Tuesday: Under the Tarp
They sprinted toward the bus as hailstones rained down, some as large as golf balls. The noise was deafening, like a thousand rocks pounding the earth. The tarp over the bus absorbed the impact, offering a shaky semblance of safety.
Inside, the air was damp but bearable. Ivy Mae inspected the small garden growing in pots, marveling at how the plants seemed to thrive. “Someone took care of this,” she murmured.
Roman climbed into the driver’s seat, brushing off years of dust. “Check this out,” he said, pointing to a control panel filled with blinking lights. “High tech for its time.”
Jas peered out the window. The storm raged on, hail bouncing wildly. A piece of the tarp tore loose, and Jas’s stomach knotted. “We should reinforce that before it gets worse.”
They worked together, hearts pounding as the storm grew more violent.