Awen Rising

by O J Barré

  Turning back toward Wren’s Roost, she said aloud, “I’m staying, by God, and that is that.” It was the smart thing to do. The world was disintegrating. She’d seen the evidence. Overpopulation. Crumbling infrastructures. Collapse of the bee colonies.

  Everything was poisoned—air, food, and water. Weather events and rising seas had claimed places Emily had vacationed as a kid. The world was on a collision course with total disaster. And the rats were running the ship.

  Attesting to the mass insanity, cars clogged all four lanes of Moreland Avenue, a main artery for metro Atlanta. It was gratifying that many of the vehicles were hybrids and cold-fusion. A few even boasted photonic drives. But the race to reduce carbon dioxide levels was too little, too late. She jogged in placed at the traffic light.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing Emily’s gaze. Ominous clouds gathered in the south. The signal changed and she set off at a lope, crossing the thoroughfare headed for home.

  When she rounded the corner on Wren’s Lane, Emily was running flat-out, arms pumping, knees in the air. In her head, she repeated in time to her stride, “This is home, I am staying. This is home, I am staying.”

  At Wren’s Roost’s driveway she slowed and gasped for breath. She had decided her reward for two long weeks of nose-to-the-grindstone would be Jocko’s pizza. Then, she would drive to the hospital to visit her comatose Da. Tomorrow they were supposed to release him to come home.

  Thunder rumbled and a rising wind sighed through the trees. Behind her, black clouds gobbled the sky.

  **

  Emily backed the electric Scorpion from her father’s garage and pressed the steering wheel remote to close the door. The convertible coupe was sexy and sporty in a luscious, pearl-green package. Mitchell had been reluctant to part with the keys to her Da’s favorite car but had relented, nonetheless.

  With rain imminent, Emily left the top up but opened the windows to the cool breeze. Lightning sparked. A gust of wind carried the sweetness of Carolina jasmine from the yellow trumpets flowing over the fence along the turnaround. A vision-cum-body-memory tiptoed to the edge of Emily’s senses and twisted with the scent.

  A woman cradled baby Emily. They both had the same shocking-red hair. With practiced gentleness, the woman kissed her forehead, nose and chin, then blew butterfly kisses on her eyes, cheeks, and lips, making her erupt into giggles. Stomping the brakes, Emily skidded to a stop.

  Her Bebe. Great-grandmother Brigid. Omigod. Emily closed her eyes and was back there again, safe and loved and adored.

  A crack of thunder brought her back as a gust of wind rocked the Scorpion. It swirled away through the woods, inciting leaves to life. Their voices rose on the gale and fell again, twanging Emily’s nerves. Goosebumps prickled along the nape of her neck and her senses buzzed with the frenzy.

  A bolt of multi-forked brilliance yanked Emily’s attention to the storm. Boomers rolled across a firmament bruised black. The hair on her arms stood to attention as ozone-flavored electricity rinsed the air. Against the tumult of trees thrashing in the mad wind, unembodied voices echoed from the forest to join the cacophony. They gathered in volume, uniting to shout in an ancient language something Emily didn’t understand, though she sensed she should.

  “In English,” she yelled out the window.

  A jolt of energy shot from her tailbone up her spine. It exploded against the base of Emily’s skull and bloomed along her scalp. From there it danced across Emily’s shoulders, spreading to her chest and arms, then down her torso and legs, before exiting both feet. Her body convulsed in a wracking shiver that left Emily questioning whether lightning had hit her, though she knew it hadn’t. What in living hell had just happened to her?

  Her belly growled, distracting her from the sensation and pulling her back to the moment.

  She eyed the approaching system. Could she make it to Jocko’s before the deluge? It was only a mile. Emily shuddered at the thought of being caught in a nasty storm, but she wanted, no she needed, pizza. Plus, she had to know why Lugh continued to give her the cold shoulder, in spite of his obvious interest. Unless you could count kicking Emily’s ass repeatedly interest. Not once had she managed to stay upright during their sessions, much less pin the priest, despite having floored every other opponent he’d sent her way.

  Thunder boomed, forcing her to answer the question that had shaped Emily’s life—should she go, or should she stay?

  “Goooo!” The voices roared in unison.

  She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Was she hearing things? Or finally paying attention?

  “Goooo.” There it was again.

  This time she was certain. Chills propelled her to jam her foot down on the accelerator. The svelte Scorpion fishtailed and peeled through the neighborhood, racing the storm. She pressed the buttons to raise the windows and turned on Magnolia to brake for the light, gasping as the full-frontal view appeared.

  The southern sky was as ominous as any Emily had ever seen. A clearly-defined shelf of gray roiled beneath voluptuous white clouds. Lightning danced along the shelf’s underbelly. Thunder rolled in its wake.

  High winds and hail, possibly a twister, were in store for Atlanta. She was ill equipped to deal with any of that right now. But in spite of her fear, every cell of her being leapt in excitement when she pointed the Scorpion into the storm.

  The sweetness of adrenaline coursed through her as old instincts sprang to life. Then the projector clicked on in the back of Emily’s brain and Trey Serra tumbled through the air in slow motion, snatched from her arms by Cyclone Charlotte. Ever lurking, ever ready, the panic attacked and threatened to drive everything else from her mind.

  The light turned green and she gunned the Scorpion, racing for shelter, safety, and food. Holding onto her sanity by a thin thread, she pushed back at the terror. The next red light gave it purchase. Thunder boomed, so close Emily screamed. She rocked in the seat, gulping air and trying to calm the panic that had hijacked her senses, curdling her insides and branding itself into her cells until there was nothing left but the metallic, all-consuming fear.

  When the light finally changed, she shrieked at the car in front of her, “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” Frustrated and panicked, Emily popped the clutch and kept the Scorpion’s nose glued to the chrome rear-end of the Town Car. Glancing up at the black sky, she searched her repertoire for a druid spell that might hold back the onslaught. Just a few more minutes. That’s all she needed.

  Not remembering any, much less one for weather, Emily resorted to a prayer she’d learned as a child and still used whenever troubled. Out loud she recited, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

  Fat, but isolated, raindrops collided with the windshield. One more traffic light and she would be at Jocko’s.

  “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures—”

  Emily bit off a scream when a plastic bag blew across the windshield, blinding her for an instant. The drops came harder and closer together. She wheeled into the parking lot and slammed the brakes to avoid hitting a family with small children. Waving them across, Emily watched them dash through the parking lot, getting drenched in spite of raincoats and umbrellas.

  “He leadeth me beside the still waters, and restoreth my soul.”

  She parked as close to the door as possible and frowned at the design flaw she had noticed on her first visit; the parking lot was more than twenty yards from Jocko’s door and not an inch of it was covered. Emily killed the engine and spoke loudly to hear her words over the torrent pummeling the hemp canvas roof.

  “He leadeth me on the path of righteousness for His name sake.”

  Lightning flared and thunder rolled, a prolonged rumble that shook the car. This storm was a monster, writhing and beautiful, that gobbled up every patch of light in the southern sky. Reaching in her pocket to touch Aóme, Emily thought of her fathers, both heavenly and on earth, and spoke with conviction. “Yea though I walk through the va
lley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

  A calm descended, within and without. The storm had stalled. Sinister clouds held the rain at bay, enshrouding the world in an eerie, yellowish-green glow. In the lull, the dissonance of blaring horns and screeching tires was a stark reminder that drivers still jockeyed to negotiate traffic and escape the churning tempest. It was now or never.

  Emily stretched her raincoat around her purse, tugged the hood over her head, and shoved the door open. The negative pressure pushed against her as she crawled from the car and turned toward the entrance. Aghast, she stopped midstride.

  Another storm, as large as the first, was brewing to the north. Electricity rippled through the ebony layer cushioning the approaching thunderheads. Emily shivered. Rarely had a Nor’easter made landfall this far south or inland.

  And it was on a collision course with the tempest that had stalled.

  Tension, amped-up and zinging, rippled in the air as thunder crackled overhead, riding the wind the storms created and perpetuated. Emily bounced on excited but terrified toes as her storm-chasing Self fought the fear. Twisting, she ogled the squall to the south and pirouetted to gawk at the nor’easter. A gust of wind slapped her from behind, literally shoving her forward.

  The southern front was on the move again, riled by the mass hurtling toward it. Needing no further motivation, Emily ran toward the door while willing the storms to hold off a little longer. She resumed her prayer.

  “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies—”

  A scream pierced the raging din. Emily clutched her purse and paused to search for the source. Seeing no one in trouble, she raced for safety. The traffic sounds faded, lost again in the howl of the wind that buffeted from all directions. Craning her neck for one last look at the monster storms, she shoved through Jocko’s door and wrangled it shut as a gust of wind armed with fat raindrops and pea-sized hail pelted the window and rattled the panes.

  “Thou annointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over.” Giving in to an inner urge, Emily fished Aóme from her jeans pocket, slid the ring on her finger, and raised her fist to the clashing storms. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord.” Ad-libbing, she added, “Rebuke these storms, oh Jehovah, I pray. Protect Jocko’s and keep us all alive and safe. And so it is, and shall be. AMEN!”

  Feeling slightly better, Emily turned to go inside, but the inner door held tight. She pushed again. Nothing. Surely they hadn’t closed the place. Panic licked at her innards and she shoved hard. The vacuum seal broke and the door flew open, spilling Emily into the relative calm of Jocko’s Pizza. Embarrassed, she teetered but kept her balance, throwing back the hood to shake out damp curls.

  When she saw several patrons eyeing her with concern, heat sprang to Emily’s cheeks. It was obvious they had been watching her through the plate glass windows. A few nodded. Others waved, accepting her into their sanctuary, as relieved as Emily that she had made it inside before the storm broke. But the cherries rode high in her cheeks.

  A Hunk, A Hunk, A Storm

  A waitress stood near Jocko’s entrance and waited for Emily with a plastic menu clutched to the chest of her hot-pink tee. The logo sported a pizza with a slice missing and the slogan “Best Pizza Around”. Between that and the yeasty, tomato-y smell of the restaurant, Emily’s mouth was watering.

  Lucille, according to the name tag, motioned for her to take a seat. She thanked her and chose a booth as far from the windows as possible, then slid in on the side facing the kitchen and away from the storms. Lucille relinquished the menu, took Emily’s drink order, and checked on the occupants of the next booth before heading to the kitchen.

  Fidgeting in her seat, Emily searched in vain for Lugh MacBrayer. Above the bar on a large screen, WXAA was broadcasting live from Georgia Stadium. Rain pelted a slickered weatherwoman. Not wanting to watch, Emily opened the menu. But her rebellious gaze crept back up.

  She wished it hadn’t. The reporter clung to a lamp post, bombarded by rain and gale-force winds. Scanning the restaurant, she saw several more screens tuned to different stations. All covered the storms. Or storm. The two had merged into one colossal squall.

  Outside, rain lashed the thick windows, blurring the street and traffic beyond. A young couple stood to peer out, as if trying to decide whether to go or to stay. Lightning flashed, too close for comfort, and they leapt backwards in unison. A sharp, cracking boom shook the windows. The storm was literally on top of them.

  Leave it to Emily to choose a restaurant with glass walls—a detail she’d overlooked first time around. Lucille arrived with root beer, fear tightening the lines around her eyes. The server stared out the window, then turned to Emily.

  “I hope we don’t lose power again.” Her nasally Midwestern twang pegged her as a fellow transplant. “Between the roving blackouts and the storm outages, it’s been one heckuva spring. We’d be out of business if it weren’t for our generators.” She nodded toward the window. “Yaah, and it’s getting worse.”

  Emily would rather not have any of that information. She groaned and rolled her eyes. In spite of her resolve, she peeked at the window. The rain was banding in waves of nearly horizontal sheets. She hadn’t seen anything like it since Fiji.

  Out on North Decatur Road, the overhead signals flashed red and yellow, gyrating wildly in the whirling wind. Cars, barely discernable through the downpour, battled bumper-to-bumper traffic. The young couple sat back down, obviously deciding it wasn’t safe to leave.

  Thunder crashed, so near and so loud that the waitress jumped, and Emily squealed. Aftershocks rumbled through the restaurant, a low-pitched roll that shook the floor underfoot.

  Shuddering, Emily wrapped her arms around her own shoulders, glad she hadn’t stayed home alone. Ralph would be hiding in a closet or beneath the bed. With luck, Hope was huddled beside him. She ordered a slice of the Italian Special and handed the menu back to Lucille.

  Her stomach grumbled, loud enough to hear over the noise. Where was Lugh, dammit? Had she picked his day off? In the middle of a god-awful storm? Based on his frequent absence from Emily’s training sessions, she would have bet he lived here.

  As if by magic, the druid priest exited the kitchen through swinging doors. A rush of relief and anticipation weakened Emily’s knees. She was glad she was sitting. After a glance at the storm, he ducked behind the bar for an exchange with the bartender, who slipped to the back. Lugh filled a drink order, his worried gaze returning to the windows.

  He was average height, maybe five-ten in boots, and he possessed a rugged appeal that turned Emily to goo. She figured that was why she couldn’t best him in hand-to-hand. Trembling with nerves, she leaned over her tumbler to sip sugary soda through the plastic straw.

  Glass shattered in the kitchen on a sharp crash of thunder. Emily bit back another squeal. The storms were hitting and hitting hard. Like Lugh MacBrayer. He stuck his head into the kitchen, anchoring an elbow on each of the swinging doors.

  When he leaned in further, Emily grinned. The druid had a nice butt. The further he leaned, the wider her smirk. Until he let go of the doors and looked straight at her. Busted, she blushed and dropped the leer. Surprised satisfaction flickered in Lugh’s eyes before his gaze shifted to the rain-lashed windows.

  Lightning flashed in the nearly dark sky and he scoured the restaurant as if counting heads. He nodded pensively and gave Emily a half-hearted smile. Grinning, she threw him a four-finger waggle and was rewarded when an endearing grin lit his face.

  With another nod in her direction, the manager slipped through the swinging doors. A shiver much like the one Emily had experienced in the car ran up her back and through her body. This time she restrained the urge to shake like a dog. Just in case anyone was watching.

  A loud siren wailed, not more than a block away. Lugh burst from the kitchen, face dra
wn. The low wail progressed to ear-splitting proportions before calming and growing louder again. The outer door slammed open and shattered. Wind-driven rain and siren blare shrieked through the shards.

  Lugh sprang to action, turning the “CLOSED” sign around and locking the interior door. Sheets of debris-laden rain with tree limbs and leaves blew into the exposed foyer, dragging the newly-turned sign into the melee. A lawn chair cartwheeled down the sidewalk and ricocheted off cars before disappearing, gripped in the clutches of rotating winds.

  Tires squealed, metal crunched, and glass shattered as cars collided. A series of crashes rent the air as more vehicles plunged into the first. The siren caterwauled—cycling over, and over again. Clamping the heels of her hands over her sensitive ears, Emily groaned to no one in particular, “Make it stop.”

  The sight of Lugh with his mouth open, staring at the TV, made Emily crane her neck. Splayed across the screen was a radar image of the storm covering the entire state of Georgia. The next frame was worse—a bird’s eye view of funnel clouds forming around Atlanta. And according to the map, one was on top of them. Holy cow.

  Not again.

  Her fear was reflected in every face in the restaurant. Raw adrenaline coursed through Emily’s already-charged system. Her disaster training kicked in. She leapt from the booth and motioned toward the back. “Get away from the windows,” she shouted in her most commanding voice.

  “To the basement,” Lugh yelled, “Through the kitchen.”

  Emily herded the patrons in that direction. Zigzagged lightning reflected off the mirror behind the bar. The room went dark and an explosive boom muffled Lugh’s exhortations. A young girl screamed, echoing Emily’s soundless one. The lights sputtered and died. Customers milled in the dining room like cattle.

  Lugh waved toward the swinging doors and shouted over the madness, “That way! Hurry!”

  Emily steered the people in that direction. The backup generator kicked on, bathing the restaurant in a dim yellow glow. A round of cheers went up from customers and staff. Emily’s stomach growled so loud she heard it over the hubbub.