Page 2 of Thunder

I take a step back. She's clearly lost her mind.

"I'm just trying to do my job. That's all. This land is so verdant, so special. Someone has to make sure it's preserved and protected, which is why I'm here. So I'd appreciate it if you could stop harassing me."

"Harassing you? You think I'm harassing you? It is so astounding to me that a young person like you, someone who probably has a very fancy degree and doesn't need a hearing aid, could be so deaf and uncomprehending. Do you not understand what I'm telling you?" Then she throws up her hands. "Here I am, being a fool, trying to get you to listen. I warned you: I'm calling my grandkids."

With that, she turns and hollers toward her home in the distance. "Owen, Natalie, your grandmother needs you. Come here, please."

In moments, two figures jog toward us, toward me, from the distant house.

Owen comes into view first. Tall, short-haired, broad-shouldered, with a camo tee and dark-colored jeans, he's either fresh out of the military, on leave from the military, or he thinks he should've been in it, and I don't know which is worse. I take a step back and look around for Brian, who is still far off in the distance.

"Grandma, you need something?" Owen says the second he arrives.

Just on his tail, Natalie comes jogging up. She's petite, looks a couple years younger than me, has curly dark hair, freckles, and the same striking blue eyes as her brother and grandmother. She turns those shocking blues on me with curiosity and determination.

"Who are you?" She says.

"Amelia," I answer by rote habit. Then I question why in the heck I'm giving any personal information at all to an old lady and her two grandkids who all obviously hate me, and two of them at least—the grandmother and her commando grandson—scare the crap out of me.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" Owen says forcefully.

The old woman nods. “She is.”

"An environmental engineer?" I ask.

No one at college warned me engineers of any type would be so hated. I wish they had. I would've pursued something less objectionable, like chemistry, with an emphasis on testing cosmetic safety on newborn puppies and kidnappedschool children.

"She’s one of those vultures in suits who wants to take my home from me," the old woman says. "Did you lose your hearing along with your soul?"

"Ma'am," I begin, drawing on the one thing I know in this situation: the specifics of the project that drew it to me in the first place. My voice shakes with enthusiasm, excitement,and heart. Even talking about the sheer potential of what could be built here makes me vibrate. "This is going to be the site for an eco resort, Mar y Tierra, and it's going to protect and preserve so much of the natural beauty of the area and give so much back to everyone here. It'll be powered by renewable energy, and any excess will go right back into the community. It'll be built to not just be carbon neutral, but carbon negative. And so much of that," I say, with a sweeping gesture that encompasses so much of the coastline. "Will be protected as a natural preserve."

"There's an entire state for your company to find somewhere else to build. And all of what you said, well, that's all great, but it doesn't help me when all I want is to die in the house where my husband and I spent fifty years raising children and grandchildren." The old woman makes another gesture, off toward an oak tree on a small hill in the distance. "You see that tree there? That's where he's resting, waiting for me, and when I go, I'm going to be put in the ground right next to the man I love. Now, why should I be excited for some bunch of rich people to take my home and build a spa or whatever they're going to build right on top of my husband's resting place? Why shouldn't I fight you and your company with every one of my very few remaining breaths?"

I take another step back.

A look over my shoulder tells me that Brian's watching from afar, standing next to the rental car with his hands on his hips.

"I'm truly sorry. That's obviously a lot to, uh, well, you see, this project is likely going ahead and I can assure you that everything will be done to respect the natural beauty of this place and, uh..."

I stop myself, because I was just about to say and your dead husband's grave, which I realize is probably not going to go over well.

Natalie, who has stayed mostly quiet during this confrontation, steps forward and puts a hand on my arm. "You should probably leave now."

A look at her brother, Owen, who I now realize has a noticeable bulge in his pants that is not indicative of his desire to have a good time, but is, in fact, a gun, tells me I definitely should leave. That, and the old woman has her fists balled up like she's ready to punch me in the face.

But my one step backward isn't enough for Owen, who now reaches into his pants and removes all doubt about whether the bulge is his penis or a gun.

It's a gun.

A big, scary-looking gun.

"Leave. Now."

"Yes, I'm leaving. Please don't hurt me," I say.

The trudge back to the car is long, and the scenery around me feels less like an idyllic piece of the California coast and more like the setting for a war zone.

Brian has a smile on his face that might be smug, as if he knew this would happen, or it might just be commiserating; I'm too out of sorts after being threatened by an old woman and her grandchildren to know the difference.

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