The Supercell

The dirt smells like wet pennies.

I am on my knees in the dark, pressing my forehead against the rough-hewn timber of the cellar door. My chest heaves, dragging in air that tastes of crushed grass and ozone. Above us, the supercell grinds its gears, a low-frequency thrum that vibrates in my teeth.

Tyler is beside me. I can feel the heat radiating off his side, close enough to burn. He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out, his hand heavy and sure on the back of my neck, steadying me as the farmhouse groans under the wind’s weight.