The rain hammered down on the windscreen as Bathilda pulled out of the hospital car park. With a 16-hour shift behind her, the only thing on her mind was the bottle of red she had waiting at home. That, followed by a long hot bath to scrub the days woes away, sounded like heaven in her mind. The young nurse loved her job. The opportunity to help many different people on a daily basis meant everything to her, but she'd be damned if she didn't acknowledge it was a hard slog.
The road ahead was gradually getting harder and harder to see due to the torrential downpour that had started an hour prior to her leaving, forcing her to drive more cautiously than she usually would. Meaning her bottle of red would have to endure being not drunk for at least another half hour at minimum.
Just my luck.
The traffic was slower than usual, another thing to blame on the weather, as Bathilda brought her bright, yellow Beetle to a stop at the lights. Sparing a second to stare at the zombie in the mirror, the sleep-deprived nurse's hair looked affray in the ponytail she'd put up that morning and bloodshot eyes showed clear signs of her exhaustion.
I'm not winning miss USA anytime soon. That's for sure.
The Beetle's engine ticked over steadily as the rain continued to pour. A minute passed. Then another.
Why isn't the light changing?
Another few minutes passed and she became impatient. Checking her rear view, which didn't help her in the slightest, Bathilda rolled her window down and exposed herself to the elements as she leaned out of the car. There were no other vehicles waiting to go, so why hadn't the light changing?
Against her better judgement, Bathilda ran the red and made a right towards the freeway. Her usual route. Surely the light had broken and at that point it was left to a driver's discretion to make a call until they were fixed. She knew that wasn't accurate, but she was too tired to argue with herself.
Having worked at St Mary's for the last three years, Bathilda had taken the same route to work and home every day. Even with the poor-weather conditions, she managed to merge into the steady stream of traffic safely. It always amazed her how certain areas could seem empty and devoid of life, but right next to them a whole world of activty was thriving. Roads were the veins of the world and transport was the blood that kept it it going. Keeping everyone alive by making sure a copious amounts of goods flowed from one place to another.
Switching lane, Bathilda had a good thirty-two minutes worth of travel to endure as she let out a sigh of relief. Even after having owned a licence for eight years and making the same journey everyday, she still hated merging onto the freeway. With her eyes glued on the road in front, as much as the wipers permitted, Bathilda carefully took a cigarette from her pack beside her. Lighting it up, she turned on the radio.
The weather report was on, but the announcer, John's Johnston, was hard to hear through the inconsistent static of a bad reception. The small sections that managed to make it through were as she would have expected. It sounded like they were advising against all non-essential travel due to visibility being extremely poor and that accident reports were flooding in to no end.
"No shit," she said, taking a drag. At the same time, the car behind Bathilda sped past with reckless abandon and sprayed her windscreen with a fresh coat of water, causing her to swerve in panic.
"Asshole!" she shouted as loud as she could, knowing full well her voice would go unheard and remembering the last patient she had sedated before leaving work. A man that had been rushed in after a traffic collision with three quarters of his arm hanging off. The same arm had also been run over and both of his legs had been crushed.
Apparently, he had been the driver that caused the whole ordeal. The nurses and doctors were baffled as to how he ended up with such injuries. The best one they come up with was that he had been run over, after he had crashed and was thrown through his own windscreen.
With her shift over, Bathilda didn't hang around to find out the real reason why his injuries had been so grievous. There was no doubt that she would hear all about it tomorrow. The nurses staff room was the den of gossip in any hospital after all.
She took another drag and almost dropped her cigarette when the weather man, Johns Johnson, began shouting over the radio. His signal coming through loud and clear. Very loud. "We're receiving reports that a small Tornado has just torn straight through St Mary's hospital in downtown Freemont. Anyone living in or around the vicinity needs to get somewhere safe right now. Anyone heading that way, stop and turn around."
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What!?
Unable to believe her regular weather reporter, Bathilda checked the rearview mirror. The rain was still battering down, but it had subsided enough that she could just about see through the freakish weather. A pale look washed across her face as Bathilda could just about make out the natural disaster and it was not at all what the weather man described. Not at all.
Almost five-times the size of the six-story hospital, the hellish force of nature had already torn its way through half of the building. If that was the worst thing Bathilda had seen, then she would have turned around there and then. Earnestly going back to throw in a few more hours. God knows they would need her again now and worse case scenario, she could find somewhere to close her eyes for a few hours before jumping back into the fray.
Sadly though, that wasn't the worse of it. The source of the hospital's destruction had decided to take the same damn freeway that the young nurse herself had taken. The same one Bathilda used everyday and worst part, it was travelling in the same direction she was.
"Shit!" She cursed as another daredevil driver went speeding past, scraping the side of her beetle on his way passed and beeping his horn the entire time.
"What the... Asshole!" She shouted out again, knowing full well no one could hear her over the storm. Realising that she should be following the other driver's examples, however, Bathilda put her foot down and increased her speed. She most certainly didn't want to get caught by the Tornado that seemed to be closing the gap with an unnatural ease.
Why is it so fast?
"Again, anyone in the area needs to get down to their basements and hunker down, anyone on the freeway... You need leave... as soon as you can and..."
"I'm trying, John's," she screamed, keeping her foot pressed hard on the accelerator until she hit 170.
It took all her focus and concentration to hold the car steady. With her attention focused entirely on the road ahead, Bathilda's chest was pounding. She had never driven that fast before.
Even when the weather conditions were excellent, she never exceeded the speed limit. Now though, even with the poor visibility in front of her and the slippery surface beneath, Bathinda floored the pedal as hard as she could.
The wipers flapped back and forth as the free-falling rain beat down like the drum of her heart. Bathilda leant closer to the wheel, trying to improve her view as she entered a trance-like state. Ignoring the growing noise of the gale and focusing solely on the road infront, Bathilda heart almost jumped a beat when the rain temporarily subsided.
Still scared shitless by the roaring winds of death creeping up from behind, however, Bathilda forgot about the cigarette burning away between her fingers.
It had reached the end of its life and had momentarily captured her attention as it burnt the skin between her fingers. The pain was enough to snap Bathilda from her trance, breaking her concentration, and at the same time causing her to lose grip on the steering wheel.
The result was the small, yellow beetle took a sharp-right turn at breakneck speed.
Bitch!
Less than a second was all it had taken for shit to hit the pan.
After regaining her grip on the steering wheel, Bathilda tried to right the car, but it was already too late. The yellow beetle had begun to spin out of control and was now in the middle of crossing lanes. In the driver's seat, Bathilda could do little to help herself and screamed as she and her car span furiously.
Still screaming, still spinning, Bathilda's beetle slowly started to lose momentum before it hit the barrier. Miraculously, she hadn't come into contact with any of the other fleeing vehicles that had passed her.
Her head ricocheted of the window and she almost lost consciousness. A quick feel of the injured area showed it was worse than it felt as blood was already flowing from the wound. After half her vision turned red, that confirmed it for her.
It was bad bad.
With her Beetle facing the wrong way, the wipers still battled against the rain and Bathilda watched as the last of the oncoming traffic sped past her. With them gone and the rain lessened now she was closer, Bathilda could see the terrible magnificence of mother nature in her full glory.
Destroying everything in her path, she was on her way to greet the broken-down wreck of a nurse who was wishing she was anywhere other than where she was. Bathilda turned the key to no success. She tried over and over again, but the engine wouldn't start. Lady luck did not appear to be on her side today.
Why am I just sitting here? Why aren't I running? Or trying to escape?
"Then again, can you really outrun a tornado?" She chuckled bitterly in resignation. "I've never actually seen a tornado first-hand before. Look at the fucking size of that thing!" Staring at the approaching monster of death, Bathilda took another cigarette from her packet. "I suppose I shouldn't be worried about these cancer sticks killing me anymore, should I?"
If only someone was around to hear that one. That would have had some of the doctors in stitches.
Lighting up, Bathilda started laughing at her poor attempt of a joke before the cancer sticks had her lungs in stitches and a coughing fit was brought on.
Ha, might be better that there wasn't anyone around to see that.
"Who's side are you on?"
There are no sides. Only death.
Her Beetle finally began to move, but unfortunately, it was not due to the engine staring. Instead the hounding winds began to pull her forward as the windscreen was ripped free from off the car. Flying off into the sky, it revealed Bathilda to Mother Nature at her worst.
Bathilda fling the handbrake on and pressed hard on the brakes, but the Beetle was still slowly being dragged closer towards the oncoming storm.
Taking one more anxious pull before her cigarette was ripped from her hand, the tornado almost right on top of her now, Bathilda tried her best to shield her face from the blaring torrent of wind and rain.
Why do I have to die this way?