The Farmer's Son

Chapter 59 Landfall

Noah guided the big red truck down the long road, squinting at the dark clouds gathering in the distance, when beside him in the passenger seat, Bear began to bark, deep, rapid, urgent barks that came from animal instincts and were not to be ignored.

Seconds later was the reason why: the tornado siren blared through the air.

Noah had been heading back to Walker farm, but now he shifted gears and spun the wheel, tires smoking as he fishtailed in the other direction, almost losing Bear out the window. When he pulled up in a shower of gravel to Ray's farm, he found Ray and Mack herding the animals into the new barn and shutting up the house, already buffeted by high winds. In the distance, an ominous funnel formed from the clouds like some elder god.

"Where's Alan?" Noah yelled over panicked bleating, as Bear jumped out and began herding sheep and goats with the other dogs.

"I don't know," Ray called back. "He took off when the siren went off."

Noah's eyes widened and his heart pounded painfully. "How could you let him go out in this?" he shouted.

"I have as much control over Alan as you do!" Ray yelled back, which he would never have dared to do under normal circumstances.

Turning back to the truck, Noah grabbed his phone from the dashboard and punched Alan's number. But the call rang out, unheard, from his cellphone left in the bedroom upstairs.

"I'm going to go look for him," Noah called to Ray.

"You can't," Ray yelled. "It's getting bigger!"

They both looked up at the funnel, moving deceptively slowly on the horizon, heading laterally—for now.

But Noah was not the kind of man to take cover when his son was out there, and before Ray could grab him, Noah had already jumped back into his truck.

"Damnit!" Ray yelled.

Like father like son.

*

Barreling down the road, Alan could see the tornado change direction, looking like it was just out for a walk, while leaving death and destruction in its wake, scattering crops every which way. He was so close he could see bits of things swirling in the vortex of wind above.

But his eyes weren't on the tornado. They were scouring the road ahead, looking for signs of life or movement. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold and his mouth go dry.

Up ahead, overturned on the road, spilling all its contents, was the Volkswagen.

Alan screeched to a half beside it, jumping out the jeep before coming to a complete stop, and dropped down on his knees to look in the cab. The driver's seat was empty. Getting back to his feet, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Judith!" he yelled, voice snatched by the wind. "Judith!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Turning, he spied a hand rising out of the ditch along the road in a feeble wave. Skidding down into the ditch, he found Judith laying at the bottom, disheveled, dirty, and bleeding from a gash above her left eyebrow, dazed and in shock.

"Can you walk?" Alan yelled. The wind was picking up, but the funnel was still far enough away that they could make it. But he should have known that tornados were deceptively fast moving and could change on a whim.

She nodded, left eye glued shut by blood, and taking his hand, allowed herself to be half carried, half led to his jeep. Behind the wheel, Alan gunned the engine and took off just as the funnel changed direction.