2. Prescription For Love

Presley, Carrie, and Glenn crowded behind them. Jagged blades of lightning dueled above the horizon.

“Wow,” Presley said, “are we getting rained out?”

“Looks like it.” Flann kept watching the clouds. A blast of wind rattled the shutters against the wood clapboards on the old house and the maple trees bent with the force of it. Dirt devils spawned in the drive.

“Flann?” Abby’s voice rose in alarm.

“I know. It’s

”

The clouds coalesced into a solid wall of black from earth to sky.

“Fuck,” Flann said. “Harp, I think—”

The funnel dropped from the sky between one heartbeat and the next, a whirling, churning mass twisting toward them.

“Oh my God,” Abby breathed. “Is that—?”

“Tornado,” Flann shouted. “Get in the house!”

Harper pushed Presley toward the house. “Everybody down in the cellar. I’ll get the windows.”

A roar of rushing air lifted the slates above their heads, the clatter like a thousand bones jerking to life. Carrie shrieked as a gust nearly toppled her over, and Glenn grabbed her around the waist. Together the two of them staggered inside.

“The kids!” Abby plunged into the yard, bending into the wind, her hair flying behind her in a wild tangle.

“I’ll get them,” Flann yelled. “Abby!” Abby never slowed.

Flann cursed and jumped down. The wind plastered her shirt to her chest, the bottom lifting up like a sail. Leaves and sticks and loose stones cannoned across the yard. She caught Abby, twisted them both away from the force of the gale, and pushed her back toward the porch. “I’ll go! Get inside.

Harper!”

Harper wrapped an arm around the porch post, grabbed for Abby’s hand, and pulled her protesting across the porch and inside.

Flann pivoted into the wind. Dirt stung her eyes. Loose branches ripped from trees and arrowed wildly. She blocked her face with her forearm and lowered her shoulders, struggling against a wall of air shoving back at her like a hundred linebackers. The eighty yards to the barn might as well have been eight hundred. She raised her head at the roar of a freight train closing in.

The twister crested the ridge behind the house and trees snapped off, sucked up into the funnel like matchsticks. Adrenaline dried her mouth and shot her pulse into overdrive. She kept pumping her aching thighs and staggered up to the open barn door. “Margie! Blake!”

The roof rattled and clacked, the walls shuddered, and the 200-year-old beams groaned, drowning out all sound. Flann staggered inside and stumbled down the aisle on numb legs. Sharp pain pierced her eardrums and she swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to clear them. Blake and Margie crouched in the last stall, the box of chicks shielded between them.

“You okay?” Flann dropped down beside them, searching for the best cover. Above their heads, foot-square beams supported the roof. If those held, they’d be safe; if they came down, they’d be crushed. She grabbed the kids by the arms. “Get over in the corner. Hurry!” “Why?” Margie shouted.

Blake hugged the box of chicks to his chest.

“Twister’s coming.” Flann dragged them along.

“Can I see?” Margie cried, trying to pull free.

Flann yanked her back down. “Not this time, short stuff.”

Blake yelled, “It feels like the building’s going to blow away.”

“We’ll be okay. Just keep your head down.” She herded them tightly into the corner next to the supporting post. If the walls came down, the corner might stand. And with any luck they’d be sheltered beneath the upright. It was the best she could do.

“What about my mom?” Blake looked ready to bolt.

“Harper has her. She’s—”

A howl filled the air like the arrival of a marauding demon. Spears of light shot down around them, and the roof lifted away with a wrenching scream. Flann pushed the kids down and covered them as a torrent of wood rained down.

*

A banshee wail filled the basement. Abby pressed her back against the stone foundation where Harper had directed her to crouch. The others huddled around her on either side. The power had gone out as they’d stumbled down the stairs, and a murky haze enveloped her. Her eardrums throbbed, threatening to burst. Terror clawed at her throat. Blake and Margie were out there somewhere, and she was helpless to protect them. Flann had disappeared too. Had she even made it to the barn?

Bile climbed into her throat. She huddled in the basement while Blake and Margie and Flann could be hurt, needing her, and she wasn’t there. Every instinct screamed for her to force her way up those stairs and outside. She railed inwardly at the monster threatening her child. Of all the things she had imagined that might harm him, this was a foe she could not fight. A wave of frustration, of rage and fear, welled in her chest, and she choked on a cry.

Presley gripped her hand and leaned close. “Flann

be

right.”

No reason would console her. No promise would convince her. She trusted no one to do what she must do, and she was impotent. Helplessness burned her throat, nausea curdling her stomach. The screaming wind grew louder and the floor above them creaked and heaved.