47. Ava
FORTY-SEVEN
AVA
I’ve only experienced one tornado in Sonora, and it was a baby from what I remember—it barely rattled the walls or cracked the windows. I’ve never seen one touch down before; the movement and way the clouds circulate are as petrifying as they are mesmerizing.
“We can’t outrun it,” Knox says, frantically searching our surroundings for another option. “Definitely not with the trailer.” His eyes widen and he turns me around. “There—” He points to a loft barn across an acre of pasture. He’s already sprinting to our bags in the back of the truck. “We’ll ditch them if they slow us down too much.”
I heave mine onto my back. “We can ride the horses. It’ll be?—”
Knox shakes his head. “The barbed wire.” He calls Lucy as I stare at the field, registering the fence for the first time. My heart hammers faster. There’s no way the horses can get over that unscathed.
Knox rushes to the trailer ramp where Harper stands, gaping at the tornado forming down the road with terrified, round eyes.
“Start running,” Knox calls over the intensifying wind. He unties Rooster and smacks him on the butt. “Get!”
“What are you doing?” Harper shrieks.
I run into the trailer for a saddle blanket.
“They’re safer on their own,” Knox shouts. “Now, go! Follow Ava!”
Harper collects her things in the trailer as I grab her arm. “Come on.” Taking Harper’s hand, we sprint off the road toward the fence. The wind roars more than howls as the funnel moves closer, but the sky is so dark I can’t work up the nerve to see how close it’s getting behind me.
Come on, Knox . I silently urge him to hurry as I lay the horse blanket over the barbed wire.
I toss Harper’s backpack over the fence and motion to her. “Up!” Holding her waist, I help her over the wobbly wire fence. “Run!” I shout, pointing to the barn when her feet hit the ground. I toss my pack over the fence next. “Go as fast as you can, Harper! Don’t stop!” My hair tugs from my ponytail, whipping me in the face, and I know the terror in Harper’s expression mimics my own. But Harper has a steely look in her eyes—a determination I wish I had right now—and she nods, turns, and sprints on her little legs across the pasture.
“Knox!” When I look back, the tornado is close enough I can see a storm cloud of debris thickening around it. Loca and Rooster are halfway down the road, running in the opposite direction.
“Let’s go!” Knox and Lucy are right behind me.
Lucy crawls underneath the fence and hesitates on the other side as Knox helps me over. My flannel sleeve catches on a barb, throwing me off balance, and I grab the wire to hold myself upright on instinct. I feel the sting and dampness of blood, but I don’t stop as I stumble ungraciously to the other side.
I take Knox’s pack as he climbs over, and once his feet hit the ground, we run. The cows pace restlessly around the pasture because, like the horses always seem to, they know what’s coming.
Lightning snaps through the sky, and I can feel the twister moving closer. In a matter of minutes, we might be dead, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been this scared before. Not when Lars was aiming his gun at me. Not when the old woman locked me in that room with her dead husband. Because this is nature, and it’s relentless and unpredictable, emotionless, and far more terrifying. My pack weighs me down more and more by the second, but I won’t ditch it yet—it’s everything I have left. My lungs burn. My legs feel like Jell-O, but the barn is so close I force them to move faster.
“We can make it!” Knox shouts.
The wind is so loud and violent I feel it vibrating through me, making my eyes water.
Harper struggles to open the barn door as it rattles on its hinges, and she frantically glances back at us. Knox practically falls into it, lifts the heavy, rusted latch and tears the door open. Lucy and Harper run inside and Knox takes my hand, pulling me into the barn behind him.
Harper slams the door behind us, and I spin around, helping Knox with the latch as I see the whirling monstrosity through the window, tearing at the northern fields, headed in our direction.
“I think it will miss us!” Knox shouts.
Lucy barks, and Harper’s fear catches up with her and she starts to cry.
“The stalls!” I shout, taking Harper’s hand. We scramble to the empty feed stalls fortified with wood panels, hoping an extra layer between us and the tornado will keep us safer from debris.
Harper and I fall to our knees and huddle into the corner, and all I can think is if the twister only grazes us, we might stand a chance.
Knox crouches down, straining with Lucy in his arms. Harper latches onto the dog for dear life and Knox and I sit on either side of them, our bodies the final shield and defense.
“It will be okay!” Knox shouts, his eyes meeting Harper’s first, then mine. I see his fear, but as always, he’s determined to survive this.
I nod, and my heartbeat is drowned out as the wind rages around us so loud it’s deafening.
It gnashes at the siding. The walls of the barn flex as the roof creaks and hay whirls around the interior. The tools on the walls clank and clatter as some of them fall from their hooks, and debris, and what looks like hail through the windows, pelts the building, shattering the glass.
Wind funnels through the barn, so violent it burns my face and eyes. I can barely see Knox, but his gaze is on me. It’s focused, and somehow, even in physical pain and paralyzing fear, it calms me. Resting his forehead to mine, Knox wraps his arms tighter around the huddle, and I do the same, folding in as we brace ourselves.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I wonder if this is it. After everything, this is how it ends—Knox, me, and a little orphan girl. Even if it’s the most terrifying experience of my life, Knox is here, and I clutch onto him tighter, waiting for the end to come.