Partner in Crime

The Beginning

In the town of Alderwood, Kansas—Connie’s first day on the job began a routine that would last longer than she expected.

Her unpredictable lifestyle found some grounding on the day she arrived at the Warlington home, an expensive-looking suburban home on the left side of the cul-de-sac’s end. Connie pulled up in her pickup truck, powering the engine off and surveying the impressive home from behind her sunglasses, nodding and pocketing her keys. She stepped out and swung the driver door shut, sunlight washing over her in full.

Connie stood before the home, sliding her hands into the pockets of her studded jean jacket and mentally rehearsing everything she’d say once inside. She was slender and of average height, short blonde hair that was straight and smooth, much of it combed over to one side, wearing a pair of tightly-fitted black pants and a sleek black tank top to match. The outfit was casual, though she thought to keep her studded and spiked bracelets packed away in her purse. After all, she’d met the Warlingtons once before during the interview, but she still intended to look fairly presentable regardless, even after successfully landing the job.

Connie sighed and strolled alongside the house, leaping onto the concrete porch and pressing the doorbell. Moments later, she spotted movement behind the fancy glass on the door before the Warlingtons swing it open, both of them greeting her with a welcoming smile.

The woman had blonde hair as well, hers longer and sandier than Connie’s, and the man was much stockier than his wife, a rounder face and a dark head of hair. The two of them appeared somewhat overdressed for being in their own home, though Connie suspected that where ever they intended to visit tonight would suit their dress and tuxedo much more.

“Hello, Miss Harvey,” Mrs. Warlington said, shaking Connie’s hand. “Come on in. He’s in the living room, and he’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“He is?” Connie replied with a laugh. “I got the impression he didn’t want a babysitter.”

“Oh… it’s not that he doesn’t want you here,” Mrs. Warlington assured, waving her inside. “He just doesn’t think he needs a babysitter. He’s a little smarty-pants.”

“Yeah… but he really is looking forward to it,” Mr. Warlington said. “He’s excited to have someone to fence with.”

Connie blinked behind her lenses, sliding them off her face and narrowing her crystalline blue eyes at the man. “He fences?”

Mr. and Mrs. Warlington traded coy smiles.

“We had the whole basement converted just to suit his practice,” Mrs. Warlington remarked. “He can play violin in his room just fine, but fencing is a skill for another area. We can’t have him breaking his computer and his lamps. Again.”

“Oh—don’t let that give you the wrong impression,” Mr. Warlington quickly added. “He’s not violent in the slightest. He’s just a very passionate and driven young man.”

“This is the eleven-year-old kid who’s rebuilding computers in his room by himself?” Connie smirked, following them down the hall. “Then I have no doubt about that.”

“Noah?” Mrs. Warlington called out, peeking around the corner as she moved into the living room. “Your new babysitter’s here.”

The two parents led Connie into the clearing, a spacious and spotless area coming into view all around her; they passed the kitchen and stepped forward, to the left a dining area with a sparkling chandelier hanging overhead, to the right the enormous living room with huge leathery couches, a rounded glass coffee table, and a massive flat screen on the wall. Directly ahead was the hallway—and at the edge of the hall stood a clean-cut young man, one who would most assuredly inherit his father’s stockiness someday, though not any day soon.

The boy stood upright and properly with his hands cupped, a vest buttoned perfectly above his shirt, his hair a sandy color just a shade darker than his mother’s, his combed neatly off to the side and just barely long enough to reach his ears, his eyes big and shining hazel, and his round, jovial face revealing a polite, welcoming smile.

“Hello,” the young Noah said in a mannerly tone, his voice fairly light, stepping forward and formally extending his hand. “You must be Constance. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh. Look at you,” Connie replied, returning the handshake. “I’ve never met a kid your age with such good manners. You can just call me Connie if you want.”

Noah blinked, looking to his mother. “I thought you said her name was Constance?”

“Well… it is,” Mrs. Warlington uttered with a shrug. “Some people have nicknames, y’know.”

“Oh. I see.” Noah gazed up at Connie interestingly. “How old are you?”

“Noah,” Mr. Warlington mumbled. “That’s rude…”

“It’s a fair question,” Noah responded. “I thought this would be more of a ‘nanny’ arrangement. She hardly looks older than me.”

“I’m sixteen, dude,” Connie said casually. “No worries. You can ask me whatever you want.”

“No need. I believe my parents must’ve cleared the interview process already,” Noah determined. “Well? Don’t you two have to be off now?”

“In a minute, Noah,” Mrs. Warlington replied, turning to Connie and handing her a sheet of paper, which contained a long list with tasks and times strewn up and down it. “Now, this is his afternoon schedule. We’ve got it on the fridge, but here’s a copy just for you.”

Connie nodded and gave the schedule a once-over, reading things like fencing, violin, homework, dinner, debate practice, and so on. She could hardly believe an eleven-year-old managed to do so many things in one afternoon, especially if he had enough free time to dismantle computers somewhere in between.

“Wow,” she murmured.

“I must ask you,” Noah said. “Do you know how to fence?”

Connie swallowed, slowly lowering the paper. “I, ah… I take a kendo class across town. I think I can adapt.”

“Japanese fencing, essentially. I can work with that,” Noah said knowingly. “I do need a sparring partner.”

“Here are the basic rules—no obscene TV, no TV with cursing, no soda, no fast food, no processed foods, and nothing containing caffeine or high-fructose corn syrup,” Mrs. Warlington counted off her fingers. “No candy, no sweets, and for dinner, keep the sugar intake to a minimum. Can you do that?”

“Um… yeah,” Connie agreed. “Sure.”

“Well. All right, then,” Mrs. Warlington concluded, grasping her husband’s arm and giving Connie a farewell nod. “We have a banquet, and the event following will lead into the evening. We’ll be back around midnight. His bedtime is nine o’clock, but you won’t have any trouble getting him into bed. He sticks to his routine perfectly well himself. We’ll see you later.”

Connie and Noah said their goodbyes to the two adults, and Mr. and Mrs. Warlington strolled away, marching out of the house and vanishing from sight.

In the moments after their departure, Connie faced Noah again, glimpsing at the schedule in her hand and releasing a deep sigh. She then looked to Noah, who responded by flashing another polite little smile.

“Where shall we get started?” he asked. “My mother allows me to swap my fencing time with the time allotted for my debate practice. We can do either first, whichever you’d prefer.”

Connie stared at him for a moment, feeling a hint of conflict inside.

This kid was as mannerly as could be, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that his parents put far too much pressure on him, especially considering his age. Her first instinct was to break his routine, to do something new, but she didn’t want to compromise her new job. After all, living alone with her aunt—who never seemed to hold onto a job—left her in great need of work, and doing anything against the Warlingtons’ wishes might land her broke and jobless.

“You…” Connie muttered, sighing again. “Uhm… lemme ask you something, Noah. Do you… are you in a private school or something? What’s the deal with all this stuff on your schedule?”

“No… I’m not,” Noah replied curtly. “But, while my lackluster school doesn’t have the clubs and skills that I need… the rest of the town has countless clubs to spare, most of them accepting members of all ages. Especially people with a borderline genius IQ.”

“Okay… and… if you’re not getting graded on any of this stuff, then… why do you need these kinds of skills?”

“A man of many skills is a man of success,” Noah told her smoothly. “Entities of opportunity will look favorably upon me. Plus I enjoy them.”

“Well… if you like ’em,” Connie shrugged.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Noah inquired.

Connie fell silent, surveying him and biting her lip. Quite honestly, it seemed painfully obvious to her that the Warlingtons were upper-middle class folks trying to be high-class, and much of that strained effort was placed directly onto their son. And true, it did result in an uncommonly well-put-together young man—but Noah seemed to be using up his childhood acting like an adult, and for whatever reason, it just put a knot in the pit of her stomach.

She pulled out her keys, tossing them up and down and briefly assessing the risk. Then, she smirked and gave another shrug, flipping out her sunglasses and sliding them back on.

“No… there’s no reason you shouldn’t enjoy your clubs and stuff,” Connie told him with a mischievous smile. “But… there’s no reason you can’t have a double cheeseburger and go see a movie, either.”

Chapter 1

Winds of Change

Five years after Connie and Noah’s first meeting, a storm of change grew steadily near.

Neither of them paid much mind to the unsettling things on the news for the past few days, as Connie never liked the news, and Noah didn’t much care for TV altogether.

But as time passed, and as the two of them grew to know one another, their routine became commonplace, Connie helping him to practice all the skills he most cherished while occasionally sneaking him off to places for fun throughout the town. It wasn’t a constant occurrence for them to break the rules—in fact, Noah was against it in the beginning—but Connie developed a tactful regimen of rule-breaking during her time in the Warlington home, careful not to step too far out of line, and Mr. and Mrs. Warlington were never any the wiser.

And so, as Noah grew to be sixteen and Connie passed her twenty-first birthday, Mr. and Mrs. Warlington decided to keep her as a housekeeper rather than a babysitter. After all, Noah was practically an adult, and he could do things for himself these days—but Connie had become part of the household, and with the recent loss of the maid, it seemed that transitioning her to housekeeper was the most sensible decision over all.

Through the natural life changes and the gradual passing of time—after Connie graduated high school, entered and ended a relationship, and began renting a trailer on the outskirts of town after her aunt moved away—the one constant in her life was the Warlington home, unlocking the front door with her own personal key, sauntering inside like she owned the place, raiding the fridge, and leaping onto the couch to relax before she’d get around to doing her work.

And she did much the same today.

The moment Connie plopped down and tossed her sunglasses aside, she clicked the remote and turned the giant TV on, hearing a door creak open far down the hallway.

She swiped her short hairs aside before she began snacking on the ranch chips she’d snatched up from the kitchen, and Noah entered the clearing just behind her, adjusting the cuffs of his stylish black jacket and glancing over at the living room. He’d grown considerably since five years ago, but his final big growth spurt had yet to come.

“I see you’re hard at work,” Noah muttered sarcastically.

“I just got here—get off my ass,” Connie snarked, chomping on a few more chips.

Noah’s expression took on a flattened sort of look. His short thick hair was in its neatest style, combed perfectly over to the side in one smooth wave, and he adjusted the color of the dark button-up beneath his dress jacket as he slowly strode closer to the back of the couch, approaching her from behind. His eyes shifted between her and the TV, which was playing an animated adult comedy show of some kind, showing a drunk cartoon man belching and shoving a child’s face into his rear.

“What in God’s name are you watching?” Noah mumbled.

“Rick n’ Morty,” Connie replied. “You should watch with me, dude. I feel like Rick is just you when you’re older.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“How would you know? You never even watched it before.”

“I’ve never watched an execution before, either—but I know I don’t want to be a part of one.”

“Damn. What the hell’re you so freaking cheerful about?”

“Oh, much too much.”

Noah leaned on the back of the couch, Connie peeking up at him and shaking her bag of chips around just beneath his face.

“Can you go and grab the cheesy ones for me instead?” Connie asked in a whimsical pleading voice. “Pleeease?”

Noah stared caustically down at her, huffing out an irritated breath before taking her chips and marching off to the kitchen.

“Heeey… what’s a’matter?” Connie yelled after him, outstretching lazily across the couch. “Why so crunchy…?”

“Because,” Noah griped, speaking in a louder voice so she could hear him from the other room. He stepped into the large kitchen, stopping at the counter and neatly rolling the bag of chips shut before placing a clamp onto them. “My parents—in all their infinite wisdom—decided to sell the computer program that I spent nearly a year of my life perfecting off to a multi-national corporation. Against my advisement, of course.”

“They sold the Warlington Web?” Connie asked. “For how much?”

“Oh… a fixed little figure around half a million dollars,” Noah replied grumpily, returning to the living room and handing the cheese-flavored chips off to her. “Ridiculous.”

“What? They—for half a million?” Connie breathed. “And you’re mad about that why?”

“Constance. If I had patented that program—then it would still be mine, and all the money I reap from it in the future would be far more prosperous in its payoff over time. If I marketed it myself, and if I pitched it as a useable program to the biggest and the best corporations in the world, then it would definitely outweigh that little half-a-million in a matter of a few short years,” Noah explained. “But, seeing as how my parents were more concerned with their own immediate gratification—they sold it off for a cute little rip-off price, and they left me with precious little to show for it.”

Connie stared up at him and frowned. “Oh, that’s not fair…”

“No kidding, it’s not fair,” Noah complained. “I’m beginning to think that the only genuine care they’ve ever had for me was just them caring about using me.”

“Well… I’ve told you that a million times,” Connie shrugged, munching on chips and facing the TV. “You’re their ticket to high-class, plain and simple.”

There was a silence following her words. Connie continued watching the TV for a moment before glimpsing upward again, seeing that Noah was now facing the full-body mirror on the wall, looking away and staring expressionlessly into his own reflection.

She sighed and lumbered upright, standing on her knees and hunching on the back of the couch, resting her chin on her arms as she faced him. “Hey.”

Noah turned and met her eyes.

“I didn’t mean that as assholeish as it sounded,” Connie told him honestly. “I’m sure they love you a lot, kiddo. They just want too much.”

“Oh…” Noah turned and shook his head. “Don’t call me ‘kiddo’ anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m sixteen.”

“You’re still a kid—and you barely look any different from the day I met you.”

“What?” Noah took back, his voice cracking in a way that made Connie cover up a forming smile. “I’m five and a half inches taller now, Constance—go get your eyes checked.”

“Awww… but you haven’t hit that big peak yet, dude,” Connie smirked. “And you’re always just ‘kiddo’ to me.”

Noah let out a deflated sort of sigh, facing his reflection again and gently fixing his collar.

“I know how they booked that Hawaii vacation now,” Connie mumbled into her arm. “They can afford to vacation where ever the hell they want with half a million…”

“Yes… and, speaking of,” Noah uttered. “They instructed me to tell you that you’re free to stay here nights while they’re gone. Same as when they gallivanted off to my mother’s family reunion. Without me, of course…”

“Oooh—sweet,” Connie grinned. “So we’re gonna get stupid, right?”

Noah turned and stared blankly at her.

“Party, dude,” Connie urged, reaching out and giving his arm a shake. “Like… invite some kids over from school? Party while your parents are gone? That thing that literally everyone else your age does, and always has done throughout the entirety of time?”

“And why on earth would I do that?” Noah muttered vacantly.

“Because you can,” Connie told him. “You gotta live a little bit.”

“I don’t have many friends, Constance,” Noah grumbled at the mirror. “And I wouldn’t feel the need to party even if I did.”

“Seriously?” Connie groaned. “Don’t you have a girlfriend yet?”

Noah showed no response on his face, though he slowly felt his fingernails beginning to dig into his palms. “No.”

“Then you can get one,” Connie pestered. “By throwing… a freaking… party!”

“I don’t have any need for a girlfriend,” Noah grumped. “Especially not from my school, of all places. Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Because—they’re all just the most shallow, conniving, weird little vanity-obsessed gossipers in the world. They’re not even fully-formed people yet, and I don’t want any of them latching onto me and using me the same way Mother and Father do.”

“Then what do you want? You wanna be alone?”

“No, I just…” Noah moaned out a sigh. “I would like to meet the right girl, if such a person even exists… but, judging by the way my parents behave, I’d just end up in a loveless string of nonsense with a gaping void that can only be filled by money. And that’s not something I’d like to go looking for.”

“Dude, you’re barely sixteen. You don’t have to settle down with the first person you date. God knows I didn’t…”

“Why would I bother dating if I’m not going to settle down?”

“How can you find the right person to settle with if you never freaking look?”

The two of them were facing one another fully now—Connie perched up over the back of the couch, Noah gazing directly into her and inhaling a long, frustrated breath.

After a staring contest, he released a cloud of breath and turned to the mirror again. “I don’t need to look…”

“Oh—yes you do, little genius boy,” Connie replied with a laugh. “Everyone does.”

Noah met her eyes once more, and she rustled his hairs, making him smack his lips and reel irritably back like always.

“Hey—I’m gonna thaw out some hamburger for dinner,” Connie decided, leaping swiftly over the couch and landing just beside him. “You want your burgers the same as usual?”

“Oh… yes, but we’re out of pickles,” Noah replied, sliding out his phone and opening one of his apps. “I’ll have to run out and get some.”

“I can drive you.”

“No, no… I’ll just take an Uber into town.”

“Okay… just be careful. Keep your phone on.”

“I know, I know…”

Noah strolled out of the house while Connie placed the frozen hamburger in the kitchen sink, turning the water on low and allowing it to begin thawing.

After Noah rode off in his Uber, Connie spent a bit of time touching things up around the house, cleaning surfaces and sweeping the chip crumbs out of the living room before sinking back into the couch. She surfed the channels mindlessly for a while until an interesting news headline caught her eye.

The news was showing footage of fires and rioting happening in various cities across the country, and the headline read COUNTRY UNDER CHAOS.

Before she could hear anything interesting, her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into a nap in front of the television.

Connie slept for nearly an hour, unaware of the dangers slowly encroaching upon Alderwood.

A brief nightmare jolted her from her sleep, and she yawned, hugging the nearest pillow and wanting to fall back to sleep.

Then, the TV grasped her attention again.

The news stories of riots continued on the screen, and a shaken newswoman narrated along with the footage, which now appeared far more concerning than before.

The footage wasn’t just of isolated incidents in random towns or neighborhoods; now, it was Washington DC, New York, Dallas, Seattle, and various other major cities all across America, and even some beyond the country.

Connie slowly pushed herself upright, eyeing the TV and feeling a dreadful knot beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.

And, as the footage continued to switch from city to crumbling city—the headline made her heart give a painful skip, as it now read TOTAL ECONOMIC COLLAPSE.

Connie began to gnaw on her bottom lip as she gazed into the screen, the slow-rising dread festering inside her. This story wasn’t just covering another protest or riot—no, this was a great disaster, a terrible wave of danger that was sweeping across the country like wildfire. She’d noticed price changes and certain businesses closing around town throughout the past year or so, but she never would’ve thought anything so astronomical was underway.

Then—her eyes fixated on the red line just beneath the headline, making her feel as if her heart had stopped entirely.

ALDERWOOD COUNTY TORNADO WARNING: CATEGORY 4.

“Oh—fuck!”

Connie launched upright and vaulted over the couch, snatching her keys from the wall before rushing out the door.

Her black pickup truck with the peeling paint—now complete with a shell on the back, covering up the truck’s bed—sat in its usual spot along the side of the driveway, and she leaped inside and slammed the door shut, starting the engine and shifting gears at once.

Gulping and forcing down the sudden wave of fear inside—Connie raced down the driveway and barely missed the mailbox, the tires squealing against the pavement as she sped off to the town with haste.

A bit of time passed before Noah arrived at the shopping center.

His Uber driver dropped him off at the shopping center in the heart of town, driving away and allowing him to stroll into the supercenter. It was a cozy part of town—even for Alderwood, being the tiny backwoods Kansas town it was—and it was admittedly an area he liked, especially because of the elegant old church down the road and the cleanly-tripped bushes around it. It was the church that he, his parents, and his grandmother always visited every Sunday back when he was much younger, before his grandmother moved away and, before his parents grew to be so different from how they once were.

For a while, Noah simply browsed the aisles, sifting through the clothes and finding nothing much to his liking. He often liked to window shop a little before actually gathering whatever he’d come to the store for.

He surveyed a sleek black suit jacket, stroking along its sleeve, and everything carried on normally for a bit—until he heard a loud voice around the corner, followed by the echoing noise of numerous cans being shoved off a shelf and hitting the tiled floor.

Various curses and vulgarities filled the air in the seconds following, and Noah glimpsed at the edge of the food section, thinking someone in the store must’ve gotten into an altercation. He scoffed and shook his head, rolling his eyes before marching off.

Eventually, he found himself in the correct aisle, collecting a small jar of pickles from the shelf and reading over its label.

Then, another noise made him jump—a loud shattering followed by the shrill shriek of a woman across the store.

Noah stared at the end of his aisle, swallowing and falling motionless in his stance. For seconds that felt like years, he merely stared at the aisle’s end, his hands tightening around the pickle jar as his heart gave a nervous thump.

It was incredibly unusual for an altercation to break out in this store—but two of them back to back? Such a thing was practically unthinkable here.

Noises echoed from across the supercenter—shoes rapidly hitting the floor as running feet darted across the place—the occasional scream or curse from whoever ran amok—and the shuffling of items as things were moved, thrown, looted, or carelessly knocked over.

Noah took in a long, trembling breath, taking a slow step forward and inching closer to the edge of the aisle, suddenly feeling a spike of fear he never had before.

The walk down the aisle felt longer than ever, and when he reached the end, he held his breath and looked around the corner—peering across the empty walkway and seeing nobody nearby.

Then suddenly—a huge group of people rushed through the aisles just across from him—one of them swinging a baseball bat and cracking another man in the head. The man howled and fell awkwardly to the floor—

And Noah had no clue what happened next. He found himself running—soaring down the aisle and flying around the corner without thinking—his feet carrying him alongside the far wall, speeding toward the produce section before emerging at the front of the store.

At once—he busted out the glass doors and ran far across the parking lot, not bothering to stop until a sharp pain penetrated his side, the sky above dark, wind kicking and pummeling him as he stood hunched on the edge of the street, wincing and grasping his side while he fought to catch his breath.

His mind spun—his thoughts more frantic and scrambled than they ever had been—racing to form an explanation and finding it terribly impossible to do so.

What could’ve caused everyone in the store to go mad? In fact—what on earth was causing the hellish winds, and what caused the SUV in front of him to shoot past him at ninety miles an hour, skidding around the corner and destroying a fire hydrant in its wake?

Noah stood on the side of the street in total shock, straightening up and absentmindedly clutching the pickle jar beneath his arm, his breaths heavy and fast, his hair dancing as the wind blasted all around, sandy Kansas dust burning his eyes as he slowly raised his head, only just noticing how drastically the sky had darkened.

And—despite feeling as if he’d never experienced such fright before—a great new wave of terror overwhelmed him the moment he gazed across town.

The ominous whirring, whipping, and howling of the cyclone soon grew impossible to ignore, infecting his ears as he stared at the faraway tornado in horror. It hovered on the world and touched the land below, twisting and craning, contorted into a crooked, arched, and terrifying arm of destruction as it slowly encroached upon the town of Alderwood from a distance.

Noah huffed out a breath and gulped roughly, staggering back and quickly sprinting away.

The nearest shelter appeared before him, just down the road and past the destroyed hydrant spouting water across the sidewalk—and he barreled toward the sanctuary of the church, running faster than he thought himself capable of.

He tried to keep his eyes open despite the burning of the dusty winds, darting up the concrete stairs and pushing the elegant double-doors open. He moved entirely on autopilot now, shifting off to the side and avoiding the main corridor, speed-walking down the nearest hallway, an area with a castle-like interior that he’d always admired as a child, though he paid the design of the place no mind as of now, heading toward the end of the hall with his teeth clenched, heart pounding hard, and head feeling light.

The end of the hall was just past a barred window, and at the end to the right, a small entrance to the main corridor was there, leading to the front row of pews and the stage. Noah retreated to the corner of the hall, just opposite the doorway as he ran his hands back through his now messy hairs, shielding his head with his arms and sinking into a seated position against the stone wall. The stain-glass window nearby shone dimly in its multiple colors, its shine diminishing almost entirely as the storm and tornado consumed the sun, and Noah sat hunched alone in the corner, face buried in his knees, pickle jar pinned between his upper arm and torso. Music echoed from somewhere deeper in the church—a rhythmic violin playing from a distant speaker, its tunes seeming to slowly gain a suspenseful speed as he sealed his eyes shut and mildly shook his head.

“What’s happening?” Noah hissed into his legs. “What is happening?!”

He had no clue how long he remained hunched in his sheltered position—but he jumped so hard he nearly hit his head on the stone behind him, hearing the church’s front doors bash open as the loud echo spiraled across the building from a distance.

Noah gulped painfully, slowly and shakily lowering his hands as he gazed out the doorway before him.

The sound of rapid feet soon met his ears again, and his heart hammered madly as the sight of frantic people appeared before him, several men chasing another guy toward the altar. A maniacal man with a dirty white wife-beater shoved a smaller man forward—making him smash into the altar and crumble to the floor. The manic man and his insane followers soon piled on top of their victim, kicking and punching, attacking viciously as the man on the ground hollered in pain beneath them.

The voices were shrill—some filled with rage while the victim yelled in fear—the violin picking up, and the howl of the monstrous cyclone echoing steadily louder from outside.

Noah hadn’t realized his hands had curled into fists, clenched shut almost painfully as he reached his feet in the slowest, most cautious manner possible. Once he was upright, watching in stoic shock, he gently moved from the wall, inching to the opposite side and pressing his back to the wall adjacent, hiding just around the doorway and inhaling a deep, trembling breath.

His mind raced and heart thrashed, adrenaline dominating him in a way that was entirely foreign to him, and he clasped a hand onto his chest, breaths shaking as his fingers coiled tightly around the front of his now crooked vest.

Another noise sounded much closer to him—making him jump again and almost yell, barely managing to stifle the urge. The noise was from his pocket—and he hurriedly scrambled to grab his phone, pulling it from his pocket and answering the call at once, trying to speak into it and failing to form words.

“Noah—where are you?!” Connie practically shouted in his ear.

Noah felt another hard strike of panic at the sheer volume of her voice, fearing that the manic lunatics across the church might somehow hear her speaking from the phone, despite how far away they were.

“I…” Noah breathed in a faint, sputtering tone. “I’m in the church…!”

“Why’re you whispering?”

“I d… I don’t know what… p-people have lost their minds,” Noah hissed as quietly as he could. “I don’t know what’s happening… but people are fighting, and chasing each other, and… and they’re in here now…!”

“Okay—where are you in the church?”

“Uhm… in the… side hall. Past the side door on the… on the east side…”

“I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

The call ended abruptly, and Noah slid the phone back into his pocket, his hand lingering there and beginning to shake again. He balled it into a fist, trying his damnedest to keep it steady and feeling raging instincts screaming at him from inside—urging him to move, to look around and to gauge the nearest threat, as it was entirely possible that the manic lunatics had heard his ringtone echo from across the main corridor.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to move an inch.

Noah stood stock still for what felt like an absolute eternity, now facing the window properly and watching with silent dread as the howling cyclone weaved and contorted on the sky, reaching into the edge of town and slowly ripping the roof from a building in the far distance.

Finally, he tore his eyes from the window, pressing his arm to the wall and facing the direction of the doorway. He took in several rapid breaths, summoning his nerve and leaning warily, steadily closer, his head lighter than ever, placing a hand to the wall and preparing to peek around the corner—

He yelled and leaped from his skin—a hand clamping over his mouth from behind—his scream stifled and muffled by someone else’s palm.

A familiar scent of rosy perfume slithered up his nose, and Connie hunched over his shoulder from behind, her hand clasped firmly onto his mouth as she pressed her finger to her lips, whispering a gentle shhh into his ear.

Noah froze on the spot for a moment, feeling a rush of relief at the arm wrapped around him.

He and Connie eyed the doorway vigilantly, and both of them slowly began to step away, backing toward the open side door as gently and as stealthily as possible, moving as silently as a twin pair of shadows.

The man in the dirty wife-beater suddenly appeared—emerging in the hallway and stopping abruptly, his beady eyes locking onto the two of them.

“RUN!”

Connie grabbed Noah’s arm and dragged him out the door almost violently—the two of them breaking into a hard run and skidding outside, the wind smashing into them as they dashed onto the sidewalk and headed straight for the black pickup parked lopsidedly on the curb.

The manic man flew out of the church and made chase after them—Connie and Noah scrambling into the truck and slamming the doors shut.

The crazed man rammed into the side of the vehicle and reached into Noah’s window—making a close grab for him as he yelled and ducked away—and Connie reached beside her seat—whipping out a metal rod and smashing it into the man’s head in a blunt strike.

The man yelped and fumbled back—and Connie shifted gears, Noah watching in awe as she sped off the curb—the truck jerking roughly as the tires thumped over concrete—and the manic man caught his footing, running after the truck with a face twisted in rage.

Noah suddenly moved without forethought—jumping up and leaning halfway out the passenger window, twisting around to face the pursuer.

The manic man raced toward him—just when Noah cocked his arm back and pitched the pickle jar with all his might—the jar bashing into the man’s head and shattering on impact, making him jolt backward almost comically and hit the pavement hard.

Connie let out a barking laugh—then took in a sharp gasp and suddenly whipped the steering wheel around—narrowly avoiding a collision with the next building—Noah nearly falling out the window. She dropped her metal rod and reached out—grasping onto his jacket and holding him steady while she turned.

The truck screeched atop the pavement as Connie drove with one hand—and Noah fell crookedly back into his seat once she completed her hazardous turn, the truck now shooting past several buildings as the engine roared in their wake.

“It’s right there!” Noah gasped, jabbing at the windshield, where the tornado was in plain view.

“Yeah—hold on,” Connie advised, making another sharp turn and speeding past the post office.

After rocketing through the heart of town—she spun the truck down the next turn and began racing south, flooring the gas pedal and soaring down the open road at a haphazard speed, barreling away from the tornado as quickly as humanly possible.

Noah clamped a hand onto the door, gripping it harder than ever as Connie drove so fast, the vehicle began to shake against the resisting winds—and once they were far from the town, surrounded only by open lands of dirt and dead grass—Connie glanced over, giving him a serious look.

“Okay, now hold on—tight,” she instructed.

Noah gaped at her, then rushed to fasten his seatbelt.

A second later—sending him into a deep shock, and making his heart feel like it might shoot out of him—Connie jerked the wheel to the side and suddenly flew off the road, racing and thumping over the hard terrain as she sped directly toward a steep ditch, a creek-like embankment that was entirely devoid of any water.

Noah yelled, and Connie resisted the urge to do the same—timing every movement and waiting for the precise moment—and she ripped the wheel to the side, bringing the truck to a long skidding slide down the hill—both of them screaming now—the truck drifting sideways at a rapid pace until it came to a sudden hard stop at the bottom.

They each took in several rushed breaths—Noah’s eyes clamped shut, Connie gripping the steering wheel viselike, both shaking as they slowly began to process that they’d stopped, alive and unharmed.

Noah’s eyes slowly eased open, peering out the windshield through the dancing dust outside. Just ahead—he spotted a tunnel right underneath the road, a concrete enclosure that was hidden from the world, the tunnel rounded with a flat pavement pathway stretching between either side of the embankment.

“Come on!” Connie breathed, leaping out and waving for him to follow. “Now…!”

Noah suddenly understood her intentions, jumping out of the truck and hurrying around the vehicle to join her.

Connie grabbed his hand—and they both ran into the tunnel together, darting down the concrete walkway as fast as they could.

Noah skidded to a stop when they reached the middle of the tunnel, and Connie wheeled around, embracing him and pressing her back to the wall—both of them sinking to the floor and clinging onto one another as the dark, ominous winds howled from the world outside.

“It’s okay,” Connie exhaled, cradling his head and resting her cheek against it, combing his hairs aside and finally allowing her eyes to close with relief. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…”

Noah shakily reached up, grabbing her arm and holding it close to his hammering heart, staring directly forward and feeling utterly rattled to the core. Connie remained glued to his side, and the two simply held each other for a long while, savoring the safety they’d found and waiting until the hellish winds would eventually come to a stop.