The Geostorm Series (Book 5): Geostorm [The Tempest] Page 12

  They’d placed the sofa and chair cushions on the floor and removed the mattress from the bedroom for Sarah and the kids to occupy. Jesse and Rachel were having a great time of it, using blankets to create tent forts. They also created a maze to crawl through, challenging the adults to catch them, after they were given a slight head start, of course. The real winner was Brooke, who knuckle-ran through the course so fast she lapped the field twice.

  After relaxing, they huddled around Chapman as he removed his beloved storm glass from his backpack.

  “Uncle Chapman, does that thing really work?” asked Rachel as she scooted closer to him.

  Chapman explained the storm glass’s history and function.

  “Back in the mid-1800s, there was a famous ship of the British Royal Navy called the HMS Beagle. HMS stood for Her Majesty’s Ship, and it was a beautiful two-masted vessel that had traveled all over the Atlantic Ocean.

  “On its second voyage, it carried a man named Charles Darwin around the entire world so he could research geology and other cultures.”

  “Is he the man who talked about monkeys a lot?” asked Jesse.

  “Yes, that’s him. He called it the Theory of Evolution. Let’s not get into that today. I don’t wanna get your grandma riled up.”

  Sarah smiled at her son. “Good call, son.”

  Chapman returned the smile and continued. “Anyway, on the maiden voyage of the Beagle, the captain became extremely depressed because of the desolation and boredom of their journey. He was replaced by a young man named FitzRoy, who later became an admiral.

  “With his wealthy family’s help, he made the Beagle one of the most technologically advanced ships in Her Majesty’s fleet. They outfitted the ship with lightning conductors to protect it from vicious storms while at sea, as well as twenty-two chronometers that kept track of time and direction.”

  “He didn’t wanna get lost, huh?” asked Jesse, who was mesmerized by Chapman’s story.

  “That’s right. You see, back then they didn’t have detailed maps like we do today. In fact, the primary goal of the Beagle was to travel the world, surveying other lands and creating a map for all to use.

  “Another thing the captains of these massive ships didn’t have was The Weather Channel. Guys like me wouldn’t have a job chasing storms back then because we didn’t know where they were. Sea captains had to rely on luck and instinct to keep from getting caught in hurricanes or severe thunderstorms.”

  “That’s scary,” interjected Rachel. Both kids were tucked under his arms as he spoke. Even the adults hung on every word as the storyteller continued.

  “It was. Anyway, Admiral FitzRoy learned of a unique and mysterious instrument used on old sailing ships. It was called the storm glass.”

  Jesse leaned forward and picked up the teardrop-shaped glass filled with water and what appeared to be lightweight crystals.

  “That’s right. Now, the original storm glass used by FitzRoy was round, kinda like a clear globe. But it was made the same way as this one. Over the years, early scientists experimented with different concoctions of distilled water, chemicals and camphor, coupled with small lightweight crystals. During these experiments, they learned changes in the atmosphere caused changes in the way the crystals reacted inside the glass.”

  “Like what?” asked Jesse as he placed the storm glass back on its wood pedestal. After being handled by the boy, who had shaken it like a snow globe, the crystals slowly found their way back toward the bottom.

  “Well, the mixture of distilled water, camphor, and chemicals is so precise that after it settles down, given a little time, it will begin to react to atmospheric conditions. Now, as someone who has focused his entire adult life on weather changes, I kinda have a knack for predicting when changes are coming. For example, did you know it’s possible for your body to predict weather changes?”

  “Really?” asked Jesse.

  “Yup. The knowledge is in your joints.”

  “He’s right,” interjected Sarah. “With my knees and elbows, I never had to watch the nightly news. I could tell ya what was next by the way I felt. Odd thing though. I didn’t feel anything before the rain started two weeks ago.”

  Chapman nodded and smiled at his mother. “That’s because this rain event has nothing to do with changes in the atmosphere. It’s caused by the pole shift.”

  “Then why are my joints starting to stiffen up now?” she asked.

  “Something might be changing,” replied Chapman. “You see, at normal or higher pressure, when the atmosphere is heavier, it pushes against our bodies from the outside, preventing our body tissue from expanding. That means sunshine is on the way.

  “But as atmospheric pressure begins to drop, as it does ahead of damp, rainy and snowy weather, our body tissue has more space to expand. When it does, it pushes against our joints, causing some people, especially those with chronic injuries to elbows and knees, or arthritis, to feel aches and pains.”

  Sarah explained how atmospheric changes affected her. “My body never seems to sense when a brilliant day is coming. Most days, I don’t feel anything in my joints unless I spent too much time bending over in the garden. But when the rains were coming, there was little doubt in my mind because I was grabbing for that bottle of Aleve!”

  Everyone joined Sarah as she laughed about the effects of old age. Chapman furrowed his brow as the crystals in the storm glass recovered from Jesse’s manhandling of it and began to react to the atmospheric conditions. He took a deep breath as he analyzed the results and connected them to what he sensed as the winds picked up. He silently cursed as he wished he had access to the TWS radar. Like the sea captains of old, they were traveling blind as it came to potential severe weather.

  Kristi pointed to the storm glass. “It seems to be doing something. What does this crystal ball tell you, old soothsayer.” She teased her brother by placing her palms together and moving them back and forth in front of her body like an Arabian princess.

  “Okay, unfair princess, here’s how they came about as an early weather tool. Nobody really knows who invented them, but interest in the storm glass really started in the 1860s when notable scientist Michael Faraday began to study its characteristics. He was especially intrigued by the effect of electricity on the storm glass.”

  “He was always playing with electricity, like your Benjamin Franklin,” added Isabella.

  “Did he fly a kite, too?” asked Rachel, Isabella’s number one fan.

  “Maybe,” she replied with a laugh. She tickled Rachel and then Chapman continued. He pointed toward the storm glass, which was now the center of attention.

  “The crystals tell the story. If the liquid in the glass is clear, the weather will also be bright and clear. If the liquid appears cloudy, like now, soon it will be cloudy as well and most likely rainy.”

  “Why are so many starting to float to the top?” asked Jesse.

  “Usually, that means it’s going to be windy,” Chapman replied. “Like it was this afternoon.”

  “It’s not now,” said Jesse.

  “Right, but it might be again tomorrow.”

  Sarah chuckled. “I don’t know about that thing, but my joints are telling me its gonna rain tomorrow.”

  The room burst out in uproarious laughter except for Chapman, who continued to stare at the storm glass, nervously rubbing his fingers together.

  Chapter 24

  Near Texas, Kentucky

  Chapman and Isabella drove in silence as they took the car along U.S. Highway 150 toward the small town of Perryville. They were only twenty miles from Danville, a city of sixteen thousand. Once there, they’d be able to have a relatively straight shot south to the next leg of their journey—Middlesboro, Kentucky.

  After several moments of complete silence, Isabella confronted Chapman. “You are troubled. Please talk to me.”

  Chapman gripped the wheel and rolled his head on his shoulders to release some tension. His body was still sore from being buried in
the mud and rock. However, his stress was caused by a lack of sleep the night before as he considered the possible weather scenarios indicated by the coming low-pressure system. He allowed himself a smile and he reached over to take her hand. “I’m sorry. You’re the one person I can speak with about this without causing undue alarm.”

  “What is it?”

  “Yesterday, we all noticed the wind pick up for the first time since it began raining the day Dad died. My first inclination was that a cold front was coming and that it might just change the dynamic caused by the Svensmark effect.”

  Isabella frowned. “I do not know if this will be the case. Svensmark is not a weather pattern. It is, um, not climate weather but space weather.”

  “Right, that’s part of what troubles me. The cloud cover from the galactic cosmic rays influences the Earth’s climate, which is why we’re experiencing this. But does it stop weather patterns from forming, like a cold front’s movement through a prior high-pressure system?”

  Chapman paused before answering his own question. A farmer was leading half a dozen cattle across the road from one cross-fenced area to another. The small pen where the cattle were being kept was completely covered with mud. They’d grazed until the grass was gone, and now he had to feed them elsewhere.

  Chapman considered what he witnessed. Without sunlight, grass wouldn’t grow back. With the continuous rainfall, once fertile fields would become massive pigsties. He continued. “Oftentimes, when cold fronts displace a warm air mass like the Midwest has experienced for months, the air masses collide, resulting in winds and thunderstorms.”

  “Do you think that is happening now?” she asked.

  “I think so. Maybe.” Chapman sighed. “The thing is, I really don’t know, and I can’t cry wolf and have everyone stay put while we wait and see. The winds have died down this morning, so it may have been a fluke.”

  “Fluke?” asked Isabella, unsure of the meaning.

  “Coincidence.”

  “Oh. If a storm is coming, we can find another place to be safe. Oui?”

  Without answering, Chapman frowned and pointed toward the windshield. “I don’t think it will be here.”

  He slowed the Mustang, drawing looks from local residents who stood on their front porches as he approached. Since they’d left Louisville, they’d only seen a couple of operating vehicles. An old farm truck driving along a nearby hilltop and a tractor being used to pull a hay baler out of a field. The Mustang was a novel sight for the people of Perryville, to be sure.

  Rowboats, however, were anything but novel. The entire town was flooded. The idyllic southern town had been built on both sides of the Chaplin River in the late 1700s by settlers from Virginia following the opening of the Wilderness Road. Now it was being drowned by the strategic natural resource used by both the Union and Confederate armies during the Civil War.

  “Oh no,” said Isabella drearily. “Now what?”

  Chapman looked around and then slowly backed up before heading west where they’d come from. “There were several roads that turned to the south. Let’s let everyone know about this and then pick another route. No worries.”

  Chapman sped off, making the short drive in less than ten minutes. When he returned, he and Levi reviewed the map. They spoke to the elderly pastor and his wife, who were so gracious in allowing them to stay in the small guesthouse.

  They suggested taking a shorter route through the Marion County Wildlife Management Area along Kentucky Highway 243. It was a very narrow two-lane road that made its way through the hills and cedar-filled forests, but it was shorter and less traveled. There was one area they cautioned about just the other side of Gravel Switch, where a creek ran parallel to the road. A large valley separated the hills and was used for growing soybean.

  Without considering other alternatives, the group agreed to wait while Chapman and Isabella drove the forty miles down toward Highway 127. Because of the lack of roadways in this part of Kentucky, they couldn’t afford to take the wagons and horses halfway into the hills only to be prevented from continuing by a flooded creek.

  While the group patiently waited, Chapman sped off, trying not to waste valuable daylight as he took Tommy’s Mustang through the narrow, winding road. For thirty minutes, he and Isabella were pleased at what they found.

  While North Rolling Fork, the creek that ran parallel to the road, was overflowing like all the others, the roadbed had been well-engineered and elevated from the surrounding landscape. There was only one place where the water crossed the road, but it was only a few inches deep and not considered to be an issue. They made the trip to U.S. 127 in about an hour and then headed back north toward the group.

  Throughout the ride, Chapman studied the skies and the treetops. The roadway was down in a valley cut open by rushing waters millions of years ago. The burgeoning creek was all that remained from years of geologic transformation.

  As they cleared the forest and returned to the open confines ten miles away from the group, Chapman jammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop.

  “What is it?” asked Isabella.

  Chapman jumped out of the car and ran down the street. He stood in the middle of the road, staring to the west, when he was joined by Isabella, who voiced her observations.

  “The skies are very dark. Even slightly green. And the clouds …” Her voice trailed off as Chapman walked toward the side of the road and shielded his eyes from the rain.

  He’d experienced it hundreds of times before. He folded his arms in front of him and shuddered as an unexpected chill came over his body. He spoke barely loud enough for Isabella to hear him over the driving rain. “Temperature drop. Low-hanging cumulonimbus clouds. But something’s not right.”

  “Chapman!” exclaimed Isabella, who was pointing toward the south. “Look!”

  “My god!” he exclaimed. He turned to Isabella. “Hurry! They won’t know!”

  They raced back to the car and he floored the gas pedal, causing the Mustang to fishtail on the wet pavement. He let off, caught his breath, and then started over, steadily gathering speed as he went.

  The engine was roaring as he pushed the speedometer up to seventy. The wind buffeted the car from side to side as it yanked at power lines that traversed the fields. Trees that dotted the landscape were getting pounded by the wind, leaves being ripped from their branches.

  Then, as quickly as the storm seemed to be developing, it became eerily calm. The leaves of nearby hardwood trees remained on their branches, shimmering from the moisture against the darkening skies. Chapman slowed to look out the windshield and the driver’s window. He craned his neck to observe the skies.

  Is the rain’s intensity lessening? Is that the leading edge of the cold front blowing past that quickly?

  BOOM!

  The lightning that struck a solitary tree in the field nearby sounded like a bomb exploding. The electricity generated by the strike caused the hair to stand up on Chapman’s arms and neck. Isabella shrieked and instinctively ducked.

  “What the hell!” shouted Chapman as the wind suddenly picked up again and torrents of rain drenched them, hitting the windshield so hard that the wipers had little or no effect on giving him visibility.

  Nonetheless, with Isabella’s help, they continued back to Texas. The Kentucky version, but a name and place from Chapman’s past, where he’d lost a best friend to a monster storm just like this one.

  Chapter 25

  Near Texas, Kentucky

  In 2005, remnants of Hurricane Katrina ripped through America’s Southeastern states, spawning a tornado outbreak and bringing heavy flooding as far north as Ohio. In addition to Louisiana, which was the hardest hit with nearly two thousand deaths, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee and Kentucky incurred the wrath of the massive Category 5 hurricane.

  Over twenty years later, a hurricane of larger magnitude, with sustained winds approaching two hundred miles an hour, slammed New Orleans. The storm surge, coupled with the swollen banks of the Miss
issippi, breached the levies that protected the city and its suburbs. Everyone was either killed or washed to sea in makeshift boats, hoping for a miraculous rescue that never came. Those who stood on rooftops feared for their lives as they waited for a Coast Guard helicopter to fly to them.

  Unlike 2005, when Hurricane Katrina became one of the most-well known storms in American history, this particular hurricane had no name designation from the National Hurricane Center. Hurricane names, designed to avoid confusion for the public when warnings were issued to the media, were useless now. There was no media. There were no ways to warn the public. Forecasting and tracking methods were nonexistent.

  So people died. Millions of unsuspecting Americans, confused by the continuous rainfall, had no inkling that the sudden change in the skies and the winds portended something other than what they’d grown accustomed to over the last two weeks. They succumbed to the tornado outbreak that swept through Dixie Alley and made its way into Central Kentucky.

  The feeder banks of this catastrophic hurricane, a Category 6 if such a designation existed, were making their way toward Louisville. Chapman’s instincts regarding the change of atmospheric pressure were correct, to an extent. He sensed the danger of potential tornadic activity. He just didn’t take it a step further and consider a massive hurricane system was headed toward them.

  As he raced back to his family, he feared they would be caught off guard as the winds picked up and began to topple trees whose root systems were compromised by the overly saturated soil. The sky had changed to a grayish-black, and the individual supercells carried by the hurricane were developing into vicious, well-organized thunderstorms.