by J. R. Tate
“Gibson, come in!”
Dead air. Why wasn’t he answering? Grabbing her phone, she dialed his number, but it went straight to voice mail. He was never one to be diligent about answering it, but right now, it wasn’t sitting well with her. It was one thing to ignore a phone call, but he never ignored the fire department on the radio.
She began to pace because it was the only thing she could think to do. She couldn’t go out and look for him – there was no way in hell she’d take Ty out in it. She couldn’t call Lieutenant Cannady or Chief Rayburn. They were far too busy making sure Harper Springs was safe.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Ty stuck his head out of his room. At five-years-old, the boy was very observant.
“Nothing, baby. There’s a big storm and I’m just watching it on TV.” Cecilia pointed toward the television and forced a smile.
“Is daddy out there in it?”
She couldn’t lie to him. “Yes. He’s out there watching it, Ty.” She bit her bottom lip to fight off the emotions. “Go back to your room and play. I’m about to make you a snack.”
His eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened. Thank goodness it was easy to transition him to something else and get his mind off of reality. But the boy was smart. He knew what was going on, even if he didn’t ask any more questions.
She focused back on the weather report, but couldn’t hear what the meteorologist was saying over the radio traffic on the scanner. Every time someone relayed what they were seeing, she hoped it would be Ryan, but he still hadn’t answered when they called for him. Pulling herself into the kitchen, she watched the sky from the window over the sink. It was dark and rotating, but moving away. Whoever was in the path was suffering.
She grabbed her phone again and dialed her parents. With as unpredictable as everything had been, she had no clue if Fox Lake was under the gun. Her father answered after the second ring, settling her nerves some.
“Dad, it’s Cecilia. Are y’all okay?”
“We’re fine. I was about to call you. How’s the weather there?”
Cecilia sat at the kitchen table and blinked back the warmth in the corner of her eyes. “Just rained a little here. Nothing else. Ryan had to go chase. His lieutenant called and needed some guys out there.”
“Everything okay? You sound like you’re on the verge of crying.”
So much for hiding her emotions. “He’s not answering anyone on the radio.”
“Ryan isn’t?”
“No, Dad. He was there, and then the storm shifted, and now he’s not. I can’t get him to answer his cell phone either. I’m worried. He was just south of it, and then it backtracked toward him.”
There was a short pause and the silence made the knot in her stomach grow. “I’m sure he’s fine. I heard that signal has been lost in those areas. Maybe his radio just isn’t working.”
“I want to think that’s what happened, but I just… I don’t know.”
She leaned back in her chair, and Ty joined her in the kitchen. Before he could say anything, she grabbed a cookie from the pantry and poured him a glass of milk, quickly appeasing him before he hammered her with more questions. Glancing out of the window again, she wished the storm would be completely gone, but the sky was still as dark as night.
“While I have you on the phone, I’ll let you know that we did get the cellar stocked up.”
“Good! I was worried that y’all weren’t taking this seriously.”
Cecilia paced, forcing a smile. “Lots of spam, beef jerky, canned fruit and vegetables. I hope to God we’ll never have to live off of it. There’s a reason I don’t usually buy that crap. We’re so used to the fresh stuff.”
“I hope we won’t have to either.”
She began to say something else, but the rumble of a truck interrupted her train of thought, and she ran to the living room, swinging the door open. Ryan’s pick up was slowly coming down the drive.
“Dad, I gotta go. Ryan made it home. I’ll call you later to check in.”
She ended the call and ran down the steps, meeting him in the driveway. The windshield was smashed and almost gone and smoke billowed from under the hood. The dents in the vehicle were bigger than anything she had ever seen, like a giant had slammed his foot on top of it. But what caught her attention the most was the gaze on Ryan’s face – unemotional and flat as he put what was left of the vehicle in park.
“Ryan… are you okay?”
It took him a second to get out. Swinging the door open, the hinges squeaked. There was blood on his forehead from a gash right under his hairline.
“Ryan? What happened?”
Pushing his hands on the pickup, he shook his head and looked up at the sky. “I’m not sure what the hell I just saw.”
“What do you mean?” She ran her index finger near the wound. It looked like it might need stitches.
“I’m just glad it didn’t hit us. That it didn’t get near Harper Springs.” He swiped his hand across his forehead, smearing the blood. “One second I was behind it, safe, and then it’s like it got slammed in reverse and came right at me. Like I was some kind of pawn in nature’s game.”
“I’m glad you made it home.”
“Barely. I’ve never seen anything like it. Pieces of hail as big as my head. It was like a war movie and we were under attack. I saw some storm chasers right before the storm shifted. I never saw them after that. I don’t know if they made it. And the truck...” He motioned toward it, ducking his head. “There’s no way I’ll be able to salvage it. I didn’t think I’d get it back here.”
“That’s okay, Ryan. You’re home and safe. Though I think you might need to have that looked at.”
He touched his forehead again and wiped the blood on his pants. “Compliments of the windshield. I swear a hailstone the size of a cow came down and did that. But I’m fine. I’m sure the hospitals are packed with people who need help more than I do.”
“At least let me clean it up and make sure there isn’t any glass in it. If it is still bleeding in a little bit, we’re going to the ER.”
He followed her into the house, ducking past Ty’s room before he saw his dad that way. Grabbing some hydrogen peroxide and some cotton balls, she motioned toward the edge of the bed. Surprisingly, Ryan wasn’t putting up too much of a fight. Either he was too tired or he knew they needed to take care of the injury.
Dabbing the cotton ball in the medicine, she gently ran it across the cut. Ryan cringed and closed his eyes, and the liquid foamed around it. She cleaned up the dried blood on his skin, and applied another round of peroxide, satisfied when the foam stopped.
“I don’t see any glass, but we need to check it again after the swelling goes down. If the swelling goes down,” she corrected herself, cutting a piece of gauze that would fit perfectly over the wound. “Ty is gonna want to know what happened.”
“And I’ll tell him. No sense in keeping it from him. There’s no way to hide the truck and he’s not stupid.”
Cecilia sat beside him, holding his hand. “I was listening to the scanner. I was so worried when you stopped answering. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I’d like to say I was perfectly safe. If I had been five seconds slower in turning around, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
She bit her bottom lip and looked into his eyes. “Was that the big one all the old timer’s said we were due for?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was pretty good about tracking these things, but then this happened and it makes me realize I still have a lot to learn about weather. I want to say this was just a strong pattern that cleared out the atmosphere and we’re good for a while, but now I’m going to second guess everything.” He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into the hamper. “I need to check in with the department. I hope everyone got back safely.”
“Me too, Ryan.” His demeanor was unsettling. What exactly had he witnessed?
Chapter Four
R
yan’s head throbbed and his shoulders ached. It was a little past midnight and insomnia had struck. Rolling on his side, he watched Cecilia as she slept, her breath shallow, her head buried in the pillow. Pulling the covers off, he padded to the bathroom, studying his reflection. The gauze was halfway off, and he peeled the rest of the tape back, tossing the soiled bandage in the trash.
The cut was beginning to bruise, and it pounded with the quickening of his pulse. Maybe Cecilia was right – he probably should have it looked at. The bleeding had stopped, but it looked nasty.
Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he stepped out on the back porch. It was chilly out, and he wished he would have grabbed a sweater. The air was damp and humid, but the sky was clear, revealing a bright blanket of stars. It was refreshing to see it. He loved intense weather and spring was his favorite season, but with the afternoon he had experienced, he would be happy if the rest of spring was calm and dry. He’d deal with a drought if it meant not having to deal with storms of that caliber again.
Sipping on the beer, he finished it and tossed the bottle into the yard. Thinking about how lucky he had been, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Every man on the fire department with him had been accounted for, each one making it home safe and sound. There was no word on the storm chasers he had talked to, and there had been no mention of them on TV. No news was good news. They’d probably get media attention if they were missing or had been killed.
When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the storm coming right at him. It was like it was alive, and the thunder was its loud growl, ready to devour him. The rotation was a black hole with one purpose – to suck him up and make him disappear. There were reports of people constantly going missing during tornadoes, and it was true – had those chasers not warned him about the shift in direction, he was a dead man.
The whole time he was attempting to outrun it, he thought about Cecilia and Ty. They were his whole inspiration to keep going, to push the pickup past its limit. It was nothing short of a miracle that the thing had survived long enough to get him home, barely making it down the highway, crippled, limping, and on the verge of falling apart right in the middle of the road.
He wondered how long it’d take for him to not see the tornadic supercell every time he closed his eyes. Call it PTSD, call it being a wimp, call it whatever you want – he was not going to let it intimidate him. If the same thing happened tomorrow, he’d be ready to do his duty and protect his family. He’d go storm spot for the department if it meant getting people to safety before the storm came bearing down on them.
Walking toward the cellar, he lifted the door and went down the wobbly steps. The musty scent from before was even stronger, and he pulled the chain on the light, brightening the small hole in the ground. The bags of groceries they had bought earlier were in the same spot, and he went through each one, organizing them.
Maybe they wouldn’t need to worry about it. Maybe this was the big one, as Cecilia had asked, and it’d be several more years before the weather patterned back.
Clutching a can of peaches, he peeled the label. “Mother nature, you’re a mean bitch.”
He laughed and put the can back with the others. Closing the cellar, he still wasn’t tired, so he went to his truck, his heart sinking at the sight of it. They didn’t have the money to get a new vehicle, and since he was storm chasing, insurance would never cover the damage. Working on cars was what he knew better than anything else, but even the task of getting it drivable again seemed impossible.
He lifted the hood and with help from the full moon, he was able to get a good view of the engine. It wasn’t in good shape, but the frame and bodywork was where the biggest challenge would be. Fidgeting with a few things, he ran his hands down the side of his shirt and closed the hood.
Sitting on the first step of the front porch, he looked up at the sky again. The brunt of the bad stuff was over. It had to be. Lightning never struck in the same place twice.
~~
“I kinda like you giving me a ride to work.” Ryan leaned over the console and kissed Cecilia. “It gives us a few more minutes together. Wanna meet for lunch?”
“I’ve gotta go to the school and eat with Ty. They’re having some program where they want all the moms to come in. I think he brought the letter home about it last week. I promised him I’d do it.”
Patting her thigh, he got out of the car. “I’ll call you when I’m about done. Love you.” He nodded toward Mrs. McElroy but he couldn’t get caught up chatting with her today. She’d probably have a lot to say about the storms, and by the looks of the garage, lots of people were lining up to get estimates on hail damage.
“Good morning, Ryan!”
“Morning, Mrs. McElroy. We’ll come by here in a bit and get some coffee!” Hoping she’d get the hint, he went inside and the waiting room of the shop was full of people.
“Ryan, we’ve got about twenty-five people who need repairs done.” Justin handed him a clipboard. “Most have hail damage and shattered windows.”
“I feel their pain,” Ryan replied.
“Yeah, I saw the wifey drop you off. Your truck not so lucky?”
“The wifey is currently my bus ticket, yes.” Ryan studied the list. “My truck is currently in bad shape, but I’ll get her running again. With as busy as we are, I may never get to go home to do it.” He motioned toward the cars parked, taking up every bit of free space in the garage. “Is there anything we can fix fast? Something minor?”
“Define minor,” Justin replied, his smile nervous.
“Something that won’t take all damn day. We’ll have to triage everything and prioritize it based off of that.”
“Triage?” Justin arched his eyebrow and took the clipboard from Ryan. The kid was a hard worker, but anything past spark plugs, engines, and brakes and he was clueless.
“Triage. You know, like what they do at hospitals. They see what is worse and what can wait to figure out where the hell to start.”
“Ah!” Justin snapped his fingers. “Gotcha. Well, we’ve got a few cars with some minor dents. Then we’ve got some that were brought in on trailers.”
Ryan went into the waiting room, trying to figure out what to do. There were only three certified mechanics on staff, including him.
“Ryan, how long do you think it’ll take to fix my truck?” Several people asked the same questions, all of them speaking at once. Why were there so many people? He was the only mechanic shop in town, but Harper Springs didn’t even get hit by the storm. Or maybe they had before it had shifted. Cecilia’s car was okay, but they were ten miles outside of the city limits. It seemed like there was a narrow window where you either got hit hard, or you didn’t get anything at all.
“If your car is currently drivable and safe on the road, I’m going to have to ask you to come back. We’re at capacity for what we can work on, so please, if you’re just here for some hail damage, you’ll have to be put on a waiting list. I’ll be more than happy to work on your cars, but right now I just can’t get to them.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
Ryan couldn’t pinpoint who asked the question, so he just directed the answer in the general vicinity of where the voice came from. “I’m not sure. Justin has taken your information down and we’ll call you as soon as we can get you in. I’m going to get back there and start working on the vehicles who are in the worst shape, and then I’ll have a ballpark figure of where we stand with the rest of you.”
He didn’t give anyone a chance to refute his decision and went to work on a truck that looked almost as bad as his. When he saw the name on the work order, he understood why – it was Chief Rayburn’s, and he had been chasing the same night Ryan’s truck had gotten demolished.
Rather than think about the past twenty-four hours, he dug into his work. Justin tackled another vehicle with the same caliber of damage, and the other mechanic didn’t say a word when he came in, knowing the task at hand and getting down to it. With as
complex as the vehicle damage was, they were in over their heads. He figured if he came in at six AM and worked twelve hour days, he might be able to make a dent in them, but that took away his time with his family and fixing his own truck.
“Gibson, what’s the verdict on my truck?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Ryan cleaned his hands off with a rag, but the oil was so thick that it was useless. Chief Rayburn stood at the entrance of the garage, his arms folded over his chest. Sometimes he was hard to read, coming off brash and hard, but sometimes he seemed to have a decent sense of humor.
He joined Ryan, standing over the open hood. “It took in a lot of water, Chief. Might need a whole new engine.”
His superior shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Shit. Probably worth more than the truck is. Can you get your hands on an engine?”
“I can try, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”
“Well, it’s a Dodge. At least it’s not foreign. And you’re sure it needs a new one?”
Ryan straightened his posture and glanced at Justin. He worked fast and was finishing up a windshield on an old Chevrolet Cavalier. “I’m about ninety-five percent sure that it’s the engine. Have you contacted your insurance company?”
Chief Rayburn raised his eyebrows and shifted his weight. “I have, but as you know, they won’t cover it. They know damn well what I was out doing. It’s no mystery. Damn, I should’ve never driven through that low spot off of Roger’s Dam. I probably floated for a good thirty seconds before the truck grounded itself again.” He slammed his hand on the hood with a loud thud.
“I guess you can drive one of the department’s trucks until we can get this fixed, but I wouldn’t count on it happening for at least a week, maybe even longer.” Ryan wiped his hands again. “My truck is in pretty bad shape too. I was able to get it home, but I don’t think I can squeeze much more out of it.”