“Is it gone?”

“I don’t know. I can’t hear anything.”

“I think it’s gone!”

“Shut up, Hannah! I’m trying to listen.”

For a moment all I can hear is our frantic breathing, struggling to stay quiet. Hannah sniffles as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, but she stays silent for now.

It won’t last long. Ever since saying her first words 3 years ago, Hannah has barely gone a minute without blabbering. There’s no way I was this annoying at her age.

“Is Mama upstairs?”

I sigh, defeated.

“I doubt it. She doesn’t usually get home for another hour.”

I don’t want to tell Hannah this, but I’m worried about Mama too. But I need to be brave. I’m already 11, which is basically a grown-up.

We’ve both lived in this house our whole lives. I can’t imagine anything bad happening here.

We’ve been through tornado warnings before. Mama always brought us down here, and we’d wait out the storm together huddled around the old radio in the corner. Sometimes she would read to us, or we would play Old Maid or checkers until the radio people said the danger had passed.

But a tornado has ever touched down near here, and I always tell Mama she’s just paranoid.

But now... What if I never get the chance to tell her she’s not? That I’m sorry for being a big old A-word?

Fear and dread slice through my gut, like the time Tommy Roberts sucker punched me behind the big rock at recess.

I feel Hannah’s arms squeeze me tighter around my waste, and I remember that she needs me right now.

The lights in the basement must have gone out earlier, but I didn’t notice at the time. All I could think about it was the sound. How the safest place in the world sounded like it was being blown apart brick by brick by the Big Bad Wolf.

The wind roared so loud I couldn’t even hear myself crying. But I knew I was. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I held Hannah so tight I thought I might cut her in half with my bare hands. She held me just as tight, and still did now. I have to keep her safe. Mama will kill me if something happens to her baby girl.

The darkness is paralyzing now. For the moment we are safe, and I’m terrified to move.

But we can’t stay here forever. The roar is gone, and I think we can make our way upstairs.

“Stay here.”

“No!”

“I have to make sure it’s safe!”

“I’m coming with you!”

I try to untangle myself from her arms, but she’s stronger than I think. I’ll never admit that to her.

We awkwardly shuffle our way up the stairs. I can see light through the bottom of the door, but it won’t budge.

“Help us!!”

“We are down here!”

“Mama!”

“Help!”

We scream for what seems like forever. We scream while Hannah cries again.

We scream until my voice is almost gone.

We scream until the light fades from beneath the door.

Darkness again. We are hungry and thirsty and dirty, and so tired.

I settle Hannah against my chest as we balance at the top of the stairs, bracing for a long night.

But suddenly from the darkness, a light and a voice.

“Kids? Where are you?!”

“Here!” I croak. “In the basement!”

Words of reassurance pass through the door, and for the first time in hours I feel hopeful that this nightmare is almost over.

Light floods our tiny cave, as a pair of big meaty hands grabs us together and lifts us into the cool, open air.

As the flashes clear from my eyes, I look around at the utter mess that once was our house. Nothing is recognizable, and I can’t even tell where my room used to be.

Our safe place is gone.

Suddenly familiar arms are wrapping around us, swaying back and forth. I smell her perfume and instantly relax into her embrace.

Mama is here! She is okay, and she’s here!

She holds on to us, peppering kisses on our faces and whispering that it’s all going to be okay.

And despite our house being torn to pieces, I believe her.

It’s all going to be okay.

We are home. Here in Mama’s arms is now the safest place in the world.