leather desk chair, he laid the cookies on the blotter right next to the tall glass of milk and pulled on his socks and boots before settling down to his little feast. One cookie into it, however, he lost his enthusiasm for the second.
What was wrong with him? Even during his timein the hospital he hadn’t felt like this. Fear as real as the chair beneath him gripped his heart, and he began to pray with a fervency that bordered on panic. In the midst of it he found himself remembering the last verse of the forty-second Psalm.
“Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.”
He lifted his head. Something was wrong. The hair rose on his forearms and the back of his neck. His skin prickled and tightened. He felt the crack of thunder in time to turn his head to see the flash outside the window. In that blink of light he saw the branches of the trees swaying wildly. A moment ago it had been as still as death without a breeze of any sort, but in the time it had taken him to dress and come downstairs for a glass of milk and some cookies, a storm had arisen. Storm. The word whirled through his mind, followed instantly by another, much more ominous.
Tornado.
Jumping to his feet, he hurried out onto the front porch, right to the edge of the steps, where he paused, steadying himself with one hand on a sturdy square column. The smell of rain filled his head and lungs, but even as the wind died away to a chilling breeze, lights began to come on around town. He watched them, one by one, then caught sight of a police vehicle at least two blocks down, speeding toward him with flashing colored lights.
The warning siren must have sounded, which meant that a twister had actually been sighted! And as deaf as he was to the alarm, Becca and the kids would be, too. The horn was mounted atop a pole on the edge of the school grounds and could not possibly wake them from a sound sleep so far from the center of town. Rain began to pour down in sheets, as suddenly as if someone had turned on a tap. It was foolhardy to drive in such a tempest, but he couldn’t take the risk that the storm would miss Becca’s place.
Galvanized, he ran back into the house, taking the stairs two and three at a time as he made for his bedroom. Grabbing keys, wallet and a flashlight from the nightstand, he pelted back down the stairs and out of the house to the truck parked in the carport. He gunned the engine in Reverse all the way out into the street, then forward as fast as he could go, the rear end slewing from side to side on the rain-slicked street.
The trip out to Becca’s house had never seemed longer, even as the rain began to let up. When he turned off the county road onto her sandy drive, he wondered why in the world anyone would build a house so far off the road. As he bumped over the last little rise, the truck rocked crazily, and it was then that he saw the gray funnel cloud begin to dip down out of the churning black mass overhead, and he laid on the horn. The flashing red light on his warning panel let him know that it was indeedblowing. He could only pray that they had time to get to safety.
Bailing out of the truck before the engine had even died, he crammed the flashlight into his back pocket and ran for the house. Becca met him on the porch in her nightgown and robe. The air had grown ominously still again.
“Get to the cellar!”
Eyes wide, she turned back into the house without a word, and he followed, right on her heels, straight to the kids’ room. Becca went to the crib, and as Jemmy roused, Dan swept her up into his arms.
“Hang on to my neck.”
He realized that Becca was grabbing clothing, and he took it from her, bundling it into his arms with Jemmy even as he pushed Becca back into her own bedroom. He gave her two seconds to snatch up what she could for herself, then seized her by the arm and propelled her into the living room and across it
What was wrong with him? Even during his timein the hospital he hadn’t felt like this. Fear as real as the chair beneath him gripped his heart, and he began to pray with a fervency that bordered on panic. In the midst of it he found himself remembering the last verse of the forty-second Psalm.
“Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.”
He lifted his head. Something was wrong. The hair rose on his forearms and the back of his neck. His skin prickled and tightened. He felt the crack of thunder in time to turn his head to see the flash outside the window. In that blink of light he saw the branches of the trees swaying wildly. A moment ago it had been as still as death without a breeze of any sort, but in the time it had taken him to dress and come downstairs for a glass of milk and some cookies, a storm had arisen. Storm. The word whirled through his mind, followed instantly by another, much more ominous.
Tornado.
Jumping to his feet, he hurried out onto the front porch, right to the edge of the steps, where he paused, steadying himself with one hand on a sturdy square column. The smell of rain filled his head and lungs, but even as the wind died away to a chilling breeze, lights began to come on around town. He watched them, one by one, then caught sight of a police vehicle at least two blocks down, speeding toward him with flashing colored lights.
The warning siren must have sounded, which meant that a twister had actually been sighted! And as deaf as he was to the alarm, Becca and the kids would be, too. The horn was mounted atop a pole on the edge of the school grounds and could not possibly wake them from a sound sleep so far from the center of town. Rain began to pour down in sheets, as suddenly as if someone had turned on a tap. It was foolhardy to drive in such a tempest, but he couldn’t take the risk that the storm would miss Becca’s place.
Galvanized, he ran back into the house, taking the stairs two and three at a time as he made for his bedroom. Grabbing keys, wallet and a flashlight from the nightstand, he pelted back down the stairs and out of the house to the truck parked in the carport. He gunned the engine in Reverse all the way out into the street, then forward as fast as he could go, the rear end slewing from side to side on the rain-slicked street.
The trip out to Becca’s house had never seemed longer, even as the rain began to let up. When he turned off the county road onto her sandy drive, he wondered why in the world anyone would build a house so far off the road. As he bumped over the last little rise, the truck rocked crazily, and it was then that he saw the gray funnel cloud begin to dip down out of the churning black mass overhead, and he laid on the horn. The flashing red light on his warning panel let him know that it was indeedblowing. He could only pray that they had time to get to safety.
Bailing out of the truck before the engine had even died, he crammed the flashlight into his back pocket and ran for the house. Becca met him on the porch in her nightgown and robe. The air had grown ominously still again.
“Get to the cellar!”
Eyes wide, she turned back into the house without a word, and he followed, right on her heels, straight to the kids’ room. Becca went to the crib, and as Jemmy roused, Dan swept her up into his arms.
“Hang on to my neck.”
He realized that Becca was grabbing clothing, and he took it from her, bundling it into his arms with Jemmy even as he pushed Becca back into her own bedroom. He gave her two seconds to snatch up what she could for herself, then seized her by the arm and propelled her into the living room and across it
Similar Books
