“Howl”
Dry Acidic air and flurries of caustic ash force the family to stop short of their sheltered checkpoint, even though they have come so far, and are so close. Inside their nomadic tent Gemma and Sarah entertain Talia as her infant giggles form a counterpoint to the escalating howls of wind. Meanwhile, Roger finishes stabilizing their weather proof tent. He walks back inside the tent with one oxygen canister then screws it into the tent’s ventilation system.
“Did you store the other tanks safely 30 yards away in their weather proof container?”, Eric asks as he changes his shirt.
”You know I did, dad”, Roger replies with a weary look as he witnesses his father’s scars, blistered skin, and pale eyes.
”Good! We should only need one. You know…you had an older brother until he died from one of those exploding”, Eric says with a smirk as he points to a scar on above his ribs.
He had never spoke of the day he got that scar or those burns but Sarah, his wife, had whispered of it.
Meanwhile outside flurries of ash multiplied in the gust reducing visibility to just 10 yards. The hazardous environment and whipping winds begin even to threaten the family’s encampment. The reinforced walls of their environmentally protected tent thunder as the poisonous atmosphere bombards them.
”Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppp”, they all scream and look in terror to see a tear in their regulated shelter. Their healthy air rushes out as the noxious atmosphere rushes in. Gemma hurries to hold the tear together as her ungloved hands sear in their attempt.
Amidst the chaos their toddler, Talia, squals as their air acidifies burning their eyes and throat. Sarah rushes to Gemma with needle and sinew. She begins suturing the tent as Gemma’s fingers blister and her nails begin to bleed.
Simultaneously, Roger puts his goggles on and runs outside to the stored canisters of oxygen. He can but just make out their container in the blinding slurry.
He heaves the whole container, not daring to remove them. It’s heavy, very heavy. Giving it all he has got with each step backward.
5 feet.
10 feet.
15 feet.
20 feet.
25 feet.
30 feet.
Skin burning. Exhausted. Weary. Barely able to breathe. Roger tugs with all his might backwards. He slips. His goggles break on a rock on the ground. His eyes now burning as he coughs up blood. He looks around to see only grey. Heart pounding in his ears and the sound of the wind like a waterfall. He is lost.
Panicking he stands while clutching desperately for air. Then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to return the look into his father’s eyes. Ash whips by. They both grab the container and heave with all they’ve got.
40 feet.
50 feet.
60 feet.
They both fall through the threshold of the tent. Gemma hurriedly opens the container, grabs a tank, closes the container, and attaches it to the ventilation system valve.
While Talia still squalls, they all sigh as the outside winds continue to howl.