“Slains?” said Cam, his ears still ringing. He checked the mirror. No vehicles, just a wall of black. Lightning crackled, blinding him for a moment. He shook his head, clearing his vision.
“No, tornado,” said Dave, his eyes wide.
Chapter 27: Lissa
Lissa looked up from her book and checked the front window of Fort Robinson. She stifled a yawn and stretched. She’d awakened before dawn with Cam, and they’d driven here, arriving almost at the same time as Dave. Though Douglas was only a two-hour drive, Rod, Dave, and Cam had left hours ago, wanting to position themselves early. She’d chosen to wait here with Amanda and the kids, rather than at home alone.
She returned to her book, trying to keep her mind off the assassination plan, wishing Cam were here instead of in danger. There were so many ways this might go wrong, especially with so many unknowns. John Slains might not respond to Rod’s message to meet. His men might not even be willing to send for him. Dave and Cam might be captured or shot. There were too many variables spinning through her mind. Waiting was nerve-wracking. Still, her position facing the road was the best to see them arriving. The men would return here as soon as they finished their mission.
The uncertainty causing her stomach to churn would only end as soon as they were safe.
While the plan was risky, the men seemed confident in their ability to pull it off. She was cautiously hopeful. A lot depended on John Slains agreeing to meet Rod for a civil meeting. From everything she’d learned, the Slains’ leader didn’t seem the typeto be reasonable. He was more of a “his way or die” man. The morning stretched, the hours crawling for an eternity.
With her stomach unsettled, she declined Amanda’s offer of food. She quit trying to read and curled up on a soft chair, where she could watch the long, winding access road from the highway. When the men returned, she’d be the first to see.
Lissa’s stomach churned as she wished for the hundredth time that Cam wasn’t involved so directly with this mission. Too many things could go wrong, but he’d agreed to be Dave’s lookout—the sniper had insisted someone he trusted accompany him. He was risking a lot, so she understood his logic. She took a breath and refocused on the road, tuning out everything else. That’s where Cam would return.
Lissa startled when Amanda said, “Can you help with the shutters?”
For the first time in hours, Lissa paid attention to something other than the empty road. The sky was an unhealthy and disturbing black.
She jumped to her feet. As soon as she stepped outside, a powerful gust of wind sent her staggering across the porch. She’d been so hyper-focused on watching for Cam’s return, she’d missed the advancing storm almost upon them. The wind roared like a freight train racing along the tracks, and she covered her ears. Another fierce gust forced her to take several steps before she grabbed the railing. In horror, she stared at the dark, swirling clouds.
The June temperature was hot, and her clothing stuck to her in the humidity. With another blast of wind, her hair whipped her face, making it difficult to see. Dust and debris pelted the house and stung her exposed skin.
Turning, she struggled to face the storm. The wind blasted the small pond into a frenzy of whitecaps and spray. Water carried through the air, landing wet on her skin. The bullrushesrustled as they swayed, much as she’d imagined canebrakes rattling during storms in her favorite childhood novel,Where the Red Fern Grows.The trees by the pond bent at sharp angles, somehow defying the power of the gale as they clung to the shore.
Working together, she and Amanda unhooked the shutters from the building and fastened them over the bottom-story windows by dropping heavy wooden bars into solid metal brackets designed for this purpose. From the wrap-around porch, they took care of three sides of the building. When the last bar was in place, they braced themselves, holding the house as they headed for the entrance, now drenched by the blowing rain.
Lissa’s skin prickled, her face, neck, and hands raw from being scoured with sand and dirt. She bit her lip, hoping the trees and high walls around her own house would provide some protection, or she’d return to a disaster. Hopefully, her crops weathered the storm in their protected garden. If not, it would be a lean winter, as it was too late in the growing season to start over.
Lissa and Amanda fought their way back to the safety of the interior. Once inside, the door slammed behind them, the noise echoing throughout the house—a sharp exclamation cutting over the roar of wind. She exhaled, and her ear popped because of the pressure change. She shivered, her clothes dripping on the scuffed hardwood floor, creating puddles. Amanda’s cheeks and hands were bright red, her soaked clothing plastering her hair to her head. She looked as rough as Lissa felt. Amanda and Lissa shared tight smiles.
“Mom, what’s going on?” said Little Rod, holding his head. He stood at the top of the stairs, peering down. “The sky is angry and growling.”
Daisy appeared and grabbed Rod by the hand, thundering down the stairs, her pretty blue eyes wide and terrified. “Is this a tornado?” She pointed outside. “Funnels are headed this way.”
This was part of Tornado Alley after all, though Lissa had never been in a twister. The roar of the wind dropped, and a new thunderous sound replaced it. A hard rat-a-tat on the roof. Hail. Great big chunks of ice based on the sound.
From upstairs came the tinkling of shattering glass—everything on that side may have blown all at once. The deafening roar of the wind increased. With no way to see past the shuttered windows, Lissa tried the door to peek outside. At first, it wouldn’t move, the wind holding it closed. She shoved harder, probably bruising her shoulder as she forced it open for a few seconds. Her ears popped again.
In the field in front of the house, a fast-moving funnel touched down, spinning toward the former tourist building on the far side of the field, crushing it in its wake. Dirt and mud kicked up as the funnel twisted. A swirling cloud of debris surrounded the lowest section near the ground. Lissa’s heart raced as the intensity grew. The wind roared at a painful pitch, now sounding more like a low-flying jet than a train. She covered her ears and stepped back, the door slamming shut once more.
“Basement?” yelled Lissa.
Amanda grabbed both her children by the hand and ran. Lissa followed, running crouched over, unable to hear anything beyond the terrible wind. With mouths wide open, both children appeared to be screaming, but the sound was lost, overridden by the storm’s fury.
For a few seconds, the hail lessened, and everything grew silent, except for the sound of Daisy sniffling. Amanda dashed into the pantry and lifted a trapdoor in the floor. “Storm cellar. Go.” Her authoritative voice carried over the wind and brooked no argument as she pointed to the wooden stairs.
Overhead, another window shattered, glass shards spraying across the floor. Downstairs, the windows shook. On the double, everyone descended into the pit below, ending up in a twelve-by-twelve-foot room carved out of the ground. A chunk of musty old carpet covered the dirt floor. Shelves with jars of canned goods made up one side of the room. The other had three chairs and a small table. The ceiling was the main building’s floor.
Surrounded by the comforting smell of dry earth, Lissa pulled the trapdoor closed overhead, plunging them into near darkness. Her eyes adjusted enough to discern the dim outline of the stairs while slivers of light filtered through thin cracks in the hardwood floor overhead.
Amanda pulled Rod onto her lap on one chair, tugging Daisy onto the one beside her. Lissa settled cross-legged on the carpet facing them. Above, the house shook, and dust sifted into their shelter. Once more, the wind roared, though underground the sound was muffled in its intensity.
Lissa pressed her hands to her ears as the painful sensation built again. She wiggled her jaw, trying to release the pressure. Too bad she didn’t have gum to help. She opened her mouth wide several times and swallowed, trying to rebalance her ears. The left pressurized first, then the right, providing some relief. She covered her ears again, trying to block the horrible grinding sounds.
Still holding his ears, Rod buried his head against his mother’s chest. Amanda sat with one arm wrapped around her daughter and the other around her son. Even in the dim light, Lissa could tell the other woman was speaking.
