Year's Best SF 17

At that instant three more buzzing beeps interrupt the droning radio robot. A tornado has been sighted on the ground near Glensboro, heading north-northeast at forty miles per hour. If you are in the path of this storm, move to the lowest level of a building or interior room and protect yourself from flying glass. Kaylee and Jane look at each other; Glensboro is only a couple of miles west of here. If it stays organized this tornado should pass near Lawrenceburg at 5:45 pm, near Birdie at 5:50 pm, near Alton at 6 o’clock pm, and near Frankfort at 6:15 pm, the flat voice states.

“Kaylee, get down. Get under the blanket and hold that pillow over your head.” Fleece and Roscoe are both whining now; Jane slides out of the low chair onto her knees and stretches herself out on top of Fleece, with her arm tight around Roscoe and terrified Kaylee; she pulls the blanket up over all of them.

The roar becomes deafening. There’s pressure in Kaylee’s ears, she can feel the floor vibrating. The house blows up.

After the shaking and roaring have stopped, and they’ve thrown off the blanket, Kaylee can’t see anything through the cracked but miraculously unbroken patio doors but a tangle of branches full of new green leaves. The basement has held together, though light is coming through some new cracks in the aboveground foundation block. “Kaylee, let me look at you. Are you okay?” Jane says worriedly.

“I think so.” She feels lightheaded with relief that the tornado is over, but nothing hurts when she moves her arms and legs. She automatically checks her SmartBerry, still in her hand, but there are no bars at all. Dismayed, she reports to Jane, “I’m not getting a signal. We can’t call anybody.”

“I expect the tornado took out the cell tower. Phone line too. Keep the dogs in here with you—I want to check things out, all right?” Holding to the shelter’s doorframe, Jane hauls herself up, grimacing, steps carefully out into the basement and looks around. “Looks like we were lucky. The ceiling’s still in one piece, far as I can tell.” She moves a few cautious steps farther and stops. “The stairs look solid but they’re full of junk, I don’t think we better try to get out that way. Let’s see if the patio doors will open.” She goes over and tugs at the sliding door, but it won’t budge. “Frame’s bent. The window frame may be bent too, but I’ll check before we start breaking glass.”

Startled, Kaylee says, “You’re bleeding! Jane, you’re bleeding!” There’s a big spreading bloodstain on Jane’s shirt and jeans on one side.

“I am? Where?” Jane looks down, sees the blood on her clothes, sees it dripping onto her right boot. “Huh. Now how the dickens did that happen? I must have cut my arm on something.” She comes back toward Kaylee. “There’s a plastic tub with a lid, see it? Way inside, back where the stairs almost come down to the floor? That’s the first-aid stuff; can you pull that out here? Fleece, Roscoe, come. Down. Stay. Get out of Kaylee’s way.” The dogs, both panting now, slink out of the shelter, very subdued, and slump down on the basement floor by Jane’s feet without an argument. Fleece has some blood on her woolly white back but seems unhurt. Apparently the blood is Jane’s.

There are three or four plastic tubs with lids back there, all blue. “Which one?”

“The closest one, nearest the door. Just drag it out here.” Suddenly Jane leans against the wall, then reaches into the shelter, pulls out the camp chair and sits in it.

Kaylee backs out with a tub. “This one?”

Jane snaps off the lid and looks in. “Yep. Thanks.” She rummages around inside, gets out a packet of gauze pads and a pressure bandage, and rips the seal off the packet. She starts unbuttoning her flannel shirt. “Do you faint at the sight of blood? If you don’t, maybe you can help me find the cut. The back of my arm is numb, I guess I cut a nerve.”

Kaylee isn’t crazy about the sight of blood, but this is no time to wimp out. But the cut makes her feel a little sick. It’s high up on the back of Jane’s left arm, deep and triangular, and thick-looking blood is welling out of it. She can’t help sort of gasping through her teeth. “I see it. It’s pretty bad. What should I do?”

“Put the pads right on it and apply pressure, don’t worry about hurting me. The important thing is to stop the bleeding.”

Gingerly, Kaylee presses the pads against the wound, but they’re saturated in seconds; the cut is really bleeding. “Do you have anything bigger? These aren’t really big enough.”