Storm Chasers: Revenge

Andrew sees a menacing tornado about to destroy a small city.
After saving the citizens, he views the twister as a person; an enemy--and wants to kill it as revenge for his own death.

by
Scott Gould




The short bend leading to Dwight Warner’s farmhouse from the highway was already filled to the brim with yellow leaves, even though it was still early in the fall. He trampled down the path, making a sound like broken glass. Ten yards down the road he met up with Andrew and the others.

“Oh, thank you,” he said. “Thank you for coming back...I think.” Mr. Warner had a confused look on his face for a moment. “Do I know you, son? Are you the young man who delivered my supplies yesterday, just before the twister hit?”

Andrew said nothing. He stared blankly at the old man.

“Oh, it doesn't matter. You're here now. And you brought reinforcements. Good. The Chamber of Commerce still needs a lot of help organizing for the fair next weekend. Won’t you kids please go to the office downtown and…” Another look of bewilderment. “Are you sure you weren’t here yesterday?”

“I don’t think so,” Andrew replied.

“Where were you when the storm hit?”

“I guess I was hiding out at home.”

“Home, eh? You live around here?”

“Yeah. My place isn’t too far off,” Andrew offered, with a quick rightward glance of his head. “Over by the creek.”

“The town creek is that way, young man,” said the old-timer, as a matter of fact, pointing a hitchhiking thumb behind him. The breeze blew a glaze of suspicion in Mr. Warner’s eye.

“I live close by,” said Andrew, pointedly, tiring of the interrogation. There was no chance in hell he was going to reveal to the gentleman that he lived in heaven. Quickly as it had come, the breeze blew the mistrust from the elder’s mind.

“Well...okay, if you say so. Just go and see what assistance the city officials need. And hurry. It looks like some more dark clouds are rolling in. The forecast says it is supposed to clear up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we got another visit from one of those monsters again.”

“Yes, we will hurry. It was nice chatting with you, sir.” And with that, Andrew turned and walked off, the others falling in like toppling dominoes.

“I can’t believe he didn’t recognize you,” said Floyd. “You were here only yesterday, weren’t you, just before...you know…”

“Of course, I was,” answered Andrew. “There’s my destroyed truck over there.” He pointed about a hundred yards to his right; where the remains of a once happy and alive motor vehicle lay among ruins of cardboard boxes, cement blocks, wires and cables, and planks of lumber.
One headlight peered out from the myriad of trash like a lone eye, which had once belonged to a familiar face, as if to chastise its owner. “How could you just leave me like this, Andy? You selfish little brat! Only thinking of your own survival, eh?”

“But things are different now. The world, at least for us, has changed.”

“Do you think people will believe us?”

“About what?”

“That we’re angels.”

“Who said we have to tell them? Who said we should tell them?”

“Maybe we’re not supposed to. Maybe we’re supposed to be like traditional superheroes, with secret identities,” said Katrina. “You know, rescue the damsel in distress, then up, up and away back to Krypton before anyone is the wiser.”

“So we just do our jobs, then split?” added Camille. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Sounds like someone’s eager to get started,” Andrew said, with a slight smirk. He continued down the country lane, which took them into town, knowing the others would follow without procrastination, as if his role as leader was pulling them like a rope. The group walked in absolute silence for the next ten minutes, the end of which brought them to the heart of downtown and the city hall offices.

“Last door on your left down that hall,” said the front desk receptionist—pointing behind her—when the inquiry was made as to the location of the Chamber of Commerce room.

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” said Andrew.

The kids were asked to deliver supplies and equipment to McCoy field, behind the high school, and help set up the tents and exhibits for the annual country fair that was to take place over the upcoming weekend. Most of the debris and evidence of devastation left behind by yesterday’s tornado had already been cleared away by the government emergency workers. The rest...well, it would be taken care of in time; meanwhile, it served as a reminder of nature’s wrath.

The fair was not due to begin for another two days. Andrew wanted to spend the time with his new friends letting them take in the sights of his town. Or perhaps...former town.

To Andrew, community was more than just a physical space. It was the citizens that made up its character, and the memories it held. But for Andy, that pleasure was no more. No soul alive in his home knew who he was anymore, for he wasn’t alive. He remembers everyone; he is a stranger to all.

So he felt the least he could do to even the score of this injustice was to give his friends the joy of his memories. It was like walking through a surreal reenactment of life. The images flew by like ghosts. It was form without existence. They visited the day when the ribbon was cut for the new General Store downtown. Andy watched his eight-year-old self jump up and down as the first item sold—a red lollipop—was handed to him.
They saw his father—then the town mayor--plant the seed that would replace the old oak tree which was blown down in front of City Hall the year before. Andy wondered if it had been destroyed by a storm, and wished he could have been an angel then to save it.

Saturday finally arrived, with the glory of a quiet, blue sky. No dark clouds around for miles. The kids were glad to see that. It meant one less group of innocents spared from having their lives shattered. But still, they wondered when they would receive their first assignment. The elders said "soon". It didn’t look like today would be the day. However, the day was still young.

There was a slight breeze whispering through a clear, blue sky, as Andrew and the others crossed the wide courtyard of the Chamber of Commerce complex, into a secondary building.

Once inside, they were introduced to Ramira Sanchez, too tall and overdressed for the day’s work: an organizer of supplies and events for a town fair. But she didn’t care about that. She always tried to overdress, in an attempt to make up for perceived inadequacy. She often felt that because of her Hispanic heritage, others did not give her proper credit. She looked up from her paperwork when she saw Andrew extend his hand in greeting.

“Hello, my friends and I came to help,” he said, with a quick glance toward the gang. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of Floyd licking his lips, with a lustful look on his face. She was wearing a wedding band and was at least a good ten years older than him, but he seemed to have no hesitation over those facts. Andrew gave him an icy glare, which he returned with a sheepish grin and a quick shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, in kind. “I was told some young persons would be coming over. I don’t know exactly what there is for you to do. Just ask around and see what people need, I guess.”

“Thanks,” said Katrina. “We'll give it our best shot.”

The kids looked around at the various tables, where folks were engaged in tasks ranging from painting banners to sanding the wooden planks that would build the many gift and concession stands. Andrew said, “Don’t stray too far, people. We’re still new at this, so make sure you know where one another is.” The others gave a quick nod in agreement before setting off.

Floyd stayed behind for a moment, staring curiously at the piles of papers set before Ramira. She asked, “Would you like to help me organize these receipts?”

“Sure,” he answered. “I’ll give it a try.”

“And that’s all you’ll help her with,” Andrew told him, sternly. “Promise me you’ll behave yourself.”

“You should know me by now.”

“Of course, I do. But promise me, anyway.”

A slight draft passed through a narrow, open doorway at the rear of the room, leading to a yard. There wasn’t much of a view, but enough to see the piles of splintered lumber and bags of trash torn open, as if a wild animal had been consumed by savage hunger. This suspicion grew in Camille as she stepped to the threshold and surveyed the scene.

The evidence of a potential massacre was strewn for a hundred or more feet beyond, and into several adjoining properties. Plastic and glass bottles, ripped cardboard and other paper products, and scraps of metal from toys, small appliances and other consumer items were scattered across this small universe. She turned to a gentleman standing behind her, coiling a rope upon its holder, and asked, “Is this what you do with your waste? Just indiscriminately toss trash around outside? Have you no decency; no respect but to litter?”

“Little lady,” he answered, with a tone of intolerance for naiveté. “That is not intentionally discarded trash. Ours or anyone else’s. That’s a small sample of the destruction left by yesterday’s tornado. It was bad. Real bad. I doubt even a team of guardian angels from heaven could have prevented that disaster. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

Camille held her head in one hand and shook it slightly, chuckling to herself at the irony. If only I could go back in time, she told herself, I would love to show that guy how wrong he can be.



The rest of the day and the next was comprised mainly of putting the finishing touches on the projects that would become the festivities for everyone to celebrate, placing in memory the catastrophe from earlier in the week. The sky was as clear and calm as the twister was dark and agitated. The scene disturbed the heroes. They knew this couldn’t last. They felt that fate was just setting them up for disaster to rain down on them later.

Mrs. Sanchez came up to the kids strolling the fairgrounds. She placed a hand on Floyd’s shoulder and gave a wide smile to the group. But, of course, Floyd thought it was just for him, and returned the gesture.
Andrew couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“The event is a great success,” she said, handing a stick of cotton candy to Andrew, even though he held a caramel apple.

He passed the fluffy confection to an empty-handed youngster shuffling past, who eagerly took it with a broad grin, then ran off, shouting, “Mama, look!”

“I can’t thank you enough for all your help,” she continued. “Feel free to help yourself to anything. The park is yours.”

Andrew smiled graciously for her words. They continued to stroll in silence for several more minutes. Finally, Katrina said, “If everything is going so great, then what are we doing here? Where is there something or someone to save? Or is all this just a dream?”

“Be patient,” replied Camille. “I’m sure that sooner or later...we will be needed.”

Camille just had to tempt the devil in the details. The remainder of the afternoon seemed to whiz by in the blink of an eye, cause as it is said, ‘When you’re having fun... ‘

It was only day one of a weeklong event of amusement, but apparently the skies had other plans. No sooner had everyone begun to disperse and clean up after the first full day of activities than a shotgun-sounding blast of thunder crackled to life overhead. It was followed almost immediately by a stinging lash of lightning which snapped in two the sign at the fairground’s entrance that read Centerville Town Fair, dropping it to the ground as if an axe had murdered, in revenge, a wild animal who left a mess in a yard the day before. No one had even noticed the sky darkening until this sudden wake-up call, jolting them from their reverie.

“You wanted to know if we would be needed here,” Camille barked at Katrina. “Does this answer your question?”

“No time to argue,” boomed Andrew. “Just get ready to move. Floyd, help me clear away this sign before someone trips over it.”

Floyd was distracted by a couple of college girls who had exited a tent and apparently had no knowledge of the impending doom. “Floyd!” Andrew shouted.

Floyd instantly jumped to attention. He saw a look in Andrew’s eyes that told him he would be engaged in a lecture later on. Katrina and Camille—situated nearby—saw it, too, and beamed a strong frown at Floyd. In that instant, it was cemented that Andrew was their leader.

The storm was picking up. No sooner had Andrew and Floyd tossed away the debris than another pile of unused wooden boards, resting in a pile on a cabinet shelf came tumbling down on top of the legs of a young man, who was running from the commotion, securing him to the ground.
He couldn’t move. “Somebody help me!” he screamed. “Please help!”

Camille was the first to arrive on the scene. Please, if I never do anything else, let me do this, she prayed to heaven, for she clearly remembered, from her earlier life, being buried alive by the snow, crying out for help, and being unable to move. This was her chance to get even with the powers-that-be.

But try as she might, she could not budge the planks, lest she come away with her hands full of splinters. Not that she cared about that, anyway, considering what was at stake.

Camille didn’t have the strength to help the kid, but Andrew more than made up for it. He was standing a mere five feet from the site of entrapment, when he caught the eyes of Camille and the youngster.
Camille uprighted herself and stood back. She did not know exactly what Andrew was going to do, but knew, somehow, that everything would be alright. She braced herself; one hand resting on the young man’s shoulder to comfort him as a localized, hurricane-force gust of wind suddenly blew through the area.

The fair’s crowd—now huddled inside a building at the edge of the grounds, and kept indoors by Katrina and Floyd, who had assumed the stance of guards, standing astride an invisible DO NOT CROSS line of tape—stood by helplessly and in awe at the scene outside before their eyes.

Camille had trouble keeping her balance, at first, as the squall passed through. It presented no difficulty at all for Andrew. He was one with the wind; it was his territory. If a blizzard tore through, Camille would know just what to do.

The gale concentrated on the wooden dragon clamped down on the kid's legs. Suddenly, they blew off him and lay in rubble in a bush fifty yards away. It worked as easily as if Andrew had used his breath to blow down a model house made of toothpicks.

The moment the kid was free, Camille placed her hands underneath his arms and lifted him up. She gently pushed him ahead of her, encouraging him to run. She wanted him to join the townsfolk in their sanctuary, as Katrina and Floyd waved him over from a distance, urging him to safety.

Floyd looked back for just a second to grab the door handle of the building. He caught a glimpse of those college girls again, but didn’t give them a second look. He was more focused on getting the kid inside. Katrina took note of this, knew what was happening, and was proud of him. When he had a job to do, which involved the work of savior, he did just that and nothing else. He didn’t let his lust or love of freedom take over. He knew what was important. Hope was not lost. Katrina made a vow to report this revelation to the others later.

Andrew knelt forward for a few moments and placed his hands on his knees, catching his breath. It was as if it took a great deal of energy out of him to carry out his task. But he told himself it was just the stress and excitement of the ordeal. Besides, it was his first real job.

Camille thought he was about to fall, and rushed over to steady him on his feet. He reassured her he was fine.

The kid hesitated for a moment before running off. “Hey! Wha…” he said to Camille. “You watched him! You know about this!” He then demanded of Andrew, “How did you...what are you?”

“I'm your friend! I saved you!” Andrew tried to shout above the roar of the wind.

Camille gave the young man a slight shove into the arms of Katrina, who had come to drag him away. “Don’t ask questions, just go!” she ordered. “There’s a big storm coming! Go, now!”

A few men were still outside, at the other end of the field, trying to tie down a protective tarp over some of the fair’s booths. The kid called out to them, “Don’t let these guys help you! There’s something strange about them!"

Katrina ignored his rant. “What are you still doing here?” she yelled at them. “Get inside with the others! You’re gonna get yourselves killed!”

Sure enough, as soon as they saw everyone was indeed safe inside, the four angels stood in front of the steps leading to the Community Recreation Center. Mrs. Sanchez, the principal of the high school and three others stepped onto the porch to get a closer look at what had made everyone hang their mouths open in terror and awe; what created that deafening roar.

It was their old friend, Mr. Twister. Or rather, its replacement, come to finish the job. And it was a big, ugly mother, too, at least twice the size of his brother. That noise the populace heard was the sound of their city being destroyed and, as if sensing human blood, the tornado aimed for the fairgrounds to eliminate its citizens.

“Get back inside, guys,” Andrew told the brave souls who had ventured outside. “We’ll handle this.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Sanchez retorted. “What are you going to do, give the storm a spanking?”

“I said go back inside!” Andrew scolded, a little more sternly. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. Tell everyone to get down to the basement. You’ll be safe there.”

Mrs. Sanchez and the others followed the given instructions as Andrew took a step forward, his gaze never wavering from the cloud. Katrina, Camille and Floyd followed, slowly, cautiously, also keeping their stares skyward.

Andrew took a further step, and the tornado returned the favor, inching toward him. A sneer, then a scowl, crossed Andrew’s face as he could have sworn he caught glimpses of lines scratching their way down the funnel cloud. It appeared to Andrew to be forming into the likeness of a human face, or perhaps it was only his imagination. The face appeared to take on the expression of a bully, seemingly laughing in the face of cowardice. But, like most bullies, it was all a show, and deep down did not want a confrontation with someone stronger. Andrew and the others certainly wanted to give the impression that they were the stronger.

Andrew took another step forward. The menacing cloud, as if thinking this was a game, reciprocated once more. Andrew moved closer, this time with his band of accomplices in tow. The funnel cloud retreated. One angry kid was enough; it wasn’t prepared to face the wrath of four.

Andrew continued to move forward, then sideways. The twister followed, parallel, never inching closer than one thousand yards. Katrina and the other storm killers didn’t let him stray too far. He was never out of their sight. Andrew began to chase the thing, the others hot on his tail.

Katrina yelled, “Andrew, what are you doing? You can’t take that thing on by yourself!”

“Watch me!”

“Andrew—!”

Andrew turned, furious, and faced his friends. “That monster just cleared this town off the map! And the other day he annihilated the next village over, when I had my earlier life. I was killed as a result. I will not stand idly by and watch these things obliterate peoples’ lives. He must be dealt with! He must be taught a lesson!”

Camille gave the gang a look like she thought Andrew was half out of his mind. She glared right at Andrew. “He?”

“That’s right. Him and his kind.” Andrew glanced back and saw the dark mass still swirling, stationary, as if it were eavesdropping on the heroes’ plans. Then he turned back to the team. “I’m gonna kick his—!”

“Andy!” interjected Katrina.

Floyd said, “No, I don’t think he wants to kick its Andy. It doesn’t even have an Andy.”

“He does now,” beamed Andrew, turning to face the twister. The darker the cloud stirred, the darker the rage churned in Andrew.

The twister started to move away, as if sensing inevitable punishment. Andrew took a few more steps, in a trot, which soon blew into a steady run. He transfixed on the evil from the skies above, and was not about to let this feeling go. But even though he had power over it (when he let it out), Andrew could not run like the wind.

The twister ran away from him, farther and farther, across the valley, and back over the hills on the other side of town. Andrew, nearly out of breath, tried his best to capture the thing, as elusive as chasing a rainbow.
The others called out after him, trying to keep up. “An-deeeee...!”

At one point, Andrew nearly tripped over a fallen branch, allowing the other kids to catch up. Andrew bellowed to the storm, a far enough distance away for it to count as futile. “Hey! Where you going? Huh?
Come back here and fight me! This isn’t over! Not by a long shot!”
Andrew thought he heard an echo rumble through the valley, which sounded eerily like maniacal laughter. He was really going to have to do something about these hallucinations. He vowed to check on it...later. Right now, he was primed for battle.

Katrina, Camille and Floyd surrounded him, holding him back, and preventing him from running away.
He had a look in his eyes bordering on madness. “THIS ISN’T OVER!”



When the skies returned to a cloudless, clear blue an hour later, Katrina, Camille and Floyd opened the doors to the Rec Center, and found about five hundred people huddled on the floor in the lobby, in the adjoining rooms, on the upstairs balcony, and in the upstairs rooms. There was no basement.

They opened all of the outside doors. Opened them wide, in order to let the sunshine in and let the town know the danger had gone, at least for the moment. They informed everyone that it was getting late, and suggested they should all just go home and rest. The next day would come, and they and the fair would endure. Life must go on.

Centerville Mayor Thomas Bradford confronted the three of them. “Weren’t there four of you? What happened to your friend? We didn’t…lose him, did we?” he asked solemnly, the lump in his throat clearly showing.

Floyd hung his head and shook it with a slight grin. “Nothing of the sort, sir,” he assured. “We’re strong, healthy kids. You don’t get rid of us that easily.”

“Then where is he? What is he doing? When will he return?”

“He’ll be back soon,” said Camille. “He went to—.” She instantly realized that it may not be the wisest choice of words to speak. She wasn’t sure if their first assignment was the right time to reveal themselves. But, then again, she knew that no time would be the right time, for it would always be as much of a shock as any other moment. And it was no use holding back the truth from the world forever. Besides, she had already begun by foolishly opening her mouth. The secret had broken free of its prison, and was peering around the corner to see if it was safe to make a run to freedom. “He went to take care of that tornado for you. He’ll be back.”

Mrs. Sanchez stepped forward. “Seriously,” she quipped, “where is he?”

Katrina said, with a straight face, “She just told you. He went to kill the tornado. We’re a special breed of storm rangers.”

The young gentleman who was freed from the wooden board collapse exclaimed, “See? I told you there was something odd about them.” He cast a wide, sarcastic grin. “Pretty monsters in human form. I got dibs for the one on the right.”

Camille cast him a challenging look. I don’t think so, mortal.

Mayor Bradford confronted the youngster. “I think now would be a very good time for you to keep quiet, son. Those storms out there are the real monsters!” he cried, with an outstretched arm, his finger pointing to the horizon. “Whatever or whoever these kids are...they saved us. They saved our town. We are all alive at this moment cause they kept us safe in here,” he motioned to the crowd.

He focused his attention on the three saviors. “Thank you, thank you, whoever you are. Are you new in town? Where are your parents? Do you live in Centerville?”

“No,” answered Floyd. “We’re not from this area.”

“What brings you around?”

“We were just doing our j—we just wanted to see the fair, that’s all.”

“Nice save, angel boy,” whispered Camille.

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime. Won’t you please stay awhile?”

“Thanks, but we have to go,” said Katrina.

A girl of about ten in a red and white striped cap asked, “Will we ever see you again?”

Katrina knelt down to the girl, at eye level, and handed her a lone daffodil that she plucked from the ground at the girl’s feet. “As sure as there is a heaven above, yes. We will return one day,” she replied, with a smile that made the youngster’s day so bright, it was as if a storm had never come.

Katrina retreated to join Camille and Floyd.

Heaven, the striped-hat girl thought. She placed her hands on top of her head and cried out with glee for all to hear. “They’re...they’re gods! They’ve come to save the world! After all this time, we have our salvation!”

The three heroes smiled at the crowd, and the people of the town were lost in a trance for a few moments. When they awoke, their saviors were gone. A slight breeze rippled across the field. The girl in the striped hat stared at the daffodil. Instead of the flower blowing away in the early evening twilight, it shone with a glow.



The old man in black jeans and white sweatshirt sat on the curb, with his head in his hands, and refused to wipe away his tears. Maybe if the remnants of the winds of change could look inside his broken soul, they’d have at least an ounce of remorse, and vow never again to destroy. But it was futile. He knew there was no way to undo what had been done. There was nothing anyone could do, as he was sure they were all going through the same ordeal. He pictured his neighbors picking through the ruins of what was once their homes and shops, salvaging what were now only memories of their once lively town. He brushed away a pesky fly tickling his face.

He could overhear William down the street spewing his curses as he picked through the trash of his partially still-standing apartment building. Willie the Whippersnapper, he called him. On the one hand, he was glad he and his friends could no longer annoy everyone with ‘that infernal racket.’ But, at the same time, he felt bad for the young man because, like everyone else, he had nothing left.

“Damn it! Damn it, where is it?” the old timer heard the kid complain. “That stupid storm better not have ruined my guitar!”

He heard the Tucker family next door, discussing what was worth saving as they picked through the wreckage. Their three young children ambled about, shrieking cries of fun and joy, as if they had stumbled upon some grand new carnival or fair. Little did they realize that a real fair was but two miles away. The old man thought about the majority of the town’s residents, who were probably embroiled in amusement when the storm hit, and had most likely rode it out in the Rec Center building, which served as a shelter.

He thought about what things would be like for them when they returned to town. He thought about if insurance would cover the losses. He thought about where his next meal would come from. He thought about all of it, and a million other things.

He admits, he was always a worrier. This play running through his mind was interrupted by what he thought was a buzzing sound. It was not a fly pestering him, after all. The sound faded after a time; he realized it was simply a glider passing overhead. And the strange sensation he tried to wipe from his cheek was his own mere tears.

Then why was he touching flesh not his own? And why did he suddenly seem to have grown an extra finger? His mind paused just long enough coming out of its trance to sense the apparition hovering near like a fog. Only this apparition had a voice! A female voice? He thought mirages only existed in the desert. Could the storm have blown him into arid wastelands?

“Sir…?”

Then, as he came around, his vision clearer, he could see the face peering down at him. The face matched the voice. It indeed was female. A young voice.

“Excuse me, sir…?”

And it wasn’t alone. And neither were the faces.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The gentleman was fully awake and aware now, confronted by three youths. At first, he thought they might be there to cause some trouble, cause they were the same age as Willie. But their expressions were clearly filled with compassion.

A young lady of about eighteen, with straight blonde hair and a porcelain face gently took hold of the man’s arm and helped him stand up. It didn’t take long for him to do a 360-degree turn and get a better look at his surroundings. He could just as well have been surveying the results of an attack during wartime. His hands trembled slightly at the same time they tried to reach out to her...for comfort...for anything to hold on to...for he had nothing left.

His tears welled up. “S-Sam’s world is gone,” he cried. “I spent a lifetime building up treasures and existing peacefully with Nature. I never did anything to hurt her, and she came suddenly and destroyed me. For no reason. I didn’t get a chance to save anything. I didn’t even get a chance to protest. She’s...she’s evil. Don’t trust her. Don't…” At that point he broke down, into the arms of the girl.

“I know. I know Sam is hurting. But Katrina is here to cry to. And to tell you it’s all over, and you will be alright.”

A small crowd had started to gather. Willie was there, as well as the Tucker family. Other families and individuals soon joined in from down the road and nearby side streets. Everyone had lost something. But it seemed like Sam was hit the hardest. Indeed, unlike the others, his home was wholeheartedly annihilated.

Perhaps Sam was taking it hardest because he lived alone as an old man, with no one to really lean to, and had lost everything accumulated from a full life—then it was taken from him by violent force. And he felt anger and jealousy at the fact that everyone else was younger, had loved ones to turn to, and had a chance to rebuild.

Maybe the general relations he had with his neighbors over the years would have gone smoother if he had maintained a more pleasant demeanor. Alas, he was often filled with a brash temperament and not the kindest word of affection whenever the opportunity arose. He often complained that the world did not treat him as he felt he deserved, and he often lashed out at perceived injustice.

But now, Willie’s and the others’ hearts were not filled with condemnation, but empathy. They looked past his bitterness, straight into his spirit. And they found pure humanity. They were ready to forgive. All feelings of animosity disappeared in an embrace. In a moment, Sam and Katrina found themselves in the middle of a bear-hug sandwich, as Camille and Floyd looked on, eager for a piece of the action.

Only the wind heard Camille sigh. “Yes,” she said, “the big, bad storm is all gone, and everything will be better now.” She put her arm around a young mother, while offering to hold a basket of clothes. The woman was struggling with a fidgety two-year-old in her other arm.

Katrina took a more focused gaze at the destruction around her. She faced her left, then her right, then behind her before twirling back. “My God,” she muttered under her breath, while looking at Camille and Floyd. She did not want the townsfolk to hear her, for they did not need the stress of further confirmation that their world had just been shattered. “Lord Almighty, Sam was right. This wasn’t just a storm. Evil did this. Pure evil from the angry skies came to visit. It’s been happening since even before recorded time began. And no one has been able to stop it—or explain it. Everyone is just a victim. Something must finally be done!”

“You see, this is why we were sent,” said Camille. We are their redemption. Andrew was right. That…thing…must be dealt with. This cannot go unpunished!”

“Don’t worry,” said Floyd. “Andrew will take care of this. Andrew will put a stop to this. Andrew will—.” Floyd stopped just long enough to look about him for a moment. His two female colleagues knew exactly what he was thinking. He continued, “Where’s Andrew?”



And speaking of our Andrew, he was on the far side of town, past the hills, looking adamantly for the twister he vowed to destroy. He glided into the air and rested on a cloud, letting it take him on a journey into distant lands, where he could get a better view—of the skies, and the destruction left below. He let out a sigh as a tear began to fall. He didn’t wipe it away, for he thought it was mist from the cloud, and he wanted to blend in with his element.

He finally spotted it, or another one of them—trying to form—perhaps to destroy another nearby community. Andrew told himself he was going to be damned if he’d let another one get away. Another city is about to be devastated? I don’t think so!

“What do you think you’re doing? Huh? You don’t come here, with your big, bad self, tear up my world, and run away!” Andrew shouted to the sky, without a human soul around to hear him for miles. The wind in the funnel swirled faster and faster, and the cloud turned darker and darker. Andrew was determined to put an end to this thing, once and for all. He didn’t care that he’d risk being killed in the process, for that couldn’t really happen; he was already an angel.

The wind was picking up, violently. Andrew was tossed about a few times, but he concentrated on staying afloat. His own power over the wind helped him with that.

And then something seemingly magical happened.

Andrew’s power over the wind, he realized, gave him the strength to overtake the wind of the cloud. With every gust that was thrown at him, he fought back with a thrust of his own. The twister tried, repeatedly, to knock him down and rid itself of the last remaining obstacle in its quest to wipe away another town. And failed at every attempt. Andrew threw his own force of wind straight at the cloud, and ripped shreds down its face. He could literally hear shrieking as he tore it to pieces. Crack after crack he tossed at the thing, until it was shattered into nothingness. Gradually, the skies turned blue, and the tornado was no more.

But spending all this energy apparently took its toll on Andrew. He was out of breath…and out of luck.

They finally spotted him. Floyd and the girls rushed across a broad field, followed by a large crowd of the town’s people. The scene took on the look of a bunch of kids being chased by an angry mob—for starting a storm, instead of trying to stop it—if it were viewed by an onlooker.

Floyd slowed his run as he looked about him. “I could have sworn I heard his scream come from exactly this direction. I have excellent hearing, and I hardly ever miss a beat.” Even though Floyd’s ears gave him no trouble, he forgot to check his eyes.

Before anyone knew it, they saw Andrew falling…

…falling…falling…

…straight from the sky, and landed face down on the ground, one hundred yards in front of them. Floyd thought about how the crowd in the city must have reacted when he collapsed near his building, just before he succumbed.

“Andy, Andy, are you alright?” asked Katrina, over and over again.

Mayor Bradford pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Hey, kid,” he said. “What’s up? Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re not hurt!”

“I’m fine, I said I’m fine. Will everyone please back off?" Andrew picked himself up, and sat Indian-style in the grass. He sat, watching the valley from the plateau they were all on.

Katrina asked, “Andrew….? Honey, what are you looking at? What’s going on? And more importantly, where were you? What did you think you were going to do…?”

“It’s all over,” he replied. “It’s all over, including the shouting.” He stood up. “I took care of the storm. I taught him and his friends a lesson, and told them never to come back. This town will never be bothered by one of those demons, ever again.”

“What do you mean, ’you taught it a lesson’?” asked Camille.

“I destroyed it. Plain and simple.”

“You destroyed…a funnel cloud?” asked Floyd. “Look, I know this was our first assignment, but..."

“You heard me correctly. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know myself. But I used my power over the wind. I punched holes in the thing. I hurt it real bad. I could actually hear cries of agony from the skies. I destroyed it, and sent a warning. I told the menacing clouds that if they ever show their ugly faces around here again, they will deal with me once more, in exactly the same manner. I told them I will give them more of that treatment. And I will.

“I was killed, as a human, in this town, by one of them. This is more than a personal crusade. I will be watching over this town. That is all I have to say.”

Mayor Bradford walked right up to Andrew. “What do you mean, ’you destroyed it’?” he asked. “What does your friend mean, ‘your first assignment’? What are you? You’re a kid! How can you…how can anyone…destroy a tornado? Will you please be a little more clear and tell me, son? Cause I’d sure love to know. I’ve got lots and lots of time.”

“Yeah, I’d like to know, too,” said a gentleman in a gray, tweed sports coat, flashing an open business card holder, with identification.

“That’s them,” the kid who was rescued from the wooden planks told him, and who had apparently made a call and turned the heroes in, whispered to him, as he pointed to the small group of four souls gathered together, as if being sentenced to a lynching by the town mob who thought they had brought a storm.

But this storm was of a different sort, and was about to get much worse. The gentleman offered a sincere smile. “Hello,” he offered. “I don’t mean you any harm. I was just wondering if I could ask you kids a few questions. I’m Tom Canarelli. I’m with the New York Times.”

============================

Storm Chasers: Guilty as Charged

Camille feels tremendous guilt over not being able to save a snowbound family from their mountaintop cabin.

by
Scott Gould




It was 5 AM in the all-night diner, and the kitchen was busy with dinner and breakfast orders. The late night truckers and bored tourists passing through hadn’t had enough of entertaining themselves—and apparently, the rest of the place—with their drunk, loud and rowdy behavior. Several staff had to come over to ask them to quiet down, on more than one occasion.

Katrina and her team of storm tamers were sitting in a booth in the rear of the café, nursing ice cream sundaes. Their waitress gave them an odd look when she came over. Ice cream seems like a strange choice when it’s forty degrees outside. The first big snowstorm of the season was on its way, and Camille wondered what she was going to do.

“That last assignment was a real doozy, if you ask me,” said Andrew, licking off fudge sauce from a spoon.

“That was nothing,” responded Floyd. “Remember, in our training in heaven, we saved entire worlds. Something tells me there’s a reason for that. We may very well face it, here on Earth. Our mentors want us to be prepared for anything that comes our way. And don’t forget, they will help us if needed. That drain of energy you felt was probably just you being overwhelmed by your perceived pressure of your first job. Maybe another one of your hallucinations."

Andrew shot Floyd an ice glare, similar to the one he gave for admiring Mrs. Sanchez. Katrina smirked at the two ‘adolescents’ having it out.

Camille, however, was lost in another world. She was busy being captivated by a six-year-old girl and her doll. The youngster was sitting with her older brother and parents, and finishing off a place of French Fries. Camille had a hundred questions. Is she having a good time? Does she live nearby? What is she going to do with the rest of her winter vacation? What is her doll’s name?

Camille looked up and saw a scowl on the father’s face. What do you want? Why don’t you mind your own business, young lady? Stick with your friends over there—he motioned with a nod—the young punks, I’m sure. But his wife silenced him with a look of her own.

“Leave her alone, honey. The girl doesn’t mean any harm, she’s just being friendly.”

“I’m really sorry,” Katrina told the woman. “She didn’t mean to bother you…right?” Katrina bore into Camille. “She has some growing up to do today.”

The married man who scolded Camille eased up on his stance. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “It was an awkward moment; it’s passed.”

“Maybe we’ll see you around,” said the wife, leading her family on the way out. “If you’re nearby, we’re at that resort down the road—Skyhawk Ranch. I’m Marsha Littleton,” she said, offering Camille a handshake. Camille took it gingerly. Now it was the woman’s turn to be nosy.

Her husband reversed his position again. “Marsha, stop it! You don’t know these people. What if they’re deranged killers?”

Andrew looked on in disgust as he led his own group away. “Let’s just go guys, okay?”

“Okay, fine, we’ll be going. But you, sir,” Camille berated the gentleman, “should take a lesson in humanity. Not everyone has evil intentions, you know.”

Camille then rejoined her gang. The twelve-year-old came up from behind and gently took her hand. “Hey,” he said, “you’ll have to excuse my dad. He means well, but sometimes…he can be a bit harsh.”

“It’s okay, I understand. He’s just looking out for his family.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Then a short pause, as he stared longingly into her eyes.

He continued, with a sly smile, “You know, I’ll be eighteen in only six years. Wait for me. I’ll look ya up, doll.”

Camille was flattered, at first—for a second. Then she felt violated, just as strongly. She remembered, not too long ago, a young man, closer to her age, made a comment about ‘pretty monsters’. And she felt just as turned off. It wasn’t that she didn’t have an interest in guys; in fact, completely the opposite. It’s just that she found most of them driven by their hormones, when she’d rather them be ruled by their heads and hearts.

“I’m sorry,” the little girl said. “Please forgive my brother. He’s a walking horn dog.”

“I understand that, too,” Camille replied, with a wide smile. “Either way, like your Mom said, maybe we’ll run into each other again.

And once again, sir,” she said to the man, “people are not all bad. We’re not deranged killers. We’re just average kids." Perhaps a little more than average. "We’re actually very nice. Maybe you’ll see heroes in us one day. If you’re ever in trouble, I’ll be there to save you.”

Camille didn’t know how badly she would come to regret those words. When they didn’t hold true, she was destined to break down over them.

§


The kids bundled up as they walked out of the restaurant.

“Let’s go to the Skyhawk Ranch,” said Camille.

“Oh, honey, will you let it go?” complained Katrina. “You’re not going to accomplish anything more. The man is very overprotective, and you’re not going to change him.”

“What are you talking about? Oh, that…no, I’ve forgotten about that. I just want to see the ranch, that’s all. It sounds like a cool place to hang out. Besides, the woman said we were welcome. And I want to see people skiing. I want to see people full of life and having fun, cause I didn’t get a chance to.”

“Well, okay,” surrendered Andrew. “But if we run into the guy again, promise me you won’t start any more trouble.”

“If he does, can I melt a giant snowball all over him and get him wet?” Floyd wanted to know.

The winter resort of Skyhawk Ranch was like the typical myriad of all the others in the Utah mountains; packed with vacationers and natives alike every November through April, enjoying nature’s majesty. Camille knew all about the scene she was in. Born and raised in Colorado, it was hard to tell where the border lay between two states so much like brothers.

The wind was already starting to mildly blow in when the kids arrived at the main lodge. The very first thing Camille did was go up to the front desk to inquire as to the whereabouts of her new friends, the Littleton’s. She knew she was already on friendly terms with the mother and daughter, which was quite understandable; many breeds of the feline species often quickly form bonds. She wanted to make amends with the head of the family, whom she felt just didn’t like her very much, for some reason. And the son…well, she only had to hide from him for another six years.

She learned the location of their cabin, and wanted to make it there for another visit before she missed them. They could very well have gone back out into town again today, since there wasn’t much to do on the slopes after hearing the discouraging news: the storm which was forecast to blow through the area had decided to take a sharp turn North and miss its mark. Everyone was disappointed, but didn’t have long to wait, for another was right behind, and would settle in by the end of the week.

Camille rejoined her friends, saying she also wanted to see the town. And that they may very well just bump into the Littleton clan. She wanted to invite them to have dinner with them and the other kids, and perhaps even think of what else to do before they received the dusting of powder from the new, upcoming snowfall.

Friday came and went quickly—for the residents of Skyhawk Ranch. However, the day moved slowly for the benefit of the storm, which grew stronger as it moved in closer for the kill. Or rather…storms; plural. It seems the earlier one was still out there, building, and had abruptly turned southward again. Just in time to collide with the new one—and all pumped up to form one massive super storm!

But the good people of the town of Skyhawk and the surrounding communities had little to no notice of the impending disaster, for as it inched closer, it gradually knocked out power to the region.

Communications…gone.

Heat…gone.

And the Littleton’s were vacationing at Skyhawk!

It was just after seven on Saturday morning when Camille bolted upright on her cot, then shot fully awake like a rocket and roused the others. “C’mon, guys. Get up! Up, up! I wanna have breakfast with the Littleton’s.”

“Oh, Camille,” Andrew rehashed for the umpteenth time, “what has gotten into you? Why don’t you leave these nice people alone? When they’re gone, that’s it! It’s over! Do you understand?”

“Sure I understand. Why do you think I’m doing this? I’m an angel, so I wanna make friends here whenever I can. Now, do you understand?”

Katrina felt a grin start to grow. “C’mon, guys, ease up. She’s just being cordial. I think it’s a noble gesture. Let her have fun with her new friends.”

“Okay, we’ll humor her,” Floyd said. “But the moment she changes her last name to Littleton, I’m calling for help.”

Camille led the others, excitedly, down the short embankment to the main lodge. She wanted to check the bulletin board to see what and where the day’s special events were. Then she trampled down to the Littleton’s, shouting back at the others with glee. Being dead and an angel, Camille sure was full of zest and life.

Camille hardly took note of her immediate surroundings upon entering the lodge, and then again when she went outside.

“Uh, Cam,” said Andrew, “don’t you find anything unusual around here?”

“Like what?”

“It’s almost 7:30 in the morning, and even so, there’s almost no one around. Not in the lodge…not on the slopes.” One man and woman were scorching themselves by the fireplace, their arms wrapped tightly around themselves.

“Maybe they’re in their cabins, getting ready for the day.”

“Or maybe they’re in their cabins, hunkering down, trying to stay warm,” came a voice from behind them. It was the morning desk clerk. “That big storm came back last night, and got nastier. We only just received word of it early this morning. I only hope no one’s heat went out. I’d hate for anyone to have caught their deaths.” Careful, mister. You don’t want to be too prophetic.

“Don’t anyone worry,” reassured Cammy. “I know everything’s alright. Come on, people,” she said to her group, “Let’s just go get the Littleton’s and their children, and then we’ll plan our day.”

The angels ran down the snow-covered slope of the mountain so quickly, if was almost as if they were flying…because they were—after all—angels.

Camille rapped on the door. “Steven…Marsha…it’s me, Camille. Are you in there? We came to take you to breakfast, and then we’ll have another fun-filled day. What do you say?” She opened the door a crack.
“Guys?” She found the family in their cabin, still fast asleep.

Floyd commented, “It looks like they slept right through the storm, and even their alarm clocks. They missed all the fun.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. There’s still lots of fun left. Hey, Steven, wake up.” She gave the body of Steven Littleton a shove in an attempt to awaken him.

She was surprised at how cold he was, despite the temperature. And stiff.

“Now that we’re on good terms again, I want to spend the day with you and your family. C‘mon, it‘ll be fun.”

As she quickly surveyed the room and watched the family still ‘sleeping’, Katrina’s mind began to race. “What did the clerk at the lodge say?” she asked of Floyd. “Didn’t he say a big storm came through…and he wasn’t sure if everyone had adequate heat?”

“Something like that.” Floyd suddenly felt colder than the room.

“Check the generator over there,” Katrina told Andrew.

“Dead,” he said, after a few moments. “Just like…” He could barely swallow the lump in his throat.

“Hey, guys…” piped up a formerly quiet Camille, “…what’s going on?”

Katrina walked over and felt the face of Marsha Littleton. It did not feel right. It did not feel alive.

She turned, slowly, and faced her colleague. “Oh, Camille, I…I’m so sorry.”

“About what?”

§


“Camille…”

“Yeah, what’s up?…look—I know what you’re trying to say, but it’s not going to work. They’re just…they’re sleeping. They’ll wake up any second now.” She walked over to the children. “Hey, Alex. Hey, Marcy. Get up. It’s time to play.”

Camille began to shudder. Her whole body shook for a second.
“C’mon, guys…don’t you do this to me!” she shouted. Now the walls of the cabin shook, as well.

Andrew, Katrina and Floyd slowly circled Camille in case she needed a soul to throw her arms around, but not so restricting in case she wanted to bolt to a corner and sob.

“Camille,” said Andrew, “I’m so sorry. We were too late.”

“No…NO!!” she cried, with her fists raised in the air, ready to smash anything to release the vengeance. Camille’s voice was enough to make birds in the trees in the surrounding countryside fly away. Silently, she cursed the fate that allowed them to live while stealing innocent youth.

It was eventually Andrew that Camille ran to. All she kept repeating was to ask ‘why’. “What did I do to deserve this? They were my friends. I just wanted to love them. I only wanted to love them.”

A violent rage burned in Camille. It was part shame and guilt at not being around to save her new friends; another part filled her with the unfairness of it all. All in one motion, she released her grip from Andrew and bolted out of there like a shot from a cannon. Camille ran down the snowy mountainside like she had never before run a marathon, crying out all the way.

“Ah! Nooo!” She tripped over twigs and stones along the way, and was afraid she’d get caught up in another avalanche. Once as alive; once as not.

Andrew and the others chased after her. They did not want her to stray too far and become lost in unfamiliar wilderness. But Camille wanted to get lost. A large part of her felt that her only just punishment was self-imposed exile. Eventually, they did lose track of her, though they never gave up their search. Minute after minute, hour after hour, they looked for their friend. Just when they thought all hope was lost (and they thought they’d have to ask their heavenly mentors for help), they finally found her.

Camille ran so hard, so fast and so far until she could run no more. They located her at the bottom of a snow bank, at the edge of a field, mumbling to herself and sobbing her little heart out. She was so lost in herself, and in the moment, that they were feared any sudden motion would startle her into running off again.

They each slowly came upon her in a circular pattern, coming closer…closer. Andrew was exactly two feet behind her when he whispered her name so softly, he thought the sound of his own voice might have been the wind itself.

“Camille…Camille…”

Camille’s tears abated and she looked up, slowly. Then behind her. When she saw Andrew—and then the others—come upon her, she just about completely lost it. She began to sob all over again, this time not so much over the incident, but rather relief that her friends had found her after searching all day long. It was almost dusk. She fell into his arms.

“I blew it! I blew it!” she cried, as Katrina and Floyd surrounded them in one giant bear hug. “I failed at my job! I blew it big time!”

“No, honey,” consoled Katrina. “You didn’t blow it. It couldn’t be helped. You couldn’t have known.”

“Yes, I could. I’m an angel. I’m from the heavens. I should have known what was happening. I slept right through it. I stood there and did nothing while people died.” She began to shudder again.

“I didn’t do my job. I should be taken back.” She stood up and distanced herself from her friends, in a barren spot in the middle of the field. “I failed!” she shouted to the sky. “Take me back! Do you hear? TAKE ME BACK!!”

The kids ran to her and wrapped themselves around her again. Andrew looked her squarely in the eye, as he grabbed her shoulders. He wanted her full attention.

“Camille! Camille, look at me!” Her eyes alternated between terror and mournfulness. She began to turn away. “Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not going anywhere! Camille…sweetheart…it happened. Something happened, okay? And trust me, you couldn’t help it. It’s over…but you’re not. You’re still here with us. And we love you. We are not going to let you do this to yourself! It’s okay. You will save many others!”

“Camille…!”

Camille’s guardian angel appeared as an image before her and scolded her. “Camille, listen to your friends. They speak the truth. What’s done is done. You are going to have to accept that you can’t save everyone. The ones you do rescue will count, but this will not weigh against you. I know you are feeling bad, but do not let it harden your heart. There is nothing you could have done. It is something that happened. It is okay, and you must move on.”

“Where are they now? Bring them back. Please…take me instead and bring them baaack!” she wailed, with the tears in her eyes nearly clouding her entire field of vision.

“I am sorry, my dear Camille. I cannot undo what has been done. Please just go on with the remainder of your angel’s assignment. You are not loved any less. I will be here if you need me. Take care, my child.'”

Then the apparition disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Camille stood there for several more moments, and just cried. Cried until her angel tears crystallized upon her face. She remembered the words of her mentor: There is nothing you could have done. It is something that happened. Deep inside, she knew the meaning was clear: DO NOT MAKE THIS MISTAKE AGAIN!

The three kids came up from behind their sibling. Katrina put her arms around her in a tight squeeze. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “It’s okay.”

§


Camille was relaxing by a campfire with the others, but really just wanted to be alone. Alone with her thoughts…and her guilt. If only she could figure out a way to make things right again, she would gladly love to go back in time and stop the tragedy from occurring. She focused on this obsession, it seemed, until she could think of little else. It seemed like the only logical solution. But what was she told by her mentors in heaven? Even we cannot turn back the hands of time.

She bit a piece of toasty, gooey marshmallow from a stick as she thought about the believability of the statement. Scientists have debated the concept of time travel for years. And even so, being an angel, surely she had higher capabilities than man. Heck, Andrew single-handedly destroyed a tornado! So, some things were not beyond reason.

Katrina reached out to her. “Are you alright, kiddo?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” she answered. “It all just seems so unfair, that's all."

“I know, honey. We all know. But it happens to everyone. What occurred is not new.”

“Hey, where are the bodies? I want to pay my last respects.”

“I think officials at the resort took care of that,” said Andrew. “They created a provisional cemetery, and maybe family came to say goodbye.”

“Well, I’m going to, as well. I figure it’s the least I could do, after all that’s happened.”

“You don’t have to, you know, but if it’ll make you feel better…” said Floyd.

An hour later, Camille was in a barren field, empty save for a few scattered brushes that hadn’t yet completely been uprooted by the fierce winter winds. And a collection of rocks that she knew were too roughly square to be anything natural. As she got closer, she saw that it was a collection of makeshift headstones, which apparently had been placed there most recently. Each one gave a short epitaph of its bearer beneath the ground, along with the date—December 22, by taped-on paper; members of a young family who had surrendered to those same winds.

And behind those stones, larger than the rest, in the exact center, was a large boulder set in the ground. A slab of cardboard was glued to it, giving the details of the family as a whole, and who they had left behind. In black marker, it read:

HERE LIES THE LITTLETON FAMILY
STEVEN, MARSHA, ALEX, MARCY
THEY ONLY HAD ONE ANOTHER
AND A COLD WINTER WORLD

SURVIVED BY SEVERAL WARM HEARTS
PARENTS, GRANDPARENTS, DOG SKIP
-------------------------------
AND NEW FRIEND CAMILLE


When Camille spotted the last line, she broke down and cried again, from joy and gratitude, not from sadness. She was surprised and pleased that she was considered a part of the family, not by the family themselves, but by the courteous caretakers who had remembered her.

She said a silent prayer.

“Hey, guys, it’s me, Cammykins. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to toss a whole world full of anger my way. I have a universe of guilt on my shoulders as it is. I blew it big time, didn’t I? I had a chance to save you and I didn’t. And now you’re gone and I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it. Can you ever forgive me? Will you?

“I suppose now would be an okay time to tell you a little something about myself. I’m not exactly who you think I am. I’m an angel…returned to Earth, and given the assignment to help others. But I failed with you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wish I could bring you back. I wish I could go back to yesterday and…”

Cross the International Date Line…

Fly across the world…
“…warn you somehow. Stop it from happening and save you.”

Can I really do that…?

If only…

Before she knew what she was doing, Camille was in the air. She let the cold winter air carry her across the field and beyond…to forests ...over mountains, streams and dreams. She flew clockwise, across the vastness of Utah, Nevada and California, which took all but the remainder of the evening. She went faster and faster, barely stopping to even breathe. Careening past the coast, right over the Pacific Ocean she went.
As she saw Alaska’s Aleutian Islands, she abruptly turned in a more Northwesterly direction; she wanted to be closer to the Arctic region in order to make her task go more quickly.

It was just after midnight when she crossed the dividing line between yesterday and today. But since it was after midnight, she wound up right back at the day from which she started. She still had another whole day to go! She was not about to let the laws of physics stop her from completing her goal.

Camille finished her trek across the Pacific, then fled into the skies across Asia, Europe, the Atlantic Ocean, and then finally she hit New York City and the beginning of the U.S. mainland. Across the Appalachians, past Chicago, the Plains, and then into her home state of Colorado.

She resisted the urge to drop to the ground for a visit to all and whoever was familiar, for she still had a job to do.

She finally made it back into Utah, but because she was at the day she started, she needed to go around again to get back to yesterday. Cam vowed to complete this self-imposed assignment as quickly as possible, so she sped up. She flew so fast, that a few times she felt the friction of the Earth’s turn move against her. She did not want to burn up in the atmosphere; she willed herself to stay intact.

Eventually she crossed into Utah again, and began her descent when she was right over Skyhawk. She stormed into the nearest General Store and picked up a newspaper. She looked for the date. It read December 21. Camille didn’t know how long she had to save the Littleton’s, but knew that every second delay was a second too long.

She barged into their cabin, startling them awake. All of the mistrust and animosity that Steven Littleton had had for Camille in the beginning seemed to rise to the surface again upon this sudden intrusion.

“What the hell is going on here? Hey, Camille, is that you? What’s the big idea?”

“There’s no time to argue or explain. I want all of you to get out of here right now, and go hide out in the main lodge. There’s a huge storm coming, and you may not have enough heat to stay warm. I don’t want you to freeze to death.”

“Wait, how do you know about this? You can’t just barge in here on our family and—” barked Marsha.

“I said I don’t have time to explain. Don’t ask me how I know; I just do. Go to the lodge and stay warm for the night. Sleep in front of the fireplace if you have to. Please, just go, now.”

Satisfied with having successfully completed her task, Camille aimed to rejoin her flock—in the present day, rather than “fly” back into tomorrow. She wanted to stick around with the Littleton’s, in case Plan A did not work. She simply aimed to lie low for the next twenty-four hours.

Well, as it turned out, Plan A worked perfectly. Camille had a chance to actually GO BACK IN TIME to warn the Littleton family, and preserve their existence from that point on. She told herself that it was the least she could do, with all the trouble she caused.

Now they were alive again (or rather, it was like nothing had happened at all), and Camille could go ahead and be friends with them for a long time to come. It looked like it was going to be a Merry Christmas, after all.

There was just one…little…problem.

When Camille rejoined her friends at the end of the day, she was faced with three angry angels. “Where have you been?” Andrew demanded to know.

“I told you, I went into town to see the sights.”

“Oh, really? And you had no contact with the Littleton’s
?”

“No, I haven’t seen them. Are they alright?”

“Interesting choice of words. Cause they certainly have seen you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well what we mean,” scolded Katrina. “What are the Littleton’s doing alive?”

“Wha—because…because I did it! Alright? It was me! I HAD TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT AGAIN!!"

“Camille, you should not have—!” shouted Floyd.

“I do not care! I don’t care what the rules say! I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself! I know that’s an interesting choice of words, too. Angels aren’t really living. But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Camille,” said Katrina, "death is supposed to be final. You know that. We have already discussed this. You broke the rules, and could have jeopardized the assignment. For all of us."

“Yeah, I know…listen, you don’t know what I was going through. What was eating me up inside. I had to do something. It was so unfair, like I said earlier. Plus, if you remember, it was all…my…fault!"

“No, it wasn’t, honey,” Katrina told her. “We told you, it was simply a mistake. There was no way anyone could have known about the storm. All the power was out, remember?”

“But still…”

“Look, everyone just calm down, okay?” said Andrew. “What’s done is done. And we have to keep quiet about this. If our guardian angels find out about this…”

“I’m sure they already know.” said Floyd.

“Well, if they don’t say anything…we don’t say anything. Does everyone understand?”

The gang nodded their heads simultaneously.

“And there’s something else, too. Camille, you’re not going to like this—at all.”

“What is it?” she asked, with a strain in her voice.

“When the Littleton’s died originally, there was most likely a story about it in the local paper; maybe even an obituary. And now that they’re back, there’s going to be another one about that, if it hasn’t been printed already. Those two items are going to conflict with one another. Sooner or later, someone is going to recall you being with them, and begin asking questions. Do you all see what I am getting at?”

“I don’t see your point,” said Camille.

“In order to keep our secret safe, there cannot be any connection tying you to the Littleton family. You must disappear from their lives, here and now.”

“Andrew—no!” Tears began to well up in Camille’s eyes once again.

“I am sorry, Camille. It is good, I suppose, that you brought them back, but as a natural consequence, to protect ourselves, you can never see them again.”

“Can’t I even say goodbye?”

“No, I’m sorry. Forget about them. We are in the Angel Protection Program."

Camille walked over and leaned against a tree, her stinging tears stripping the bark away.

“I think it would be a very good idea if we all just left this area,” said Andrew. “Now.”

The four souls from the heavens took to the skies, ready to see what adventures lay ahead.

Camille had something to say to each one of her friends, which she left behind, never to lay her eyes on again.

“Marsha, you’re a wonderful person. Take good care of your family.
Marcy, you’ll be a fine young lady. Your eyes sparkle. Don’t lose your doll. Steven, I know deep inside you don’t have a hardened heart. Please try to see the good in the world. And Alex, you are going to make some girl very happy one day. I only hope you find someone to admire who is just like me.”

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