Prologue
May 29, 2027, 18:31
Sequim, WA
Nathan and Laura Schneider sat on their back deck for the first time this spring, ribs sizzling on the grill, the sound of juices dripping off the meat and into the flames below. Being in the rain shadow of the Olympics guaranteed summer-like weather, even in May. Laura was exhausted, having just returned from visiting her Aunt and extended family in Rochester, Minnesota the day before.
"How did Rosie handle being around the kids?" Nathan asked, amused that Laura's cousin who absolutely hated kids was stuck with them all week.
"She did fine, other than a few brief outbursts. Honestly, she is getting better. Still has a ways to go, though."
"A ways to go... that seems like an understatement."
"I mean, remember Christmas a few years ago? She was quietly hyperventilating in the pantry? Almost called an aid car."
Nathan laughed -- "Ha, yeah. What a time. Hey do you think--"
Laura interrupted him, her eyes peering off into the distance "What is... that?"
Nathan turned to look over the water, and his jaw dropped.
"I... have no idea."
Off in the distance to the west, in the middle of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, a massive, black cumulonimbus cloud stretched from a few thousand feet into the upper atmosphere, massive at the base, narrowing upward, and expanding out even further at the crest. Gunmetal black in appearance, its dark, puffy circular plumes looked like thousands of nodules protruding from the main body. Around it, was... nothing. Blue sky mixed with the red and gold beginnings of dusk.
Laura picked up her phone.
"Everyone on Facebook is already talking about it."
"What are they saying?" Nathan asked, knowing Facebook community groups are mostly just complaining Karens and disinformation.
"Nobody knows anything."
Nathan unlocked his phone and pulled up the Seattle National Weather Service social media feed. Nothing. KIRO -- nothing. KING -- nothing.
For the next hour, they watched this massive cloud move further east, passing within 5 miles of their home on the Dungeness shores. At its closest point, they could look directly up, the dizzying height and sheer size making them feel like ants beneath a skyscraper.
Brief flashes of lightning were visible inside the atmospheric polyps covering the entire structure giving the illusion of the cloud itself being a living creature. Occasionally, an ear-splitting crack could be heard, thousands of feet in the air, loud enough to make them jump, but not loud enough to feel like an imminent threat.
Laura, noticing how oddly muggy it was for this time of year, said "It feels weird out here, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it's May, not July. I'm sweating, why am I sweating?"
As Laura set her phone down, the metal table zapped her with static electricity.
"The fuck?" Laura said, clearly not expecting the electrical rebuke.
"What happened?" Nathan asked, turning to look back at her.
"The table shocked me. I'm not even wearing socks."
Nathan opened the grill, heat rushing out toward his face, mixed with the delicious aroma of sweet, savory meat that made his stomach churn with hunger. Using tongs, he tested tenderness and consistency, then sprayed a light mist of apple cider vinegar on the ribs before closing the lid again.
A tense, reflective, somewhat anxious quiet settled over the couple, as Nathan sat down next to his wife, waiting together for their dinner to finish cooking. Unable to put their phones down and continuously glancing at the cloud to see if anything had changed, information was slow to trickle in.
Eventually, the bits of information became available. First, the Seattle branch of the National Weather Service -- "We're tracking an large cumulonimbus cloud heading east over the Puget Convergence Zone and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. This is highly unusual. We're issuing a Special Marine Warning for the upper Puget Sound region. Mariners should exercise extreme caution due to rapidly developing convective activity. Hazardous conditions possible."
The FAA issued a temporary flight restriction, rerouting air traffic to the south. The Washington Volcanic Ash Advisory Center posted that there was no known volcanic activity in the area. NOAA reports no smoke plumes or wildfires. NASA Earthdata reports seeing the large cloud, but offers no explanation or theory as to where the cloud came from or how it formed.
They watched the cloud continue to move east, eventually dipping south, first over Port Townsend, then across Admiralty Inlet, and over Whidbey Island. As the evening wore on, daylight faded, and the cloud became harder to see.
Grabbing the ribs off the grill and placing them on a large plate, Laura asked Nathan about the upcoming week.
"You guys are starting the Hansen Warehouse job Monday, right?"
"Yeah."
"How much is that supposed to bring in?"
"At least 1.5. But you know how that goes."
"Has Terry submitted his final estimates yet?" Laura asked.
"No, I should get them by tomorrow."
Their conversation continued as they ate dinner. Catching up after a week of being apart, interspersed with periods of silent eating, their eyes occasionally darted to the east, quietly keeping track of the odd phenomenon hanging in the sky.
Shortly after sunset as they stacked plates and dishes to bring inside, both Laura and Nathan's phones buzzed with an emergency text message:
"FLASH FLOOD WARNING: Snohomish County area and vicinity. Heavy rain. Flooding likely. Avoid roads. Seek high ground. Until 11:00PM. FLOOD ADVISORY: NE Clallam, Central Island, S San Juan. Monitor conditions."
Laura sat on the couch, continuing her online sleuthing as Nathan cleaned up the kitchen.
"A strange, almost alien-looking cloud caught the attention of Olympic Peninsula residents earlier this evening -- a massive dark cloud stretching upward as far as the eye can see, plastered all over social media as it travelled east toward Puget Sound. The National Weather Service has no explanation, acknowledging they just need more data." King5's Rich Marriott had reported almost 30 minutes earlier.
Reports on X, TikTok, and Reddit told of a torrential downpour from the ominous cloud, the likes of this latitude of the globe has never seen -- almost 4 inches of rainfall in under 90 minutes.
Dark, poorly-lit videos of flooding and destruction were popping up all over social media, but were hard to make out. It was obvious something potentially devastating was occurring, but the scale was fuzzy. Streets flooded rapidly. Sloughs, rivers, and estuaries surged overtopping their banks. Backflow from sewer systems flooded basements, underground structures, and crawlspaces.
Parking lots, highways, and arterial roads became impassable, with 6 or more inches of standing water. Extreme ground saturation caused isolated landslides in higher elevation areas. Substations in low-lying areas flooded and went offline causing localized blackouts. Tree limbs and saturated soil downed power lines.
Emergency services were overwhelmed, responding to stranded motorists, flooded homes, and medical emergencies. Hospital capacity was strained and patients rerouted to other facilities around the north Puget Sound.
"This is insane." Nathan said, swiping down on his phone screen to refresh his feed for the thousandth time.
"Glad it missed us." Laura said, refreshing her feed at the same time.
The two sat in relative silence for another hour, questioning in their minds what devastation the daylight tomorrow may reveal.
They went to bed a few minutes later, going through their nighttime routine like they had ever other night before.
The Black Summer had begun.
