California Megastorm

While I, Logan Barnes, wasn't a crazy climate-denier like oil and coal company executives, I was complacent in believing that man-made global warming wouldn't drastically affect my life. I had a house in an elevated location in a supposedly earthquake-free zone in Southern California where wild fires had never been a problem, and was figuratively fat and smug with my situation. I had some tangential knowledge about people who I considered alarmists saying that California could be hit by a Megastorm -- actually an atmospheric river as had happened in 1861-62 -- during which 16 inches of rain (or if snow in the mountains ten times that) could fall during a month long deluge, but it went in one of my ears and out the other.

At twenty eight years old my wife Lacey and I had a good relationship overall, although some of our keen interests diverged significantly. For example she loved stage plays most, and I loved winter camping most, whereas we each loathed what the other loved most. That normally wasn't a source of friction since I didn't mind her attending stage plays -- even multi-day festivals -- by herself or with friends and she didn't mind me winter camping by myself or with friends; in each case as long as it wasn't for more than two or three days.

So it came to be one three-day January weekend she went to a stage play festival in San Diego with one of her girlfriends while I went by myself winter camping in the southern Sierra Nevada mountains. I probably over-prepared with food and warm weather gear, but I hated to be under-prepared and then have an emergency. I probably had enough food for a week if I marshaled my intake carefully, and enough warm weather gear to never get cold even in an Alaskan winter.

The first night of my trip was just what I hoped that it would be. The cold mountain air was invigorating, and there was just enough snow to make walking in my boots comfortable, no need for snowshoes, which I didn't bring with me. The second day of my trip there was a little light snow, but nothing significant, and I found a nice location to pitch my small tent. Normally, I see at least one or two people a day when camping, but I had not seen anyone since the 5,000 foot mark early the first day.

Things changed drastically for the worse when I woke up the morning of the third -- and supposedly last -- day when I had a hard time even getting out of my tent there was so much snow, and it was still coming down. I ate some energy bars and broke camp and started heading back to where my car was parked, probably fifteen miles or more away. After the first hour of making little progress I was cursing myself for not getting closer to my car before camping, but I cut myself a break when I realized that never before in my life had it snowed at the high rate that it was now coming down.

I was taking a rest when I saw another figure in the distance, somewhat approaching me. I yelled and waved and the figure acknowledged my presence and starting walking directly toward me. Since the figure seemed to be shorter than I was it was only polite to walk toward the figure to meet halfway rather than let him/her trudge all the way to me in the increasingly deeper snow.

We met at a location about 100 meters from where we each started and exchanged greetings. The voice emanating from the thick winter clothing was female. "Hi, I'm Veronica Swain. Do you have any idea how to get out of here back to the town of Olancha?"

"Hi, Logan Barnes, nice to meet you," I replied. "I'm trying to go there myself but I'm not making much headway in this snow. Do you know how long it's supposed to last?"

"The last radio transmission I got -- yesterday -- said that the California Atmospheric river was coming. If that's what this is, we're going to get several feet of snow -- maybe ten feet or more -- unless we can get out of here."

"I thought that that storm was a myth," I choked out. "Hell, if this is the California Megastorm we need to find shelter. Are you aware of any in this area?"

"I have a very detailed map, including with structures on it," Veronica said, "but it may be out-of-date and anyway I'm not very good at reading it -- maybe you can?"

"I'll take a look," I said.

Veronica turned around so that I was facing her backpack -- which seemed too large for someone her size -- and she told me what pocket it was in. I knocked off the snow and quickly found it and removed it from a side pocket of the backpack. She turned back around and looked at the map with me.

I had a GPS device that worked even without cell reception -- of course there was no cell reception here -- and after careful study of the plastic map (if it had been paper it would have been soaked and unreadable after two minutes) I concluded that there might be a cabin about a mile from our location. The only problem was that it was more up than down. I talked to Veronica about it and she said "Let's give it a try."

We had to take rest stops every fifteen minutes or so the snow was so deep. I expected Veronica -- due to her height and large backpack -- to have more trouble than she had, but she wasn't slowing me down at all. Finally, after more than an hour and a half we saw the cabin.

We first knocked on the door -- as expected, no one answered. Then I tried the latch (there wasn't really a door handle). It was locked, but the lock looked easy to defeat. I'm a practicing mechanical engineer with a BSc from Caltech and a year toward my PhD before I started working in the real world. In less than two minutes the door was open without any damage.

I was pleased to see the efficient design of the cabin. It was on a rise with the high point of the roof above the entrance, sloping down toward the back where there seemed to be a ravine. That meant that the roof wouldn't likely collapse even if it did snow ten feet. The inside of the cabin was rustic but livable, with a large wood-burning stove with a greatly elevated chimney sticking up well above the roof, a significant pile of wood on the inside, and a lean-to near a small side door full of logs cut and chopped to stove length. Given some of the interior decorations it appeared to be a hunting cabin of some sort.

The rustic interior had a small kitchen area, a primitive-looking bed with an unusual specialty mattress that seemed to be between twin and double size, a closet closed by a door, and a separate bathroom with what appeared to be a composting toilet and small shower stall.

After Veronica and I set down our backpacks and removed some layers of clothing I opened up the closet door. It too was locked, but with the same easily-defeated lock that the front door had. Inside it was much roomier than it appeared from the exterior. It had a fold-up cot, some blankets, what appeared to be a good store of dehydrated food and containers of nuts, a few miscellaneous things like a snow shovel, and most surprising an almost new Xianxus emergency hand crank 150W generator. I was familiar with it because I almost bought one for use at my home and office (I got a different brand instead, but considered this unit a good one).

I showed Veronica all of my finds, and she picked up on my enthusiasm and was happy with what we had, which was more than we could have hoped for.

I fired up the stove while Veronica did a thorough inspection of the kitchen area and the food stores. Within minutes the cabin was warm enough for us to shed our hats and the rest of our outer clothing, leaving her in a body suit and me in wool pants and a long sleeve shirt. I suddenly noticed that Veronica was hot -- not her temperature, her looks. I believe that I was deadpan when I noticed and didn't give my reaction away.

Ronnie -- that is what she told me she preferred to be called -- and I decided that we needed to take a complete inventory of everything we had in case we were stranded for a week, given how the snow kept falling. We folded open the cot to have room to hold our wares, and with that, the bed, and the lone table, we were able to display everything we had after we both opened up our backpacks and we moved the stored dehydrated foods and nuts from the closet.

"Well at least we won't starve," Ronnie chuckled after we inspected everything. Like me she had brought more food than she needed for what she considered would be a five day trek. We also had a deck of cards, there were a couple dozen books on a shelf near the front door, and with the manual generator we could keep our phones charged and play games on them -- although communication with the outside world was out.

The major problem that we were going to have was water. It appeared that the only way to get water in our present circumstances was to fill a bucket with snow, put it on top of the wood burning stove to melt it, and then use it as necessary. We tested them and found that the sink and the drain in the small shower stall both worked -- that is they didn't back up. Obviously the drain pipes went deep into the earth. That meant only sponge baths to keep ourselves clean, and sparsely using the bucket water to wash any dishes we dirtied or to clean clothing.

Before it turned dark we had all three buckets in the cabin filled with water and I had cleared the doorway from the still rapidly falling snow with the snow shovel and a snow scoop that Ronnie found at the back of the closet. Our food was unexciting but nutritious, and we had all of our possessions stowed where we wanted them. I insisted that Ronnie use the bed and I would use the cot.

After it got dark I used the hand crank generator to power two electric lights in the cabin and charge our phones. Ronnie insisted on doing some of the cranking. The only uncomfortable moments were using the composting toilet -- which I also connected the generator to in order to keep the fan running -- and taking sponge baths, each of us using one bucket full of water to accomplish that. I also used some of my water to shave since I hate having stubble and a beard is out of the question.

I had one other problem. The cabin was warm enough that after her sponge bath Ronnie had on shorts and a T-shirt. Her muscular legs were sculptured and her arms had muscle definition which I find sexy, as long as they don't look like a male weightlifter's. Her butt was round and appeared firm, and her face was -- well, maybe not beautiful but if not close to it.

I was exhausted when I lay down on the cot and quickly fell asleep. My only thought -- aside from relief that I was likely to survive the snowstorm -- was to be sure not look at Ronnie as anything aside from a person in a similar situation who I had to cooperate with to survive. In other words I scolded myself "Don't think about sex, Barnes, you asshole."

*************

It's amazing how much you can find out about a person when, except for some short outdoor exercise forays, you are cooped up with them in a 400 square foot space 24 hours a day. I found out that Ronnie was a thirty year old biologist with a passion for extreme sports and exercise. While she and her husband Roger have a good relationship they are mismatched in several ways. The most striking of which are, according to her, "I'm a fitness nut and he's only a couple of steps removed from a couch potato; and I'm very competitive, he's laid back." While she was mountaineering he was someplace in Canada viewing a solar eclipse.

Ronnie also told me that she and Roger were trying to have a kid but a doctor told her that it was unlikely that she would conceive unless she gave up extreme sports and exercise. She was so far unwilling to do that. She showed me a photo on her phone of her and Roger. He was a handsome guy with coloring almost identical to mine. Since he was standing next to Ronnie and she told me that she was five feet six inches tall I estimated that he was about six feet tall, four inches shorter than I am, and his belly indicated that he wasn't in as good a shape as I was.

I do believe that after three days -- with the snow still falling -- I knew Ronnie better than anyone with the possible (and more likely not) exception of her husband and parents; and I do believe that she knew me better than Lacey did.

Except when she got pissed when I consistently beat her in two handed hearts, and when I got pissed when she consistently beat me in gin rummy, we got along very well. Actually, I think that I got along better with her than I would have with my wife Lacey or any of my friends under the same circumstances.

We were overly optimistic thinking that we would be able to leave after a week. At the start of our eighth cabin-bound day we admitted to each other that we were in the middle of the predicted California Megastorm and we had no idea when we could get out. However, in order to plan for that eventuality we had gathered from both inside and outside the cabin enough materials that we could fashion two sets of snowshoes, one suitable for her five foot six inch 130 pound frame, and one for my six foot four inch 220 pound frame. We worked solidly on the snowshoes -- she was better at some aspects of it, me at others -- for almost two full days.

It was on the tenth day of our weather captivity, when we realized that we still couldn't as a practical and safe matter use the snowshoes to go fifteen miles or so to Olancha, that our relationship changed. Maybe it had been changing imperceptivity the entire time but if it had been I sure didn't notice it. It was about 11 a. m. when we put down books that we had been reading and decided to play some more cards. We started out with gin rummy. Ronnie's luck was unbelievably good, and she won two games in about fifteen minutes. She started playfully trash-talking, and not only that but in a knowingly juvenile manner started sticking her tongue out at me and going "na, na, na, na. nannna."

"You little bitch," I playfully retorted, jumping up so fast that I knocked the chair that I was sitting on over, chased her around the table a minute or so while she was laughing hysterically, caught her, and started tickling her. She kept yelling "Stop, stop, I hate tickling," while I kept saying "Then apologize for being so nasty and probably cheating me," while I continued my assault. After about thirty seconds she was able to turn in my arms and face me and grabbed my cock through my pants.

We both suddenly stopped and had shocked expressions on our faces. The reason for the jolt was that my cock was rock hard and almost poking through my athletic shorts, which was my only lower body garment in the warm cabin. We stared into each other's' eyes for what seemed like a long time, her hand still on my shorts grabbing my cock, when one of us -- I don't remember who, maybe both of us simultaneously -- moved our lips together. The touching of our lips was slow and cautious at first, but after a couple of minutes evolved into a full blown passionate kiss; PASSIONATE in all caps!

It was clear from the zealousness of our kiss that we had an intense sexual attraction to each other. With both of us participating with alacrity we were soon naked and lying on Ronnie's bed. Once we were on her bed for a couple of minutes, our lips still locked together, I moved my mouth down to her crotch, and my hands to her breasts. I devoured her pussy like it was a pizza and I was starving while I lightly pinched and twisted her nipples and she pulled my hair and moaned. She had two screaming orgasms in quick succession. After the second one it was clear to me that if my hungry cock wasn't fed promptly that it might burst.

I shinned up Ronnie's body until my cock was at her vaginal vestibule. I glanced down at my cock and I had never seen it so engorged. I ran my head over her labia a couple of times and then I started slow penetration. Despite how wet she was she was so fucking tight that it took a long time to bury myself balls deep; so long that I was afraid that I would cum prematurely. Fortunately that didn't happen, although once I was buried and started stroking while she pulsed her pc muscles I came faster than at any time since I was a horny teenager. I shot so many salvos into her pussy, however, that after about the fifth one she came again too.

My brain was awash in endorphins for a long time after I shot my wad. She was moaning and groaning the entire time, and I was virtually passed out. It took the longest time for my penis to start to get flaccid, but finally I pulled my shrinking member out of her heavenly orifice and I slumped down beside her, nose to nose. Ronnie didn't open her eyes for a while, moans and groans still emanating from her full lips. When she did she stared into my soul with a fiendish smile on her face.

"Why did you fuck me, you animal?" she chuckled.

"Sorry," I faked contrition. "I couldn't help myself."

"How come my body didn't allure you for nine days and suddenly you become a fucking machine?"

"I can't explain what came over me. It was probably the fiercest excitement of my life. You didn't seem to be trying to fight me off, Ms. Biologist."

"No, I wanted it as much as you did," she mused. After a long delay where we both stared into each other's souls she said "You know that we're going to keep fucking until we finally leave this place, don't you?"

"I can't see it any other way," I smiled as I shinned down and ate a pussy I had just fucked for the first time in my life. After her screaming orally-induced orgasm I put her on her hands and knees and shot another load of semen large enough to populate a city into her animated pussy.

*************

I didn't feel guilty at the time when during the next ten days that we were snowed in my main goal in life was to give us both as much pleasure as possible. Not only did we fuck at least three times every twenty four hours, but we were constantly massaging and playing with each other's bodies, and cuddling asleep at night. While Ronnie's bed would probably be considered too small for two people our size to comfortably sleep in it together, we had no problem, Our bodies were in constant contact, and a couple of nights as we were naked in the spoon position I laid pipe in the middle of the night resulting in a wonderfully serene experience for both of us.

About the sixteenth day the snow finally let up and the sun came out. We both worked for a few hours clearing snow from the entrance to the cabin and trying to see what the possibilities were for escape. However, at that point in time our sexual relationship was so wonderful that I think that we were both hesitant to give it up.

Finally, after a wonderful wakeup love making session (it was no longer just fucking) at first light on the twentieth day of our cabin-isolation, we decided that it was worth trying to find our way back to civilization. By then our food stores were only a few days from depletion anyway.

We cleaned up the cabin completely, put everything back in the closet, and jiggered the locks on the closet and front door so that they were working. We knew that we couldn't tell anyone that we had been together because they would assume -- correctly so, of course -- that we had been fucking, and that would not bode well for either of our marriages. Therefore we planned to go together until we were about an hour from Olancha. Then Ronnie would go into the town and I would circle around and enter from another direction about two hours later.

I left a note with my name and email address in the cabin telling the owner that I had consumed most of his/her food and used a great deal of firewood and that I insisted on reimbursing him/her completely. We tried to make sure that there was nothing at all that would indicate that Ronnie had been there.

We invented a story that Ronnie had been at another cabin -- there were several a few miles more into the Sierra Nevada's from Olancha -- and she would pretend that she was delusional for several days, and had no clear memory of any details.