Tornado Warning (4 page)

“Me too, Ryan.” His demeanor was unsettling. What exactly had he witnessed?

Chapter Four

Ryan’s head throbbed and his shoulders ached. It was a little past midnight and insomnia had struck. Rolling on his side, he watched Cecilia as she slept, her breath shallow, her head buried in the pillow. Pulling the covers off, he padded to the bathroom, studying his reflection. The gauze was halfway off, and he peeled the rest of the tape back, tossing the soiled bandage in the trash.

The cut was beginning to bruise, and it pounded with the quickening of his pulse. Maybe Cecilia was right – he probably should have it looked at. The bleeding had stopped, but it looked nasty.

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he stepped out on the back porch. It was chilly out, and he wished he would have grabbed a sweater. The air was damp and humid, but the sky was clear, revealing a bright blanket of stars. It was refreshing to see it. He loved intense weather and spring was his favorite season, but with the afternoon he had experienced, he would be happy if the rest of spring was calm and dry. He’d deal with a drought if it meant not having to deal with storms of that caliber again.

Sipping on the beer, he finished it and tossed the bottle into the yard. Thinking about how lucky he had been, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Every man on the fire department with him had been accounted for, each one making it home safe and sound. There was no word on the storm chasers he had talked to, and there had been no mention of them on TV. No news was good news. They’d probably get media attention if they were missing or had been killed.

When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the storm coming right at him. It was like it was alive, and the thunder was its loud growl, ready to devour him. The rotation was a black hole with one purpose – to suck him up and make him disappear. There were reports of people constantly going missing during tornadoes, and it was true – had those chasers not warned him about the shift in direction, he was a dead man.

The whole time he was attempting to outrun it, he thought about Cecilia and Ty. They were his whole inspiration to keep going, to push the pickup past its limit. It was nothing short of a miracle that the thing had survived long enough to get him home, barely making it down the highway, crippled, limping, and on the verge of falling apart right in the middle of the road.

He wondered how long it’d take for him to not see the tornadic supercell every time he closed his eyes. Call it PTSD, call it being a wimp, call it whatever you want – he was not going to let it intimidate him. If the same thing happened tomorrow, he’d be ready to do his duty and protect his family. He’d go storm spot for the department if it meant getting people to safety before the storm came bearing down on them.

Walking toward the cellar, he lifted the door and went down the wobbly steps. The musty scent from before was even stronger, and he pulled the chain on the light, brightening the small hole in the ground. The bags of groceries they had bought earlier were in the same spot, and he went through each one, organizing them.

Maybe they wouldn’t need to worry about it. Maybe this was the big one, as Cecilia had asked, and it’d be several more years before the weather patterned back.

Clutching a can of peaches, he peeled the label. “Mother nature, you’re a mean bitch.”

He laughed and put the can back with the others. Closing the cellar, he still wasn’t tired, so he went to his truck, his heart sinking at the sight of it. They didn’t have the money to get a new vehicle, and since he was storm chasing, insurance would never cover the damage. Working on cars was what he knew better than anything else, but even the task of getting it drivable again seemed impossible.

He lifted the hood and with help from the full moon, he was able to get a good view of the engine. It wasn’t in good shape, but the frame and bodywork was where the biggest challenge would be. Fidgeting with a few things, he ran his hands down the side of his shirt and closed the hood.

Sitting on the first step of the front porch, he looked up at the sky again. The brunt of the bad stuff was over. It
had
to be. Lightning never struck in the same place twice.

~~

“I kinda like you giving me a ride to work.” Ryan leaned over the console and kissed Cecilia. “It gives us a few more minutes together. Wanna meet for lunch?”

“I’ve gotta go to the school and eat with Ty. They’re having some program where they want all the moms to come in. I think he brought the letter home about it last week. I promised him I’d do it.”

Patting her thigh, he got out of the car. “I’ll call you when I’m about done. Love you.” He nodded toward Mrs. McElroy but he couldn’t get caught up chatting with her today. She’d probably have a lot to say about the storms, and by the looks of the garage, lots of people were lining up to get estimates on hail damage.

“Good morning, Ryan!”

“Morning, Mrs. McElroy. We’ll come by here in a bit and get some coffee!” Hoping she’d get the hint, he went inside and the waiting room of the shop was full of people.

“Ryan, we’ve got about twenty-five people who need repairs done.” Justin handed him a clipboard. “Most have hail damage and shattered windows.”

“I feel their pain,” Ryan replied.

“Yeah, I saw the wifey drop you off. Your truck not so lucky?”

“The wifey is currently my bus ticket, yes.” Ryan studied the list. “My truck is currently in bad shape, but I’ll get her running again. With as busy as we are, I may never get to go home to do it.” He motioned toward the cars parked, taking up every bit of free space in the garage. “Is there anything we can fix fast? Something minor?”

“Define minor,” Justin replied, his smile nervous.

“Something that won’t take all damn day. We’ll have to triage everything and prioritize it based off of that.”

“Triage?” Justin arched his eyebrow and took the clipboard from Ryan. The kid was a hard worker, but anything past spark plugs, engines, and brakes and he was clueless.

“Triage. You know, like what they do at hospitals. They see what is worse and what can wait to figure out where the hell to start.”

“Ah!” Justin snapped his fingers. “Gotcha. Well, we’ve got a few cars with some minor dents. Then we’ve got some that were brought in on trailers.”

Ryan went into the waiting room, trying to figure out what to do. There were only three certified mechanics on staff, including him.

“Ryan, how long do you think it’ll take to fix my truck?” Several people asked the same questions, all of them speaking at once. Why were there so many people? He was the only mechanic shop in town, but Harper Springs didn’t even get hit by the storm. Or maybe they had before it had shifted. Cecilia’s car was okay, but they were ten miles outside of the city limits. It seemed like there was a narrow window where you either got hit hard, or you didn’t get anything at all.

“If your car is currently drivable and safe on the road, I’m going to have to ask you to come back. We’re at capacity for what we can work on, so please, if you’re just here for some hail damage, you’ll have to be put on a waiting list. I’ll be more than happy to work on your cars, but right now I just can’t get to them.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

Ryan couldn’t pinpoint who asked the question, so he just directed the answer in the general vicinity of where the voice came from. “I’m not sure. Justin has taken your information down and we’ll call you as soon as we can get you in. I’m going to get back there and start working on the vehicles who are in the worst shape, and then I’ll have a ballpark figure of where we stand with the rest of you.”

He didn’t give anyone a chance to refute his decision and went to work on a truck that looked almost as bad as his. When he saw the name on the work order, he understood why – it was Chief Rayburn’s, and he had been chasing the same night Ryan’s truck had gotten demolished.

Rather than think about the past twenty-four hours, he dug into his work. Justin tackled another vehicle with the same caliber of damage, and the other mechanic didn’t say a word when he came in, knowing the task at hand and getting down to it. With as complex as the vehicle damage was, they were in over their heads. He figured if he came in at six AM and worked twelve hour days, he might be able to make a dent in them, but that took away his time with his family and fixing his own truck.

“Gibson, what’s the verdict on my truck?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Ryan cleaned his hands off with a rag, but the oil was so thick that it was useless. Chief Rayburn stood at the entrance of the garage, his arms folded over his chest. Sometimes he was hard to read, coming off brash and hard, but sometimes he seemed to have a decent sense of humor.

He joined Ryan, standing over the open hood. “It took in a lot of water, Chief. Might need a whole new engine.”

His superior shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Shit. Probably worth more than the truck is. Can you get your hands on an engine?”

“I can try, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”

“Well, it’s a Dodge. At least it’s not foreign. And you’re sure it needs a new one?”

Ryan straightened his posture and glanced at Justin. He worked fast and was finishing up a windshield on an old Chevrolet Cavalier. “I’m about ninety-five percent sure that it’s the engine. Have you contacted your insurance company?”

Chief Rayburn raised his eyebrows and shifted his weight. “I have, but as you know, they won’t cover it. They know damn well what I was out doing. It’s no mystery. Damn, I should’ve never driven through that low spot off of Roger’s Dam. I probably floated for a good thirty seconds before the truck grounded itself again.” He slammed his hand on the hood with a loud thud.

“I guess you can drive one of the department’s trucks until we can get this fixed, but I wouldn’t count on it happening for at least a week, maybe even longer.” Ryan wiped his hands again. “My truck is in pretty bad shape too. I was able to get it home, but I don’t think I can squeeze much more out of it.”

“Sounds like all of my men are out of commission. Better hope we don’t have to spot for a while. We’ll have to depend on the sheriff’s office, and some of those guys wouldn’t know a tornado if it came down on top of them.”

The mention of a tornado coming down on top of someone made the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck stand up. It literally had happened to him, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“Well, sir, I need to get back to work. As you can see, we’re pretty swamped with vehicles.” He cringed at his choice of words. “I’ll check on an engine for you and get you a quote on how much it’ll cost.”

“Thanks, Gibson.”

Turning back to his work, Ryan had a hard time focusing. It was a shame they lived in a part of the country where they depended so much on their own transportation. Half of the town was without a vehicle, and he was the only game in town to take care of them. At least Cecilia’s car was okay. If it wasn’t for that, he’d have no way to get to work. The town would have to revert to the old west days and travel by horse, and with the way things looked in his garage, it was a likely scenario.

Mrs. McElroy stopped by around lunch, dropping off sandwiches, coffee, and cookies for the guys. Ryan tried to give her some money for it, but she declined, stating that they were working hard for the people of Harper Springs and it was on the house. It was a nice gesture, and it made him thankful for the small town hospitality that most in the area still showed.

“You were right, Mrs. McElory,” Ryan said between bites. “A big one hit. You know what you’re talking about.”

“We dodged a bullet here in town. It came close. Did your place get hit?”

“No ma’am. We were lucky too. You think we’re up for anything else in the near future?”

She looked down at the floor, not answering him immediately. Maybe he shouldn’t even have asked. “There’s always that chance, Ryan. The air still feels different, but then again, I’m just a crazy old lady who never escaped this town.” She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you boys to it.”

“Thanks for the sandwiches, Mrs. McElroy. If you ever need a tire rotation or a check up, it’ll be on me.”

“You’re a sweet man, Ryan. They don’t make them like you anymore.” She winked and went back to her bakery. Ryan finished his sandwich and drank two cups of coffee, hoping it’d provided the needed energy to get a few more cars done before it was quitting time.

Cecilia called around five thirty and though he was ready to call it a day, Ryan wanted to finish up a few more things. He had let Justin and Marty head out, but he wanted to fix what he could on Chief Rayburn’s truck. It was more than a one-man job to pull the engine out, but he could at least do some body work on it. With minor push back from his wife, mentioning his dinner getting cold and his son wanting to shoot some hoops, he was able to get off of the phone and work until seven, when his body couldn’t take much more. He had freed all of the broken glass from the windshield and took some of the side panels off.

Standing at the front of the garage, it was hard to believe he had worked almost twelve hours. By the looks of things, they hadn’t done a damn thing, and Ryan tried hard not to get discouraged. They were three men. They could only do so much, and his customers would hopefully understand that.

Cecilia got to the garage about seven fifteen. She didn’t look amused and looked back at Ty. “I saved you some dinner, but it probably won’t be good leftover. Want to just stop and get a burger?”