It frightened the horses and they bucked. Lane calmed them, then they released the ropes that bound them to the vehicle.
Before putting them back safely in the barn, in case we needed them, Lane got in his truck and started it.
The engine turned over without a problem, he drove forward cautiously, then back, making a few turns around the property before driving back.
“It’s feels fine,” Lane said. “No knocking or problems. As long as we take it easy, we should be okay.”
They gathered the horses to take and put them securely in the barn.
Reese had asked about the others, the ones that ran off.
Martin boasted confidence they would find their way back.
Lane’s truck wasn’t new, nor was it one of those obnoxiously big pickup trucks that were nearly luxury vehicles.
The front seat had a pull down middle that enabled it to seat three people, and the back seat was small and narrow.
It was decided Reese would sit up front in the middle with Lane and Martin, while Carlie, Rosie and I squeezed in the coffin size back seat.
I looked at what little seating and breathing room I had. “I can ride in the back,” I said.
Very seriously Martin looked at me. “When I was seventeen, I was riding in the back of Allister Caplin’s pickup with Mary Ellen Boyle. We weren’t going fast, just down a road. Allister hit a bump and Mary Ellen flew out of the back, like a rock, she just flew. She lived, but she had such a bad head injury she thought she was Groucho Marx for eight months. It’s not safe.”
“You realize you could have just said no,” I told him. “Right. Just say no, it’s not safe.”
“Get in the truck, Jana.”
I relented and got in, squeezing tightly in the back. I couldn’t even put a seatbelt on. I was squashed between Carlie and the tiny back side window.
Martin instructed Lane to, “Just drive slow, keep your eye peeled for debris. It might be covered. I’ll help you look.”
“Are you sure?” Rosie asked. “The storm didn't go farther west from here?”
“I’m not sure,” Martin replied. “But I really don’t think it did. I mean it’s quite a ways. I’m willing to bet it stopped a few miles from here. You’ll see. We’ll see a lot of emergency vehicles. You watch. In fact …” he reached for the radio. “We should be able to pick up an Amarillo station. They’re probably talking about it.” He pressed the button.
Nothing.
“Does this work?” Martin asked Lane.
“It did,” Lane replied. “It might have gotten damaged.”
Rosie immediately panicked. “Why is there no radio? Why are we not getting anything from Amarillo?”
“Easy,” Martin said. “The radio got damaged. Rosie, we saw those funnels leave. They were close, they weren’t anywhere near Amarillo.”
“But what if there were more?” Rosie asked. “What if there was another twister?”
“No.” Martin shook his head. “That is highly improbable. The chances of it happening are slim to …” He stopped cold, after a second, he cleared his throat. “None.”
I caught it. Lane looking into the rearview mirror at me.
“Jana.” Martin turned some and looked at me. “Just, you know, in case you have a point with that weather stuff. You don’t happen to have any information, do you?”
“Everything.” I replied. “Every note, article post and picture, printed and put nicely in order in a binder.”
“It wasn’t at the house, was it?” Martin asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s with Becky.”
“Good. Good.” Martin faced forward. After a beat, he turned around again. “Who’s Becky?”
SIX – UNCOVERING BECKY
The first four miles of the journey took longer than we expected. Lane drove cautiously, the road was hard to see. We didn’t spot any other vehicles on the road at all. At least none that were moving. We saw some that had been thrown in the storm, dropped and smashed on the side of the road.
As I peered out my tiny window, I could see to my left the wide divot in the field next to the road. The ground was torn up, a huge path was dug into the earth and I could only deduce it was from the funnels.
The cell tower was twisted and bent, but Skip’s Automotive was untouched.
There wasn’t much in the small, one stop sign town where I had originally busted a radiator hose.
Businesses were on both sides of the street.
Skip’s, the diner and some secondhand store remained standing, even the glass phone booth was undamaged. Yet, the other half of the street had been reduced to rubble and matchsticks.
“How is this possible?” I asked, stepping from the truck.
“Oh, it’s very possible,” Martin replied. “I’ve seen it before. One house fine, the one across the street, destroyed.” He looked around.
I knew what he was looking for … people, some sort of signs of life.
Were they all still in their storm cellars?
No emergency workers, sirens or noises of any kind were around.
It was strange, and I could see on Rosie’s face she was worried, she grew more anxious by the second.
Lane stepped out of the truck, leaving it running, he reached in and lifted Reese out. He set him down, then helped Carlie out as well. He shut the back door, but not the driver’s door.
Martin walked around the truck. “We won’t be long. Are you sure?”
Lane nodded. “We’ll be fine. We’ll be safe here with the kids. You won’t be that long. Maybe we can get some answers.”
“And that old RV of hers fixed. We’ll need some shelter for the night.”
Lane looked at me. “What happened to it?”
“Busted hose,” I answered. “It might be fixed. Skip said he’d have it done today.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Good luck, Martin,” Lane said to him.
“You, too.” He backed up letting Martin get into the truck.
I glanced around trying to see someone, trying to remember if there were any houses in the small town or was it just business.
The wheels
