The wind picked up and seemed to move in every direction.
Racing against the force, across that yard, was a fight I worried we’d lose.
It seemed as if we were running toward our doom. We couldn’t move fast enough, the shelter seemed so far away and those huge funnels in right in front of us barreled our way.
It was so loud, my ears hurt from the sound and pressure. My eyes stung and watered and I lost all visual of the yard and shelter.
It came down to the sound of the banging shelter door, moving with the wind. It was the only guide.
Finally, we made it.
It felt like a dream, being pulled to the shelter.
“Easy on the stairs!” Martin warned. “They’ll feel slippery.”
There was a three foot drop to a platform, and from there was a metal staircase. I held on to the railing, feeling the push of the storm against my back. Martin was right, they felt like ice.
I held my breath and released it once I reached the safety at the bottom.
There was another door behind me, that was closed, but I turned to wait on Lane and Martin before opening it.
Lane waited mid stairs for Martin to close and secure the shelter door.
As soon as he did, I felt the pressure stop, but it didn’t silence the noise.
It was still so loud.
“That was close,” Martin said.
“What the hell, Martin?” Lane shook his head. “That was no tornado or dust devil.”
“I know.” Martin gave a nod and reached for the second door, he paused and looked at me. “We’ll be safe in here.” He opened the door.
As soon as I stepped in, Carlie and Reese jumped from Rosie’s arms and ran to me.
“We were so scared,” Reese cried. “So scared you weren’t going to make it.”
“I’m here.” I held them both and kissed them. ‘I’m here.” I glanced to Rosie. She sat on a bench style couch. “Thank you, Rosie.” I then lifted my eyes. The hell raging above us grew louder and the kids squeezed me tighter.
“Let’s all sit down,” Martin said. “We’re safe.”
I inched over to the bench with the kids. One on each side of me. Lane sat next to Carlie, he tried to extend his arm across us all.
Yes, we were safe, I believed that. But whatever was happening above us, was far from over.
FOUR – HATCH OPEN
Thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds.
From the time we entered the shelter and Martin looked at his watch until the last sound could be heard and vibration felt.
It took nearly fourteen minutes.
I had never been in a tornado, nor felt one. Martin had. Having grown up in the Midwest where tornado season was as much a part of the year as winter, spring or any other season, he was well versed in them.
What roared across the fields and toward us was not a trio of tornados, it was something else.
Something new.
It had the inverted shape of a dust devil and the ferocity of a tornado.
Martin was keeping track of the time to figure out how far the storm traveled.
“It’s not a tornado,” Martin explained. “But if it follows the traits, it will rarely go more than fifteen miles. Your family is safe Rosie. You live over twenty miles away.”
But did he really believe what he said?
Was Martin just telling Rosie something she needed to hear?
He mentioned he thought it was moving around sixty or seventy miles per hour. The time the storm lasted from sound to silence, in my estimate, would create a path of devastation at least fifteen miles long.
I should have learned more.
The group gave information on what to do, not what exactly would happen during a weather event.
We were told to always be near shelter, avoid highways, and when we needed to go underground, go deep.
I wanted to ask Martin, “Is this normal? Is what’s happening now normal for a tornado?”
The question never emerged from my mouth because the look on Martin’s face gave me the answer. His eyes lifted upward to the ceiling for the long one minute it was right above us.
The entire storm shelter shook, as if whatever rolled over us was not only digging deep into the ground but coming from the ground.
It felt like an earthquake, shaking and loud.
The pressure, even in the shelter was like being underwater.
The kids held their ears, grabbing on to me, smashing against me.
They were scared and I didn’t blame them.
Rosie appeared to be a mountain of strength, saying very little, her eyes closed as she held the cross dangling from her necklace.
She was an older woman, and I suppose she had faced a lot in her life.
I never felt in danger. Not in Martin’s storm shelter.
It didn’t surprise me that he had a good one. A prefab already built unit placed deep in the ground. The exterior barn like doors part of a cement bunker that protruded out like an alcove.
To me it was sophisticated.
Dual levels of safety.
A hatch that opened to the first platform, from there a steep staircase, twelve steps long that led to a small area, then a four by four which held the door to the main safe room.
I suppose even that little area was safe from the storm, the sealed room was added protection.
Inside the safe room, cushioned bench seating lined the walls. The ceiling was oval with emergency lighting. He had bottles of water, flashlights, blankets and some food.
It wasn’t some prepper doomsday shelter, it wasn’t designed for long term living, it was made to ride out a storm.
To weather it, so to speak, and keep the occupants safe.
I thought a lot about the horses, wondering how they did. Were the ones free able to run away? Were the ones in the barn alive and well?
For some reason, I didn’t think about the town because in my mind those funnels were on the outskirts. The farmers and ranchers in the
