In The Alley

In The Alley

You never know when or exactly where I, the Destroyer, will strike. I respect no one, people, animals, houses, or possessions. Hear me roar as I approach. Dark clouds and sky announce my coming. Witness my violence. Trees fall. Glass shatters. Puny man-made cars flip over. Roofs are ripped off. Light poles are bent. There is no stopping me.

***

“A storm is coming, Mitzi, I can feel it in my old bones,” Gladys Moore said to her cat that morning. “Better turn on the news to see if the weather people know anything.”

Gladys had lived in Grand Island, Nebraska all her life. No stranger to storms, she knew what to do and had ridden out several during her lifetime with only major yard clean-up. She wasn’t that worried. She had a cellar. But she hadn’t met an F5 yet.

Mitzi vigorously licked her ears. Inside the canal, pressure was building. Far away in the distance her sensitive hearing picked up a rumble of thunder. She raced around the kitchen, her fur standing on end and her tail puffed out. If her person knew what was good for her, she would slide underneath the bed soon, well, that is if she would fit.

***

Rusty Buhman heard the news, same county, same general vicinity.

“A twister is headed our way,” Rusty yelled at his brother, Charlie.

Clothes and shoes were jammed on. A camera was slung around Rusty’s neck. The back screen door slammed. Charlie gunned the Chevy farm truck as dust and gravel flew up behind them on the road.

Rusty switched the radio on and listened to the newscaster.

“Turn toward Alda,” he said to Charlie. Just then, his phone began flashing, THIS IS THE EMERGENCY WARNING SYSTEM. PREPARE FOR TORNADO NEAR ALDA AND GRAND ISLAND.

Charlie peered up through the truck window at the sky, where greenish grey clouds amassed. A stiff wind whistled through gaps in the insulation around the truck’s doors. Suddenly, the gale held its breath. The eerie silence momentarily chilled the simmering excitement of the young men.

Charlie pulled to the road’s shoulder. “This is it, Russ. Get the camera ready, our names will be all over TV when we get a close-up picture of the funnel coming down. They will say something like, ‘young storm chasers capture tornado touchdown.’ And we’ll be famous.”

 They jumped out of the truck and Rusty adjusted his camera’s F-stops.

***

Later, what was actually said was, “Young storm chasers killed near Alda.”

Their pick-up truck lay in the ditch next to the road. Who knows what happened to the camera and the pictures. They were never found.

***

“Foolish young men,” says the Destroyer. “But there is no law that says that people can’t be idiots. They got a warning. Even looking at the signs in the sky should have told them I was eminent. No remorse on my part.”

***

As soon as Gladys saw the darkening expanse above her house, she put on her sturdy shoes and hung a whistle on a chain around her neck. She called her neighbor, Torrance Fielding.

“You headed for shelter?” she asked. “Need anything?”

“Yup, goin’ down to keep the spiders in the basement company. Got everything I need. You?”

“I’m fine. Just got to sit it out.”

Her tornado safety list was checked, food, warm clothing and blankets, a flashlight, first aid kit, her meds, and water. She put Mitzi in her carrier with a soft cloth on the bottom. After several trips downstairs with supplies and her beloved cat, she closed the basement door behind her. A transistor radio would give her news. She put on her bicycle helmet lest something hit her in the head.

Well away from the small windows, Gladys planted herself in a chair with Mitzi on her lap. Mitzi hated being confined and restless, she squirmed and meowed. Outside, the wind rose and shrieked and howled like a possessed animal while they waited and waited. Fear shivered down Gladys’ spine. Then a silent lull, somehow more frightening, like the storm was gathering strength for its next onslaught.

The house began to shake. Hail rattled down outside like bullets. She covered her head and Mitzi with a blanket. Slam, bang! They could hear wood splintering, objects falling and crashing to the floor above them. Paint cans plunged from the basement shelves and some ruptured, spattering the cement with color.             

A suffocating pressure bore down on Gladys’ chest. Rising dust made her cough. Her heart pounded and her breath came in gasps. Panicked, she yanked the covering off herself. Bright flashes of light could be seen through the shattered windowpanes as the tornado passed over them. Debris from outside whooshed in through the broken windows. Mitzi attempted to claw her way out of her prison, but Gladys held her fast. Had hours passed?

Again, an ominous hush after the storm had passed over them. But Gladys sat still for minutes, squeezing the carrier against her shaking body. Mitzi let loose a yowl.

“We’re safe, Sweetie. We made it.”

Slowly, Gladys stood. Her shoes crunched over broken glass blown clear across the floor. Avoiding the paint puddles, she grasped the handrail with one hand, and climbed the stairs to the door leading back into her house. It would not open. She jiggled the handle. Nothing. She set Mitzi down on the stairs and pushed her weight against it. Wouldn’t budge. No way could she crawl out those dinky basement windows. Anyway, she’d be cut to pieces. Wasn’t there a hammer down here somewhere? Yep, it had fallen from its perch on the peg board.

 My strength isn’t what it used to be. These doors were made solid. Not such a great thing right now. She kept hammering without much result. Sweat rolled down her face. She should be glad she’d survived, but now being trapped was scary too. Mitzi wasn’t helping, her plaintive cries grated in Gladys’ ears and made her more on edge.

She set her weapon down and rubbed her forehead. To her surprise, her fingers came away bloody. When had she got injured? Now it hurt. But when she looked down, her eyes rested on her whistle. She blew with all her might while Mitzi flattened her ears.

Hours later, when Torrance was able to exit his own house which had been flattened by the big oak in his yard, he hurried to Gladys’ and heard her now faint whistle. He shook his head in wonder. One wall with a door stood, otherwise her house was a pile of rubble.

“I hear you, Gladys,” he shouted, “I’m going to get you out.”

***

The Destroyer laughed, as he barreled down the countryside, wreaking devastation as he went. Even the people like Gladys, who planned ahead aren’t completely safe from me. I demolished her house, she’s homeless now. But like others, she might rebuild. Spawned by a thunderstorm, I’ll gather strength again soon and plunder this same area. Crazy people.

There’s a reason why they call it Tornado Alley.