Storm Chasers: Don't Tell My Secret
An accident sends the kids to a local hospital, where the suspicion quickly grows that they are angels.
A sleazy newspaper reporter finds out about it, and threatens to expose the story to the world.
After a harrowing emotional ordeal saving the Littleton family, Camille was in dire need of a break. And her friends wanted to escape the Utah cold.
The gang decided to head for Miami, Florida, for some sun, fun, and whatever adventures they ran into--even if it involved stopping a hurricane bent on destroying the city once they arrived--or other cloud-borne catastrophes along the way.
They had been flying across the country for months, stopping to greet hometown folks, and angering birds who thought the skies were meant just for them. Not to mention the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the highway below--which they were watching like hungry hawks--despite them being harmless sparrows.
Dark clouds were rolling in, so it looked like the kids would get to use their powers, after all.
"What is this scene doing here, in the middle of Winter?" Andrew wondered aloud. "This isn't the rainy season."
"Whoever said the clouds got angry only at a certain time of year?" Katrina replied. "Anything can happen anytime, and we must be prepared."
Floyd added a quaint grin. He felt like contributing something, yet words failed him.
Camille had no interest in the playful banter, as she prompted the others to take a rest in some tree tops at a nearby park. She had a worried look on her face, eyeing a wind-swept thunderhead barreling straight toward them, slowly, on a high current. She already knew another one was right behind them, primed to start a squall line.
"Uh, guys..." she said, pointing to an impending disaster off in the distance, "...don't look now, but we got company."
Before the heavenly magicians even had a chance to escape the palm fronds, and figure out what to do, the two cloud systems collided, forming one long, nasty beast over the downtown skyline.
Many patrons in the cafes and shops, and drivers in their cars, thought they were safe. They had an air of invincibility about them, thinking their enclosed spaces would protect them. But little did they realize the ordeal they were about to face.
The angels didn't want anyone to see them, so they used their invisibility powers, as they floated in mid-air, rendering them as ghosts to human eyes. There was no need to arouse suspicion just yet.
Winter had only recently begun in Miami; however, despite the city's reputation for mildness, the temperature was very cold. So the region was set to be attacked by freezing rain and ice.
The stinging raindrops and tiny ice needles started to fall, sending panicked citizens in the streets running for cover. Hailstones soon added to the mix.
Andrew was hit by one, squarely in the chest. It wasn't very big, but the sudden force took him by surprise. So much so, in fact, that it made him lose his concentration of staying invisible. He lost his focus, and his energy drained as he turned back into the form of a mortal.
A few seconds later, another, slightly larger hailstone struck Katrina in her right temple. She, too, was stunned by reality, as she let her energy drift away, and once again become a carnal, whole body.
Before too long, more rain, ice and stones pelted Camille and Floyd and...you guessed it...they became frightened as they changed back into physical form.
Actually, all four kids were frightened upon the realization of this disturbing development. Apparently, it seems that they lacked the strength to fight back as forcefully as they would have liked to, when being continually bombarded by Nature's bullets.
And it hit them more severely than their human counterparts on the ground, simply because they were among the clouds themselves.
And so, eventually, they couldn't take anymore, lost their balance, and tumbled--as MORTALS--straight to the ground below. On their descent, for just a second, a passing thought ran through the back of their minds. They were afraid they'd be seen, and people would begin pointing and asking questions.
But, as it turned out, they did not land in the middle of the street; but rather, in a collection of stinging rose bushes, adjacent to the trees in the park.
Clyde Robinson saw them. At least he thought he did, and not just a mirage seen through the driving sheets of wind and rain--which is what the storm had now become, creating chaos in the flow of traffic.
Clyde was climbing out of his van to get a better view of the commotion erupting around him, for he simply could not believe his eyes from inside the cab.
Automobiles went sliding down the road, as if they were boats being carried away to their demise by an angry river. People in the streets, and on the sidewalks, scurried about mindlessly like rats (drenched rats) in a laboratory maze, looking for a path that led to freedom.
Andrew and the other kids landed hard on the ground, their skin by now soaked to the bone. Nearby, a park of acorn-gathering squirrels--readying themselves for the last bounty of Winter--were so taken aback by this sudden intrusion on their home territory, that they dropped their treasures and went flitting off to safety. Food or not, survival comes first.
Camille stood, brushed herself off, and then helped her friends who, like her, tried to stay erect in the wind. "Is everyone alright?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm okay," shot back Floyd. "Would someone please mind telling me what the hell that was up there? I never thought a little rain would hurt us. But it kept coming harder and faster, and I felt like passing out."
Katrina commented, "I guess we're not as strong as we thought, when we're not prepared."
"Our upstairs helpers have some explaining to do," added Andrew. "It's not fair; we're supposed to be better than this."
It was close to rush hour in downtown, and many folks were let out of work and school early, figuring that Christmas was just a few days away. That only added to the misery. Nature has some nerve, taking away our fun at this joyous time. Everyone resented Her for it; the joke was not funny.
The angels surveyed the scene across from the park. The city streets were turning into a lake, the water level rising with each passing minute. It was extremely difficult for the drivers to handle their vehicles, let alone their emotions. Tempers flared, as an occasional skirmish broke out here and there.
And the weather certainly didn't help much; each drop that fell and gust that blew added to the melee. The worst was the power failure. The traffic signals had gone out, so a uniformed officer had to be brought in to assist.
The height of tension seemed to be centered at the intersection of Biscayne Boulevard and Flagler Avenue. The angels went over to the traffic cop, to ask what help, if any, he needed. But he became irritable at the idea of interference by anyone. He certainly wasn't going to be ordered around by a bunch of brats.
"Sir," began Andrew, "do you want assistance? We can help guide some of this traffic."
Katrina, Camille and Floyd looked all about themselves, straining to see, and feeling a little overwhelmed. They weren't sure who to help first.
"Look, kid," the officer retorted, trying his best not to lose his cool, "I can handle this, okay? Go home or back to school, or something. What can you possibly do that I haven't already tried?"
Floyd answered, "More than you know. Give us a chance."
Clyde wanted to join in, and side with the youths. He hesitated from about ten yards away, where he stood with his brother, Gary, from the van. And Marian Devereaux, a florist who had exited her shop upon viewing the fracas in the streets, her face stricken pale with anxiety and terror.
"Don't turn them away, officer," said Clyde. "You never know what children might be capable of these days."
Gary and Marian nodded their heads in agreement, remaining a far enough distance away from the center of attention not to risk arrest.
"Oh...okay...if you say so," he relented. "Why don't you guys...in fact, all of you...go over and..."
Just then, an 18-wheeler, whose driver had lost control on the slippery streets, came barreling around the corner at high speed. He tried his best to swerve the big rig, so as not to cause any further trouble, but it was too late. During the turn, and helped--unfortunately--by the weather, the head separated from the body, slamming into a circuit box standing on the corner.
The front panel of the box was torn from its face, exposing electrical wires that flew, like frenzied snakes, every which way, igniting sparks. Two seconds later, a fire broke out among the logs of lumber that came tumbling down from the rig, which spiraled out of control as it turned.
The fact that sheets of rain poured down was a small consolation. The fire was too massive, anyway, to be extinguished by its arch rival.
Other cars at the scene tried to avoid adding to the devastation--including emergency vehicles--but without much luck. The logs, strewn among the streets, made maneuvering all but impossible, even as the angels attempted to help. They encouraged drivers--and pedestrians--to simply get out of harm's way and flee to safety.
Andrew ran over to pull a young woman from her car, which was clearly in the path of danger. But he paid no attention to his own situation...until it was too late. One of the cars that tried to swerve out of the way lost control on the slippery road, carrying Andy with it, and eventually slamming him into a concrete wall.
Katrina screamed. "NOOO...! Andy, are you alright?" as she tried, in vain, to make her way through the maze before her. But she, too, was caught up in Fate's web. A few of the logs, still rolling, overtook her, and she was crushed, amidst a giant wooden dragon. Now she knows how the kid must have felt at the fair, when he was pinned to the ground by the planks.
Camille rushed over to help, but not before she was severely shocked by one of the wires that broke loose from the box. She lay there, twitching, and trying her best to stay conscious.
And Floyd, in joining in the rescue, got cut in several places when the window of Marian's shop shattered into pieces, after being struck by a runaway car on the water-logged streets.
Physical laws must be obeyed, even when applied to ethereal spirits. It just so happened to be that when not under the guidance of the supernatural, the angels were just as human as everyone else. And must face the consequences of such.
Citizens from every part of the scene rushed over to the kids. Law enforcement officers and EMT's arrived a few moments later to try and find a cure for this tragedy.
The traffic cop, Vincent Song, and Clyde looked on, their souls filled with loss of words.
"I told you kids not to interfere," cried Vincent, between sobs. "I told you to stay away. But you chose not to listen, and now I am stranded here with a broken heart."
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At Miami's Jackson Memorial Hospital, the trauma unit was a little busier today than usual. It wasn't just because it was a Friday--and most medical centers are overstaffed on the weekends, mostly due to excessive partying--but also, on this particular day, Nature decided to play one of her games with humanity.
Dr. Alexander Shane's nerves were already frazzled to the bone, and it was only hour four of sixteen on his shift. He would much rather be at home with his wife and kid. Actually, he would really rather be single again, making himself available to any princess who needed rescuing. Oh, how he longed for those days again. But, as reality jolted him back to the present, such was the life of an ER resident.
Weather-related traffic accidents often bring in a steady amount of business. But Dr. Shane's team was ill-prepared for the next round of customers. The paramedics brought in a set of four youngsters, each with difficult injuries that, on the surface, did not seem very much to be from the rains.
"Alright, what do we have here?" asked the doctor, to his primary RN. He passed a hand, in frustration, through his wiry, black hair--though, at the tender age of 24, had already begun to gray a bit. He often told himself, 'it's not premature aging, it's the stress of the job.'
"A small group of teenagers were hurt, in the process of helping others, while downtown," replied Clarice Jacobs. She wasn't too much older than the kids; all of 28. She still recalls her youthful days, and the skirmishes they can bring. However, at the same time, she wasn't so much older that she didn't know better.
She continued, "A late adolescent, about 19 or 20, with multiple injuries, as if he were crushed by something. Another young lady, about the same age, also looking like something fell on her--but she has splinters all over her body, so the item was most likely wood. A gentleman with lacerations on his arms, but there don't seem to be many of them--or deep.
Finally, and perhaps most serious of all, there is a girl who has been electrocuted. Witnesses claim she came into contact with loose, live wires which, like her, became soaked by the storm. We have her stabilized for the moment, though her pulse is slow and respiration shallow."
The doctor was quickly scribing notes on each patient, while trying feverishly to keep up. "Okay, listen," he began, "get the shocked girl to ICU, stat. Make sure her heartbeat and breathing don't get any lower. I want an IV started, with a saline solution, and infused with 2% adrenal corticosteroids. The guy who cut his arm will probably be okay; tend to him with Betadine and bandages. I'll look over the others myself. I want to make certain they don't have internal injuries."
"Check, doctor," confirmed Clarice.
After about an hour, Floyd was calmer than before, with his arms and hands bandaged up. The medicine and rest given to Camille apparently had helped; her vital signs climbed back into the normal range, and--most importantly--she was conscious. Andrew and Katrina were still in Radiology; things were often slow and backed-up in that department. But initial reports returned gave an optimistic preliminary prognosis.
It was the aftermath of what was to come that started everyone talking. The pathology lab had a hundred questions, followed by the technicians in Radiology. And by the time word reached the ER, heads were spinning.
"Dr. Shane," blurted out James Van Camp, the hospital's head administrator. He entered the doc's office while simultaneously knocking. This annoyed Shane. "I know you're busy, but there is something highly suspicious going on with those kids. I want you to have a look at these reports," he said, shoving papers in the man's face. Another thing Shane was irritated by.
James continued, "No heartbeat or hemoglobin detected. Bone density is way lower than it should be. And the configuration of the skin cells is unlike anything we're seen before."
Dr. Shane didn't glance over the papers for one minute before he felt faint. He stood from his chair, dropped the papers on his desk, and swayed as if he were about to pass out. At the last second, he regained his composure. Then he suddenly flew into a mini-rage, placing blame where it probably shouldn't have been.
"What the devil are you people doing down there?" he yelled. "This is obviously the result of pure carelessness and human error. Or maybe a computer glitch. This cannot be! It is impossible!"
"We've already checked them twice."
"Well...check them again...three or four times, if necessary."
"Doctor," James protested, "they're...they're not human."
"Do you know what you're saying? Are you out of your mind? Get out of here! And don't come back until you're certifiably sane!"
The doctor's rant echoed in James' mind as he stormed out of the room, thoroughly frustrated past his breaking point.
It wasn't only the strange case of the kids' questionable human integrity, but also the doctor not believing it. Heck, he didn't believe it himself. How could someone be alive without a heartbeat?
James didn't realize he was speaking these musings aloud, until he noticed a gentleman in the hallway, giving him an odd look as if he were crazy. The man approached James cautiously, yet determined, looking for information.
"Excuse me, sir," he began. James eyed him up and down with the same caution, returning the favor. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhear part of your conversation with the doctor. Exactly what did you say? You have some young patients who have no heartbeat?"
"That's right," James answered. He knew he shouldn't be divulging confidential information, but he thought the man might be a police officer or lawyer. So he felt compelled to speak. "A group of very strange teenagers came in late this afternoon; two boys and two girls. One of them said they're from Skyhawk, Utah."
The man's face lit up like a million suns. "Interesting," he said. "And did they mention that they're aliens?"
Now it was James' turn to make a face. Only his was one of disgust. "Jesus Christ, man...you're crazier than the doctor says I am!"
"Hey, I'm just saying...you know..."
James had enough. He started to walk away. "Look," he told the guy, "if you're not a cop or something, I really have to go. Bye, now."
The man watched James leave, and waited until he was clear out of sight. Then he took his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Barely a minute later, he was connected. "Hello, New York Times editorial office? Listen, I know I'm supposed to be on vacation, but I have something I must tell you, This is Tom Canarelli. And I may have the story of the year."
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A few hours later, Clarice was going through her routine rounds of the patients in ICU. But she made it a point to reserve extra time for four very special youngsters.
Andrew was slowly stirring awake, after being unconscious for most of the evening. Clarice came over and offered him a cup of water. He took it eagerly.
"Well, look who's up," mused Clarice. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah, a little bit," answered Andrew. "A few of my aches are still visiting after getting crushed by an asteroid., but I've lived through worse." Actually, lady, I haven't. You have no idea what I haven't survived, or even...that I'm not even alive anymore in the truest sense. "By the way, where am I, exactly, and where are my friends?"
"You're in the Intensive Care Unit of Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. You've been through a rough time, and need to take it easy. Your friends are fine; they're restiing, as well, and are being taken care of. I know miss them; you can see them soon."
Andrew's inner alarm went off, as he instantly recalled his mission. "But I must see them now! I have something urgent to tell them...and you...about us...maybe. Not that you or anyone would believe it, anyway." Another red flag hit. Did Andy just spill the beans?
"Try me. We get some pretty strange stories around here." Clarice stared off into the distance for a moment, as if she were gazing up at a star for the first time, and was struck with awe. "However, perhaps none as strange as the rumors flying about regarding you kids. You know, everyone is talking about you. I mean like, really everyone. Your test results came back extra weird. Why can't we find your heartbeat?"
Just then, Katrina and the others were aided into the room. All three of them sucked in a deep breath upon hearing Clarice's last question. But, then again, how can the dead breathe?
"I've been resting, remember? I guess it slowed down."
"Nooo...try again."
Mr. Canarelli was standing by the double-door entrance to the ICU, and couldn't resist listening to the exchange. He felt an obligation to add his two cents. He decided that Clarice would be the first in the world to hear his wild take on the situation. He playfully sauntered up to the two of them, hands in his pockets, a sly grin on his face.
"Maybe the fact that they're not even of this Earth has something to do with it," he offered.
Andrew's eyes opened in scorn and fright, both at the same time; Clarice's in disbelief and ridicule. She gave the gentleman a quick nod in acknowledgement, passing him off as an escapee from the hospital's psyche ward.
"Are you alright, sir?" she asked. "Would you like another cup of coffee? Or maybe...you've had one too many, already."
A small crowd had started to gather--doctors; nurses; lab technicians; dietary, administrative and housekeeping personnel; clergy...and a few members of the local media, who were taking their sweet time in leaving after reporting on the weather-related accidents.
The man continued, as he glanced back at the crowd. "Hello, everyone. I'm Tom Canarelli. I'm a columnist for the New York Times. I saw these kids in a small town in Utah...just a few days ago. They couldn't have taken a plane; all the airports were snowed in. How'd they get here so fast?"
Camille started to raise a finger. She wanted to say something...anything...but her throat went suddenly stone dry. She lowered her head in the bonds of entrapment. A few folks noticed.
"How did you get here so fast?" one of them asked.
"I drove...in my SUV...okay? Anyway, that's not the point. This kid here--Andrew--is rumored to have single-handedly stopped a series of tornadoes in a small town in the Midwest, a few months ago, when nothing else could be done. Camille seemingly brought a young family back to life--after they had already been pronounced dead and buried--and even had an obituary written about them in the local paper."
Camille's face turned red, like the Sun on its last days before burning out. She hung her head in her hands.
Floyd commented, "But...but you don't know the whole story. It's not what you think..."
The secret had broken free of its prison, alright. And was sprinting its way to freedom when it got caught...exposed for the world to see...like a giant, lit billboard in Times Square.
"Save it, son," Mr. Canarelli scolded him, sternly.
Katrina's face also turned red, only hers was from rage. "Don't you talk to my friend that way! I'll crush you...you little insect!"
"See...what did I tell you?" he motioned to the crowd, with a pointing finger. "She truly believes she can do it...and probably can. We must ask ourselves, 'How and why?'"
Katrina just stood there, fuming, unable to offer a rebuttal, in front of Camille and Floyd, as if she were guarding them from an attack; which, in fact, she was.
Mr. Canarelli refocused his attention on Andrew. "What's your name, son? Who are you, and where are you from?"
Andrew slowly stood up from the bed, and walked over to join his friends. He said, clearly and forcefully, as much to them as to everyone else in the room, "Guys...the time has come. We must show ourselves. As much as it pains us and our guardians, the world has the right to know."
The three remaining kids simultaneously gave an exasperated sigh. Floyd asked, "What if they don't like it...or can't handle it...or it brings trouble for us?"
Andrew answered, defiantly, with a broad grin, "What are they going to do...kill us?"
Then he turned back to confront everyone, as Floyd's, Camille's and Katrina's grins grew, even broader.
"People," he began...Mortals! "It is true, we are not exactly who you think we are. But there is no reason to fear us. We're not aliens, as this sleazebag over here wants you to believe," calling out the reporter. "We're angels...from Heaven. A very special breed...storm angels, is more like it. We fight the weather, and save people from storms.
"You see, we were once just like you. We had ordinary, humble lives. And then, one day, we were killed...by storms. Our guardian angels gave us these powers, and returned us to Earth. Now we save others. So now you know."
Mr. Canarelli looked like he was about to faint. In fact, he did, dropping to the ground as if he were an angel returned to Earth.
Katrina and Camille offered to help him up. "Whoa...easy there, big fella," jestered Camille. "No need to fall asleep over this."
Mr. Canarelli shirked back in fright, as if he'd just seen a ghost. "Don't touch me...you freak! I don't want any of your heavenly germs on me!"
Katrina looked at Camille for a mere second. She knew just what her friend was thinking. Simultaneously, both girls let the man fall back down again...or was he thrown? The girls then rejoined the guys, who were already cringing back from the buzzing microphones and flashing cameras invading their space. The reporters were relentless; they had a thousand and one questions.
"What are you so afraid of?" Floyd badgered the man. "Are you afraid of catching something from us? Don't worry, we're so clean, we're almost perfect. In fact, I think it is us who should be wary of becoming contaminated by you."
"Yeah, really..." barked Camille, her arms crossing her chest. "...you dirty, paranoid Earthling."
Andrew scolded his friends. "Guys, quiet!"
Katrina added, "Yes, that will be enough, and was uncalled for."
She walked over to Camille and Floyd, hands on her hips, and gave them a stern look. At first, they returned her gaze as if to say, 'Who does this girl think she is?' Then, as Katrina's stare continued and became relentless, they knew she meant business. She was sending the message, 'I'm your friend and colleague, and gentle as a lamb. But push me, and see what I'm made of.'
This feeling was reinforced by Andrew, his fists slightly clenched and mouth in a straight thin line, as he stealthily creeped from the shadows.
"We're sorry...sir," said Floyd. "We had no right to belittle you like that. Please forgive us. We were lost in a moment."
"Forgive you?" shot back Tom. "For what, being freaks? And I don't care. The world deserves to know who and what you are. And these witnesses are just the start," he said, passing an open palm toward the crowd.
"What's that supposed to mean?" inquired a tense Camille, trying unsuccessfully to hide the high pitch in her voice.
"You'll find out, soon enough!" Mr. Canarelli answered, with a smirk.
His fingers had barely touched the doorknob, allowing his escape, when he was abruptly stopped short by Floyd, who gently tugged his coattail.
"Young man, kindly take your hands from me," he snarled.
"But you just can't...you have no right to..."
"Listen, I am a reporter. It is my job to tell what I know, whether anyone likes it or not. It's called news, kid."
"Please don't," Camille pleaded. "Consider the circumstances. Don't you have a heart?"
"Of course, I do. But I also have a conscience...and a duty. Now if you don't mind, I have to go."
Camille tried once more. "Wait...we beg of you, just this one time. We'll pay any price. What will it take to buy your silence?" She turned to face the mob of strangers behind her. "All of you..."
Katrina came over and took Camille's hands in hers, as she peered into her eyes, sending a message to the end of time. "Honey, let it go...the damage is done, and now it's time to face the music."
Camille made no attempt to hide the gasp in her breath, nor the tears in her eyes.
Andrew placed his hand on Camille's already slightly quivering shoulder. "We knew this day would come, sooner or later. I knew it, and so did you. This is just one lesson we were never prepared for. Besides," as he directed a glance toward the door, "he's gone."
Everyone in the room could only look on helplessly, as the open door let a draft blow in, forecasting bitter winds to come.
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To be continued, later...that's all I have for now, lol. XD
(C) 2012, Scott Gould
An accident sends the kids to a local hospital, where the suspicion quickly grows that they are angels.
A sleazy newspaper reporter finds out about it, and threatens to expose the story to the world.
After a harrowing emotional ordeal saving the Littleton family, Camille was in dire need of a break. And her friends wanted to escape the Utah cold.
The gang decided to head for Miami, Florida, for some sun, fun, and whatever adventures they ran into--even if it involved stopping a hurricane bent on destroying the city once they arrived--or other cloud-borne catastrophes along the way.
They had been flying across the country for months, stopping to greet hometown folks, and angering birds who thought the skies were meant just for them. Not to mention the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the highway below--which they were watching like hungry hawks--despite them being harmless sparrows.
Dark clouds were rolling in, so it looked like the kids would get to use their powers, after all.
"What is this scene doing here, in the middle of Winter?" Andrew wondered aloud. "This isn't the rainy season."
"Whoever said the clouds got angry only at a certain time of year?" Katrina replied. "Anything can happen anytime, and we must be prepared."
Floyd added a quaint grin. He felt like contributing something, yet words failed him.
Camille had no interest in the playful banter, as she prompted the others to take a rest in some tree tops at a nearby park. She had a worried look on her face, eyeing a wind-swept thunderhead barreling straight toward them, slowly, on a high current. She already knew another one was right behind them, primed to start a squall line.
"Uh, guys..." she said, pointing to an impending disaster off in the distance, "...don't look now, but we got company."
Before the heavenly magicians even had a chance to escape the palm fronds, and figure out what to do, the two cloud systems collided, forming one long, nasty beast over the downtown skyline.
Many patrons in the cafes and shops, and drivers in their cars, thought they were safe. They had an air of invincibility about them, thinking their enclosed spaces would protect them. But little did they realize the ordeal they were about to face.
The angels didn't want anyone to see them, so they used their invisibility powers, as they floated in mid-air, rendering them as ghosts to human eyes. There was no need to arouse suspicion just yet.
Winter had only recently begun in Miami; however, despite the city's reputation for mildness, the temperature was very cold. So the region was set to be attacked by freezing rain and ice.
The stinging raindrops and tiny ice needles started to fall, sending panicked citizens in the streets running for cover. Hailstones soon added to the mix.
Andrew was hit by one, squarely in the chest. It wasn't very big, but the sudden force took him by surprise. So much so, in fact, that it made him lose his concentration of staying invisible. He lost his focus, and his energy drained as he turned back into the form of a mortal.
A few seconds later, another, slightly larger hailstone struck Katrina in her right temple. She, too, was stunned by reality, as she let her energy drift away, and once again become a carnal, whole body.
Before too long, more rain, ice and stones pelted Camille and Floyd and...you guessed it...they became frightened as they changed back into physical form.
Actually, all four kids were frightened upon the realization of this disturbing development. Apparently, it seems that they lacked the strength to fight back as forcefully as they would have liked to, when being continually bombarded by Nature's bullets.
And it hit them more severely than their human counterparts on the ground, simply because they were among the clouds themselves.
And so, eventually, they couldn't take anymore, lost their balance, and tumbled--as MORTALS--straight to the ground below. On their descent, for just a second, a passing thought ran through the back of their minds. They were afraid they'd be seen, and people would begin pointing and asking questions.
But, as it turned out, they did not land in the middle of the street; but rather, in a collection of stinging rose bushes, adjacent to the trees in the park.
Clyde Robinson saw them. At least he thought he did, and not just a mirage seen through the driving sheets of wind and rain--which is what the storm had now become, creating chaos in the flow of traffic.
Clyde was climbing out of his van to get a better view of the commotion erupting around him, for he simply could not believe his eyes from inside the cab.
Automobiles went sliding down the road, as if they were boats being carried away to their demise by an angry river. People in the streets, and on the sidewalks, scurried about mindlessly like rats (drenched rats) in a laboratory maze, looking for a path that led to freedom.
Andrew and the other kids landed hard on the ground, their skin by now soaked to the bone. Nearby, a park of acorn-gathering squirrels--readying themselves for the last bounty of Winter--were so taken aback by this sudden intrusion on their home territory, that they dropped their treasures and went flitting off to safety. Food or not, survival comes first.
Camille stood, brushed herself off, and then helped her friends who, like her, tried to stay erect in the wind. "Is everyone alright?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm okay," shot back Floyd. "Would someone please mind telling me what the hell that was up there? I never thought a little rain would hurt us. But it kept coming harder and faster, and I felt like passing out."
Katrina commented, "I guess we're not as strong as we thought, when we're not prepared."
"Our upstairs helpers have some explaining to do," added Andrew. "It's not fair; we're supposed to be better than this."
It was close to rush hour in downtown, and many folks were let out of work and school early, figuring that Christmas was just a few days away. That only added to the misery. Nature has some nerve, taking away our fun at this joyous time. Everyone resented Her for it; the joke was not funny.
The angels surveyed the scene across from the park. The city streets were turning into a lake, the water level rising with each passing minute. It was extremely difficult for the drivers to handle their vehicles, let alone their emotions. Tempers flared, as an occasional skirmish broke out here and there.
And the weather certainly didn't help much; each drop that fell and gust that blew added to the melee. The worst was the power failure. The traffic signals had gone out, so a uniformed officer had to be brought in to assist.
The height of tension seemed to be centered at the intersection of Biscayne Boulevard and Flagler Avenue. The angels went over to the traffic cop, to ask what help, if any, he needed. But he became irritable at the idea of interference by anyone. He certainly wasn't going to be ordered around by a bunch of brats.
"Sir," began Andrew, "do you want assistance? We can help guide some of this traffic."
Katrina, Camille and Floyd looked all about themselves, straining to see, and feeling a little overwhelmed. They weren't sure who to help first.
"Look, kid," the officer retorted, trying his best not to lose his cool, "I can handle this, okay? Go home or back to school, or something. What can you possibly do that I haven't already tried?"
Floyd answered, "More than you know. Give us a chance."
Clyde wanted to join in, and side with the youths. He hesitated from about ten yards away, where he stood with his brother, Gary, from the van. And Marian Devereaux, a florist who had exited her shop upon viewing the fracas in the streets, her face stricken pale with anxiety and terror.
"Don't turn them away, officer," said Clyde. "You never know what children might be capable of these days."
Gary and Marian nodded their heads in agreement, remaining a far enough distance away from the center of attention not to risk arrest.
"Oh...okay...if you say so," he relented. "Why don't you guys...in fact, all of you...go over and..."
Just then, an 18-wheeler, whose driver had lost control on the slippery streets, came barreling around the corner at high speed. He tried his best to swerve the big rig, so as not to cause any further trouble, but it was too late. During the turn, and helped--unfortunately--by the weather, the head separated from the body, slamming into a circuit box standing on the corner.
The front panel of the box was torn from its face, exposing electrical wires that flew, like frenzied snakes, every which way, igniting sparks. Two seconds later, a fire broke out among the logs of lumber that came tumbling down from the rig, which spiraled out of control as it turned.
The fact that sheets of rain poured down was a small consolation. The fire was too massive, anyway, to be extinguished by its arch rival.
Other cars at the scene tried to avoid adding to the devastation--including emergency vehicles--but without much luck. The logs, strewn among the streets, made maneuvering all but impossible, even as the angels attempted to help. They encouraged drivers--and pedestrians--to simply get out of harm's way and flee to safety.
Andrew ran over to pull a young woman from her car, which was clearly in the path of danger. But he paid no attention to his own situation...until it was too late. One of the cars that tried to swerve out of the way lost control on the slippery road, carrying Andy with it, and eventually slamming him into a concrete wall.
Katrina screamed. "NOOO...! Andy, are you alright?" as she tried, in vain, to make her way through the maze before her. But she, too, was caught up in Fate's web. A few of the logs, still rolling, overtook her, and she was crushed, amidst a giant wooden dragon. Now she knows how the kid must have felt at the fair, when he was pinned to the ground by the planks.
Camille rushed over to help, but not before she was severely shocked by one of the wires that broke loose from the box. She lay there, twitching, and trying her best to stay conscious.
And Floyd, in joining in the rescue, got cut in several places when the window of Marian's shop shattered into pieces, after being struck by a runaway car on the water-logged streets.
Physical laws must be obeyed, even when applied to ethereal spirits. It just so happened to be that when not under the guidance of the supernatural, the angels were just as human as everyone else. And must face the consequences of such.
Citizens from every part of the scene rushed over to the kids. Law enforcement officers and EMT's arrived a few moments later to try and find a cure for this tragedy.
The traffic cop, Vincent Song, and Clyde looked on, their souls filled with loss of words.
"I told you kids not to interfere," cried Vincent, between sobs. "I told you to stay away. But you chose not to listen, and now I am stranded here with a broken heart."
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At Miami's Jackson Memorial Hospital, the trauma unit was a little busier today than usual. It wasn't just because it was a Friday--and most medical centers are overstaffed on the weekends, mostly due to excessive partying--but also, on this particular day, Nature decided to play one of her games with humanity.
Dr. Alexander Shane's nerves were already frazzled to the bone, and it was only hour four of sixteen on his shift. He would much rather be at home with his wife and kid. Actually, he would really rather be single again, making himself available to any princess who needed rescuing. Oh, how he longed for those days again. But, as reality jolted him back to the present, such was the life of an ER resident.
Weather-related traffic accidents often bring in a steady amount of business. But Dr. Shane's team was ill-prepared for the next round of customers. The paramedics brought in a set of four youngsters, each with difficult injuries that, on the surface, did not seem very much to be from the rains.
"Alright, what do we have here?" asked the doctor, to his primary RN. He passed a hand, in frustration, through his wiry, black hair--though, at the tender age of 24, had already begun to gray a bit. He often told himself, 'it's not premature aging, it's the stress of the job.'
"A small group of teenagers were hurt, in the process of helping others, while downtown," replied Clarice Jacobs. She wasn't too much older than the kids; all of 28. She still recalls her youthful days, and the skirmishes they can bring. However, at the same time, she wasn't so much older that she didn't know better.
She continued, "A late adolescent, about 19 or 20, with multiple injuries, as if he were crushed by something. Another young lady, about the same age, also looking like something fell on her--but she has splinters all over her body, so the item was most likely wood. A gentleman with lacerations on his arms, but there don't seem to be many of them--or deep.
Finally, and perhaps most serious of all, there is a girl who has been electrocuted. Witnesses claim she came into contact with loose, live wires which, like her, became soaked by the storm. We have her stabilized for the moment, though her pulse is slow and respiration shallow."
The doctor was quickly scribing notes on each patient, while trying feverishly to keep up. "Okay, listen," he began, "get the shocked girl to ICU, stat. Make sure her heartbeat and breathing don't get any lower. I want an IV started, with a saline solution, and infused with 2% adrenal corticosteroids. The guy who cut his arm will probably be okay; tend to him with Betadine and bandages. I'll look over the others myself. I want to make certain they don't have internal injuries."
"Check, doctor," confirmed Clarice.
After about an hour, Floyd was calmer than before, with his arms and hands bandaged up. The medicine and rest given to Camille apparently had helped; her vital signs climbed back into the normal range, and--most importantly--she was conscious. Andrew and Katrina were still in Radiology; things were often slow and backed-up in that department. But initial reports returned gave an optimistic preliminary prognosis.
It was the aftermath of what was to come that started everyone talking. The pathology lab had a hundred questions, followed by the technicians in Radiology. And by the time word reached the ER, heads were spinning.
"Dr. Shane," blurted out James Van Camp, the hospital's head administrator. He entered the doc's office while simultaneously knocking. This annoyed Shane. "I know you're busy, but there is something highly suspicious going on with those kids. I want you to have a look at these reports," he said, shoving papers in the man's face. Another thing Shane was irritated by.
James continued, "No heartbeat or hemoglobin detected. Bone density is way lower than it should be. And the configuration of the skin cells is unlike anything we're seen before."
Dr. Shane didn't glance over the papers for one minute before he felt faint. He stood from his chair, dropped the papers on his desk, and swayed as if he were about to pass out. At the last second, he regained his composure. Then he suddenly flew into a mini-rage, placing blame where it probably shouldn't have been.
"What the devil are you people doing down there?" he yelled. "This is obviously the result of pure carelessness and human error. Or maybe a computer glitch. This cannot be! It is impossible!"
"We've already checked them twice."
"Well...check them again...three or four times, if necessary."
"Doctor," James protested, "they're...they're not human."
"Do you know what you're saying? Are you out of your mind? Get out of here! And don't come back until you're certifiably sane!"
The doctor's rant echoed in James' mind as he stormed out of the room, thoroughly frustrated past his breaking point.
It wasn't only the strange case of the kids' questionable human integrity, but also the doctor not believing it. Heck, he didn't believe it himself. How could someone be alive without a heartbeat?
James didn't realize he was speaking these musings aloud, until he noticed a gentleman in the hallway, giving him an odd look as if he were crazy. The man approached James cautiously, yet determined, looking for information.
"Excuse me, sir," he began. James eyed him up and down with the same caution, returning the favor. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhear part of your conversation with the doctor. Exactly what did you say? You have some young patients who have no heartbeat?"
"That's right," James answered. He knew he shouldn't be divulging confidential information, but he thought the man might be a police officer or lawyer. So he felt compelled to speak. "A group of very strange teenagers came in late this afternoon; two boys and two girls. One of them said they're from Skyhawk, Utah."
The man's face lit up like a million suns. "Interesting," he said. "And did they mention that they're aliens?"
Now it was James' turn to make a face. Only his was one of disgust. "Jesus Christ, man...you're crazier than the doctor says I am!"
"Hey, I'm just saying...you know..."
James had enough. He started to walk away. "Look," he told the guy, "if you're not a cop or something, I really have to go. Bye, now."
The man watched James leave, and waited until he was clear out of sight. Then he took his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Barely a minute later, he was connected. "Hello, New York Times editorial office? Listen, I know I'm supposed to be on vacation, but I have something I must tell you, This is Tom Canarelli. And I may have the story of the year."
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A few hours later, Clarice was going through her routine rounds of the patients in ICU. But she made it a point to reserve extra time for four very special youngsters.
Andrew was slowly stirring awake, after being unconscious for most of the evening. Clarice came over and offered him a cup of water. He took it eagerly.
"Well, look who's up," mused Clarice. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah, a little bit," answered Andrew. "A few of my aches are still visiting after getting crushed by an asteroid., but I've lived through worse." Actually, lady, I haven't. You have no idea what I haven't survived, or even...that I'm not even alive anymore in the truest sense. "By the way, where am I, exactly, and where are my friends?"
"You're in the Intensive Care Unit of Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. You've been through a rough time, and need to take it easy. Your friends are fine; they're restiing, as well, and are being taken care of. I know miss them; you can see them soon."
Andrew's inner alarm went off, as he instantly recalled his mission. "But I must see them now! I have something urgent to tell them...and you...about us...maybe. Not that you or anyone would believe it, anyway." Another red flag hit. Did Andy just spill the beans?
"Try me. We get some pretty strange stories around here." Clarice stared off into the distance for a moment, as if she were gazing up at a star for the first time, and was struck with awe. "However, perhaps none as strange as the rumors flying about regarding you kids. You know, everyone is talking about you. I mean like, really everyone. Your test results came back extra weird. Why can't we find your heartbeat?"
Just then, Katrina and the others were aided into the room. All three of them sucked in a deep breath upon hearing Clarice's last question. But, then again, how can the dead breathe?
"I've been resting, remember? I guess it slowed down."
"Nooo...try again."
Mr. Canarelli was standing by the double-door entrance to the ICU, and couldn't resist listening to the exchange. He felt an obligation to add his two cents. He decided that Clarice would be the first in the world to hear his wild take on the situation. He playfully sauntered up to the two of them, hands in his pockets, a sly grin on his face.
"Maybe the fact that they're not even of this Earth has something to do with it," he offered.
Andrew's eyes opened in scorn and fright, both at the same time; Clarice's in disbelief and ridicule. She gave the gentleman a quick nod in acknowledgement, passing him off as an escapee from the hospital's psyche ward.
"Are you alright, sir?" she asked. "Would you like another cup of coffee? Or maybe...you've had one too many, already."
A small crowd had started to gather--doctors; nurses; lab technicians; dietary, administrative and housekeeping personnel; clergy...and a few members of the local media, who were taking their sweet time in leaving after reporting on the weather-related accidents.
The man continued, as he glanced back at the crowd. "Hello, everyone. I'm Tom Canarelli. I'm a columnist for the New York Times. I saw these kids in a small town in Utah...just a few days ago. They couldn't have taken a plane; all the airports were snowed in. How'd they get here so fast?"
Camille started to raise a finger. She wanted to say something...anything...but her throat went suddenly stone dry. She lowered her head in the bonds of entrapment. A few folks noticed.
"How did you get here so fast?" one of them asked.
"I drove...in my SUV...okay? Anyway, that's not the point. This kid here--Andrew--is rumored to have single-handedly stopped a series of tornadoes in a small town in the Midwest, a few months ago, when nothing else could be done. Camille seemingly brought a young family back to life--after they had already been pronounced dead and buried--and even had an obituary written about them in the local paper."
Camille's face turned red, like the Sun on its last days before burning out. She hung her head in her hands.
Floyd commented, "But...but you don't know the whole story. It's not what you think..."
The secret had broken free of its prison, alright. And was sprinting its way to freedom when it got caught...exposed for the world to see...like a giant, lit billboard in Times Square.
"Save it, son," Mr. Canarelli scolded him, sternly.
Katrina's face also turned red, only hers was from rage. "Don't you talk to my friend that way! I'll crush you...you little insect!"
"See...what did I tell you?" he motioned to the crowd, with a pointing finger. "She truly believes she can do it...and probably can. We must ask ourselves, 'How and why?'"
Katrina just stood there, fuming, unable to offer a rebuttal, in front of Camille and Floyd, as if she were guarding them from an attack; which, in fact, she was.
Mr. Canarelli refocused his attention on Andrew. "What's your name, son? Who are you, and where are you from?"
Andrew slowly stood up from the bed, and walked over to join his friends. He said, clearly and forcefully, as much to them as to everyone else in the room, "Guys...the time has come. We must show ourselves. As much as it pains us and our guardians, the world has the right to know."
The three remaining kids simultaneously gave an exasperated sigh. Floyd asked, "What if they don't like it...or can't handle it...or it brings trouble for us?"
Andrew answered, defiantly, with a broad grin, "What are they going to do...kill us?"
Then he turned back to confront everyone, as Floyd's, Camille's and Katrina's grins grew, even broader.
"People," he began...Mortals! "It is true, we are not exactly who you think we are. But there is no reason to fear us. We're not aliens, as this sleazebag over here wants you to believe," calling out the reporter. "We're angels...from Heaven. A very special breed...storm angels, is more like it. We fight the weather, and save people from storms.
"You see, we were once just like you. We had ordinary, humble lives. And then, one day, we were killed...by storms. Our guardian angels gave us these powers, and returned us to Earth. Now we save others. So now you know."
Mr. Canarelli looked like he was about to faint. In fact, he did, dropping to the ground as if he were an angel returned to Earth.
Katrina and Camille offered to help him up. "Whoa...easy there, big fella," jestered Camille. "No need to fall asleep over this."
Mr. Canarelli shirked back in fright, as if he'd just seen a ghost. "Don't touch me...you freak! I don't want any of your heavenly germs on me!"
Katrina looked at Camille for a mere second. She knew just what her friend was thinking. Simultaneously, both girls let the man fall back down again...or was he thrown? The girls then rejoined the guys, who were already cringing back from the buzzing microphones and flashing cameras invading their space. The reporters were relentless; they had a thousand and one questions.
"What are you so afraid of?" Floyd badgered the man. "Are you afraid of catching something from us? Don't worry, we're so clean, we're almost perfect. In fact, I think it is us who should be wary of becoming contaminated by you."
"Yeah, really..." barked Camille, her arms crossing her chest. "...you dirty, paranoid Earthling."
Andrew scolded his friends. "Guys, quiet!"
Katrina added, "Yes, that will be enough, and was uncalled for."
She walked over to Camille and Floyd, hands on her hips, and gave them a stern look. At first, they returned her gaze as if to say, 'Who does this girl think she is?' Then, as Katrina's stare continued and became relentless, they knew she meant business. She was sending the message, 'I'm your friend and colleague, and gentle as a lamb. But push me, and see what I'm made of.'
This feeling was reinforced by Andrew, his fists slightly clenched and mouth in a straight thin line, as he stealthily creeped from the shadows.
"We're sorry...sir," said Floyd. "We had no right to belittle you like that. Please forgive us. We were lost in a moment."
"Forgive you?" shot back Tom. "For what, being freaks? And I don't care. The world deserves to know who and what you are. And these witnesses are just the start," he said, passing an open palm toward the crowd.
"What's that supposed to mean?" inquired a tense Camille, trying unsuccessfully to hide the high pitch in her voice.
"You'll find out, soon enough!" Mr. Canarelli answered, with a smirk.
His fingers had barely touched the doorknob, allowing his escape, when he was abruptly stopped short by Floyd, who gently tugged his coattail.
"Young man, kindly take your hands from me," he snarled.
"But you just can't...you have no right to..."
"Listen, I am a reporter. It is my job to tell what I know, whether anyone likes it or not. It's called news, kid."
"Please don't," Camille pleaded. "Consider the circumstances. Don't you have a heart?"
"Of course, I do. But I also have a conscience...and a duty. Now if you don't mind, I have to go."
Camille tried once more. "Wait...we beg of you, just this one time. We'll pay any price. What will it take to buy your silence?" She turned to face the mob of strangers behind her. "All of you..."
Katrina came over and took Camille's hands in hers, as she peered into her eyes, sending a message to the end of time. "Honey, let it go...the damage is done, and now it's time to face the music."
Camille made no attempt to hide the gasp in her breath, nor the tears in her eyes.
Andrew placed his hand on Camille's already slightly quivering shoulder. "We knew this day would come, sooner or later. I knew it, and so did you. This is just one lesson we were never prepared for. Besides," as he directed a glance toward the door, "he's gone."
Everyone in the room could only look on helplessly, as the open door let a draft blow in, forecasting bitter winds to come.
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To be continued, later...that's all I have for now, lol. XD
(C) 2012, Scott Gould