Tornado Alley

by Marlane Kennedy

  “Maybe you shouldn’t move,” Alison said.

  “No. I’m fine.” He tried again and this time managed to crawl out despite the pain. Wyatt and the others gathered around, helped him up, and supported him as he hobbled on one foot. Slowly, they inched their way around the broken glass and away from the smashed bits of truck.

  “I’m still feelin’ a little woozy,” Mr. Anderson said as he promptly collapsed to the ground. The gash on his forehead trickled a steady stream of blood that soaked his shirt bright red.

  The sight made Wyatt feel sick. Dizzy. Like he was going to pass out. “I’m not feelin’ so hot either,” he said.

  “Why don’t you sit down and put your head between your knees,” Alison suggested to her cousin.

  Wyatt wanted to help his dad, but if he fainted, he wouldn’t be any good to anyone at all. He did as he was told.

  “Jackson — you’re wearing an undershirt, right?” Alison asked. “Maybe you should take it off.”

  Jackson looked at her like she had lost her senses. He squinted in confusion. “What?”

  “I was just thinking maybe I could use your undershirt to make a compress for Uncle Ted’s wound,” she explained. “You know, to stop the bleeding.”

  “Oh, okay.” Jackson began taking off his shirt while Alison studied the gash on Mr. Anderson’s forehead.

  “You may need a few stitches,” she told her uncle, “but we’ll try to slow the bleeding until we can get you to a hospital. There’s a bump, too. Do you think you got a concussion? You were unconscious, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I just remember the tornado turning back on me and the truck lifting off the ground. Then nothing until I heard Wyatt’s voice.”

  Jackson handed his white T-shirt to Alison and she folded it into a thick square, pressing it against the gaping, bloodied gash.

  “What can I do?” Joshua asked.

  “Drag over the toolbox that was thrown from the back of the truck,” Alison said. “We can use it to prop Uncle Ted’s leg up.” She took off her uncle’s boot and rolled up his jeans. “Looks puffy, but not too weird. Hopefully you didn’t break any bones. Keeping your foot raised will help keep it from swelling too much for now,” she said.

  As Alison played nurse to her uncle, Wyatt began to breathe easier and the light-headed, queasy feeling faded. He felt a rush of gratitude for his cousin. She seemed to know what she was doing. He lifted his head from his knees. “How did you learn all this stuff?” he asked.

  “What stuff?” she asked.

  “First aid.”

  She shrugged like it was no big deal. “Girl Scouts. I earned a badge.”

  “Did you see the first tornado, Dad?” Wyatt asked.

  Mr. Anderson nodded. “I was busy mending the fence line and noticed a storm was brewing. Didn’t think much of it and was trying to get as much done as I could before it hit. By the time I looked up from the fence line and actually saw the tornado, it looked like it was over our place. I was so worried about y’all. I was on my way back to the house to check on you when the second one touched down. How’s everything at home?” he asked, concern lining his face. “Any damage?”

  “Part of the barn roof is gone. Our front porch was totaled. And the garage is a mess,” Wyatt told his father.

  “Nothing that can’t be repaired,” his father said. He took the T-shirt compress from Alison and continued to press it against his head.

  Wyatt was about to tell his father about Licorice running off, but before he could say anything, Mr. Anderson twisted his neck around and said, “I’ve lost my bearings. Now, which direction did the second twister go?”

  Everyone had been so concerned with Wyatt’s father that they’d forgotten the tornado might still be wreaking havoc on the countryside.

  “Over there!” Joshua exclaimed.

  The group stared off past a broken fence line. All the hard work Wyatt’s father had done to repair it was gone in an instant when the tornado had carelessly ripped its posts from the ground. The fast-moving tornado was already miles away, its funnel still descended from the darkened sky, tracing the ground with a brown whirlpool of dust.

  “It looks like it’s headed for our ranch,” Jackson said.

  Joshua, his eyes never leaving the tornado, put a hand on Mr. Anderson’s shoulder. “Are you okay for now?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Mr. Anderson said. The trickle of blood from his head was beginning to cake and dry.

  Before anyone could say or do anything, Joshua took off running for one of the four-wheelers. The younger of the Petree boys called over his shoulder, “I’ve got to check on Mom and Dad!”

  “Wait!” Jackson yelled after him, but it was no use. Joshua had already started the motor and was off. Jackson shook his head in despair and rushed toward the other four-wheeler. “I’ve got to go after my brother,” he told everyone.

  “You go with Jackson,” Alison urged Wyatt. “I’ll stay here with Uncle Ted.”

  Once again, Wyatt felt grateful to have his cousin around. He didn’t mind her silly pink ballet T-shirt anymore. Or her mushy, sappy way with Duncan. Or that she occasionally broke out in giggles. He never imagined she’d turn out to be someone he could count on. But she was. Now he could help his friends check on their family the way they just helped him check on his. His father was in good hands. He bolted after Jackson, not waiting to hear what his father would have to say about the matter.

  Wyatt hopped on the already revved-up four-wheeler, and he and Jackson zipped off toward the funnel, chasing it in a race they could not win.

  * * *

  By the time the Petree ranch came into view, the twister was long gone, but it had made its powerful presence known. Jackson let out a whimper, and when Wyatt saw why, his jaw dropped. Joshua and Jackson lived in a large two-story house, but now it was missing most of its second floor.

  As they sped closer, Wyatt gasped. Two navy-blue painted bed frames lay broken in the front yard. A brown bedspread hung, flapping, from a tree. Splintered beams that once held up the roof of the second floor lay scattered, like a large-scale version of pick-up sticks. Pink insulation dotted the landscape.

  Wyatt was surprised to see Mr. Petree’s truck parked by an outbuilding. Both appeared untouched, looking strangely out of place among the destruction. Once they were close enough, Jackson parked the four-wheeler next to the one Joshua had been riding.

  Joshua stood nearby holding his head in his hands. He looked like he was about to crumple, but then he took a breath and, with a look of determination, stumbled forward toward the house.

  Jackson grabbed his brother by the arm, steadying him. “It will be all right. Come on. We need to check for Mom and Dad in the storm cellar,” he said.

  Wyatt followed his friends to the rear of the house where they found something new to worry about. An enormous pile of debris from the second floor, including a heavy dresser drawer, covered the cellar doors.

  “If they’re down there, we can’t reach them this way. We need to go through the house,” Jackson said.

  Wyatt ran to the front of the house along with his friends. He peeked into a broken window. The first floor was still standing, but everything was a mess. The family room, which Mrs. Petree usually kept clean and tidy, was strewn with upset furniture, papers, and books.

  Joshua threw open the front door and rushed inside. “Mom! Dad!” he yelled.

  “Wait!” Wyatt said. “Slow down! We need to be careful!”

  Joshua ignored his warning, so Wyatt and Jackson had no choice but to follow him. Once they caught up to him inside the entry hall, they were met with an unsettling sight. The stairway that had once run up to the bedrooms now led to only a small bit of the second floor that still existed, and beyond that was open sky.

  “Hey! I hear something up there!” Joshua said. “Maybe Mom and Dad are trapped!”

  Before Wyatt could stop him, Joshua raced up the flight of stairs.

  “Don’t!” Jackson calle
d after his brother. “The floor up there can’t be stable!”

  But Joshua was on a mission. He had to find his parents. It was as if he couldn’t hear anything or anyone over the panicked voices inside his head.

  Once again, Jackson and Wyatt started after him. But just as they dashed up the steps, the stairs groaned under their feet.

  Creak! Wyatt felt the staircase shift. Joshua screamed. Instinctively, Wyatt reached out to grab on to the railing.

  But it was no use.

  The entire staircase gave way. Wyatt felt an awful lurch and suddenly he was falling … flailing … and crashing to the ground.

  Wyatt’s body slammed into the sharp edge of the stairs where they met the floor below. Before he could so much as blink, a large chunk of drywall fell on top of him. It took him a moment to register what had happened and to fill his lungs with air. His arm hurt, but he managed to push the drywall off and look around.

  Jackson, lying only inches away, coughed out a mouthful of dust and rubbed the back of his head, shaking loose a dusting of powder that coated his long dark hair.

  Wyatt struggled to stand up on the pile of twisted wood that was once the staircase. His arm was scraped, and he would probably sport a couple of bruises in the days to come, but otherwise he seemed okay. “Where’s Joshua?” he asked.

  Jackson looked around in a wide-eyed panic. He began sifting like crazy through the debris next to him.

  Joshua was near the top, Wyatt thought. That meant he had the farthest to fall! Wyatt glanced up … and noticed Joshua’s familiar boots dangling from above. A pair of legs thrashed back and forth frantically. They were attached to a torso and arms that clung to a banister spindle that still stubbornly remained on the second-floor landing.

  “Joshua?” Wyatt asked.

  “Who do you think! Get me down from here!”

  Jackson couldn’t help but laugh.

  Wyatt grinned.

  The two of them got into place on either side of the dangling legs. They steadied themselves on the uneven floor and reached their arms up. “Drop down, buddy, we got ya,” Wyatt called.

  “You sure?” Joshua asked nervously.

  Wyatt touched his ankle. “Inch backward and it’ll only be a short drop.”

  Joshua slowly slid himself until his balance shifted and he lost his grasp. Jackson and Wyatt helped break his fall, but they all landed in a heap.

  Before Joshua could even joke about what “supportive” friends he had, they heard muffled noises from the rear of the house. Yelling and pounding.

  “Mom! Dad!” Jackson sprang to his feet.

  The three boys picked their way to the kitchen at the back of the house.

  The ruckus was coming from the other side of a door that led to the cellar. But they couldn’t just open it. The Petrees’ refrigerator had toppled over and blocked the door from being opened.

  “Jackson! Joshua!” Wyatt heard Mr. Petree shout. “Is that you? Are you out there? Are you hurt?”

  “I know I heard them,” Mrs. Petree cried. “They were screaming. Something crashed. Oh, please let them be all right. Please, please, please …”

  “Mom, it’s us!” Joshua made his way closer to the door. “We’re okay! How are you?”

  “We’re fine!” his mother answered.

  “Just trapped,” his father said. “Both the outside and inside doors won’t budge.”

  The three boys gathered around the refrigerator.

  “There’s no way we can lift this thing,” said Jackson. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ve got to try something,” Joshua pleaded. “We’ve got to get them out!”

  Wyatt knew how his friends must be feeling. Powerless. That’s how he felt when he couldn’t stop the tornado from hitting his dad’s truck. “Why don’t we push really hard and see if we can move it over.”

  After some straining, they were able to shove over the refrigerator just enough for the cellar door to swing open, and almost instantly Mr. and Mrs. Petree were rushing for their boys. Mrs. Petree hugged each one in turn, and then she hugged Wyatt, too. “We saw the tornado coming and made it to the cellar, but I was so worried about you. It was awful knowing you were miles away and there was nothing I could do!”

  Mr. Petree looked around the kitchen at the destruction the tornado had wrought. Broken dishes. Furniture tossed about. Everything in shambles. “Oh, what a mess!” he said. “It sounded like the tornado hit us, but I was hoping the old house would be okay. Down in the cellar I had no idea …” His voice trailed off.

  “Most of the second floor is gone,” Jackson told his parents.

  Mrs. Petree looked on the verge of tears, but she took a deep breath. “I am just so thankful we’re all okay. I think I could take just about anything but losing you boys.”

  “How’s your place?” Mr. Petree asked Wyatt.

  “Better off than yours,” Wyatt said. “Our house made it through. Our garage and barn weren’t as lucky. But my dad was caught in an open field in his truck. The tornado tossed him around …” Wyatt’s voice trembled a bit. “He’s hurt — not badly — but he should probably go to the emergency room. His truck is totaled. My cousin, Alison, stayed with him while we came looking for you guys.”

  “Our truck looks okay, Dad. I saw it parked just like always. Not a dent,” Jackson said. “Maybe you and Wyatt could go help Mr. Anderson?”

  “Sure thing. I’d be happy to.”

  “What about your mother?” Mrs. Petree asked Wyatt.

  “She was running errands in town. I’m hoping none of the tornadoes made it over there.”

  “Tornadoes?” Mrs. Petree asked. “You mean there was more than the one we saw?”

  “There were two. At least that I know of,” said Wyatt.

  “Must have been a supercell storm,” Mr. Petree said. He walked to a broken window and looked outside. A ripped curtain, which hung at a crooked angle, flapped in the gentle breeze.

  The rest of the family crowded around. It looked like any ordinary day. So much so that Wyatt thought it was a little spooky.

  Joshua and Jackson stayed behind with their mother to begin sorting through the wreckage. Wyatt and Mr. Petree jumped in his truck to head out for the pasture where Wyatt had left his father and Alison. When the truck came into view, its crumpled body overturned and damaged beyond repair, Mr. Petree gasped in amazement. “Your father — he was in that truck when the tornado hit?”

  Wyatt nodded. In the distance, he saw Alison stand up and wave her arms over her head.

  “There he is!” Wyatt shouted. His father lay on the ground beside Alison. As they drove closer, Mr. Anderson managed to lift his body into a sitting position and began waving as well. He must have been feeling at least a little okay.

  Mr. Petree pulled up his truck next to them and hopped out. “You certainly are a lucky one,” he said to his neighbor, shaking his head at the battered truck.

  “Don’t I know it,” Mr. Anderson said. “How’d you folks fare?”

  “We’re okay, but the house isn’t. The whole second story is gone.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” Wyatt’s dad shook his head in sympathy. “Anything we can do to help, just let us know.”

  “Thanks,” Mr. Petree said. “But first things first. We need to get you to the emergency room.” He knelt down. “Wyatt said that you may need stitches. And that your ankle is bothering you. Can you walk?”

  Mr. Anderson waved him off. “The emergency room can wait. If my wife comes home from town and can’t find anyone she’ll be frantic. I tried calling, but the nearest cell tower must be down. If you can just drop us off at our place, I’ll wait for her to come back and she can take me in.”

  As Mr. Petree helped lift Mr. Anderson into the back of the pickup truck, Wyatt couldn’t help but worry about his mother. How many tornadoes could a supercell storm spawn? Could one have made it all the way to town?

  Wyatt rode in the back with his father while Alison sat in front with Mr. Petree
for the bumpy trip through the fields back home. Mr. Anderson grimaced from time to time with the jostling his injured ankle took, but he also smiled reassuringly at Wyatt and patted his knee. Wyatt should have been the one comforting his dad, but he was still too upset about the events of the day.

  “Licorice is gone. He crashed through his stall door and bolted right before the tornado hit the barn.” Wyatt moped.

  “He’s a smart horse. And fast,” his father said. “He’ll find his way back.”

  Still, Wyatt’s thoughts went to dark places. Not only about Licorice, but about his mother, too. He remembered watching the news last year when a tornado wiped out an entire Kansas neighborhood. Several hundred houses were flattened. The ranch where he lived sat in mostly open country, but there was a lot more going on in town. What if the grocery store was obliterated?

  As they approached the house, Wyatt practically strained his eyes looking for his mother’s car. It was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t home yet. But by the time they began helping his father out of the back of Mr. Petree’s truck, her green SUV was speeding down the gravel driveway toward them, leaving a trail of dust. She came to an abrupt stop and leapt out of the driver’s-side door. “You’re okay!” she panted. “Everyone in town was talking about the tornadoes!” Wyatt thought his mom looked relieved to see them, but when she took in the missing barn roof and the busted garage and the decimated front porch, her expression changed to one of stunned realization. And when she noticed the dried blood on her husband’s forehead and saw how Mr. Petree was supporting him, it turned to something worse. “Oh, Ted!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m fine, Beth. It’s nothing to be worried about,” Wyatt’s father reassured her. “Alison here was a great nurse, and the doctors at the emergency room will be able to patch me right up. But first I want to tour the property. Make sure none of the cattle are hurt and see what’s what.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Uncle Ted?” Alison asked. “You have to get that cut cleaned or it’ll get infected.”