The Black Blizzard

By Andrea Renae

“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Planet 77.”

My heart thundered with the anticipation of facing the water-hungry nightmare that had buried our planet. Our ship slowed as we breached the skies of Earth.

“Don’t forget the cloaking device.” Jones reached over my shoulder and flipped a toggle. “I’d rather not be deified this time.”

I kept my eyes forward, trying to act as calm as he was. My partner swung a leg over his chair and sat. A data panel glowed between his hands.

“Hm. Your figure was extremely striking cast in Antaxxin gold.” I glanced at him, craving his comedic response like a drug, but his brow pinched.

“Abbi, this is it.” His gray-blue eyes found mine. “This is where it’s been hiding.”

I squinted at the wisps of cloud, as tame as Maulturian meringues. Discouragement flared in my chest. “Not a chance.” Our planet’s ravaged skies, which we had left behind three years ago, looked nothing like Earth’s.

The copilot’s chair squeaked as Jones rested the data panel in my palms, then tapped the screen. “Look at it, would you?”

A sharp inhale parted my lips. The pictures of black clouds blotting out the sun dredged up the memories that had driven us across five galaxies. They were irrefutable evidence of the planet-burying alien parasite. But I’d never seen such archaic black-and-white photos of the terrestrial Tempestia’s billows before. “How…”

“I tweaked the search parameters to include all weather phenomena in Earth’s history.” When I raised an eyebrow, he shrugged. “I also had a sense about this place. They called it ‘the Dust Bowl’. In the 1930s all the area’s farmlands were reduced to… well, dust.”

“Impossible.” We’d chased every rumored Tempestic event across 76 planets, but there was never any indication that they were capable of time travel. Until now.

Jones squeezed my shoulder. “Abbi, please trust me. I’ve got a gut-feeling.”

“That’s indigestion.”

He huffed and tightened his grip until I looked at him. “This thing… it’s been plaguing Earth for years.”

Years? I closed my eyes, picturing the soft, turquoise plains I’d roamed as a child. The image shifted into seas of grit under a red sky. My mouth went dry—I could still feel the impossible thirst. Would that be Earth’s fate too?

I flicked my hand across the data panel, sending both the physical and temporal coordinates to the ship. It plunged us beneath the cloud layer with breathtaking speed.

“Could you not have waited until we were buckled in?” Jones yelped, and I allowed myself a small laugh.

Miles and centuries disappeared in a blur. The approaching cities seemed to fold in on themselves as we threw their timelines into reverse. When we reached the programmed decade, a familiar filthy blizzard swallowed our ship.

Jones let out a low whistle. “Welcome to Black Sunday.”

Our cloaking tech was unnecessary since the massive dust storm reduced our vision to a handful of feet in all directions. The ship landed in an empty field, and Jones and I went to the loading bay. My hands shook as he strapped the neutralizer to his back.

“All we gotta do is get close enough to activate this thing, then get out of the way.” He grabbed two full-face respirator masks, which would filter out the suffocating dust. I snapped mine on and set the thermal imagers to visualize the alien Tempestia. Steeling myself, I turned to Jones.

“Whatever happens, I want you to know that I lo—”

He grabbed my hand and lowered the hatch before I could finish.

I had forgotten just how wicked the Tempestia was. It towered a hundred feet, whipping dozens of limbs out from its twisted body. Sensitive probes designed to siphon moisture from the atmosphere covered every inch of its flesh. And that’s just what the Tempestia would do—suck the entire planet dry.

We only made it twenty yards before it spotted us. The alien pointed its hideous arms, and the storm became a solid mass directed solely at us.

The wind nearly ripped my mask off, and as I struggled to hold it there was a cry. I turned. An airborne piece of debris hit Jones with a sickening crunch, ripping him from my grip and launching him into the churning filth.

I ran to him and crumpled at his side. He had lost his mask, and though I shook him, he would not wake.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” I sobbed, tears splattering my mask.

The beast roared, and memories of my city entombed under mountains of silt pressed clarity into my mind. There was no way I could drag Jones back to the ship. I rolled him over and fumbled to unbuckle the neutralizer, then slipped my arms into its straps.

I faced the Tempestia.

And charged.

Pebbles lacerated my exposed skin, and my feet barely stayed on the ground. The monster screamed, and I screamed back.

“Not today, you devil!”

Throwing the pack off my back, I punched the switch and spun, letting the Tempestia’s winds push me out of the neutralizer’s radius.

The device’s deafening pulse ripped through the air, throwing me aside. A dome of energy spread through the sky. I gasped in relief—I was on the outside. The gale within became perfectly still under the immobilizing effect of the neutralizer. The trapped Tempestia writhed as it consumed every molecule of moisture, suffocating itself. Crumbling to dust.

I collapsed on the dirt drifts and ripped off my respirator. The sky grew bluer and bluer by the second, and I couldn’t contain my tears. Earth was safe, and my planet was avenged.

“See? Definitely not indigestion.”

My heart leapt. Jones was battered, but he managed to crawl over and rest his head in my lap. A smile tugged at my lips as I brushed dirt off his brow.

“I told you I had a good feeling about Planet 77.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrea Renae grew up wandering the Canadian prairies with a cat in tow. An only child, she thrilled in stories of all kinds. Writing became a way to process life’s countless beauties, hardships, and oddities. She can often be found playing piano, experimenting with watercolors, knitting sweaters, or practicing for her inevitable fame on the GBBO. Her heart will always be with her family, her friends, and her goofy goldendoodle.

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