Windkill

Even in the dark of night, when clouds passed before the moon and vision was limited, Father Doran knew the end of Windkill had come. The dead of the valley had endured too many years of neglect to face this exploitation of tragedy without response. He could still remember the faces of people he knew as a youth. The years had drawn them into a montage of fleeting images, but it was enough to suffice. Father Doran was one of the few people to remember the day of the explosion, and as such, he was determined to remember them all, to recall the face of every person from the town who entered that valley and never came back.

Looking skyward, he envisioned the explosion looming overhead. Unlike Paulie, the father had seen the veritable cloud. Father Dolan saw a vast cloud shot with flames rolling high above the valley. A gust of wind slapped him on the face in an echo of the pressure wave that rose over the county on the day of the explosion. He could almost hear the noise generated by so many tons of ordinances.

The clouds were moving slower despite the increasing wind. Father Dolan watched the clouds with the fascination of a youth. The number of times he had simply watched cloud formations for pleasure were uncounted, and perhaps that was what gave him warning.

The father’s brow furrowed as he eyed the clouds, then faced each cardinal point of the compass and watched the clouds move. He opened his mouth to call for anyone for verification, yet did not speak. The sight was so impossible it was entrancing.

Far above the valley, the clouds were gathering and billowing upward, forming one immense cloud that remained immune to the effect of the wind. With a gasp, Father Dolan recognized the cloud as the one he watched pronounce the death of so many people he once knew.

A parishioner standing close to the old man assumed Dolan was cold and draped a coat over the man’s shoulders. Dolan looked away from the sight and turned watery eyes to the man standing at his side.

“It has started. We need to leave before it happens again.” Another gust of wind snatched at his words, forcing the priest to repeat himself before the man passed the order.

For a short time, they all stood at the fence looking skyward in parody of the good father’s posture, then they walked away to their cars, silently forming an exodus that was missed by the security guards and staff. Only a few of the stubborn remained at the fence, waiting for the end of the show and the possibility of an autograph.