Page 69 of Desperate Creed

Willis didn’t like the way the radar map kept lighting up. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Inflamed commas—the signature of a hook echo—seemed to be forming in a blink of an eye. Storm chasers had already called in four different tornadoes on the ground, and that still didn’t account for what he was seeing on the radar. Across the border in Mississippi another group of storms were getting organized, lining up and marching east/northeast. He hadn’t seen anything like this since 2011.

The tornado that Simon had called in earlier had hit an industrial complex. Photos were coming in of a residential area where homes had been flattened. The same tornado plowed through a gas station and restaurant before lumbering on, skimming the southern edge of Montgomery. From recent reports the monster was still on the ground, raking across the state.

As violent as that storm appeared, it wasn’t the only one. It was a juggling act keeping up. As soon as one warning expired, another supercell would replace it. The news team faced the same challenge. Hundreds of photos, livestream video and damage assessments flooded their social media pages. Reporters were out on the roads and trying to get to some the areas hit. There were fatalities, though in the early hours it was best to wait for the authorities to confirm. It became a challenge to sift through what was real and what were rumors gone wild in the chaos of the moment.

Willis looked up from the monitors, and Paul handed him a new printout.

“They’re saying people are trapped underneath that restaurant,” Paul told him. He sat down and gestured to the television monitors. One of their anchors was talking about it right now.

Willis glanced up then did a double take.

“Is that a semi trailer?”

“The truck stop across the road got hit, too. I know this place. It’s not far off the interstate. My wife and I have eaten there.”

Willis shook his head. “Any word from Simon?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paul wince and look away.

“Nothing yet.”

“Don’t wait too long, Paul. Send someone out to check.”

“Roads are blocked. Where do I even send them?”

“The last place that Simon called from. Please, just do it. I don’t have a good feeling. This was the kid’s first Alabama tornado. We shouldn’t have sent him out.”

“We didn’t send him, Willis. He went out on his own. We only send teams.”

Willis turned and stared at the man. Paul was a twenty-year-plus weather veteran, most of those years here at this station.

“We have hundreds of spotters and chasers, Willis. We can’t take responsibility for all of them.”

Willis stopped himself from reminding Paul that the last he checked, he was still in charge. Instead, he simply said, “Send someone, Paul.” Then he swiveled his chair back to the radar screens.

Paul barely left and another one of their interns leaned into the doorway.

“Mr. Dean, you have a call on line one.”

“I can’t take any calls right now. I don’t take calls.”

“I know, I’m sorry, sir,” the young woman was visibly flustered. “It came in on the news desk. They told me it was really important. They said it was your wife.”

“They’ll need to take a message.”

Why in the world would she call him in the middle of a storm outbreak? He was irritated. Beyond irritated. In all their years together she’d never interrupted. And suddenly, it hit him. She wouldn’t dare interrupt unless...

He tapped one of the screens until it brought up his own neighborhood. No, it wasn’t close to any of the tornadoes. Though some of the thunderstorms were severe.

He stood and hurried to the door. He couldn’t remember the young woman’s name. It didn’t matter. She was already gone. His eyes darted to the phone on the wall and he saw that line one was still blinking.

“Suck it up, Willis,” he told himself and pulled the receiver off.

“Beth? I’m a little busy here,” he said.

“Willis, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.” Her voice sounded far away, a bit muffled and gargled like she was calling from under water. “I’m trapped.”

“Beth, I can hardly hear you.”