They would turn this ridge into a gravel lot for a half-built subdivision.

I walked down the short hallway to my bedroom.

I pulled off my wet clothes and changed into a dry flannel shirt and sweatpants.

As I tossed my wet jeans into the hamper, I heard a low rumble of thunder that shook the floorboards.

The lights flickered once, dimmed, and then recovered.

I grabbed my flashlight from the nightstand just in case the power failed.

The silence of the house felt different now, heavy with the weight of the coming morning.

I lay down on top of the quilt, staring at the pine ceiling.

I closed my eyes, trying to find some peace in the dark.

An hour passed, marked only by the steady ticking of the clock downstairs.

I was just drifting off when a sharp, bright flash lit up the bedroom window.

It wasn’t lightning.

It was the blue and red strobe of emergency lights bouncing off the wet pine trees outside.

Then came the sound of a heavy vehicle pulling up the gravel driveway.

I sat up, my heart hammering against my ribs.