Manipulating Mother Nature

“Come on, kid! We’re headed to the Gulf Coast to cover the hurricane headed that way!” exclaimed Ross Roberts, senior weather reporter. “Meet me at the airport in an hour!”

Before making a beeline to my apartment, I did a “happy dance” in the parking lot. “Yes!” I screamed. Not cool, but this was my big break. I was the new reporter still “wet behind the ears” as everyone liked to say at our news station.

This was a serious hurricane forecasted to hit the Louisiana coast as a Category 4. The prediction was for major damage. The coastal towns were evacuating. As everyone exited, we were entering.

On the single-engine plane, Ross read from a jumble of papers, “First, we’re going to this guy’s house who has quite an extensive amateur weather station set-up. He’s part of the Citizen Weather Observer Program and provides lots of data to the National Weather Service. Looks like he’s had a busy year with an unusually high amount of rain in the area. Should be interesting!”

Settling back into his chair, Ross said, “Don’t worry, we’re staying in a local hotel that should be safe. We’ll just go out to his weather station to shoot some footage and do an interview, then ride it out at the hotel.”

“If there’s been a lot of rain, won’t that increase the flooding risk?” I asked.

“Yes, young grasshopper,” chuckled Ross. “Shhh, I’m going to sleep.”

Due to the deteriorating weather, Ross volunteered to check into the hotel while I met with Emile LeBlanc at his personal weather station. His homestead was in an area of the piney woods that was being logged. The logging trucks had torn up the dirt road, which usually washed out in heavy rain.

“Be careful out there,” said the rental car attendant. “We’ve had a lot of rain lately and that road is in bad shape. I can’t tell you how often the heavy-duty tow truck has to go out there to get the logging equipment and trucks outta the mud!”

“Hey kid, don’t take too long. The first squalls are about to hit. Like he said, you don’t wanna get stuck out there. NWS is already issuing tornado watches for the area,” warned Ross.

Mr. LeBlanc was waving as I pulled up to the cinder block building on wooden stilts. There were weather instruments everywhere and numerous antennae on the roof. He was exactly what I expected – an obsessed recluse living alone in the piney woods.

“Hello Mr. LeBlanc. I’m Matt…” I started to introduce myself but my name was of no importance to him.

“Just call me Squirrel,” he interrupted, excited to show me his gadgets. “Everyone calls me Squirrel because I’m such a nut,” he replied with a chuckle. “They’re probably right. Let’s get started on the roof before the weather gets too bad.”

I set up the camera amongst the antennae. “Tell me about yourself.”

“How powerful and awesome is Mother Nature! We just watch and wait for her mass destruction and devastation,” shouted Squirrel raising his arms upward. It was as if he’d been practicing this ominous speech. “But, even Mother Nature is vulnerable to manipulation.”

“What do you mean?” That odd statement puzzled me.

“Did you get it?” he asked coming behind the camera. “Of course you did! I’m good!”

“Mother Nature is the perfect killing machine. Figure out how to manipulate her and you can get away with mass murder. Or, at least, pay back some eco-terrorists destroying your woods. Ok, let me see the playback,” Squirrel smirked chillingly.

Taking my cue to go, I asked to see the rest of his set-up. On the way downstairs, I inquired about the metal cylinders in the corners of the roof.

Squirrel replied as he hurried me along, “Oh, just an experiment I’ve been working on.”

“Weather’s really picking up. Clouds are rolling in fast. Go on down to the bottom and get your shots before that squall hits. I gotta check something on the roof.” Squirrel ran back up the stairs.

Before stopping at the first metal cylinder, he turned around abruptly and shouted, “Oh yeah, watch out for the bull! He’s a mean son-of-gun!” Squirrel disappeared on the roof chuckling to himself.

Wandering around gathering footage (and watching for a bull), I came across a door in the ground. This was worth investigating! The door opened easily. I flashed my camera light into what appeared to be a bunker. Going down the first couple of steps, I could see more instruments, more metal cylinders, and barrels with “silver iodide” written on the side.

“Why do I know silver iodide?” I pondered aloud. “I remember! From my science project on seeding clouds to increase rain fall!”

The wind was howling and whistling through the pines. A train was in the near distance. I didn’t hear Squirrel walk up behind me.

“What the hell are you doing? You ain’t supposed to be down here!” Furious, he kicked me in the chest with his muddy work boot. “You ain’t no better than those logging terrorists destroying my beautiful woods! I control the weather! You’ll pay and so will they! You can rot down there! I’ll flood the whole damn town!”

I slid down the stairs, landing crumpled on the dank concrete floor. The wooden door slammed shut. Knowing it was futile; I still scrambled up the rickety, wooden stairs and pounded the door.

“Let me out, bastard! I know what you’re doing! I know why it rains so much here! You’re seeding the clouds!”

I was trapped! My cell phone didn’t work underground. Before I could worry, I heard the roar of a freight train then a deafening crash. It all happened so quickly.

Sitting on the stairs with my head in my hands, I started to cry, choking on the stale, arid air. I knew there was no train. It was a tornado. The crash was the collapse of the weather station. I was buried alive under the rubble in a secret bunker. And, no one knew I was here. A mad man’s prisoner.

Squirrel was a narcissist manipulating the weather to cause mass destruction by seeding the clouds. I had stumbled upon his underground weather lab. It was hidden in plain sight. I guess no one ever comes out here. With that thought, my chest became tight. I couldn’t breathe. The concrete slab walls were closing in. I started to hyperventilate and passed out, I guess.

For what felt like an eternity, I lied on the musty floor of the bunker before I started to hear the birds chattering outside. The hurricane had passed. This forsaken hole in the ground hadn’t filled with water as I expected. I didn’t drown. But, there was nothing to celebrate.

Reality set in. I was alive and trapped. “I don’t want to die down here!” I screamed.

I thought I heard Ross calling my name. “Ross, Ross! I’m in here!” I ran up the stairs and banged on the door. Nothing. Silence again. “No!” I yelled in despair.

Hours later, I heard a dog barking. I could hear voices drawing closer. Banging again. Yelling. Someone said, “We’re coming. Move away from the door!” Was I hallucinating? I was found!

When I emerged, the sun was blinding. The air was sweet and clean. The weather station was a pile of rubble. In the grass, I could see muddy work boots peeking out from under a metal cylinder. One of the cylinders from the roof used to seed the clouds had crushed Squirrel in the violent winds of the tornado. There standing next to him starring at us was a Black Angus bull. I guess there really was a bull.

I turned and walked away. I had my story. And, Mother Nature had her revenge.