I wrote this as a 50 word flash fiction a couple years ago, a couple years after the event it is based on. I’ve written an essay on it and just fleshed this out for Chuck Wendig’s latest challenge.
Vibration, air pressure, a sound? Mama snatches baby up and runs for the cellar. A roar – the house lurches.
Through the kitchen door – toward the windows and cellar, or drop and cover baby with her own body? A moment’s hesitation then down the stone steps into an old coal bin.
Baby cries.
“Shhh… mama’s gotcha.”
Lightning flashes, water pours in the corner of the foundation, subsides. They venture upstairs and she opens the kitchen door. Smoke? No, plaster dust from falling ceiling. Grab car seat, purse and cell.
“Something’s happened. We can’t stay here.”
“We’re on our way.”
Melora Johnson's Muse 
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