Calm Before

The large black floor fan roared as it circulated air from the window above into the warm room. The long, lightweight, white curtains billowed away from and to the windows, no longer blocking any direct sunlight, as the sun had finally dipped below the hills of the valley. Alice the cat sat beside Tanner, occasionally reaching out a paw to request attention as Tanner sorted and filtered a busy email inbox on her laptop.

The March day had been unnervingly dry and hot, with no snow left on the ground in the high mountains of Colorado at 8000 feet of elevation. People drove their cars into the mountains to seek time in the great outdoors, but would encounter no snow for skiing. Hikers found trails either muddy or icy, often alternating between the two. Those walking the roadside quickly found themselves sweating and wishing they had worn less clothing.

Tanner noted the cars as tourists drove past on the main road through the tiny town. She wondered what visitors were thinking as they surveyed the unusual season. Were they enjoying the heat? Were they seeking winter activities they would never find? Did they even question the odd and extreme temperatures? For Tanner, the lack of winter had begun to cause anxiety and a frantic need to prepare for an inevitably active wildfire season. For anyone unfamiliar with the normal March weather, however, this might be considered a lucky break or even just a pleasant day.

Tanner’s inbox was filled with dire news of current events, urgent pleas for financial help from many different organizations, and the occasional personal email buried in the midst of the flood of drama. It wasn’t always easy to locate and respond to the personal emails, even having set up filters to catch the bombardment of mass emailings. It also seemed that every time Tanner made a purchase, 5 new emails containing related offers would appear, even from brands and groups Tanner didn’t recognize. Unsubscribing rarely worked. It seemed that the only way to combat this trend was to delete often and early.

Spending this much time on email, however, typically made Tanner irritated at best, furious at worst. How could anyone be expected to keep up with this sort of automated onslaught? All Tanner really wanted to do was quickly accomplish a goal or two, respond to anything personal, and then disconnect from the digital world and find something to do in the real, physical world. How much more fulfilling everything was when it was not on a screen of some kind!

It was in a moment of feeling her cat’s paw on her leg that Tanner realized something. She found herself in an emotional state she hadn’t felt in years. She realized, bemused and curious, that somehow a deep sense of peace and safety had taken root. The sound of the fan, the personal email to which she had been responding, the cat’s quest for attention- in a surprising and perfect formula, everything in the moment had catalysed to create a momentary reassurance. How very odd, she thought. How inappropriate. Undeniably, however, it had occurred.

Perhaps it was an inherited memory of similar events and materials coming together from past ancestors, transferred over the ages through DNA. Perhaps it was her own personal history coming to bear. The mystery could not outweigh the delicious sensation, however. Could this circumstance somehow be recreated at will? While seeming strangely irrational, it lent a sense of strength and personal power.

Tanner stood up and walked to the wall to flip on the lights in the room, which had gone dim with the setting of the sun. As she did so, she noticed the smell of a campfire in the air. Was it a campfire? Sometimes neighbors burned fires in their fireplaces and she could smell it when they did. The open window allowed the air outside to waft into the room freely. Tanner opened the door, stepping out onto the upstairs porch. Glancing around, she could see a glimmer in the distance. Something was burning. She tried to think what was at the location where the light gleamed in the dusk. No house stood at that location. That was a piece of dense pine woods, and as far as Tanner knew, there were no fire rings there.

As she watched, the glimmer grew just a bit stronger, smoke discernable now, visibly. It only took a few seconds for Tanner to decide. She ran downstairs, outside, to the shed. Flinging the doors open, she grabbed 2 cat carriers. She quickly located Alice, then Tom, and against their meowing and squirming protests, managed to get them into the carriers. She had a bag by the front door she kept packed with important papers, a change of clothes, water and non perishable food. This she grabbed, and stopped for a second. She ran upstairs, closed all the windows. She brought the hanging mesh in from the doorframe. Running back down, she left a hastily scrawled note on the front door: “all occupants evacuated”. She left a ladder leaning against the side of the house.

Before leaving the circumference of the coverage of the house wi-fi, she texted her group of friends. There were no cell towers in her remote little town. Once she left the wi-fi, she would have no connection. “Just saw a fire starting on White House Mountain. Appears to be growing. Decided to head for Carbondale. If anyone knows anything more, please text. If this is nothing, then this was just a practice run. Will check back soon. Be safe!” Knowing this would alarm her neighbors, but not convinced that saying nothing would be better, she took one last look at the mountain, but couldn’t see from her vantage point what was happening. She left the circle of wi-fi and drove off the grid within seconds.