James Turnbow

Only then did I notice him.

He crouched in the far corner next to an old army cot, knees tucked up to his chest like a kid in Time Out.

I froze.

He didn't move either, just sat there, eyes glued to me.

Sorry, he said finally, his voice soft, almost apologetic.

I saw the sky go green and I didn't know where else to go.

I didn't mean to scare you.

I was too stunned to speak at first.

I just stood there, clutching the canvas bag like a shield.

My truck broke down a few miles up the road, he said.

I was walking when the sirens went off.

I saw your shelter and just went for it.

Figured no one was home.

Okay, I said, still not stepping closer.

Look, I can leave if you want.

He shifted slightly.

I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything.

no it's fine the words tumbled out of my mouth unsure thin and regretted immediately the wind held outside and the sound of something heavy clanging against the shed made me jump i moved to the opposite corner of the shelter setting my bag down and plugging my phone into a wall socket dad had installed there was no signal there never was down here though

He didn't say anything else for a while.

I kept sneaking glances at him.