Stranded. Debby Giusti

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      Trey.

      A car was parked nearby. She couldn’t make out the make or model.

      “Stay down,” Colleen warned. Leaning across the console and around Vivian, she pulled the passenger door closed.

      Another shot. A rear window shattered.

      Vivian screamed.

      Fear clawed at Colleen’s throat. She threw the car into gear and floored the accelerator. The wheels squealed in protest as they left the roadside park.

      A weight settled on Colleen’s chest. Struggling to catch her breath, she gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled and focused on the two-lane country road that stretched before them.

      “He tried to kill me,” Vivian gasped. Tears filled her eyes.

      Colleen glanced at the hole in the window and the spray of glass that covered the rear seat. “He tried to kill both of us.”

      She should have known Trey would follow her. He loved fast cars, and no matter what he was driving today, her Honda Civic couldn’t outrun his vehicle of choice.

      Hot tears burned her eyes. “Our only chance is to find a place to hide and hope Trey thinks we continued north toward the interstate.”

      He’d eventually realize his mistake and double back to search for them. By then, they would have left the area by another route.

      “I’m scared,” Vivian groaned.

      Refusing to give voice to her own fear, Colleen focused on their most immediate problem. “What’s near here that could offer shelter? We need to stow the car out of sight.”

      “An Amish community.” Vivian pointed to the upcoming intersection. “Turn left. Then take the next right. There’s a small shop. An old barn sits in the rear. It’s usually empty when I drive by.”

      Colleen followed the younger woman’s directions, all the while checking the rearview mirror.

      Vivian glanced over her shoulder. “If he catches us, he’ll kill us.”

      “Not if we hole up in the barn. He won’t look for us there.”

      The army wife pointed to the upcoming intersection. “Turn right. Then crest the hill. The Amish store is on the other side of the rise.”

      Colleen’s stomach tightened with determination. She turned at the intersection and kept the accelerator floored until the car bounded over the hill.

      The rain intensified. Squinting through the downpour, she spied the Amish store. One-story, wooden frame, large wraparound porch. Just as Vivian had said, a barn stood at the side of the shop.

      Colleen took the turn too sharply. The tires squealed in protest. A gravel path led to the barn. The car bounced over the rough terrain.

      She glanced at the road they had just traveled. Trey’s car hadn’t crested the hill. Relieved, Colleen drove into the barn. Before the engine died, she leaped from the car and pulled the doors closed, casting them in semidarkness.

      Outside, wind howled. Rain pounded against the wooden structure.

      “Help me.” Vivian’s voice.

      Colleen raced around the car and opened the passenger door. The woman’s face was pale as death. Blood soaked her clothing. For the first time, Colleen saw the gaping hole in Vivian’s side.

      Removing her own coat, Colleen rolled it into a ball and pressed it onto the wound to stem the flow of blood. Holding it tight with her left hand, she reached for her cell and tapped in 9-1-1.

      Before the call could go through, a ferocious roar, both powerful and insistent, gathered momentum, like a freight train on a collision course with the barn. Even without seeing the funnel cloud, Colleen knew a tornado was headed straight for them.

      The barn shook. Hay fell from the overhead loft. The noise grew louder. Colleen’s ears popped.

      Swirling wind enveloped them. Clods of Georgia clay and shards of splintered wood sprayed through the air like shrapnel.

      She threw herself over Vivian, protecting her. God help us, Colleen prayed as the tornado hit, and the barn crashed down around them.

      * * *

      “Frank,” Evelyn screamed from the kitchen. “There’s a tornado.”

      Startled by the tremor in his sister’s voice, Frank Gallagher pulled back the living room curtain. His heart slammed against his chest at what he saw. A huge, swirling funnel cloud was headed straight for her house.

      “Get to the basement, Evie.”

      Her sluggish footsteps sounded from the kitchen as she threw open the cellar door and cautiously descended into the darkness below. Injured in a car accident some years earlier, Evelyn’s gait was slow and labored, like a person older than her 42 years.

      “Duke?” Frank called. The German shepherd, a retired military working dog, appeared at his side.

      “Heel.” Together, they followed Evelyn down the steep steps.

      An antique oak desk sat in the corner and offered additional protection. Frank hurried her forward.

      “Get under the desk, Evie.”

      A deafening roar enveloped them. Frank glanced through the small basement window. His gut tightened.

      Debris sailed through the air ahead of the mass of swirling wind bearing down on them.

      His heart stalled, and for one long moment, he was back in Afghanistan. The explosion. The flying debris. The building shattering around him.

      Trapped under the rubble, he had gasped for air. The smell of death returned to fill his nostrils. Only he had lived.

      Duke whined.

      “Frank,” Evelyn screamed over the incessant roar. She grabbed his arm and jerked him down next to her.

      Frank motioned for Duke to lie beside them. The thunderous wail drowned out his sister’s frantic prayers. All he heard was the howling wind, like a madman gone berserk, as chilling as incoming mortar rounds.

      He tensed, anticipating the hit, and choked on the acrid bile that clogged his throat. Tightening his grip on his sister’s outstretched hand, Frank opened his heart, ever so slightly, to the Lord.

      Save Evie. The prayer came from deep inside, from a place he’d sealed off since the IED explosion had changed his life forever. Just that quickly the raging wind died, and the roar subsided.

      Frank expelled the breath he’d been holding.

      Evelyn moaned with relief. “Thank you, God.”

      Crawling from under the desk, he helped his sister to her feet and then glanced through the window. Mounds of tree limbs, twisted like matchsticks, littered the yard. At least the house had СКАЧАТЬ