Isaac finished singing to his daughter, Lily, and tucked her in for the second time that night. Lily had had a nightmare, and it took several songs to calm her. Her breathing steady, he stepped into the hall and looked into the stormy night.
Rain fell sporadically and he hoped they weren't in for any tornados.
He knew they might be. He wouldn't be going to bed until he got the all-clear from the Eigenweasels. Quantum computers that could solve bizarre quadratic optimization equations faster than thought, he had his radio on and his phone on full volume, waiting for their latest alerts.
“Breaking news” sounded on the radio a heartbeat after his phone buzzed. Without waiting, he ran back to his daughter's room.
“If you are in Charlottesville right now, check your app. The worst case is happening. There is a pre-F-4 forming and the Eigenweasels predict a path through town. You have twelve minutes until touchdown.”
Isaac was shouting to his other children to get up. What the radio didn't mention is the path prediction had a 70% likelihood of passing through his house.
Four minutes later, Isaac closed the storm door in his basement and sat with his wife while he held Lily close, singing out loud to calm all of his children. After decades of last second escapes, having eight minutes until touchdown was almost anti-climactic. And he was grateful for that.
The Eigenweasels updated his app every few seconds, and so he watched live as the storm touched down a quarter mile from his home. He wept for his neighbors as he watched the tornado pass through one home and veer around the next. He rejoiced for his family as the tornado missed them by two hundred feet, taking most of their shingles, but leaving their home intact.
Emerging after the Eigenweasels gave him the all-clear, he sent his wife and children back to bed and climbed in his pickup truck. He had neighbors to check on, and no fear that he'd be taken unawares by another storm that night.