Facing the Storm

A guest submission from Samantha Gregg

Dream Journals is back with another guest submission, this time in an action-packed weather sequence from returner Samantha Gregg! Curious to share your own stories? Submit them to us!

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I awoke in bed, somewhere between a dream and reality. Years of returning to this familiar abode had taught me how to tell the difference. Noting the reversed position from where I had begun, a single word slipped from my lips.

Hagalaz.

The car seats locked into place with a series of satisfying snaps as I secured my niece and nephew in the back. Both under five, they babbled excitedly about the fair we were heading to in Quilcene. My sister slid into the passenger seat beside me, already fishing around for a bottle for the youngest from her oversized mom bag.

We had decided to make a road trip of it, taking the scenic route along the Pacific coast instead of dealing with the ferry. It would take longer, but we weren’t in any rush. The first hours on I-5 passed peacefully enough. My sister had commandeered the aux cord, blasting her favorite songs at a volume that drowned our words from reaching the back seat.

“I keep thinking about him starting school,” she sighed, flipping through the playlist on her phone.

“That’s next year, isn’t it? Jeez, time sure flies.”

“I know, right? I’m afraid he’ll get lost.”

“I’m sure every parent probably feels that way,” I reassured her, flicking on the windshield wipers.

The first drops had been gentle, barely visible, but as time passed they began to drum against the glass with increasing urgency. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to rain,” I said through clenched teeth, glancing up at the darkening sky. I adjusted my grip on the steering wheel as the windshield wipers struggled to keep up, but then something in the rearview mirror caught my eye.

“Do you see that?”

My sister turned around, her face flushed. Behind us, the storm clouds were rotating, forming a distinct funnel shape that touched the ground.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

The highway that should have been busy was now completely empty, as if everyone else had known this was coming. The tornado grew larger by the minute, its gusts whipping the car from side to side.

“Drive faster!” my sister yelled, grabbing the door handle.

I pressed harder on the gas, watching the speedometer climb. The sky turned an ominous shade of green-black, and the rain hammered the roof like bullets. In the back, the kids had gone quiet, sensing the tension.

I spotted a dark opening in the hillside beside the road. Without thinking, I yanked the wheel hard right and drove straight into what appeared to be a cave. The car’s headlights illuminated rough stone walls as we came to a stop.

“No signal,” my sister said, frantically checking her phone. We sat there for a moment, listening to the storm rage outside.

“We can’t stay here.”

“I’m not going back out there!” I exclaimed, looking at her like she was out of her mind.

“Get us out of here NOW!” she screamed. “I am not letting my children die in a cave!”

My breath caught in my throat, picturing the tornado ripping our shelter apart. I threw the car into drive and gunned it back onto the highway, but now the tornado seemed impossibly close. I could feel the car being pulled backward by its tremendous suction, causing the steering wheel to fight against my grip.

This is it, I thought. We’re going to die.

My sister reached one hand toward me, gripping my arm, and stretched the other toward her terrified children in the back. For a heart-stopping moment, we were suspended between life and death.

Then, miraculously, we broke free.

“The exit!” I shouted, seeing the sign for Highway 101. We took the turn with squealing tires, all of us exhaling in relief.

Our celebration was premature, though. As we rounded the bend, we found ourselves driving straight toward the tornado’s path. It had moved, cutting us off completely.

All four of us screamed as I slammed on the brakes. The car slid sideways off the road and into a shallow ditch, jolting our bodies forward at the abrupt stop. In that split second, my sister and I watched in horrified fascination as the asphalt we’d just been on turned to ice.

“DRIVE!” my sister cried.

I held my breath and stepped on the gas, jerking the wheel sharply to turn around. The tires spun on the ice, then caught, and we fishtailed away from the tornado’s rampage.

A ways down the road, we spotted a sign for a hotel claiming to be tornado-safe. The building rose from the Puget Sound with metal frames lining each floor. Without hesitation, I pulled the car across the bridge into its garage. The lobby was packed with other travelers who’d been caught in the storm. We waited our turn in line, the kids clinging to their mother, still shaken from our ordeal.

“Third floor,” the desk clerk said when it was finally our turn, handing us a key card.

We stood in silence as the elevator took us up. Once in our room, my sister got the children settled in one of the beds. We then collapsed into the other, fully clothed, too exhausted to even process what had just happened. All night, the hotel swayed like a ship at sea as the tornado passed over us, but the building held. When dawn broke, we loaded back into the car beneath clear blue skies, the sun lighting our path as we continued toward our destination.

As the dream began to fade, the word hagalaz echoed in my mind. I realized, in that moment, that its destructive potential is only temporary. The strength gained from weathering the storm is what endures.