After the Storm

Chapter 12

Wild Horses

Emma was awakened by the pounding of hoof beats on the dry packed ground. A moment later, Riggs hauled up outside the door of the shack and leaned down in the saddle to peer in the door.

"Come on, Emma! We gotta got!" he shouted.

She was still muzzy with sleep and his urgency seemed very out of place. She sat on the cot looking around and grinned, thinking how ridiculous it was she could still fall asleep out here.

"I'm serious, Emma, come on. We have to get out of here and now. There's a storm coming." The tone of his voice now broached no argument. She jumped to her feet and raced out the door. Buttercup was panting slightly, but was still as Emma clambered up to her saddle. Riggs let out a 'Ha!' and the horses both leapt into a run. Emma held tight to the reins, leaning low on her mount's neck, and looked over her shoulder. Black clouds were roiling on the horizon. The air around her was a thick, sickly yellow-green. As they barreled across the pasture, she could not help but worry about her herd, though she knew they had a shelter on the lea side of the hills to protect them. Cows weren't stupid, but they were not immune to tornadoes either.

A cold wind struck her in the back and she once more twisted around to steal a glimpse of the approaching clouds. Her heart pounded in her chest as she saw purple, gray and yellow swirling low over the western horizon. There was a low wall cloud extending off to the north as far as she could see. Goosebumps raised on her flesh with the twenty degree drop in temperature. Turning back, she could see her farm in the distance, but it still seemed too far away to make it. The bunkhouse was the closest shelter, other than the shed. Neither would offer much protection if a tornado descended from the swirling mass of ferocious clouds. There was a storm shelter nearer the house, but she did not have any idea if it was locked or not. It was used for storage mostly, and only unlocked during storm season, but she had not unlocked it, so her guess was it was locked.

She kicked the sides of her tired horse to pull up alongside Riggs, to shout over the wind. "The cellar is probably locked! Where should we go?"

He peaked over his shoulder, his jaw set in determination. He whipped the side of Pete's neck with his reigns, replying, "We'll make it to the barn. Ha! Ha!"

The tired horses sped up, surprising Emma at their willingness to be pushed. She presumed they did not want to be stuck in the storm either. The wind grew more fierce. Pea-sized hail began to pelt her back and arms. The barn was about three hundred yards away when she heard an eerie sound. Her heart hammered in her chest as she whipped her head to see what it could be. Far out on the prairie, over the fields they had just ridden across, a swirling black funnel was descending. The sound pulsated, thrumming through her body, like the sound of a train engine idling at the station.

"Riggs!" she screamed, terror imbibing that one word with enough alarm he did not have to look back.

"Head for the barn," he yelled, "we'll bunker down in the tack room. It's on the southwest corner. It's as good as we're going to be able to do!"

The horses seemed to know the urgency and they headed for the barn, second by second the twister growing louder, and the barn seeming further away. Emma's ears throbbed with the sound, the pressure of the air made them feel as if they would explode. Tears of fear pooled in her eyes, obscuring her vision. If there was one thing she was terrified of, it was tornadoes, with their unpredictable nature. Storms across Kansas could spurn up a tornado without warning. She had not even known there might be rain today, let alone this.

Riggs arrived at the barn moments before her, and he threw open the sliding door. She rode right through and jumped off Buttercup's back. The horses ran in frantic circles over the barn floor as the roaring grew deafening outside. Emma was frozen in fear as she turned to see the funnel had grown in size, dust and debris levitating a hundred feet in the air around its base. She felt her eyes might pop out of her head, as she had flashes of the Wizard of Oz and the house spiraling up into the twister. Her neck snapped sideways as Riggs grabbed her by the arm and hauled her after him into the tack room. There was a heavy table in the corner, where her father had repaired harness and saddles in the past and he pushed her down under it, grabbed the horse blankets from the stand and threw his body over the top of her. He pulled the blankets over them both, engulfing them in darkness.

Adding to the thrumming vibratory air was a low moan, interspersed with anguished sobs. It took him a moment to register that it was coming from Emma, as his adrenaline was riding high, dampening the stimuli around him. Riggs was worried about how they were going to fare, as it seemed a direct hit was eminent. He pressed Emma further to the ground wrapping his arms around her and pressing his larger body over the top of hers.

"Shh, baby. It's going to be okay. I've got you," he said to her ear. When she continued to cry aloud, he began to hum a song his mother used to sing to him. He did not know what else to do. The metal sides of the barn began to shudder and he heard the sharp screech as the corrugated steel was ripped from the moorings on the roof, sounding as if the gates of Hell had opened and released the demons from its depths. Emma screamed and he flipped her around in his arms so they faced each other.

He could not see her in the blackness under the blankets, but he held on for dear life to the edges to keep the winds from ripping them away. If they were going to be killed, at least they would not know it was coming. Contents of the room began to pummel the ground, the table began to scoot across the packed dirt floor. As objects began hitting his back and legs, Riggs planed out his body, arms and legs wide, trying to be as low to the ground as he could. Emma was gasping for air beneath him, but he hoped it would be over soon. He squeezed his eyes closed as dust sifted through the blankets. His cheek brushed hers, and he felt the wetness of her tears. Turning his face, he kissed across her cheek and murmured, "I've got you, sweetheart."

She turned to his mouth at his words, still sobbing. He gently pressed his lips against hers in small kisses, trying anything to stop her panic. If this was his last moment, at least he was doing something that mattered. Emma at first did not register Riggs' kisses, but after the third or fourth, she realized what he was doing. She kissed him back as if he was her sole source of oxygen. She wrapped her arms tightly around his back and kissed him fiercely. She could taste a metallic tang, realizing she had likely split her lip on his teeth, she was so aggressive.

Then suddenly, silence.

Silence so still it was deafening. The two drew apart and Riggs slowly dragged the blankets from the top of them. He tilted his head up and his eyes met with bright sunlight where it should not have been, as the roof and the second story of the barn no longer covered them.