Breakup in a Small Town
Автор
Kristina Knight
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Prologue
Three months ago
THE TORNADO SIRENS began blaring through the downtown area of Slippery Rock as Adam Buchanan raced around the corner of Franklin and Mariner. He glanced behind to see a waterspout out over the lake, visible just over the roof of the Buchanan Cabinetry warehouse. The spout seemed stuck, and he prayed it would stay stuck. Just stay in the lake, away from town, away from people. The wind could still damage property, but strong winds were better than a full-blown tornado any day of the week. A block down Mariner, he rounded the corner to Main Street, and could see the old church, now renovated and housing the day care where his kids spent most summer afternoons.
At the courthouse square, Sheriff Calhoun was urging people into the police station, out of harm’s way. A few residents got into their trucks or cars and sped away from the area.
Adam glanced back again as the wind seemed to increase around him. It was as if time stopped for everything except the waterspout.
The spout moved, becoming bigger as he watched, and the wind roared even louder in his ears. Move, Adam, he ordered himself.
He couldn’t run; the wind was too strong. Sheriff Calhoun motioned at him, yelling something, but the tornado flung the words into the sky. Adam put one arm up to shield his face and continued on. Just another half block and he’d be at the day care center. He would get the kids over to the police station and into the storm shelter in the basement of the building. They would be fine. Just fifteen more steps.
A piece of roof or siding sheared past him and Adam spun a little to the left, reflexively trying to avoid the debris. A gust of wind rattled the awning of another downtown business, and hail began pummeling the tarp above him.
He looked across the street at the old church’s stained glass windows, at the steeple swaying from side to side. No basement. Nowhere for the kids to go to escape all the glass that could explode from the air pressure at any minute.
Adam pushed off the brick wall, running as hard as he could through the gusting wind, until he burst through the front door.
“Frankie, Garrett, it’s Daddy. Where are you?” The wind seemed to lessen once he was inside the old building, but he could still hear the windows rattling, and something crashed outside, not far away.
No one answered his calls. Adam tried the old sanctuary first, because it was an interior room without a lot of windows. No kids lined those walls. The converted classrooms were empty, too. He whirled, running through the layout of the place in his mind. When he was a kid, before they’d converted the church, local kids had played endless hours of hide-and-seek or tag-in-the-dark here. No basement, but there were offices on the back side and—
“Kids!” he yelled again, heading for the baptismal area. It was a six-foot by six-foot sunken area that the church elders would fill with water for baptisms several times each year. No windows, and enough space for the kids and adults to wait out a normal storm.
But there was nothing normal about waterspouts, and the radar on his phone had showed a solid blob of red over the entirety of Slippery Rock and the lake area. This was no normal storm. He had to get them out of there and into the shelter at the police station.
“Kids!” Adam called. The door to the baptismal area was lodged shut and he battered his shoulder against it. A long howl of wind seemed to shudder through the church and then the old door gave way. Adam stumbled into the empty room. No kids. And he had no idea where to look next.
Another loud wail of wind shrieked by, rattling the glass in the windows and seeming to make the entire building shake. A loud crack sounded, louder than the wind. The building shook again, and Adam flattened his back against the wall as part of the roof was ripped away.
He could see a green-gray sky where there had once been dark beams of cedar. Other bits of debris sailed past—tree limbs and what appeared to be hubcaps, and—Adam caught his breath. That looked like a telephone pole! And far, far above that, the steeple twisted and turned in the wind, swaying left and then right and then seeming to bend over the gaping hole where the roof used to be.
Pressing his back against the wall, Adam made his six-foot-two-inch body as flat and small as he could. There was nowhere else to go, and at least the kids weren’t here. Wherever they were, they were safer than he was now. The steeple bent back, and he watched more debris from the tornado whizz past through the sky above. The steeple surged forward and another loud crack sounded over the noise of the storm. When it bent back again, he’d go. He could make it to the police station, see if the workers got the kids over there before the storm began. If not, he’d figure out where they’d taken them and he’d make sure they were safe.
One. The steeple began twisting again, this time pushing toward the rear of the building.
Two. Just a little more. Just get out of his line of sight, he thought, give him enough space to escape from the baptismal font and slip out of the church.
Three. The steeple disappeared from view and Adam pushed off the wall, running through the old church. Hail pelted him through the ruined roof. He hit the front door with his shoulder, pushing as hard as he could against the winds holding it closed. Stained glass shattered, hitting his legs, back and shoulders in hot little explosions of pain, and still he pushed. The door opened a few inches and he pushed harder.
Another crack sounded and Adam looked up. The steeple bent forward at a weird angle, teetered precariously, then twisted left and began to fall.
Another gust of wind pushed Adam back through the door, slamming the thick oak panel against his knees as the steeple came crashing through what was left of the roof.
And then the world went black.
