The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (story read aloud .txt) 📗

this was, the other side could be much better and still be horrific. Her thoughts numbed as she tried to focus on doing the job.

“Okay, I’m going to tip her. Joule, you hold where you are. Deveron, get gauze ready to stop what’s on her back.” Dr. Murasawa was taking firm charge. Joule was relieved; she was an engineer, but that didn’t include human machines.

As Joule pressed to the spot, now moving as Dr. Murasawa tipped Izzy, her friend jerked. She made a noise that sounded like she was struggling to breathe.

“I think she may have a collapsed lung,” Dr. Murasawa pronounced. Though she wasn’t a medical doctor, she seemed to know a lot.

Joule ignored the thought that knowledge alone might not be enough to save her friend.

“How do we fix it?” Joule asked. She wanted to believe that, if they just had a plan, they could make it work. But even as she asked, above her, a roar and a boom made them all look up.

The funnel had finally reached them.

71

Cage was carried up the steps by Joule on one side and Dr. Chithra Murasawa on the other.

They moved sideways. The east Indian woman was shorter than his sister, and she went first in an effort to keep him level. Joule brought up the rear.

It didn't matter that they tried so hard to protect his leg. The pain was excruciating, no matter what they did. They'd managed to make the bleeding stop and he was bandaged using a massive amount of gauze. His thigh was now effectively twice as big around from all the necessary gauze tied on tightly with shirts, strips of fabric, and pressure. He wiggled his toes periodically to be sure he still could.

When they hit the top step and he could see out the open closet door, Cage was impressed to find the house still standing.

It had sounded so much worse. But then again, he was no expert.

Boomer had walked out into the yard, the stillness circling around him. Clean air brought the sharp bite of ions after a storm, but the normal sounds that he’d taken for granted—creatures scurrying, bugs buzzing, birds chirping in the trees—were all eerily absent.

The only noise was Boomer, talking into the huge brick of a telephone in his hand.

Bob stood at the edge of the porch, watching everything and bouncing a little. He turned to face them, motioning them forward. “It's safe.”

Paul had kept them safe with the shelter. He’d had medical supplies enough for both Cage and Izzy, and even for Dev’s scratch to the head that they’d only discovered later. There was food and, after they'd stabilized Cage and bandaged Dev, they'd all managed to eat a little.

Joule had been overjoyed to find cans of tuna, and little Toto had been thrilled to eat one. He’d drunk all the water from the can and then lapped up more and more. Joule had refilled the tiny bottle cap over and over until he'd finally had enough.

Cage was quite certain that his sister now had a kitten. And he wondered if Mary Allen and Glenda, who owned Desperado’s Hideaway, would let her keep it. He was almost certain that, if they wouldn't, then the two of them—or the three of them—would be moving somewhere that would. Then again, he wasn’t certain if any of them would be staying at the Hideaway anymore. There was a huge hole in the side of the house that might take a while to repair.

As the two women, now very mismatched in height without the stairs correcting for it, moved him across the living room, he inadvertently put weight on the leg.

“Ow!” he yelped, unable to stop the sound and gripping their arms too tightly, just as he grabbed everyone's attention before he shook his head. “Sorry, dumb move.”

He breathed out through the pain and tried to distract himself. “Boomer’s got a phone?”

“Old Sat-phone,” Bob replied, still standing at the edge of the porch. “Always carry it.”

“Do you to just run search and rescue?” Joule asked him, still holding Cage up. She would literally support him forever if she had to. He knew that.

Bob answered, “Anytime we got something going on, we do. We started with our dad when we were kids.”

Cage had a moment to wonder what kind of man produced sons like Boomer and Bob. But they were doing good work.

“We're doing a lot more of it each year. Lost Dad about five years ago.” He sighed and shifted the topic a little. “The truck is jacked up high because we get floods. It’s heavy because we get high winds and down trees a lot. So we got a winch on the front of it. We get tornadoes every once in a while. Recently we've gotten a lot.”

“Like this?” Cage asked, but Bob shook his head.

“This is new.” He paused as though there was nothing more to say about that. Then he added, “Boomer and I checked the weather already. The fronts are done. Everything has moved through the area and dissipated. This should have been the end of it.”

The sky was once again a bright and bold blue, absent of any clouds.

Out in the yard, Boomer pulled the phone from his ear and turned around, hollering up to the group. “We need to get out to the road ASAP. We’ve got an ambulance already on the way for this one.” He motioned to Cage.

Cage nodded but wondered how he could make it to the road when he couldn't stand and his bike was surely gone.

“Let me see about the truck,” Bob said, hopping the steps down to the ground, much more agile than he appeared he would be. The truck was not quite where they'd left it, but it was upright, and in a few moments, Bob had backed it up to the porch.

It wasn't like Cage to let others carry him, but he had to let them do it this time. He was more trouble than help, and