2. Twister
TWO
Twister
CJ
A petite brunette launched herself into the street. CJ slammed the brakes of his rented SUV, tires squealing over the wet pavement. The car’s windows rattled with the storm, and his vision sparked with afterimages from a lightning strike.
He swerved, turning the wheel to avoid a spin. Steering through it, he tapped the brakes to regain traction. A large piece of hail landed on the front windshield, splintering the safety glass into a spider web of cracks.
“Fuck, fuck, and double fuck!”
He came to a stop and jammed the transmission into park. The woman sprawled across the pavement. Had that lightning hit her? Was she dead? No way to know unless he got out of the car, but she wasn’t moving. Shit, what was that noise? Sounded like a freight train.
He glanced left, peering through the sleeting rain. A funnel cloud snaked toward the ground less than half a mile away.
“Shit!” He unbuckled and vaulted out of the car. Every nerve in his body came alive. Fear over whether the tornado would touch down, and concern for the lifeless woman, spiked through his veins.
Thank God he’d stopped.
Sprinting to the unconscious woman, he knelt at her side and felt for a pulse. A faint beat trembled against the pad of his finger. Still alive then.
After he checked for injuries, CJ pulled her over his shoulder, praying she didn’t have a neck injury. He didn’t have time to stabilize her cervical spine, not with a whirling beast trying to touch down.
Time to move.
Racing back to the car, he opened the hatch, thinking there’d be more room there, and set her down with as much care as possible. With another curse, he shut the back hatch as the growl of the tornado approached. Dirt and debris spun in the air.
Too damn close.
He scrambled to the driver’s side and jumped inside. A roar filled the air as the tornado touched down and churned toward him.
With the windshield cracked into a thousand pieces, he couldn’t see shit. He leaned back and kicked at the window until the sheet of safety glass crumpled outward.
Debris lifted by the wind hit him in the face. They had little time. He slammed his foot down on the gas. The tires screeched on the wet blacktop, slipping for a heart-stopping moment before launching him and his unconscious passenger forward through the thickening cloud of grass, dirt, and other debris.
Across the street, most of the local businesses were closed. A face peered out the window of a coffee shop. He prayed the person in the coffee shop sought shelter somewhere in the interior of the brick and mortar facade. He headed to a garage he’d passed a hundred yards back. It should provide more protection against a tornado than a building.
If memory served, the ramp angled down, going below ground. He shifted his foot, tapping the brake to spin the car in a 180-degree arc. The tornado ripped up the ground behind him, destroying the manicured park. It rumbled down the street, chasing him.
“Fuck!”
Rain blinded him through the missing windshield, and twigs slapped at his face. He blew through a red light. Everyone except him, and the crazy lady out for a jog, had taken shelter.
Something big slammed into the back of the car, lifting the rear wheels and making him swerve.
He regained control, thankful he’d been hit in the back instead of on the side or front. If the airbags had deployed, he would’ve been toast.
The parking garage came into view. He skidded, drifting the curve, and pulled into the entrance.
Sticks turned into branches and tree trunks. An awning from a local business cartwheeled in the air.
He barely heard the squeal of the tires over the freight train of destruction hurtling down the street. Turning the corner, he headed down to the next level; his ears popped with a sudden pressure drop. He had only a passing glimpse of the funnel as it brushed past the entrance, sucking parked cars up into its vortex.
He stopped another level down, pulling into a vacant space. His breathing was ragged, and his pulse thrummed along at a steady clip.
Behind him, the woman moaned.
He sighed. On leave, and he was still saving lives.
The storm continued to rage, but the tornado moved on to play with other victims. CJ exited the vehicle to check on the woman’s injuries.
The rental was ruined. In addition to the missing windshield, dents littered the roof and hood, and flying objects put deep gouges in the quarter panels. Oh, and the rear bumper was missing.
He yanked on the back hatch, trying to open it. Whatever hit the car twisted the frame. He tugged a few times, but it wouldn’t budge. Thank God he purchased the extra insurance the rental agency strong-armed him into buying.
He’d have to drop the back seat and pull her out of the car through the back door. Since he didn’t know how severe her injuries might be, he was a little reluctant to move her again. He fished out a flashlight from his luggage and climbed in the back.
Airway, breathing, and circulation intact, CJ moved to the secondary survey looking for other injuries. He ran his fingers through her matted hair. There was a lump beside the messiest ponytail he’d ever seen. Her hair was wet from the rain, but there didn’t seem to be any blood. Her relaxed features made her look so fragile. Fuck, but she was breathtaking.
What the hell was he thinking? The woman was hurt and unconscious. He was supposed to be a professional, but damn, he wasn’t dead.
She had a strong, steady pulse, and her chest rose and fell in a natural rhythm, both were reassuring signs. The tight exercise clothes she wore distracted him. They clung to her curves and pulled his eyes away from his professional assessment. Goosebumps prickled the skin of her arms.
Shit, the poor thing had to be freezing.
Her pained moan snapped him back to business.
Her left arm was bruised, no more lumps on her head, and no apparent broken bones. A medic by trade, he was suspicious of internal injuries. He continued with his assessment, lifting her shirt and lowering the waistband of her running pants. He grimaced at the deep bruising over the left side of her chest, which extended to her hip. She might have cracked her ribs, but since her breathing wasn’t labored, he wasn’t concerned about damage to her lungs. Her abdomen, on the other hand, worried him.
He needed to call 9-1-1 but didn’t have reception. The chance ambulances were running was low, and complicating matters, he didn’t know where the local hospitals were located. He needed to get to the street to make the call, maybe even search for hospital locations and take her himself.
She didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, although the bruising on her side suggested internal injuries. He’d feel better if she woke up.
He pulled off his jacket and covered her to keep her warm. Sharing body heat would be more efficient, but he could only imagine what she’d think, waking up in a stranger’s arms.
Instead, he made her as comfortable as possible. He crawled back over the folded rear seat and grabbed his duffle. He was cold too, drenched to the bone by the rain. The adrenaline coursing through his veins faded, leaving him with shaky hands and chills.
Damn, the sleepy little town of Fort Walton was full of surprises. He came for an execution, and now he’d survived his first tornado.
CJ stripped and changed into something dry.
While he waited, he pulled out the local daily paper and re-read the headline for the hundredth time:
Stay of Execution Denied for Fairytale Killer
He planned to watch a monster be put down. His sister would finally have justice, and he’d find peace.