“Leave it. Buckle in. Kids, you okay?”
Both of them answered, “Yeah.”
My hands shook as I blindly tried to latch in. We were moving fast, too fast for the terrain. Martin was far ahead of us. Alice and the bus weren’t too far behind him.
“Do we need to catch up?” I asked, panicked.
“Buckle in.”
“Do you think we’re safe?”
“Buckle that!”
I gave in and looked down. After I latched it, the second I looked up, Lane jerked the wheel hard and to the right when Walter’s car just dropped from the sky in front of us.
It smashed down hard on the roof and I swore the RV tipped on two wheels.
Carlie and Reese both screamed in the back.
“Lane, we have to help him.”
“Not now.” Lane held the wheel, it went back and forth as he remained calm, trying to keep the RV steady.
I turned in my seat, Reese was looking out the side window.
“What do you see?” I asked.
“The car is spinning,” Reese said. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?” I questioned.
Carlie replied. “It looks like it’s losing speed. It’s kind of just hovering and falling apart.”
“What is?” I undid my belt and stood.
“Jana!” Lane yelled at me.
I hurriedly plopped down next to Reese. It was hard to see anything, but the noise level subsided some outside and I could hear Martin’s voice on the radio, stating, “We’re safe. We can stop.”
“Did you hear that?” I hollered to Lane. “Martin said it was safe now.”
“I see him. He stopped,” Lane replied.
The RV slowed down and the ride wasn’t quite as crazy or bumpy.
I felt it was safe enough for me to go to the back and find the radio. Again, I looked out the window and knew what Carlie was describing.
The funnel was still there. Still as wide, but it thinned out and barely touched the ground. It seemed to transform from a tornado to a huge cloud on the ground.
“God, did you see that?” Skip said over the radio. “Walter.”
Following the sound of voices, I found the radio on the floor and lifted it.
“Everyone check in,” Martin said. “Skip, everyone on the bus okay?”
“We’re good,” Skip replied.
“I’m good,” Alice said.
I depressed the button. “We’re fine.”
“Walter?” Martin called out. “Walter?”
There was silence. Maybe everyone, like me was waiting for Walter to reply and check in. Possibly even complain about the car.
But that didn’t happen.
✽✽✽
Her name was Anita Christie. She had been a school nurse at Bushland High School for twenty-three years.
She claimed it was the best job and decided to work there when she grew tired of working in the emergency room in Amarillo.
Anita wasn’t a young woman, near retirement age I guessed. In my years, I never really saw a young school nurse. They were older and hardnosed. School nurses needed to be that way to deal with students constantly trying to get out of class.
The only time I went to see the nurse in school was to get feminine protection. Our school nurse was always nice, she gave me a heating pad and made me lay down whether I needed it or not.
The tall thin woman with short salt and pepper hair, was the first one racing to Walter’s car. Lane stayed behind in the RV with the kids, securing our things again when I stepped out to see or even help Anita with Walter and his family.
Anita literally ran in the rain, her feet slipping in the mud. She carried a medical bag, but somehow, when I saw that car close up, I knew there was nothing in that bag that could help.
The newer model blue sedan looked like it should have been in a junkyard. It had dropped with such a force, it was crushed and compacted.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
I had heard stories about emergency workers being traumatized by accident scenes. I didn’t understand it, not until I saw Walter’s car.
Anita approached the vehicle at the same time as Skip, they both crouched down. Immediately, Skip turned, stood and walked away. He put his hands on his thighs, bending over slightly, looking as if he fought the urge to vomit.
All I saw was the blood. The deployed airbags were saturated with it and like a burst water balloon, it seeped out everywhere. The only remains I could make out were a single hand, a woman’s hand, resting on the busted passenger window frame.
Anita slowly stood and walked around the car. Maybe she was hoping to see signs of life.
I don’t know how.
It wasn’t possible.
I just couldn’t figure out how the car got mangled in that brief few seconds. It was such a random thing. So sudden, an ‘Eeny Meeny, Miney, Mo’ thing of selective death.
The massive tornado saying, “I pick you’ and snatched the car right up.
It was a lot to take in.
Anita shook her head as she walked toward me and Martin.
The look on her face, the inevitable bad news was no surprise.
She swiped away the water that blew in her face. “The three of them are dead,” she said. “By the looks of it they died on impact to the ground.”
Martin let out a forceful breath.
“Three?” I asked. “There were four in that car.”
Anita nodded. “I know. The son-in-law, Dan, he must have been sucked out.”
My hand shot to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
Martin groaned. “The fear they must have felt. Those poor people.”
“We have to look for him,” I said. “I mean, what if he lived? People have lived after being caught up in a tornado.’
Martin nodded. “They have. But I’m going to be honest with you, Jana, I don’t think we have the time to do a search and rescue.” He peered up. “Rain is steady, the wind is not coming in a steady direction.”
Anita asked. “You think another is coming?”
“I do.”
She gave a tight closed mouth nod. “It feels like it. I’m going to go inform everyone on the bus. Excuse me.”
“Thank you, Anita,” Martin said.
“And we’re not looking for Walter’s son-in-law?” I asked.
“Jana, we can’t. You’re the one that said we would get hit time after time with these things, well,” Martin said. “You’re spot on. Another is coming.”
Skip stepped forward. “When? I mean, do you think we should take cover now?”
Martin looked at me. “What’s close?”
“There’s a town about eight miles from here,” I said.
“There,” Skip said. “We can go there.”
“If we do, and another hits, we can say goodbye to the vehicles and horses. There’s nowhere to safely put them. It’s a one stoplight town.”
Martin grumbled some. He looked down at his watch then pivoted in a full circle. “Okay, sky to the south seems a lot clearer. Is there anything south?’
“It takes us off our route,” I replied. “We have Tulsa, ninety miles south or Joplin at a hundred. I have spots picked at both.”
“What’s it look like in between here and Joplin?” Martin asked.
“Ton of little towns,” I said. “If we run into immediate problems. Junction to Tulsa is probably the halfway point.”
Martin peered again to the sky, then to Skip. “What do you think?”
“Why are you asking Skip the auto guy?” I asked.
“Because he’s seen a lot of twisters,” Martin replied. “Skip?”
“We keep going east,” Skip replied. “We have option for safety, right? Maybe not the best, but they’ll be safe.”
“I agree,” Martin said. “We keep going. Let’s get everyone back on the road, keep an eye out and play it by ear.”
Play it by ear?
It seemed such a blasé attitude to take. We weren�
��t talking about a mild rainstorm. We were talking about another round of hell on earth. Then again, what could we do?
We had to keep moving, hopefully stay ahead of it and stay safe.
I made my way to the RV to tell Lane and the kids the plan. As I did, I looked back once more at Walter’s car and felt not only sadness, but a tremendous sense of guilt.
The smashed car, the blood, knowing the horror Walter and his family felt as they were sucked up into the weather beast.
Their last moment, their last seconds, it was over so fast.
And all I kept thinking was I had wanted to lighten the load, less vehicles in the convoy, but the tragedy before me was not how I wanted it to happen.
TWELVE – SWEPT
The police came.
We were able to squeeze in that extra ten miles and stay on an eastern course, stopping in Joplin.
The downtown area was dead, no cars on the roads or street, which made me think, at first it was evacuated.
We found my marked U place. A newer corner building located in which probably was a busy intersection, across from the McDonalds.
The garage was there.
It was underground … technically.
Although the woman I spoke to on the phone at the new Enhance Yourself plastic surgery clinic, totally exaggerated on the garage.
When she assured me it was underground, I assumed it was a few levels. Not a straight ramp driveway that sloped down to a single level garage.
It was still underground, and Martin and Skip assured us as long as we stayed toward the farthest end, we’d be fine.
While it had ample height, it wasn’t tall enough for Alice’s truck. We were able to get the school bus in, but to be on the safe side, we unloaded the boxes from the tractor trailer and placed them in the bus.
One would have thought Alice lost her best friend when she had to leave it behind.
After it was unloaded, she moved it somewhere, between two buildings.
It was raining pretty hard; I was surprised a steady flow of water wasn’t making its way down the ramp. It was still early though, chances were, it would, and the garage would get flooded. Alice was soaked when she came back. Perhaps it was her walking into the garage that drew the attention of the authorities.
The police arrived shortly after in a squad car.
It was hopeful to see them, that society was still keeping order. But I could imagine what they thought when they came down to the level and saw the bus, camper, pickup and horse trailer. Not to mention, all of us kind of meandering around.
They were nice enough though. Apparently, there was a curfew and a stay at home and stay safe order.
“Gonna guess you folks aren’t from around here,” the one officer said.
As the designated and reluctant leader, I stepped forward to talk to him. “Officer, this was the best shelter we could find. We’re refugees.”
“I see. There is a tornado warning,” he said.
“This should be safe enough, right?” I asked. “I mean it’s underground.”
“We have community shelters.”
“We have horses.” I pointed.
“I see. Well, I understand that. Be safe. First thing in the morning though, you’ll have to find a better place,” he told us.
I nodded. “I understand and thank you.”
It was easy enough. He stopped on his way back to the squad car to check on the kids, even making a nice ‘what a big guy’ comment about Dooley, the oversized toddler boy.
We would be long gone before he sent someone back to check on us and move us out.
It was cooler in the garage and we couldn’t light a fire. Thankfully, the power was still on in the city and there was enough light in the garage, so the kids didn’t get scared.
With the storm intensifying right above us, I imaged the lights wouldn’t be on for long.
Soup was on the menu, we didn’t have a choice because we didn’t want to waste it.
Liza had brought two frozen bags of soup and they were defrosting quickly.
Everyone ate. We did so off of the paper cups and plastic spoons Liza took from the diner, along with those prewrapped crackers. But few people were really in the mood. They ate out of necessity. The close call with the twister, the loss of Walter and his family hung over our heads.
“A wedge,” I said as I sat down on the ground across from Lane.
He was seated by the RV on a cushion. That bourbon we took from Martin’s was next to him as he swirled his finger around the tiny, round margarine serving provided by Liza.
“Did you hear me?” I asked. “What are you doing?”
“This is good. I never really had margarine, only butter.”
“That’s just really gross. Stop.” I reached for the bottle, poured a bit in the cup he had and sipped it. I gasped. “Still not any better.”
“I know. So …” He put down the margarine. “You were talking about a salad?”
“What?” I laughed. “No.” I finished the little bit of booze and set the cup down. “Why do you think I was talking about a salad?”
“You said ‘wedge’.”
“Oh, yeah, I did. No, I was saying the type of twister that hit us back there was a wedge. There are five types of tornados.’
“I know this,” Lane said. “F-1 through F-5 or something.”
“No, that’s the Fujita scale. I’m talking types, they come in different shapes and sizes. The wedge is the most powerful. It’s fat, too. The cone the one everyone thinks of when they think of a tornado.”
Martin approached. “I heard you, can I get in on this?”
“In on what?” I asked.
“Guessing the types of tornados,” Martin replied. “You’re quizzing, right?”
“No, I’m just informing my husband.”
“Oh, because I know them,” Martin said. “There’s more than five but the basics are wedge, cone, rope, multi vortex and waterspouts.”
“Wow,” I said with little enthusiasm. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you knew them considering you were the one that said a tornado can’t change direction.”
“I never said that. I said it can’t hone in on us and chase us, I said we can change directions. You don’t listen.” Martin lowered to the ground to join us. “And just like that last one did, tornados can lose speed if the storm gets under them and just stop or back up. Bet you did …” His eyes widened. “Hey, where did you find that?” he pointed to the bottle. “That’s a treasure find of bourbon. I know you didn’t buy it. Did you pick it out of the rubble somewhere?”
Lane cleared his throat. “You can say that.”
“Supposedly one of the finest bourbons there is,” Martin said. “Cost a couple grand a bottle. That’s why I never opened mine. I see that’s open. Mind if I try it?”
“Sure.” I handed him a cup and the bottle. “It’s not very impressive though.”
Martin poured some, sniffed it, then brought it to his lips. He took the tiniest of drinks. “Wow, this is good. Now I’m sorry, I didn’t search my house for my bottle.”
I shrugged. “You didn’t want to.”
“You’re right. Besides, it’s only bourbon.” He stood. “I’m going to take this with me.”
Lane and I remained quiet until he walked away.
“Oh, Jana, I thought he was going to flip,” Lane said. “He has no clue.”
“I know. He would be mad. Do you feel guilty for not telling him?”
“Absolutely not.” Lane poured himself another drink, then grabbed another one of those little margarine servings and opened it.
✽✽✽
The plan was to sleep until the storm calmed enough for us to safely leave. We had arrived at the garage late in the afternoon, and the storm only increased. First it was a steady rain, then it grew stronger with intermittent, loud and booming thunder, then as late evening set in, things would occasionally blow down the ramp along with the water. Nothing big, small items like trash.
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We couldn’t leave any of the vehicles running, but I was able to charge my phone in Lane’s truck, plus I took advantage, like everyone else, that there was a signal in Joplin.
All information gathered was from social media. News outlets hadn’t updated in over twelve hours.
To me, the only information I wanted, was what was ahead of us.
Finally, Julius responded to my message I had send four hours earlier.
He apologized for the delay. He said he was putting together a few rescue teams in case anyone had to arrive on foot or was lost.
Julius told me to make sure I try to come in on either Internet Sixty-Four, Route Sixty or Route Two-Nineteen. He planned on placing people there until they had to pull back for the shelter for safety reasons.
Too many people, he told me, where in route, messaging him and, like me, had gotten held up or ran into trouble. The few exceptions were those already close.
I made I sure did a screen shot of what he said, messaging would be hard to pull up without a signal. I wanted to make sure I remembered it exactly.
‘They are launching a Jupiter Correction mission,’ he had written. ‘Twenty-nine Geo missiles will be fired in twelve hours in an attempt to break the massive storms.'
“Will it work?” I asked.
“We’ll know within twenty-four hours,” he said. “It will take twenty-four hours, give or take an hour.”
“What will happen? We’ll know right?”
“Absolutely. Either it works, the clouds break and the sun shines or Ares forms. If you are not in the safety region by then, anyone not in the safety region will probably never make the safety region.”
Then something strange happened. Not that it was uncommon, but it wasn’t on purpose. It was something I had done a ton of times with that stupid messaging app. I went to swipe down to close it out and I accidentally hit ‘video chat’.
It rang once and then he hit ‘end’ because the call was dropped.
I should have thought nothing of it, I mean, how many times had I been chatting with someone and they accidentally called me. And knowing it was an accident, I sometimes hit ‘ignore’, but why did Julius?
He couldn’t have possibly known it was an accidental call. How was he to know there wasn’t something important I had to tell him.
Winds of Ares: An Apocalypse Thriller Page 8
