I remember the first time it happened. I was standing at the window watching the snow blanket the city, when a flash of light nearly blinded me. As I stood there trying to see what had been the cause, I heard it. Distant rumbling that sounded like it was rushing closer. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the sound of death stalking each of us. Thundersnow, the unholy harbinger of the apocalypse. That was five years ago.
We’re watching the morning news now. It’s been snowing, and the family is silent as we all pray. These days the children are just as worried about snow as we are. No more do they gleefully frolic at the prospect of snow days. As the anchor slowly walks to the news desk and takes his seat, we already know what he will say. “I regret to inform everyone, that as of 8:17 this morning, we have reports of a Thundersnow outbreak in Cook County. Our prayers are with you.”
Cook County. That’s where we are. The children, terrified, look to us for comfort. No solace will be found in our uncomprehending, horror-filled stares. ”Did I ever finish installing the armor on the house? At least we have food. Please don’t let it come this way. Dear God, I hope I have enough bullets.”
But I know none of that matters. No matter the preparation, no matter how much notice we have these days, nothing can withstand the unforgiving force of Thundersnow. White Death. And I can see it coming for us now.
I gather the family close. In these, our final moments, one last thought comforts me as the white, booming wall of finality bears down on us: At least it’s not a Shit Storm.
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