“You okay? You look like your face is full of buckshot.” He wiped blood from her cheeks. “There, oh, thank God. It’s not as bad as it looks. Look at me. Are you okay?”
She caught her breath. “I…I think so. Yes. I’m okay. I think. Yes.”
“Oh, shit. Look at this place.”
“Take me out of here.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Can you sit in the truck while I see if anybody needs help?”
“Don’t leave me!” she screamed.
“Okay, okay. I won’t.”
“Shannon!” Her father ran toward them through the throng of people. “Shannon!”
“I’m okay,” she said when he got to her.
“Oh, baby girl.” He hugged her tightly. “Thank God. Oh, your face.”
“It’s just scratches, I think,” Kerry said.
“You two go to the house,” her father said. “I went by there and it’s fine. Stay in the basement and watch the television or listen to the radio. This might not be over yet. I have to go to the factory to find Virginia.”
“Was the factory hit?” Shannon asked.
“I don’t know,” Roger said. “I’ll find your mother and bring her right home. Now go on. Let Kerry take care of you.”
32
Virginia’s shoulder burned. Her bursitis had been acting up and she didn’t have thirty-five dollars for another cortisone shot. Today they were sewing Underroos and she was thinking about the thousands of times she had washed Will’s little shorts, how they had grown over the years from tiny things the size of your palm to the full-sized briefs of a man. He had gone through a Batman phase when he was five. Virginia had grudgingly forked over too much money for a pair of Batman undershorts. Those shorts, paired with a navy blue towel, had occupied him for two years until he found baseball.
Virginia pushed a bundle down the ramp and reached behind her to gather another and her shoulder joint froze on her. She cupped her hand around the pain and bent forward in her chair.
Machines whirred and spindles of thread snapped. Myra was walking down the aisle. She saw her friend and stopped.
“Virginia, how you doing? Shoulder bothering you?”
“Some. I’m sure glad it’s Friday.”
“I’ve been listening to the radio on my headphones. It’s storming bad. Tornado warnings for Adair County. They think it’s coming this way.”
“Anything on the ground?”
“Nothing yet. But one hit Louisville.”
Imogene, the floor lady stopped to eye the two talking. Myra motioned her over.
“What’s up girls? Taking a break?” Imogene yelled.
“Tornado warnings,” Myra said.
“For where?”
“Central Kentucky.”
“You’d better tell somebody who can let us go,” Virginia said. “I want to go pick up my kid at school.”
“You can’t leave,” Imogene said.
“Shit on that,” Myra said. “Who decides if we get to leave?”
“Management will tell us if it’s dangerous.”
“Do they even know about the warnings?” Virginia asked.
“I’ll go see.” Imogene walked with purpose to the front office.
Myra said, “Let’s take a break. I want a smoke. Come on.”
Virginia wanted to call home and ask her sister to get Shannon at school since Patsy had the car today, but people were three deep waiting for the pay phones. The jarring, constant din of the sewing machines was smothered by the glass enclosure of the break room. The stale air smelled of burned coffee and cigarettes. They got drinks from a vending machine and slumped into folding metal chairs. Outside they could see rows of women, heads down, feeding cloth into their machines. Inside the shop, mechanics were working—a wheel turning, sparks flying every so often.
“How’s Shannon?” Myra asked.
“Oh, Lord, I don’t know. I ask myself every day how things ended up so bad for all of us.”
“Stuff has a way of working out. When that grandbaby gets here you’ll bring it in for us to see won’t you?”
“I just don’t know.”
“What about a baby shower? You’re going to give Shannon a shower, right?”
“If she ever marries this boy. I don’t think it would be right to have a shower if they don’t get married.”
“But she’s going to, right?”
“She says she is, but she keeps stalling for some reason. I’m not going to encourage her. She shouldn’t marry him if she doesn’t want to. I’m just keeping my mouth shut. They want to act so big, let them take care of their problems themselves. She’s made her bed.”
“Maybe she’ll be a June bride. Only a few more weeks and she’ll be out of school and then they can get married. How’s school going? Still keeping her grades up?”
“She’s working hard. Got a whole table full of brochures from UK and Western and community colleges around here. I hate to tell her once that baby gets here she won’t have time for sleep, much less study.”
“You don’t know. She might can work it out.”
“You know the high school was going to put her out, but I threatened to sue if they did. They wanted her to home school the rest of the year, but Shannon says she wants to stay. I think that’s her right. Why kick girls out? Maybe if other kids see what shape she’s in now it might make them more careful.”
“Nothing’s going to stop human nature.”
They sipped their drinks and Virginia flipped through a dog-eared Southern Living. “How do they always make everything look so pretty in this magazine?” she said. “Who gets to live like this? Flowers and fountains and matching furniture.”
“Nobody round here.” Myra touched Virginia’s arm. “Hey, look. What’s going on?”
Women were leaving their machines, gathering in aisles. They talked and gestured nervously. The next instant they were all scrambling toward an exit that led to the basement.
“Tornado,” Virginia said.
They bolted out of the break room. A hundred people were crammed into the exit leading to the basement knitting room. A sickly, yellow light seeped through the high windows above the now idle factory floor and all machine sound was replaced by shouting. In an instant, the odd light gave way to darkness and the voices of their coworkers were drowned out by an explosive rip of the roof. Sparks burst from the ceiling, nuts and bolts rained and giant light fixtures rattled down into the sewing machines.
“The shop!” Virginia yelled. She grasped Myra’s hand and pulled her toward the squat concrete building. Their hair whipped in all directions, their clothes plastered to their bodies. The metal screech was deafening as the roof peeled away from the walls. Their every step was like being mired in molasses. They had to crouch and grip a pole. Someone grabbed Virginia and lifted her up. It was Bill Smith pulling her after him. They made it and Bill forced the door shut against the wind and bolted it.
“Under the table!” he yelled. They crawled beneath the sturdy work station and Virginia suddenly realized they were surrounded by bits and saws and hammers and she hugged her friend tightly. Bill put his arms around the women. The shop windows imploded and they crunched down smaller. The factory floor outside was a swirling mass of white cloth like a shaken snow globe. Carts rolled crazily and metal whined in protest as beams above were pried away. “Get down!” Bill yelled and pushed Virginia close to the floor. The outside walls of the shop were pummeled with machinery. The floor vibrated.
Then, as suddenly as the tornado appeared, it moved away. They could hear it crunching a destructive path, picking up things as it went.
“Parking lot,” Bill said as they heard heavy objects crashing randomly outside. In a few seconds the tornado was gone and they were left panting and shaken. Things began to slam to the concrete outside.
“Is it over?” Myra asked. “Is it over?”
“Let’s wait just another minute,”
Bill said. When nothing else happened he said, “Let’s go see if there’s anything left.” Rain fell into the open factory. Muffled cries came from behind a huge pile of machinery and fabric.
“There’s people in behind there! Start digging!” Bill yelled.
They pulled injured people out. Most had only minor cuts and bruises. Virginia ripped long pieces of material to wrap bleeding wounds. A war zone, Virginia thought, this must be what a war zone looks like. She was drenched with rain, smeared with blood, and sprinkled with white threads. Some of the worst injured were laid flat on rolling carts, covered with cloth unwrapped from bolts.
“When will the ambulance come?” Myra asked. “Where are they?”
“There’s no telling how much else has been hit,” Virginia said. “It might be the whole town for all we know.”
“Here!” Bill yelled. “Over here!” Virginia went to him and he said, “Cover her up.” It was Imogene on a cart. Virginia unrolled a bolt of cotton over her.
“You’re going to be okay, honey,” Virginia said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll fix you right up.” A side of the factory that faced a parking lot had collapsed and people began to stumble through the wreckage at that point, husbands and children of the factory workers, fear in their eyes. A muddy blue conversion van with palm trees on the side panels pulled up and a young man everyone said was a drug dealer started helping move the injured. The back double doors to his van were open and he was carefully loading a woman onto the shag carpeting inside.
Virginia made her way to him and asked, “Do you know if the high school was hit?”
“Haven’t heard,” the young man said. “You’re Will’s mom, right?”
“And Shannon’s. She’s at the high school. Can you take me there?”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I got to get these folks to the hospital.”
“So the hospital’s standing?”
“It’s fine, far as I know.”
Virginia wandered the parking lot looking for her car, but all the vehicles were covered in a thick layer of dirt and tree limbs. She suddenly remembered that Patsy had her car and turned back to the factory.
There was the cry of relief when someone was found. So far Virginia hadn’t seen any bodies, nobody dead. Just a few broken bones. Virginia thought to look for her purse and then realized it might still be in the break room. She climbed over a toppled vending machine to find her bag untouched where she had left it under a chair. She could see people in the distance swarming up a hill behind the parking lot and she decided to follow. As she was crawling across the jagged bottom of a wall someone called her name.
“Virginia!”
Roger stumbled crazily over a large pile of metal. It rolled with him and he crashed to the floor, his arms and legs splayed. Virginia let out a hysterical laugh. Once she started she couldn’t stop. By the time he reached her she was laughing and laughing as if someone had just told a hilarious joke.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said. They held each other, clinging tightly and they stood that way until she quieted down. “Where were you going?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “The high school I guess.”
“There’s no need. I went up to the school and found her. Kerry took her home. They’re in the basement and that’s probably where we need to be, too.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s a little cut up, but she looks fine.”
“What about the baby?”
“I think everything’s okay. You know that boy’ll take good care of her.”
“Okay then.” She rubbed her arms in a distracted way as if she were cold. “Lots of folks need help and I haven’t seen one ambulance.”
“It’s no wonder. The town’s wrecked.”
“Can you take somebody in your car?”
“Sure.”
“Then let’s see if we can get Imogene in the back. She needs to go to the hospital. Myra, too. I think she needs some nerve pills.”
“What about you? You were laughing like a hyena.”
“It’s better to laugh than cry.”
Roger and Virginia rolled Imogene as far as they could on the cart and then leaned her between them the rest of the way to the car. A cold drizzle misted down and Myra followed behind them repeating, “My rain scarf. I need my rain bonnet.”
“Come on. You’re fine,” Virginia said. Myra turned to worrying over a piece of cloth that kept slipping down from Imogene’s bleeding head.
As the car moved precariously through town, their silence was punctuated only with caught breath and a whispered, “Oh, my God.” Some buildings stood untouched while others had vanished. Where the bank had been, the safe was a sentinel amid rubble. Gnarly root balls were naked to the street, their trunks carving up roofs. Power lines were down, some snapping in the street among contorted vehicles. The few signs that stood were peppered with pock marks. Bricks littered the road like a child’s tossed blocks. A confused bird flopped in a gutter.
“Looks like all the color’s been scraped off everything,” Roger said.
“Oh, the smell,” Virginia said.
“Smells like evil,” Myra said softly.
Virginia reached for Roger’s hand. “This is unreal,” she said, “like the end of the world.”
33
Shannon’s head was in Virginia’s lap and they were watching a Louisville news channel. Every so often, Shannon trembled as if she might start crying again. Roger and Kerry stood in the yard just outside the concrete steps leading up from the basement, peering into the sky like they might detect something on the dark horizon. Virginia could see their boots through the rectangular slit window that was even with the ground. They smoked, and talked in the hushed, deep tones men took when things got serious. Virginia was afraid a twisting cloud would drop out of the sky right on top of them. Even the dog had better sense than to go outside.
She stroked her daughter’s hair and thanked God that Shannon had come out of the ordeal with just a cut lip and a sprinkling of pinpricks on her freckled face. Their house was untouched, and as far as they knew, none of their immediate relatives or close friends were dead or had gone missing. But others hadn’t fared as well; there were still people not accounted for. The radio station announced names, asking that if someone heard their name read from the missing list they call in so their people would know they were safe. It seemed not many missing folks had called, but maybe that was because phone lines were down. You could tell it pained the disk jockeys to talk about what had happened to their town.
But the television weather guys—they apparently called themselves meteorologists now—seemed to revel in the drama. “Biggest storm system ever documented in the tristate area,” they repeated over and over—twenty twisters on the ground simultaneously. Louisville was badly hit, the convention center torn up for a second time in a decade. Virginia wondered if it would be repaired in time for the state fair this fall.
One weather man was describing the night’s events. “Two twisters split into four, and this system cut a hundred-mile swath of destruction from Louisville, south through Central Kentucky. This was a category F4 storm caused by unseasonably high temperatures, followed by a cold front pushing down from the north, creating optimal conditions for tornadoes. This may turn out to be a bigger storm system than we experienced on April 3, 1974, when a hundred and forty-eight tornadoes reduced Kentucky and parts of Ohio and Indiana to rubble.” The anchors all kept repeating how the early warnings helped save thousands of lives. Empty-eyed victims stood next to the foundations of their homes giving disturbing accounts of their near-death experiences. Apparently the destruction was too much for the state Red Cross to handle alone, so rescue teams were coming in from Tennessee and West Virginia. Helicopter footage showed mounds of what resembled pick-up sticks.
Virginia sat forward when they cut to an aerial shot of the factory. The announcer said, “The Union Underwear plant in Falling Rock was demolished. Of the forty-three hundred workers
, seventy-five percent are women drawn from a forty-mile radius. Since its opening in 1948, the plant has been the area’s largest employer.” They cut to a shot of downtown and all the old buildings still stood, although the streets were littered and front windows were broken. In the next shot, the strip mall with The Big K was wiped out. That gave Virginia a brief moment of satisfaction. “The county high school and various businesses in the downtown area were also destroyed, along with numerous residences, particularly along the perimeter of Green River Lake.” A shot of the path of destruction that ringed the lake. “Miraculously, only one death has been reported, but people are still missing, including one six-year-old girl.” Virginia relaxed back. She held her child in her lap and that was everything to her.
The clock on the television said it was nearly two a.m. Virginia was bone tired from helping people and moving rubble. She hadn’t had a bath, had only changed her bloody clothes, and she noticed a smear of blood under her arm. Shannon’s breathing had become less shallow and she was drifting off, so Virginia slid out from under her and lowered Shannon’s head onto a pillow. Roger had wrestled cots from storage in the unfinished side of the basement and Virginia made them up with fresh sheets and quilts. She slowly climbed the stairway to outside. The men’s cigarettes glowed red, then faded.
“I’m going to lay down,” Virginia said. “Kerry, you’re welcome to stay if you care to sleep on the love seat. You’d better call your dad though. Let him know you’re okay.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. He knows where I am.”
“Did he say how your farm fared in all this?”
“He said we’re fine. But it looks like Mannsville proper and parts of Whitewood and Black Gnat were flattened.”
Calling Home Page 27
