They never made it farther than the top of the stairs. The upper portion of their bodies protruded from the open hatch.
Lane crouched down, then held out his hand. “Come up here. You have to see this.”
I walked up the first few steps, then took Lane’s hand as I made it up the rest of the way.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Take a look,” Martin replied.
I wasn’t as tall as them and wondered what I would be able to see.
There was a strange coloring coming through the hatch, golden, yet not a brightness from the sun. It wasn’t dark like a stormy day either.
Harvest gold and dull.
Standing upright, my head poking through the hatch, I saw why.
A thick layer of dust danced about. Swirling in no particular direction, back and forth, carrying leaves, twigs, papers and other lightweight objects. It reminded me of a scene from an old west movie. The wind picking up the dust, causing tumbleweeds to skip across the dirt. The only difference was nothing touched the ground. The swirling, the dust covering everything, hovered three feet above the earth.
“We haven’t gone out there yet,” Lane told me. “Not yet. Not until …” He pointed. “They’re gone.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about and I shook my head in confusion.
He placed his hand on my face and guided it to where I should look, and there in the distance, high in the sky were the three funnels. The ones that had chased us into the storm shelter and roared over our heads.
They were becoming one with the newly formed clouds in the sky or maybe they rose up to create the clouds.
“That …” Martin said. “Is not even close to being plausible. So, we aren’t going out there until they are gone.”
“You haven’t gone out there at all?” I asked.
Martin shook his head. “No. I don’t know what the pull is or where it's pulling to.”
“They’re getting smaller by the second. We can see that,” Lane said. “Funnels happen when they connect with the ground. An updraft causes them. Why are they lingering up there?”
Glancing upward ‘lingering’ was probably the best word to describe the funnels. It was as if they had done their damage and simply floated away, waiting perhaps to see if they felt the need to strike again. I kept looking at them. They reminded me of a sci-fi movie, like alien ships waiting to attack.
I looked over to Lane, “Is that a rhetorical question, asking me why they are lingering or do you think I know?”
“It’s rhetorical, Jana, I know you don’t know. I’m implying it’s not natural.”
“Of course, it’s not natural, Lane. I told you what it was,” I stated in a snippy manner.
“The weather bomb.” Lane shook his head.
“And you still don’t believe me?” I asked. “Look at it.”
“Alright.” Lane lifted his hand. “Assume this Julius guy is real.”
“Oh, stop. He is real. He said this was going to happen. And wait until you see what’s ahead. But for now …” There was a five rung ladder hanging from the edge of the hatch to guide in climbing out. Without hesitation, I grabbed a rung and started to climb.
“Whoa, hey, wait.” Martin grabbed me, halting me. “Where are you going?’
“Up there.”
“You can’t go up there,” Martin told me. “Look at the way things are blowing, look at the sky.”
“You think I’m gonna blow away?”
“Um, yes,” Martin replied. “I think it's possible.”
“I’m not an expert or scientist, but I think if it was powerful enough to blow me away, it would have sucked me right up.” I started to climb again.
Martin laid his hand on my wrist. “Jana, I have seen a lot of storms. A lot of funnels. I have never seen this. Ever. Those things are slowly dissipating. We should wait. Just … wait, please.”
My curiosity was getting the best of me, but I saw the seriousness and concern on his face. I really don’t know why I was anxious to go up and look. But looking again at the floating debris dancing in the air, I changed my mind.
It probably was better to wait.
✽✽✽
When everything stopped, the funnels disappeared, we weren’t quick enough to close the shelter hatch doors. Every particle of dust and dirt floating and swirling in the air above us dropped with the heaviness of a winter snowstorm, flowing down at us at a steady pace.
Martin did manage to close the hatch, but not before we were covered in a dusting, as an inch of the stuff covered the landing.
Lane started coughing. He must have wheezed in, bringing some dust into his lungs.
Martin patted him on the back, as if he were a choking child. Not sure how beating his spine was going to help.
“Everything alright?” Rosie asked, peeking out the door. “Oh, please don’t tell me that is what is above us.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Martin told her. “I really do. Can you grab us a bottle of water?”
“Yes.” Rosie nodded.
“And tell the kids everything is okay,” I added. “Please.”
Rosie hurriedly retreated into the safe room and returned with a bottle of water, extending it up to Lane.
“Thank …” Lane coughed violently. “You.”
“Take a drink,” Martin instructed.
“Exactly how is drinking water going to help if he breathed in a big old whiff of dirt?” I asked. “Hitting him on the back made a little more sense.”
“Do you really want an explanation?”
“Do you have one?” I shifted my eyes to a coughing Lane who tried to drink water but kept coughing it out of his mouth.
“More than likely it’s not in his lungs, it’s in his throat,” Martin explained. “The water will sooth it and make it moist.”
“He inhales dirt, it gets stuck in his throat, he drinks water wouldn't you get ... mud?”
Lane stopped coughing and exhaled. “Ah, better.”
“Mud works like a cough suppressant I guess.” Martin nodded with a so there look. “Let’s do this. No
