Like a Torn Cloud Before the Hurricane

Chapter 1

Edward Teach hadn't planned to be this far from civilization. The cabin, on a wooded plot of land not far from the Bras d'Or Lake in rural Nova Scotia on Cape Breton Island, was family-owned. Not that he'd made use of it very often over the years. But living in Toronto was draining to the soul. So when his mother pointed out that no one in the extended family planned to use the cabin for the entire month of September (a rare occurrence) and that it would be a perfect writing retreat for him, he accepted.

Normally, September in Atlantic Canada was clear and fair. If a storm swept through, it was a nor'easter or the remnants of a hurricane that sheared to bits on its way from the Caribbean. The majority of days were bright and warm, with a pleasant cool snap in the evening as the leaves shed their green hues for golds and reds.

It was bad luck and climate change that would bring the strongest hurricane to ever hit the region to rattle at the cabin door.

The news was filled with warnings that had noticed that something was coming. Given the cabin was off-grid, Ed already knew that he could be self-sufficient. The locals seemed unconcerned. They chatted among themselves in local hardware stores and grocery stores with inhaled affirmative and folksy slang.

But when the forecast updated and the weather alerts turned red, the mood shifted. The province sent out an emergency alert that turned the quiet little grocery store into a chorus of shrill shrieks.

Ed managed to grab the last flat of water at the poorly-stocked local grocery store. He'd missed out on stocking up on batteries, and had very little to choose from in the way of canned goods, bread, and chips.

The last one surprised him, until the radio hosts on the afternoon drive told him about the tradition of storm chips that had started some years ago. Now, ahead of any storm - hurricane or otherwise, it looked like a band of middle schoolers had raided the chip aisle.

As Ed drove down the narrow dirt road on the way back to his family cabin, he saw a line of three cars driving out.

The last car, a white SUV pulled up alongside Ed's Jeep and made a cranking motion. That motion was anachronistic for the man in the SUV, but Ed's vehicle was actually old enough to require a little elbow grease to get the window down.

"Where you going, buddy?" said the man behind the wheel. His car was stuffed with supplies and two small children made faces at him from the back seat.

"I'm Annie's kid. Going back to the Teach cabin," said Ed.

The man let out a low whistle. "Not wise, not wise. I'd say you're better to come into town, but I don't imagine the one motel we've got has the space. Now look, we're real good with storms out here and we know that this one's different. Might be up to a Cat 2, they say. We aren't ready for it. Everyone still talks about Hurricane Juan back in 03, and that bastard was barely a 1."

"I've got supplies," said Ed. "And last I saw, the storm was hitting up the Bay of Fundy. I figured we're away from it enough here. Should be all right."

The man behind the wheel shifted and adjusted his East Coast Lifestyle ball cap. He looked like he was trying to decide something. "Now look, give me your number. I'm not making any promises, but if I can find you a couch or someone's in-law suite, will you come into town?"

Ed blinked. He remembered the people out that way being friendly and looking out for one another, but he hadn't expected that kind of offer. It made him vaguely uncomfortable the way city-dwellers often were when met with the unexpected kindness of a stranger. "If you think that'd be a better idea?"

"I really do. I do. My name's Jake. Those rugrats back there are Holly and Gillian."

"I'm Ed."

The girls waved shyly and Gillian leaned over the back of her father's seat to say, "I like your hair!"