Page 2 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

Dr. Hammond:

How's the mountain air? Found any interesting specimens yet?

I smile despite my exhaustion.Leave it to Hammond to think of plants before basic comforts like, say, a roof that doesn't double as a colander.

Me:

Just arrived. House is worse than expected.Might have discovered new species of mold, though.Will collect samples tomorrow.

I add a laughing emoji to show I'm joking, though part of me is already wondering if the bathroom mold might actually be worth studying.

Hammond replies instantly.

Dr. Hammond

That's my girl. Remember, this sabbatical is mandatory relaxation.No turning your aunt's house into an extension of the lab.

Me:

Too late. I've already mentally designated the sunroom as a perfect propagation space for the native plant samples I plan to collect.

I unpack the essentials, arranging my bottles of shampoo and face wash in a neat row on the bathroom counter in an attempt to bring some form of normalcy in this chaotic house.I turn toward the dresser and halt as I take in the drawers that are all suspiciously chewed.Yep, my clothes will remain in my suitcase.At least for now.

The storm intensifies, wind howling through cracks I hadn't noticed before.I wrap myself in the lavender quilt and sit by the window, watching lightning illuminate the mountains in brief, brilliant flashes.

Somewhere out there is the rest of Serenity Hollow, the town I once knew every inch of, from the cracked sidewalk outside Wilson's General Store to the hidden swimming hole beyond Miller's Creek.And somewhere out there, possibly, is Rosco.

No. I force the thought away before it can fully form.Twelve years is long enough to forget someone.Especially someone who chose a motorcycle club over you.

A particularly violent thunderclap makes me jump, and simultaneously, the lights flicker out.

"You've got to be kidding me." I fumble for my phone and head back to the electrical panel.

This time, resetting the breaker does nothing.I try again. Still darkness.

The sound that comes next sends ice down my spine.A loud crack followed by an ominous creaking above me.I shine my phone light toward the ceiling just in time to see a widening fissure spread across the plaster.

Water begins pouring through, not in the polite drips I'd found earlier, but in a steady stream that quickly becomes a waterfall.

"No, no, no!" I scramble to move my suitcase, slipping on the increasingly wet floor.

More cracking sounds from above, and now the ceiling is sagging visibly, bulging downward like a pregnant belly about to deliver.

I need to get out. Now.

Grabbing my purse, phone, and car keys, I make a dash for the front door, the quilt still wrapped around myshoulders.Outside, the rain is coming down in sheets, but it's safer than whatever structural collapse is imminent inside.

I sprint to my car, soaked in seconds despite the quilt.The engine turns over, but my headlights reveal a massive pine branch now blocks the driveway, brought down by the storm.

"Perfect." I rest my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, considering my options.

Option one: Sit in my car all night during a severe thunderstorm next to a house that's actively falling apart.

Option two: Try to move a tree branch that probably weighs more than I do.

Option three: Call for help.

I choose option three, reaching for my phone.No signal. Of course.

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