KAT
What Stirs Beneath
The earthquake hits at three in the morning, eleven days before my due date, violent enough to throw me from sleep into Dave's arms. The bed lurches sideways as our trailer groans like a wounded animal, walls flexing in ways that suggest structural damage. Through the window, I watch the blood crystals flare brilliant crimson, their light pulsing in synchronized waves that match the tremors rolling through Kentucky soil like ocean waves through earth.
"That's not natural." Dave's blessing surges, making his skin burn gold against mine, divine energy responding to something beyond normal tectonic activity.
The shaking intensifies, pictures falling from walls to shatter on the floor, dishes crashing in the kitchen like ceramic rain. The boys respond with their own
