We had to keep moving, hopefully stay ahead of it and stay safe.
I made my way to the RV to tell Lane and the kids the plan. As I did, I looked back once more at Walter’s car and felt not only sadness, but a tremendous sense of guilt.
The smashed car, the blood, knowing the horror Walter and his family felt as they were sucked up into the weather beast.
Their last moment, their last seconds, it was over so fast.
And all I kept thinking was I had wanted to lighten the load, less vehicles in the convoy, but the tragedy before me was not how I wanted it to happen.
TWELVE – SWEPT
The police came.
We were able to squeeze in that extra ten miles and stay on an eastern course, stopping in Joplin.
The downtown area was dead, no cars on the roads or street, which made me think, at first it was evacuated.
We found my marked U place. A newer corner building located in which probably was a busy intersection, across from the McDonalds.
The garage was there.
It was underground … technically.
Although the woman I spoke to on the phone at the new Enhance Yourself plastic surgery clinic, totally exaggerated on the garage.
When she assured me it was underground, I assumed it was a few levels. Not a straight ramp driveway that sloped down to a single level garage.
It was still underground, and Martin and Skip assured us as long as we stayed toward the farthest end, we’d be fine.
While it had ample height, it wasn’t tall enough for Alice’s truck. We were able to get the school bus in, but to be on the safe side, we unloaded the boxes from the tractor trailer and placed them in the bus.
One would have thought Alice lost her best friend when she had to leave it behind.
After it was unloaded, she moved it somewhere, between two buildings.
It was raining pretty hard; I was surprised a steady flow of water wasn’t making its way down the ramp. It was still early though, chances were, it would, and the garage would get flooded. Alice was soaked when she came back. Perhaps it was her walking into the garage that drew the attention of the authorities.
The police arrived shortly after in a squad car.
It was hopeful to see them, that society was still keeping order. But I could imagine what they thought when they came down to the level and saw the bus, camper, pickup and horse trailer. Not to mention, all of us kind of meandering around.
They were nice enough though. Apparently, there was a curfew and a stay at home and stay safe order.
“Gonna guess you folks aren’t from around here,” the one officer said.
As the designated and reluctant leader, I stepped forward to talk to him. “Officer, this was the best shelter we could find. We’re refugees.”
“I see. There is a tornado warning,” he said.
“This should be safe enough, right?” I asked. “I mean it’s underground.”
“We have community shelters.”
“We have horses.” I pointed.
“I see. Well, I understand that. Be safe. First thing in the morning though, you’ll have to find a better place,” he told us.
I nodded. “I understand and thank you.”
It was easy enough. He stopped on his way back to the squad car to check on the kids, even making a nice ‘what a big guy’ comment about Dooley, the oversized toddler boy.
We would be long gone before he sent someone back to check on us and move us out.
It was cooler in the garage and we couldn’t light a fire. Thankfully, the power was still on in the city and there was enough light in the garage, so the kids didn’t get scared.
With the storm intensifying right above us, I imaged the lights wouldn’t be on for long.
Soup was on the menu, we didn’t have a choice because we didn’t want to waste it.
Liza had brought two frozen bags of soup and they were defrosting quickly.
Everyone ate. We did so off of the paper cups and plastic spoons Liza took from the diner, along with those prewrapped crackers. But few people were really in the mood. They ate out of necessity. The close call with the twister, the loss of Walter and his family hung over our heads.
“A wedge,” I said as I sat down on the ground across from Lane.
He was seated by the RV on a cushion. That bourbon we took from Martin’s was next to him as he swirled his finger around the tiny, round margarine serving provided by Liza.
“Did you hear me?” I asked. “What are you doing?”
“This is good. I never really had margarine, only butter.”
“That’s just really gross. Stop.” I reached for the bottle, poured a bit in the cup he had and sipped it. I gasped. “Still not any better.”
“I know. So …” He put down the margarine. “You were talking about a salad?”
“What?” I laughed. “No.” I finished the little bit of booze and set the cup down. “Why do you think I was talking about a salad?”
“You said ‘wedge’.”
“Oh, yeah, I did. No, I was saying the type of twister that hit us back there was a wedge. There are five types of tornados.’
“I know this,” Lane said. “F-1 through F-5 or something.”
“No, that’s the Fujita scale. I’m talking types, they come in different shapes and sizes. The wedge is the most powerful. It’s fat, too. The cone the one everyone thinks of when they think of a tornado.”
Martin approached. “I heard you, can I get in on this?”
“In on what?” I asked.
“Guessing the types of tornados,” Martin replied. “You’re quizzing, right?”
“No, I’m just informing my husband.”
“Oh, because I know them,” Martin said. “There’s more than five but the basics are wedge, cone, rope, multi vortex and waterspouts.”
“Wow,” I said with little enthusiasm. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you knew them considering you were the
