Tornado Warning (7 page)

Putting it in his waistband of his jeans, he adjusted his shirt to hide it. He went back up and extended the cans to them, each scoffing as they snatched them away.

“Potted meat? You gotta be kidding me. I know you got more shit down there. A guy like you probably stocked up like all those jackasses in line at the grocery store. What else you got?”

“That’s about it.” Ryan felt the heavy gun on his hip, it’s weight a reminder that he wasn’t going to let these guys push him around.

“Bullshit.” One of the men stepped forward, but Ryan stood his ground, not moving away from the cellar entrance. “You believe this guy? Thinks he can take on both of us?” Getting in Ryan’s face, he could smell the man’s stale breath. “Step aside. I’m going down there to see what else you have.”

Ryan didn’t move. How could it already get to this point? Was it really as bad as they were claiming, or were they just seeing an opportunity to rob people?

“Take what I gave you and go. My son is injured and the rest of the food is to keep him healthy until help comes.”

“I got news for you. Ain’t no help coming. Keep telling yourself that, but it’s like the end of the world out there. I already told you that you’re the first person we’ve talked to for miles. No one is coming.”

“Well, you’ll have to go loot someone else because I’m not giving you anything else.”

“He’s a brave man, ain’t he!” The man turned to his friend, and that’s when Ryan took the chance to grab the gun from his pants. Holding it out, he pointed it the stranger, gripping the handle so tight that his knuckles ached. He was trained in how to shoot and handle a gun, but he never had to actually point it at a human being.

“Woah, look at this! He’s even got a gun! Go figure, in Texas of all places!” The sarcasm in the man’s voice was thick, but he was nervous, despite trying to hide it.

“I need you to leave, right now.” Ryan’s voice shook and he took a step closer.

“You don’t have the sack to pull the trigger.”

Ryan raised it in the air and fired one, keeping in mind the minimal supply of ammunition he had. It echoed in the dense air. “The next one will be between your eyes if you don’t start marching back that way.” He pointed the gun toward the road. When it came to his son’s protection, he was willing to do it.

The men took a second, not wanting to show their weakness, but they did as told, taking their time. “We’ll be back. And you better hope we don’t find that silver Toyota you were asking about.”

Ryan clenched his jaw and kept the gun trained on them until they were out of sight. If the thieves and looters were already coming out, he’d have to secure the cellar. He didn’t want to believe that people were already resorting to violence, but in desperate times, people either worked together to make it or they split up and instantly went into survival mode.

With the cellar door gone, he’d have to rig up something that protected them. Fixing the steps would have to wait.

Chapter Seven

Darryl Gibson was surprised that he had made it through the storm. The only thing remaining of his house was his wrap around porch, and he narrowly missed the tornado and hail by a few seconds. Climbing from his cellar, he notated the time on his watch – it was a little after six AM and there was still no sign of the sun. Clouds made everything remain almost as dark as night, and he was shocked when he finally got the first view of all the damage around his place.

Stepping onto the porch, the wood was weak under his boots, bowing with his weight. Several trees remained standing, but the branches were torn up so bad that it’d take a long time to get them back the way they were. He also surveyed all of the uprooted trees – the tornado had unscrewed them like a cork in a wine bottle.

He rarely carried his cell phone with him, but pulled it from his pocket, thankful he had it on him. He wasn’t the best at using it, but he searched through his recent calls and tried to dial Ryan, but nothing happened. It didn’t ring and the screen displayed
“call dropped”
, flashing in bold letters. He worried about Ryan – he had Cecilia and Ty to care for, and hopefully, he was able to get them to safety in time. They had a pretty nice cellar, much better than his that was halfway caved in. It was nothing short of a miracle that it had protected him and it probably wouldn’t be able to handle another storm without the fear of it completely collapsing and burying him alive.

There was also no sign of his horses. He owned ten and they were nowhere to be found. Where were the fire department and ambulances? His closest neighbors were about a half a mile down the road, so he couldn’t tell if they were up and moving around, attempting to get things back in order.

Darryl had been through some big storms, but never one that completely took his house. He had to get to Ryan and check on them. Along with his house, his farm truck was gone. He ran his boot over the oil stain on the gravel driveway where he parked, the only evidence that he even owned a vehicle. With no horses and no vehicle, the trip to Ryan’s house would take a while. He lived south of Harper Springs and Darryl was north, and he estimated that on foot, it would take almost half a day, and that was in good conditions. There was no telling how the highways and roads would be with downed power lines and trees blocking the way.

He tried calling his son again, with the same result. Cell phone signal was shot, and he resisted the urge to break the phone in half. Eventually, it’d serve a purpose again, once things got back to normal, so he slipped it back in his pocket and turned his anger to something else. Kicking a rock as hard as he could, it flew and hit a tree stump a few yards away. How in the hell could this have happened? He had to keep a calm head and think about his next steps – getting to Ryan, Cecilia, and his grandson was important, and along the way, he could check on neighbors.

The silence was so loud – where was everyone, and what would they do if another storm came through?

He needed a horse. With no signs of human life anywhere, what were the chances of actually finding one? They were smarter when it came to weather. That’s how Darryl usually knew the bad stuff  was coming – he’d just watch the pasture, and if the horses were acting strange, it was a good indication they were in for something. But this time, it had caught everyone off guard. Did that include the livestock?

He walked toward the back pasture where he kept them. Only a few pieces of wood stuck out of the ground where the barn had been. There were no wildlife, cows, horses, or anything. A worried feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He was concerned for everyone, but especially his son and family. It had been over a week since he had spoken to Ryan, and he regretted that even though they lived close to each other, they rarely got together.

He had no supplies and food. There was a faucet that had survived only because the plumbing was deep in the ground, and he cupped his hands, sipping water before it slipped between his fingers. Patting his face, he washed the dirt and grit on his skin and it felt rejuvenating. He needed to find something to put water in, especially if he was going to walk toward Ryan’s place. With the changes in weather, it was possible he could run into every anomaly possible. Extreme heat, more severe thunderstorms, and even snow. He couldn’t take it lightly, especially since they were transitioning from winter to spring. There was always the chance of something new, and Darryl shook his head, trying to keep a positive attitude.

Maybe the worst was over. Maybe the atmosphere was cleared out and the sun would show. For now, it was dark and ominous, and he needed a horse and canteen. He had to get moving, for the sake of his livelihood and for the sake of his son’s family. They needed to stick together.

His next big decision was whether he needed to continue to look for a horse, or if he needed to channel his energy toward walking. His horses were good about staying close to the house, and with no sign of them in the field, the chances of them showing back up were slim.

Going back into the cellar, he steadied himself. The hole was compromised before the weather, so he had to be careful that it didn’t finish caving in. He had moved most of his supplies out and to the barn, but he rummaged just in case – maybe he left something behind that would hold water.

In a far cabinet, buried under a mound of dirt, he found a canteen. He was so thrilled that he yelled out in joy. He knew he had one somewhere, and there it was, ready to be picked out for use. It was almost too convenient, but Darryl wasn’t going to question the circumstance. Pulling it out, he dusted it on his jeans, and several dirt clods rolled from the ceiling.

The cellar shook like an earthquake, the weak wooden beams moaning from more force from the dirt surrounding it. Darryl was frozen for a second, watching streams of dirt and mud shoot from above, and finally, he got his feet to move. Sprinting to the steps, he took them up to ground level, moving faster than he ever had in his entire life. The earth imploded behind each step he took, seconds away from swallowing him inside the completely destroyed cellar.

When he was back on solid ground, he turned to look at the destruction. The cellar was nothing more than a large hole, dust floating upward. He had barely shifted the mound of dirt on the inside, and it caused a complete collapse. He was lucky the tornado hadn’t finished the job with him inside, completely helpless.

Clutching the canteen, he wiped the sweat from his brow and ambled over to the faucet. Rinsing it clean, he filled it up and drank almost half of it, his parched lips craving every drop he brought to it. He refilled it and told himself he had to ration it. On foot, the journey to Ryan’s house was going to be a challenge. As long as he stayed hydrated and didn’t run out of water, he could do it. He
had
to do it. There was no other choice.

~~

Ryan hadn’t slept that night. He worried about Ty and about the looters, and with the makeshift piece of metal he had found in a field serving as their only security, he wasn’t able to sit still. He continued to check Ty – with head injuries, sleeping was possibly a bad thing, especially if he had a concussion. He seemed comfortable and didn’t complain about pain. That could also be his body in shock, which meant the longer he was without medical attention, the worse everything would get.

He pulled out some instant coffee and measured out a couple of spoonfuls, stirring it in a plastic cup. He didn’t take the time to heat water up – it was luke-warm, and while it wasn’t the best, it aided in appeasing his caffeine addiction.

Kneeling beside Ty, he watched him for a few seconds. His son was still asleep, and for the first time since the tornado, he looked comfortable. Ryan told himself it was a good thing – he couldn’t harp on the possibility of it being detrimental to his health.

He pulled out a jar of peanut butter. It’d be a good, filling breakfast that wouldn’t take too much out of their surplus. Using the same spoon, he ate a glob and took a sip of coffee. He adjusted the lantern, brightening the cellar. With the piece of metal over the exit, it had made the room pitch black, and he was curious to see what the weather was like outside.

Finishing his coffee, he climbed up the wall and slid the homemade door off. It was cloudy and humid, but the heat hadn’t set in. There was still no sign of the sun, and Ryan was starting to miss it. No wonder people up north got depressed during winter – with no sun, it definitely affected his mood. Or maybe it was the whole situation – he needed to talk to Cecilia, her parents, and his father. He needed to make sure they were all okay and accounted for.

He kept the pistol in his pocket. What if those guys came back with their own weapon? He had to be ready. It was a shame people resorted to that kind of behavior in times like this, instead of pulling together and helping each other out. He would’ve been glad to give them more food, but when they threatened him and his son, Ryan’s protective instinct came out.

He needed to find a way to lock the cellar. With the barn half gone and all of his tools missing, it was going to be a challenge. He kept the sturdy wood separate – his plan with that pile was to rebuild the steps that had been torn to shit. At least he still had the Swiss Army knife in his pocket. He never went anywhere without it, and it’d serve a crucial role in his attempt to rebuild their bunker.

Grabbing the thin branches that were scattered over the ground, he cut thin strips off of them, keeping the pieces as long as possible. Weaving them in and out of each other, he made as many pieces of rope that he could. He braided them, his fingers raw as he tightened the strips. If he couldn’t rebuild the stairs, he could make a stretcher out of what he was finding and get Ty out that way.

“Dad?”

Ty’s voice echoed below, and Ryan shimmied down to meet him. “Hey, Ty. How are you feeling?”

“I’m hungry. What time is it?” He was groggy and rolled on his side, keeping the weight off of his arm.

Ryan glanced at his watch. “Seven AM. Want me to make you some breakfast?” Maybe Ty should get up and walk. He wasn’t a medical expert, so every decision he made in regard to his son had him second guessing himself.

“Yeah. What do we have?” Ty sat up, his dark hair disheveled.

“How about you come over here and help me look through everything?” Ryan motioned toward the cabinet full of food.

Ty hesitated, but swung his legs over the side of the lawn chair and got to his feet, taking a second to gain his composure. He moved forward, taking it slow. Meeting him at the counter, he grabbed one of the bags with his good arm.

“Is that oatmeal?” Ty held up a tan package and shook it.

“Instant oatmeal. Is that what you want?”

“We don’t have a microwave, Dad.”

“No, but I can fire up the camp stove.”

Ty nodded and sat down on the lawn chair, like the small walk to the food had taken everything out of him. “Where’s Mommy? How come she’s not here?”

Ryan felt a lump form in his throat. Connecting a bottle of propane to the stove, he struck a match and lit the front burner. The orange and blue flames were small, but they’d do the trick in warming up water for the oatmeal. He had been trying to find a way to explain it to Ty, but he couldn’t think up the words. The truth was the best thing, even if his son was only five years old.

He stirred the oatmeal into the water and looked at Ty. “She went to the store to get something for supper. And that’s when the storm hit, Ty. I don’t...” Ryan looked down at the stove and back up. “I’m not sure where she is.”

“Did the tornado get her?” Ty’s eyes were red and swollen, maybe from exhaustion, maybe from sadness. It was hard to tell.

“No, Ty. I don’t think the tornado got her.” Ryan hoped to God he was right. He poured the oatmeal into a plastic cup and handed it to Ty. “Let me get you a spoon.”

Ty ate like it was a delicacy, slurping up every last bit. “Can you call her?”

Ryan pulled his cell phone out and turned it on. No signal, no missed calls or messages – his battery life was holding strong, but once it was dead, that was it. “I tried before, but I can try again. I’ll have to do it up there.” He pointed upward. “I’m going to find her, Ty. I promise you, I’ll find her.”

He was in a predicament. He couldn’t leave Ty to go look for Cecilia, and Ty was in no shape to run all over the area in search of his mother. He was showing signs of slow improvement, but it would deteriorate if he didn’t get adequate rest. And the longer Ryan waited, the chances of locating Cecilia grew slimmer. Ryan also didn’t like the fact of leaving the food supply behind. It’d surely be gone by the time they got back, and they also they had a stable structure to protect them in case more severe weather came through. He couldn’t put Ty through it. He couldn’t let anything else happen to his son.

“I’m gonna climb up there real quick and see if I can call her, Ty. Drink your water. All of it.”

At ground level, he felt the emotions bubble up. His worry for Cecilia had been constant on his mind, but this was the first time he felt on the verge of losing his cool. Warmth escaped the corners of his eyes, and the moisture trailed down his cheeks. Swiping the tears with the back of his hand, he paced near the pile of rope he had constructed.

Dialing his wife’s number, there was no response. It ate away about two percent of his battery, so he quickly shut it off. It was a dead end, but he had to try, especially since Ty had requested it. Sliding to the ground, Ryan hugged his knees to his chest and looked up at the sky. How in the hell could this have happened? How come no one was coming to help? Texas was a huge state. Where was Red Cross and FEMA? It was like they were shut off from the entire world.