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created by the tornado. It had grown larger in just the few seconds when I turned away.
Shepley signaled for me to wait while he jogged to the wreckage. He peeked in, took a few steps
back, and then rushed to check on the driver of the truck. His shoulders slumped. They were all gone.
 You can t stay here! a woman said, tugging on my arm.
She held hands with a young boy, about ten years old. The whites of his eyes stood out against his
dark bronze skin.
 Mom! he said, pulling her away.
 It s going to plow straight through here! You have to find shelter! the mother said again, taking
off toward the gas station with her son.
Shepley returned to me, taking my hand.  We have to go, he said, turning to see dozens of people
running toward us from their parked vehicles.
I nodded, and we began to run. The rain stung my face, blowing horizontally instead of toward the
ground, making it hard to see.
Shepley looked back.  Go! he said.
We ran across two lanes and then paused on the far side of the grass median. Traffic was light but
still moving in both directions. We stopped for a moment, and then Shepley pulled me forward again,
across both lanes of oncoming traffic and then down the on ramp toward the gas station. A tall sign
overhead read Flying J. People were running from the parking lot toward the overpass.
Shepley stopped, and my chest was heaving.
 Where are you going? Shepley asked no one in particular.
A man holding the hand of a grade school aged girl ran past us, pointing ahead.  It s full! They
can t fit any more!
 Shit! I cried.  Shit! What do we do?
Shepley touched my cheek, worry tightening the skin around his eyes.  Pray it doesn t hit us.
We ran together to two bridges that allowed the turnpike passage over the top of Highway 170.
Large concrete pillars loomed over us, creating the underbelly where the metal met the hillside. The
crevices of both bridges were already pregnant with frightened people.
 There s no room, I said, feeling hopeless.
 We ll make room, Shepley said.
As we climbed the steep incline of the concrete hill, cars that were still crossing overhead
sounded like bass drums. Parents had tucked their children into the deepest corners they could find
and covered them with their own bodies. Couples huddled together, and a group of four teenage girls
wiped their wet cheeks, alternating between cussing at their cell phones and praying.
 There, Shepley said, pulling me beneath the western bridge.  It s going to hit the east bridge
first. He led me to the center where there was a small space just big enough for one of us.  Climb
up, Mare, he said, pointing to the small lip preceding the two-feet deep concrete niche.
I shook my head.  There s no room for you.
He frowned.  America, we don t have time for this.
 It s coming! someone from the west bridge cried.
Shepley grabbed each side of my face and planted a hard kiss on my lips.  I love you. We re going
to be okay. I promise. Get up there.
He tried to guide me, but I resisted.
 Shep  I said over the wind.
 Right now! he demanded. He d never spoken to me like that before.
I swallowed and then obeyed.
Shepley looked around, huffing and peeling his soaked T-shirt away from his torso. He noticed a
man below holding up his cell phone.
 Tim! Get up here! a woman called.
Tim slicked back his wet dark hair, continuing to point his phone in the direction of the tornado.
 It s getting close! he called back, smiling with excitement.
Children cried out, and a few adults did, too.
 Is this happening? I said, feeling my heart thundering against my rib cage.
Shepley squeezed my hand.  Look at me, Mare. It ll be over soon.
I nodded quickly, leaning over to see Tim still filming. He took a step back and then began
scrambling up the incline.
I pulled Shepley as close to me as I could, and he held me tight. Time seemed to pause. It was
quiet no wind, no crying, almost as if the whole world had held its breath in anticipation of the next
few seconds. This was a moment in time that would change the lives of everyone who had taken
cover under the wrong bridges.
Too quickly, peace was over, and the wind began to roar like a dozen military jets were slowly
flying low overhead. The grass in the median below began to whip, and I felt like I was under a mile
of water, the change in air pressure feeling heavy and disorienting. At first, I was pushed back a bit,
and then I saw Tim being taken off his feet. He slammed to the ground, clawed at the concrete, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]