Page 3 of Twister
Marshall
I had to get off this fucking freeway.
Much like everyone else traveling around me, my foot lifted off the accelerator and drifted toward the brake as the unmistakable silhouette of a tornado crested the hill in front of us. It didn’t look like it was moving, which meant only one thing—it was coming straight at us.
I needed off this road now .
The music I’d been listening to on my phone cut off when it bleated an alert.
Awkwardly, I picked up my phone with one hand, the other still gripping the steering wheel, and tapped the screen to listen, not at all surprised to hear a tornado emergency warning had been issued considering I was staring at one right in front of me.
Within seconds, quite a few motorists pulled off to the side of the road. Some had even gotten out of their vehicles and were taking photos or videos, chatting to their friends as they pointed at what was barreling toward them.
Yeah… no. I wanted none of that, thanks.
Not seeing any way that I could do a U-turn across the median separating the lanes of the freeway, my eyes quickly darted from side to side, trying to find any upcoming exit.
My foot shifted to the accelerator and pressed down hard before my eyes fully registered the nearby off-ramp; I pressed my body back into the seat as my ancient Jeep shot forward, quickly leaving the onlookers behind.
Great, now I was playing chicken with a fucking tornado. Awesome.
Admittedly, the tornado was still a fair way off, but my brain was screaming at me that driving toward a twister was a very, very bad idea. My heart enthusiastically agreed as it thumped so loudly and so damn fast that it drowned out the sound of my radio completely.
This was so stupid. So, so fucking stupid.
Move. Move . MOVE.
Taking the off-ramp at speed, I cursed when I felt my car lift onto two wheels for half a second before it settled again as I straightened up.
God, I had to slow down. The last thing I wanted was to get into a car accident because I was driving recklessly.
If I crashed, I’d be a sitting duck for that fucking storm.
Nope.
You’re better than that, Marshall. Settle yourself down.
When I had to stop at an intersection that would presumably take me into the nearest town if I wanted to go there, I took a deep breath in before letting it out shakily.
I forced my body to relax, although it screamed at me to do the complete opposite.
With my foot planted on the brake, my eyes roamed the surroundings to see if there was something, anything that could work as a shelter.
The rain began to pelt down, seemingly coming out of nowhere and quickly blurring everything in front of me. With my windshield wipers going haywire, my fingers clenched the steering wheel hard, my knuckles turning white from the tension.
Look! Find a place to shelter. Do it, NOW!
The soft, wavering glow of yellow, red, and white LED lights flickered at me through the rain, and without any conscious thought, I turned the wheel and headed straight for them.
“I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m heading for a goddamn glowing light in the middle of fucking nowhere because I’m going to FUCKING DIE ,” I mutter-screamed to myself, my heart still thumping way too fucking hard for it to be considered remotely healthy.
The vehicle bounced worryingly as I shot into the entrance of what I finally recognized as a gas station. My worry kicked into overdrive when a vision of a fire tornado fed from the gas pumps flitted through my brain.
Not helping, brain. NOT FUCKING HELPING.
Christ.
I drove through the pump area and headed to the side of the building.
A few trees lined the visitor parking lot, and figuring that this was about as good as I was going to get under the circumstances, I pulled to a stop, threw the parking brake on, and turned the engine off, all while struggling with the seat belt that had decided that that was the perfect time to lock itself into place.
A small part of my brain registered that the seat belt had locked because I was trying to tug it too quickly, so I forced my hands to move slower.
They were shaking when the belt finally unclipped, and then I was on the move again.
I pushed at my door hard to get it to open against the wind and the driving rain that had only gotten heavier in the seconds it had taken me to navigate into the gas station.
It finally budged when I turned in my seat so I could kick at the door, giving it everything I had.
And then I ran.
I heard the door slam behind me as I fled for the presumed safety of the building, trying hard to ignore all those thoughts my brain was so helpfully providing of fire twisters that may or may not be in my immediate future. When I got to the windows, I started banging my hands on the glass.
“Twister!” My palms slapped the glass to get someone, anyone to hear me.
Someone, open the fucking door! “Help!” I danced worryingly from side to side in front of the door, smacking at the glass when I heard the sound of a freight train approaching.
Holy fuck. It was here, and I was out of time. Panic surged through me when I thumped at the glass one last time. Don’t let me die out here! Please!
I turned around to see if I had enough time to get back to my car, my fingers tearing at my rain-soaked hair in terror.
Dozens of random tornado images I’d seen and facts I’d learned over the years barreled through my mind quicker than I could register.
The green tinge of the sky and the way the heavy clouds seemed to drop just before a twister touched down.
The terrifying image of multiple thin funnels creating the illusion of a grim reaper steadily stalking the horizon with his scythe held aloft. What had they called it? A dead man walking?
The noise. Oh God. The noise. The news clips I’d watched hadn’t done the sound justice. It was deafening.
What had they told us to do when you had nowhere to go? Lie flat on the ground—in a ditch, if possible.
I let out a wail that was drowned out by the oncoming storm as I stared helplessly at the flat concrete forecourt of the gas station. There were no ditches anywhere in sight.
Should I have stayed in my car?
I should have stayed in my car.
Why had I left my car? Stupid! Stupid!
Just as I was about to give up all hope, I felt myself tugged backward before I landed in a heap on the linoleum floor of the gas station.
“Daniel, get him to the shelter!” a slim young blond man shouted off to my right. I turned my head to see him forcing the door closed with his shoulder and pointing somewhere behind me. “Scarlett, hit the button for the shutters! Move, move, move!”
The roaring of the oncoming storm was so loud that I never heard the shutters whir into action just outside the windows, but they descended fast, locking the station down tight.
For some reason, I found myself focused on the artificial lighting still on in the station as I was dragged back, my sneakers squeaking on the shiny floor.
I scrambled to get to my feet but was hindered by how wet my clothing was, slipping on the tiles several times before a short, stocky man hauled me to my feet and half carried me to the rear of the store.
“Come on,” he said steadily. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
How did he know? How could he know? There was a flurry of activity going on behind us still, and the noise was only getting louder.
The sound of glass shattering behind us kicked us all into a higher gear. I was manhandled, literally, down a set of stairs that was lit only by pale white emergency lights. The beam from a flashlight bounced around the room, and I heard a dog bark once, then again.
“Shh, Puppy Bucky” came a quiet but scared young female voice from the other side of what appeared to be a small room. “It’s just a little storm. Right, Daddy Danny?”
“Right,” the man who was lugging me down the stairs called back to her. “Just a little twister.”
My mouth dropped open at his words. That decidedly did not feel like just a little twister . That felt like a motherfucking huge motherfucker of a twister that I was still not convinced wouldn’t morph into a motherfucking fire beast that would consume us all.
Motherfucking fuck!
He took one look at my horrified face and started chuckling before he settled me onto one of the plastic chairs that lined the cinder block walls. He squatted in front of me to bring us eye level. “First time, I take it?”
My eyes widened as I gripped the edges of my seat hard.
“You mean there’s worse than that?” I leaned forward to ask quietly but incredulously before my eyes darted guiltily toward the young long-haired brunette.
She was sitting to my left and had her face buried into the side of a white dog with the most startling golden eyes I’d ever seen.
The dog grumbled, its ears sticking straight up and swiveling around like crazy to pick up every little sound that was echoing down the stairs from the still-open door.
The man laughed a little louder as he ran his hands lightly over my arms and thighs, his eyes dancing across my torso, presumably to check for any injuries. Not that he’d be able to find much considering how utterly drenched I was. “Yeah, that looked—”
The sound of a door clanging shut and heavy locks engaging interrupted what he was about to say as the room got much darker and a hell of a lot quieter.
“Okay, folks, we’re riding this one out,” the male voice from earlier called as he followed a young blonde woman down the stairs, the sweep of another flashlight preceding them. “Shouldn’t be too long.”
The two of them sat in the seats opposite me and leaned back, seemingly without a care in the world, their arms crossed as they narrowed their eyes at me.
The blonde sniffed, then pressed her lips together before turning to her… colleague? Boyfriend? Who the fuck knew, but her fingers started flying around in front of her.