"A Donner Party":
It was the fall of 1846 when our wagons finally reached the foot of those towering mountains. My family and I had been traveling for months, dreaming of green valleys and a new life out west. I was thirteen, old enough to help with chores but young enough to still play with my little brothers and sisters. Pa led us, always optimistic, saying the path ahead would be quicker than the old trail. But as the first snowflakes fell, heavier than we'd ever seen, I felt a knot in my gut. We pushed on, but the drifts piled up fast, blocking the pass. We had no choice but to stop by a lake, what they call Truckee Lake now. That's where the nightmare began.
We built shelters as best we could. My family, the Reeds, shared a cabin with leaky roofs patched with old canvas. Ma worked day and night to make it livable, stuffing cracks with mud and hides. The Breens were in the next cabin over, and the Donners set up tents a few miles away by Alder Creek. At first, it seemed like we'd wait out the storm. We had cattle to slaughter, flour to bake bread. But the snow kept coming, burying everything. Days turned to weeks. The wind howled outside, and inside, we huddled by a small fire, rationing wood.
"Virginia, fetch more snow to melt for water," Ma would say, her voice steady but her eyes worried. I'd bundle up in my coat, step out into the white wall, and scoop handfuls, my fingers numb. One evening, as I came back, I heard arguing from the Breen cabin. Mr. Breen was shouting at his sons. "We can't keep feeding everyone! Our stores are low enough!" His wife tried to calm him. "Patrick, the Lord will provide. We share what we have." But I saw the fear in their faces. Food was running out.
Nights were the worst. The cold seeped through every layer, and hunger gnawed at us like a living thing. I'd lie awake, listening to the creaks of the cabin, wondering if the roof would collapse under the weight. Then came the deaths. First, it was the old folks and the weak ones. Baylis Williams, one of our hired hands, just wasted away. We buried him in the snow, no proper grave. Ma whispered to me, "Don't look, child. Keep your strength." But I couldn't help it. His body was so thin, like a skeleton already.
As weeks dragged on, people changed. Whispers spread about what we'd do when the last ox was gone. One day, I overheard Pa talking to Mr. Eddy in low voices by the fire. "We've got to try for help," Pa said. "The children won't last much longer." Mr. Eddy nodded, his face gaunt. "We'll make snowshoes. Gather who can walk." They organized a group of seventeen—the Forlorn Hope, they called it. My heart ached watching them leave, stumbling into the blizzard. Sarah Fosdick hugged her husband goodbye, tears freezing on her cheeks. "Come back for us," she begged.
Days passed with no word. The hunger grew unbearable. We'd boiled hides and bones until there was nothing left but gluey water. My little sister Patty clung to me, her eyes big. "I'm so cold, Virginia. When will the food come?" I'd hold her close, saying, "Soon, darling. Pa will find a way." But inside, doubt crept in. Then, more died. Jacob Donner at the tents, his body found later. Rumors flew—people saying desperate things in the dark.
One stormy night, I woke to a strange sound, like scraping. The fire was low, casting flickers on the walls. Ma was asleep, but Pa sat up, alert. "Who's there?" he called softly. No answer, but the noise came again from outside. He grabbed his rifle, stepped out. I followed quietly, peeking through the door. Snow swirled, and in the dim light, I saw a figure hunched over something near the Graves' cabin. It was Mrs. Murphy, digging at a frozen body—poor Milt Elliott, who'd passed days before. She looked up, her eyes wild, knife in hand. "We have to," she murmured. "The children..." Pa pulled me back inside. "Go to bed, Virginia. Don't speak of it."
That was when the real terror set in. People avoided each other's eyes during the day, but at night, the cabins felt like prisons. Conversations turned sharp. Once, Mr. Keseberg stormed into our cabin, face red. "Your family takes more than its share!" he accused Pa. Ma stood between them. "Lewis, we're all suffering. No need for this." He backed off, muttering, but his glare lingered. I wondered if hunger would drive someone to worse.
Relief came in February, after months of hell. The first rescuers arrived, seven men from Sutter's Fort, looking like ghosts themselves. "Who's alive?" their leader asked. We stumbled out, weak and filthy. They had food—bread and beef—and we ate like animals. But not everyone could leave. The snow was too deep for the youngest. Pa went with them to get more help, kissing us goodbye. "I'll be back soon," he promised Ma.
While waiting for the next group, things got darker. Bodies lay unburied, and some turned to the unthinkable. I saw Tamsen Donner once, from the tents, her face hollow as she cared for her girls. "We do what we must to keep them breathing," she told Ma in a hushed talk. I didn't understand then, but later, stories came out—flesh cut from the dead, cooked in pots. My family held out, thank God, but others didn't. The suspense of not knowing who might snap next kept me awake.
The second relief took more of us, including me and my siblings. We trudged through the pass, each step agony. Behind, the left-behind faced worse. William Foster returned with them, but rumors said he'd lost his mind out there, killing for food. When the last party arrived in April, they found Keseberg alone, surrounded by horror—pots of flesh, bones scattered. He claimed Tamsen had died naturally, but his eyes told a different tale.
We made it to California, scarred but alive. The mountains took forty-one souls, but the true horror wasn't the snow—it was what desperation did to good people. I still hear those whispers in my dreams, feel that gnawing emptiness. Survival came at a cost we can never repay.
"Beneath the Storm":
I was at my aunt's house that afternoon, helping her sort through old boxes in the garage. The air felt thick, charged with something uneasy, but we kept working until the warning sirens pierced the quiet. My aunt, Clara, grabbed my arm. "Come on, Jamie, the shelter. Now." Her voice was steady, but her grip tight.
We hurried across the backyard to the underground storm shelter, a concrete hole dug into the earth with a heavy metal door. Clara's husband, my uncle Ben, was already there, holding it open. "Get in, quick," he said, his face pale under the gray sky. We climbed down the steep steps into the dim space, about the size of a small room, with benches along the walls and a single battery-powered lantern hanging from the ceiling. Ben pulled the door shut behind us with a clang that echoed.
For a while, we sat in silence, listening to the roar building outside. The ground shook, and dust sifted from the ceiling. Clara reached for my hand. "It'll pass," she whispered. "These things always do." Ben nodded, but he kept checking his watch, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee.
The noise grew louder, like a train barreling right over us. We braced ourselves, and I closed my eyes, counting breaths. Then, as suddenly as it started, the shaking stopped. The roar faded to a distant rumble.
"Let's get out," Ben said, standing up. He climbed the steps and pushed on the door. It didn't budge. He shoved harder, grunting with effort. "It's stuck. Something must be blocking it."
Clara stood too. "Try again. Maybe it's just jammed."
I joined them, all three of us pressing our shoulders against the cold metal. It moved a fraction, but then stopped. "Debris," Ben muttered. "The house... it might have come down on top."
A trickle of water dripped from the edges of the door, splashing onto the steps. At first, I thought it was just rain leaking in. But it kept coming, faster, pooling at our feet.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing.
Clara shone the lantern down. "Water. It's coming in."
Ben banged on the door. "Help! Anyone out there?" His voice bounced off the walls.
The water rose quickly, cold and murky, soaking our shoes. "The flash flood," Clara said, her tone rising. "The warnings mentioned flooding after the twister."
We backed down the steps as the level climbed to our ankles. The lantern flickered, casting wavering light on the rising surface. "We need to find a way out," I said, my pulse quickening.
Ben tried the door again, slamming his body against it. "It's no use. Too heavy."
Clara started pacing the small space, water sloshing around her calves now. "What if no one comes? What if they think we're gone with the house?"
"Don't say that," Ben snapped, but his eyes darted around. "Someone will check. Neighbors know about this shelter."
The water reached our knees, chilling me to the bone. I felt something brush my leg—maybe dirt or debris floating up—and I jerked back. The air grew stuffy, harder to breathe with the dampness closing in.
"Jamie, climb up here," Ben said, pointing to a higher bench. "You and Clara, stay up there. I'll keep trying the door."
But as he waded back to the steps, the flow increased, pouring in like a faucet left open. The lantern dimmed further, the battery weakening. "Ben, be careful," Clara called.
He pushed again, water up to his waist now. "I think I hear something. Voices? No... just the rain."
The darkness pressed in as the light faded to a glow. The water kept rising, lapping at my thighs even on the bench. Clara clung to me. "I'm scared," she whispered. "What if it fills all the way?"
"It won't," I said, trying to sound sure. But doubt gnawed at me. The shelter, meant to protect us, felt like a trap now, walls closing with the cold liquid.
Ben slipped on the steps, going under for a moment. He came up sputtering. "Can't... hold on much longer." His breaths came in gasps.
"Ben!" Clara cried, sliding off the bench into the chest-deep water, reaching for him.
I followed, grabbing his arm. We all huddled together, the water swirling around our shoulders. The lantern went out completely, plunging us into black. Only the sound of our breathing and the relentless drip filled the void.
"Stay with me," Ben said weakly. "Just hold on."
Time stretched. The water touched my chin, forcing us to tilt our heads back. Clara's hand trembled in mine. "I love you both," she murmured.
Ben went quiet first. His grip loosened. "Ben?" Clara called, shaking him. No response. She let out a sob, muffled by the rising tide.
I wanted to scream, but the water lapped at my mouth. My mind raced—images of rescue, of air, but the pressure built in my chest.
Then, a scrape from above. Metal grinding. Light pierced through a crack as the door creaked open. Voices shouted. Hands pulled us out—Clara and me, gasping on the muddy ground. But Ben... they brought him last, still and pale.
Rescuers said the twister had tossed debris over the door, and the floodwaters nearly sealed it shut. We were lucky, they told us. But in that dark, rising tomb, luck felt far away. Even now, when rain falls heavy, I feel the chill creep back, the walls closing in once more.
"The Dome":
I grabbed my small backpack with a few clothes, some water bottles, and a flashlight, then walked the flooded streets to the big dome where everyone was supposed to go for safety. My neighbor, an older lady named Rita, came with me because her house was already taking on water. We didn't talk much on the way, just focused on not slipping in the muck. When we got there, the place was packed with people—families huddled together, kids crying, folks sitting on the hard seats or the floor. The air smelled of sweat and fear, and the lights flickered before going out completely after a while.
Rita and I found a spot near the edge of one section, away from the main crowds but still close enough to see National Guard soldiers walking around with their rifles. "This is better than being out there alone," Rita said to me, her voice low as she arranged her blanket on the ground. I nodded, but inside, I wondered if we had made the right choice. The dome echoed with voices, some arguing over space, others calling out for lost relatives.
As hours passed, things got worse. The toilets overflowed, and people started getting sick. I shared my water with a young mother next to us who had a baby in her arms. Her name was Carla, and she whispered, "My husband went to check on our house. He hasn't come back." I tried to comfort her, saying, "He'll find his way here soon. We all will get through this." But her eyes looked worried, and she held her child closer.
Rumors started spreading like wildfire. A man nearby, with a beard and tired eyes, leaned over and said to a group of us, "I heard some guys attacked a girl in the bathroom area last night. Grabbed her when she was alone." Rita gasped and pulled her knees up. "Is that true?" she asked him. He shrugged. "That's what people are saying. Better stick together." I glanced around, noticing how dark corners seemed to hide shapes, and groups of men lingered without families, watching everyone.
That first night, I couldn't sleep. The sounds were constant—moans from the sick, arguments breaking out, footsteps echoing on the concrete. Rita dozed off beside me, but I kept my flashlight close, turning it on every so often to scan the area. Then, I heard a soft cry from somewhere close, like a woman in pain. It stopped suddenly, and I strained to listen, but only the distant shouts filled the air. Carla woke up and murmured, "What was that?" I shook my head. "Probably nothing. Try to rest."
The next day, or what felt like day since no light came in, supplies ran low. People pushed in lines for food packets, and fights erupted over bottles of water. A Guard soldier shouted, "Back up! Everyone gets their share!" but his voice cracked with exhaustion. Rita and I stayed put, eating the little we had left. Carla shared a story about her neighbor who had disappeared the night before. "She went to find a quiet spot to sleep," Carla said quietly. "No one has seen her since." My skin prickled at her words, and I suggested we all move closer to the soldiers' post.
But as evening came again, the crowds shifted, and we ended up in a dimmer section. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe. I saw a man with a scarred face staring at me from across the aisle. He didn't look away when I met his gaze. Rita noticed and whispered, "Don't look at him. Just stay alert." We linked arms, trying to form a small circle with Carla and a couple of others who joined us—a father with his teenage daughter.
The real trouble started when most people tried to settle down. I lay on my side, eyes half-open, watching shadows move. Footsteps approached slowly, pausing near our group. I sat up quietly, gripping my flashlight. A voice, low and rough, said from the darkness, "You ladies need some company?" It was the scarred man, now closer, with two others behind him. Rita squeezed my hand hard. "We're fine," I replied, keeping my tone steady. "Move along."
He chuckled softly. "No need to be rude. It's rough in here for everyone." One of his friends added, "We can help protect you." Carla clutched her baby tighter and said nothing. The father in our group stood up. "She said we're fine. Leave us be." The scarred man stepped forward, his face barely visible, eyes gleaming. "Or what? Guards are busy elsewhere." Tension hung in the air as he lingered, testing us.
They backed off after a moment, melting into the crowd, but I knew it wasn't over. Hours later, in the deepest part of night, I needed to use the bathroom. Rita begged me not to go alone. "Wait until morning," she said. But I couldn't. "I'll be quick," I promised. "Stay here with Carla." I took my flashlight and weaved through sleeping bodies, the beam cutting through the gloom. The bathrooms were a nightmare—overflowing, stinking—but I hurried.
On my way back, the flashlight battery weakened, flickering. I heard footsteps behind me, fast and deliberate. I quickened my pace, but a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me into a side corridor. "Shh, don't scream," a voice hissed—the scarred man. His breath was hot on my face. I twisted, dropping the flashlight, which rolled away, leaving us in near blackness. "Let go!" I gasped, pushing against him. He pressed me against the wall. "No one's coming to help."
Panic surged through me. I kicked hard, connecting with his leg, and he grunted, loosening his grip. I scrambled away, shouting as loud as I could. "Help! Someone!" His friends appeared, but distant voices responded—people waking up, Guards calling out. The men cursed under their breath and fled into the shadows. I ran back to our spot, bruised and shaking. Rita hugged me. "What happened?" she asked, eyes wide. I told her in whispers, and Carla said, "We have to tell the soldiers."
We did, but the Guard looked overwhelmed. "We'll patrol more," he said. "But stay in groups." No arrests, no real action—they had no resources. For the next days, we barely slept, always watching. I saw other women with haunted looks, whispering similar tales. One confided to me, "A girl got dragged off yesterday. They found her hurt." The dome felt like a trap, with dangers inside worse than outside.
Finally, after what seemed endless, buses arrived to take us out. As we boarded, I looked back at the massive structure, relieved but changed. Rita squeezed my hand. "We made it," she said. But the memories lingered, the close calls, the lurking threats in the dark.
"The Shelter":
I rushed into the old community center, my clothes soaked through, carrying just a small bag with a few things from home. The place was crowded with folks from the neighborhood, all seeking a safe spot from the chaos outside. I had come alone because my sister was stuck across town, and we agreed to meet here if we could. The air inside was thick with worry, people murmuring about what might happen next. I found a corner near the back wall, away from the main doors, and sat down on the cold floor, trying to catch my breath.
A little while later, an older woman next to me started chatting. Her name was Clara, and she had lived nearby for years. "You look like you need some water," she said, handing me a bottle from her pack. "I brought extra. What's your name, dear?"
"Anna," I replied, grateful for the kindness. "Thanks. I didn't think to grab much before leaving."
We talked for a bit about our homes and how we hoped everything would hold up. Clara mentioned her husband had passed away last year, and she was here by herself too. It felt good to have someone to speak with amid all the strangers. But as the hours passed, the lights flickered now and then, and the crowd grew restless. Some people argued over space, others shared food quietly.
That's when I first noticed him. A man in a worn gray jacket, standing across the room, his eyes fixed on me. He wasn't talking to anyone, just leaning against the wall, arms crossed. I glanced away, but when I looked back, he was still staring. It made my skin prickle, like he was picking me out from the group for some reason. I shifted closer to Clara, pretending not to see.
Night came on, and the center got darker. The generators hummed, but the lights were dim to save power. People spread out blankets and tried to rest. Clara dozed off beside me, her soft snoring a small comfort. I couldn't sleep, though. Every so often, I'd feel that gaze again. Sure enough, the man had moved closer, now sitting on a bench not far away, his face half-hidden in shadow.
He caught me looking and smiled, a slow curve of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. Then he stood up and walked over, stepping carefully around sleeping bodies. My pulse quickened as he approached.
"Evening," he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel. "You okay over here? Looks like you're alone."
"I'm fine," I answered, keeping my tone even. "My friend's right here." I nodded toward Clara, who stirred but didn't wake.
He nodded too, but didn't leave. "Name's Robert. I saw you come in earlier. Tough time out there, huh? I got some extra snacks if you want one. Apple or something."
"No, thank you," I said, hugging my bag tighter. "I'm good."
He lingered, squatting down to my level. "You sure? You seem tense. I could watch your spot if you need to stretch your legs or find the bathroom. It's crowded, easy to lose your place."
His offer sounded helpful, but something in his eyes felt off, too insistent. I shook my head. "Really, I'm okay. Thanks anyway."
Robert straightened up, still smiling. "All right then. Just being neighborly. Holler if you change your mind." He walked back to his bench, but I could tell he kept glancing over.
Time dragged on. The room echoed with coughs and whispers. I tried to focus on anything else, counting the tiles on the ceiling, but unease gnawed at me. Why had he singled me out? There were plenty of others here. Clara woke up briefly, and I thought about telling her, but she seemed so tired. "Everything all right?" she asked, yawning.
"Yeah, just can't sleep," I whispered. She patted my arm and closed her eyes again.
Later, when most everyone was quiet, I needed to use the restroom. It was down a hallway, away from the main area. I hesitated, but couldn't wait any longer. I slipped out carefully, the floor creaking under my feet. The hall was even dimmer, with only a couple of emergency lights glowing red.
As I turned the corner, footsteps echoed behind me. I quickened my pace, but they got closer. A hand touched my shoulder, and I spun around. It was Robert.
"Hey, Anna," he said, his breath warm on my face. "Fancy running into you here. Need help finding the way?"
"How do you know my name?" I asked, stepping back. I hadn't told him.
He chuckled softly. "Overheard you talking to the old lady. Small world in here. Come on, I'll walk with you. It's not safe alone."
"I can manage," I said, my voice firmer. But he didn't move aside.
His expression changed, the smile fading. "Don't be like that. We're all stuck together. Might as well make friends." He reached out again, grabbing my wrist lightly.
"Let go," I said, pulling away. Fear surged through me, sharp and cold. The hallway felt endless, the main room too far.
Robert's grip tightened for a second, his eyes narrowing. "You think you're better than this? I was just trying to be nice." His voice dropped to a whisper, menacing now. "No one will hear you back here."
Panic hit me hard. I yanked free and backed up, my mind racing. "Leave me alone," I hissed, loud enough to echo a bit.
He advanced, blocking the way. "Shh, don't make a scene. We can talk privately."
I turned and ran toward the restroom door, but he followed, his steps heavy. Inside, I slammed the door and locked it, heart pounding so loud I could barely think. Was there another way out? The small window was barred. I pressed against the wall, listening.
Knocking came, soft at first. "Anna? Open up. I didn't mean to scare you."
"Go away!" I shouted, hoping someone would hear.
The knocking stopped, but I waited, minutes ticking by. Silence. Maybe he left. But doubt lingered. What if he was waiting outside?
Finally, I cracked the door open. The hall looked empty. I stepped out cautiously, glancing both ways. No sign of him. I hurried back toward the main room, every shadow making me jump.
Halfway there, a figure stepped out from a side door. Robert again. "You can't hide," he said, his tone darker. "I know places in here where no one goes."
I bolted, screaming now. "Help! Someone help!"
Feet pounded behind me. I reached the main area, bursting in among the people. Heads turned, murmurs rising. Clara sat up, alarmed. "Anna? What's wrong?"
A few men stood up, looking around. "What's going on?" one asked.
I pointed back at the hall, gasping. "That man... he followed me. He grabbed me."
Robert appeared at the edge, but stopped when he saw the crowd. His face twisted in fake confusion. "What? I was just checking on her. She seemed lost."
"Liar!" I cried. "He wouldn't leave me alone."
The group stirred. A big guy named Tom, who I'd seen earlier helping with supplies, stepped forward. "Back off, buddy. We don't want trouble."
Robert held up his hands. "Fine, fine. Misunderstanding." But his eyes locked on mine, promising more.
Security volunteers in the shelter moved in, two women and a man with flashlights. "Everyone calm down," one said. "Sir, come with us."
They led Robert away to another part of the building, but I couldn't relax. What if he came back? Clara hugged me. "Oh, honey, that's awful. Stay close now."
The rest of the night, I stayed awake, watching the entrances. Whispers spread about him—someone said he'd been acting strange since arriving, bothering other women quietly. Turned out, later, when help came, they found out he had a record, had hurt people before. But in that moment, trapped in the shelter, I felt like prey in a cage.
Days blurred together until rescue teams arrived. As we filed out, I saw Robert being taken aside by police. He glanced back, that same chilling smile. I never forgot how close it came, how in a place meant for safety, danger hid right among us.