[For Paul and Tom]

[first_pink_lady]

She hadn't been alive for the tropical storm of '39, but even with a huge war to put things in perspective, people on the California coast hadn't forgotten the 93 people who'd died thanks to a bunch of wind and rain. Still, when wind picked up and the rain started pattering down onto roofs and unsuspecting island residents, she did nothing more than think with irritation that this would be another month-long torrent of unpleasant weather, and cosy up in her messy room in the Boarding House with a trashy novel when evening came around. She must've fallen asleep, because she jerked awake when something smacked against the outside of second-floor bedroom wall, the wind howling and shrieking through the trees and around the building. Something in the building around her creaked menacingly, and suddenly the 93 bodies came to mind, along with the dull repetition of storm drills in grade school.

Minutes later she was out of bed, jean peddle-pushers and jacket pulled on over her usual button-down sleep shirt and panties, thumping down the Boarding House steps and out the front door. She followed the lighted path towards the Compound, bending over against the wind, already drenched with rain and freezing, her arms crossed against her body as if that would anchor her down and keep any heat in. She could hear branches snapping around her, and really, really hoped nothing came flying her way. This, this was not fun. Not at all.