“It’s hail,” the pastor said quietly, then, clearing his throat and repeating the words with assertion, “it’s just hail.” He searched the group for faces he knew, for someone he could trust. He spotted the Marksons, who were smarter than most and had run a cattle farm in the county for decades. He decided to deputize them both. “Martha? Tom? Come on, you’ve both seen hail before. We all have.”
Tom Markson nodded, as if trying to figure out why the pastor was addressing him specifically, then realization come upon him. He looked to his wife and nodded as she immediately started touching the shoulders of children, whispering reassuringly.
“That’s right,” Tom said, nodding ever more vigorously. “That’s just hail, folks. I think we should all have a seat like the pastor said.”
Pastor Willard smiled, feeling as if things were coming to hand, when he happened to glance over the heads of the group and out the large windows toward the beating heart of the storm. Lightning flashed, illuminating the sunken dark shadows of the tumultuous clouds. Revealed what lay hidden there.
A massive, twisting funnel extended down from the ceiling of boiling sky, pushed its way earthward. The tip of it curled like a witch’s finger, digging a hard gray fingernail across the earth. The pastor could see, through a swirl of dirt at the twister’s base, black specks rising from the ground to feed it, pulled upward like confetti falling in reverse.
Those are corn stalks, he thought.
But deep down, sulking within his hidden subconscious – where nightmares fester and all of our greatest fears are harbored – was the truth. Cars! His subconscious shrieked, piercing his brain like an ice pick. Houses! Livestock!
And then: People!
“Oh no.” The words fell from his mouth like a dead prayer, and all heads followed his wide-eyed gaze out the windows…
… and inside the small church, hell broke loose.
CARRIE SAW THE funnel and clutched Beth’s hand in a fierce grip.
Behind them, through the door that led to the chapel, came raised voices. Alarm. Pastor Willard was speaking loudly, urging for calm…
“We have to get out of here,” she said, surprised at how level, how reasonable, her voice sounded, when inside panic whipped through her chest and stomach faster and more urgently than the thrashing storm outside. “We need to get to the cars and get the hell away,” she said more insistently, as if giving instructions to hardened soldiers instead of scared bridesmaids wearing dresses of cauliflower blue.
Beth and Trish nodded. Fear held fast in their eyes, but their mouths were set with determination and forced calm. Trish grabbed her clutch and tucked it beneath a bared arm. Carrie had a beat to think how beautiful she looked in that moment.
“I don’t have anyone here, I’ll take your mom and nana with me…” Trish said, then hesitated. “Where do we go? We should meet…”
Carrie thought for a moment. “City Hall,” she said, remembering what she’d been taught as a child, if ever caught in a storm near town… “There’s a shelter at City Hall.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Trish asked, already moving for the door.
“I have to find Parker, I’ll leave with him,” she said, the words coming automatically. She tasted the lie on her tongue as she spoke it and was surprised at what her true thoughts were, the face her mind conjured the second she realized the peril was real. That their lives were in danger.
I have to find Eli.
She pulled Beth’s arm and went quickly through the door, Trish already ahead of them and calling for the older women to get in motion.
Carrie entered the nursery to loud voices. Trish was gently lifting a complaining Nana from a chair in the corner, and her mother was at the door, yelling at both of them, tears in her eyes. “I don’t understand… Carrie, what’s happening?”
“A tornado, mom. Just east. A big one.”
“Oh my God…” her mother said, then held a breath, sniffed, and straightened. “Okay, let’s all go, come on.”
“I’ll meet you,” Carrie said, and went to her mother and hugged her fiercely. “I’ll go with Parker. I’ll be fine. Now come on.”
Carrie yanked open the door that led to the foyer. She had one last moment to think, despite her fear and the impending danger, that her wedding day was over. Vanquished in an instant. There were no ushers to take her elbow and lead her to the aisle. No turned, expectant faces watching her step gracefully through the small chapel, toward the handsome groom, the smiling pastor. There would be no veil covering her face, no ring on her finger, no vows spoken.
They stepped out of the nursery. Directly across the foyer, at the end of a short hallway, another door swung open, breaking Carrie’s momentary reverie. A man walked out.
Parker.
He stopped short, met her eyes, then looked down and away, as if ashamed. She noticed his face was smeared with… is that blood?
Behind him came Brock. He saw Carrie and froze, mouth agape, as if already searching for an excuse to whatever new mess they’d gotten into.
She took a small step to the side, just slightly, in order to make out what lay on the floor through the open door behind them. A shock of blond hair. A face, bloodied and beaten, resting against the carpet, one blue eye wide, and then wider.
“Oh God, no…”
She took a step forward, her face already burning with the heat of fury, her heart pumping hard beneath the white fabric of her tight dress. Parker was already raising a hand toward her, as if to say: now just wait a second, it’s not what you think, baby…
Carrie had just started across the foyer, fingers squeezed into tight fists, when Pastor Willard strode between them, a large group of wedding guests on his heels, quickly filling the space between bride and groom. Tears spilled down Carrie’s cheeks as she tried to cross the space, push through them, toward Parker, toward the bloodied Eli that lay hurting on the office floor. The pastor had been heading for the exit but stopped when he saw Carrie fighting her way toward him. His alarmed face went slack with worry.
“Carrie, darling, it’s okay. Look, I know this all seems horrible right now, but it’s going to be all right. Please don’t cry,” he said, and gripped her by the arms, held her fast.
She looked at him in amazement. “It’s not that…”
But he only nodded, squeezed her arms so tight she felt the pain of his hard thumbs digging into her biceps. “I know you’re scared, honey. But there’s nothing to worry about. We just need to get to shelter, underground…”
Outside the wind grew with such force that the building shook and rattled. The warning siren still wailed but it was muffled now by the battering hail and the whipping howl of the wind. The front doors of the church began to clatter, as if poltergeists were on the other side, slapping their ghostly hands against the sun-bleached wood from their mad purgatory, desperate to reach the living.
“Damn,” Pastor Willard whispered, and released his hold on Carrie. He raised his arms up high, addressed his gathered flock. “All right folks! Let’s do this orderly now, we got time. Let’s get to the cars safely and get to the shelter in town, that’s the safest place…”
