap. Freezing water drenched me head to toe as I fought to stand without slicing my hands on the glass. Unless we wanted a flooded sitting room, I needed to fill that hole, but tiny shards littered every square inch of floor. A long, wet minute passed before I finally managed to reach my knees, then my feet. One elbow against the wall substituted balance while I surveyed the damage.
A thick branch rested where I had been standing. Wood and glass covered the floor to the back of my armchair. Rain splattered against the bookshelf but knocked down the fire trying to take root in the tree.
Flooding hazard first. The old quilt from the back of the settee fastened above the window frame to carry most of the easing shower back outside, and rags from beneath the sink started soaking up the water on the floor.
Then fire hazard. The bucket of water Holmes had left in a corner rendered the flickering flames a smoking hole in the tree. We would have to ensure that did not start back up.
I had a few minutes before I needed to worry about that, however, and the wood and glass could wait. Did anything else need immediate attention?
No. Limping steps took me to the washroom. Time and effort to reach my feet without injury did not mean success. I wanted those small, painful pieces of glass out of my skin.
Making loose gloves from scraps left over from one of Holmes' projects prevented me from getting blood everywhere as I swapped the glass-encrusted clothes for a fresh outfit, then careful movements dragged my medical bag from its place in the back room. I may no longer have a reason to stock the variety of supplies required for daily practice, but Holmes found trouble often enough that I had never stopped keeping the basics available. I easily found disinfectant, tweezers, and enough bandages to dress the deeper cuts.
I started with my hands. The pieces in my left hand were easier to eliminate, for obvious reasons, but the sheer number in my right hand made me alternate based on what hurt the most in the moment. Dozens of tiny cuts and holes in my skin made every movement a stinging nuisance. Had the rain stopped yet?
No. A creative grip on the tweezers used the water to coax one shard out of my palm, another from my elbow, and a third from one finger. What about now?
Yes, and I paused my work to ensure that the stump had not resumed burning. When I found no real heat despite the drifting smoke, I went back to the washroom. Just as moving the tree could wait for Holmes to return, so cleaning up the glass in the sitting room could wait until I removed the shards from my hands, knees, and anywhere else it had decided to embed when that window shattered.
More pieces fell from my fingers, several from the outer edge of my palm, and one from the side of my wrist whose origin made no sense. When a thorough check finally found nothing more, I started disinfecting the wounds. I would want my hands clean to deal with the cuts on my knees.
And to help my friend clean. Hurried footsteps sounded outside before I could finish wrapping the bandages.
"Watson!"
"In the washroom!" I called back. "Just a minute!"
Silence answered me. While the cuts on my knees could wait, I wanted to clean and wrap my hands before touching anything in our sitting room. He could survey the damage until I was done fighting with this bandage.
Or not. A thump sounded from his bedroom, and my friend appeared in the doorway a moment later.
"Watson?"
"I told you I would join you in a minute." My attention remained on the fabric that refused to lie flat. "You did not need to climb through the window."
He made no immediate reply, probably noting everything from the cuts on my fingers to the way I leaned against the sink. One hand reached out to hold the fabric steady, then the other took over wrapping. Only then did I notice how rapidly he breathed. Worry lined his face when I glanced up.
"Holmes?"
"Lightning struck the tree toward the end of the storm," he announced instead of answering my question. I wondered faintly why his voice was so quiet. "The falling branches broke the window and blocked the door. Why were you on the ground?"
How had he—
The clear spot on the rug, I realized. He must have been able to find an angle that let him see into the sitting room. He would easily have noted the size of the patch mostly free of glass.
"I was watching through the window when the lightning struck. The noise sent me to the ground before the tree fell."
"Due to injury?"
"Due to volume," I corrected. He did not need to know about the miniature regressions. "You have never heard thunder from ten feet away, have you?"
Tension finally drained from his shoulders. "No. Are you injured anywhere besides the cuts on your hands and knees?"
"I do not think so." He tied the last bandage around my finger, and I waved him toward the door. "You might consider returning to town for help moving that tree. I, for one, would like to leave by the front door instead of a window."
The shallow humor earned me a twitched grin much better than the previous concern. "Stackhurst gave me a ride from town."
Which meant he had turned his cart around as soon as I replied to Holmes' shout. Good. We would have help soon enough.
"Then start sweeping the glass. I will come in a few minutes."
The step stool we kept in the corner of the washroom made an adequate chair, but long fingers stole the tweezers before I could start digging. A convenient candle provided extra light as he started hunting for one piece at a time.
I merely sighed and held the bin steady. Stubbornness had not faded with age.
Hope you enjoyed :) Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter!
