location and direction of travel to the local ESDA office. That information would be transmitted to emergency services all over Hardin County.
I, too, kept one eye on the horizon as I continued to cruise the streets.
A good part of Maryville’s population was also glancing at the sky as they pulled flapping laundry from their clotheslines or parked vehicles inside garages or called children closer to the house. On Main Street, the post office and Maryville’s other businesses—a tanning salon that also rented videos, an insurance office, a barbershop and a pizza place—were rolling up the maroon-and-yellow striped canvas awnings that shaded their front windows and were supposed to give the business district an old-fashioned look.
By ten, the sky to the west suggested the hour before sunset. Not the tranquil beauty of a pastel horizon, but the ominous threat of darkness. Wind gusts whipped through the streets, sending small branches and trash cans and debris tumbling. A solid wall of storm clouds—lashed by internal lightning and raging winds—gradually blotted out the sun, obscuring the daytime sky. Bathing Maryville in a premature, green-tinged twilight.
I swung onto 146 again. Just past the intersection of Main Street, a wading pool blew across the highway. I slammed on my brakes as it skittered right in front of me. The pool ended up in the oncoming lane, facedown on the pavement, and the few drivers who were still on the main road swerved onto the far shoulder to avoid it. By now, everyone had their headlights on, and I prayed they were heading for shelter.
I pulled onto the shoulder on my side of the road, jumped from the squad car and ran onto the highway. Grabbed the pool by an edge and dragged it out of the road. Then I stood for a moment—fighting the wind for possession of the bright blue plastic pool with smiling dolphins dancing around an octopus—deciding how to get rid of the thing. After a bit of thought, I walked a dozen feet to the nearest fenced yard and tossed the pool into it. The wind gusted again and the kiddy pool began tumbling but was promptly caught by four feet of chain link.
I brushed off my hands and then, on impulse, looked up toward the top of Hill Street. There, on the highest bluff in town, was the Cherokee Rose. The hotel’s redbrick walls stood out against the boiling clouds; its slate roof practically glowed in the odd light, and the tall oaks that surrounded it whipped madly in the wind. Suddenly and for no particular reason, I saw my family home not as strong and unassailable, but as particularly vulnerable.
Back in my squad car, I used my cell phone to call my family.
Katie answered, her voice whispery, but not breathless.
“Are Gran and Aunt Lucy inside with you?” I asked without preamble.
“Yes, they’re right here. And so are the guests. But you needn’t worry….”
Belligerence in her voice. But at the moment, I had other things on my mind besides my sister’s potential for homicide and malice.
“Katie, listen to me. If the sirens go off, I want you to make sure that everyone gets down into the basement. All the guests. You, Aunt Lucy and Gran. Don’t let anyone give you an excuse for staying upstairs. Take the flashlight and the little radio on the counter in the broom closet downstairs with you. If the power goes out, remember Gran won’t be able to see very well. Take care of everyone, okay? I know you can do it.”
The belligerence fled her voice, and all I heard was eagerness to help.
“Okay, Brooke. You don’t have to worry. And I’ll tuck my inhaler into my pocket right now, so you won’t have to worry about that, either.”
Sometimes my sister surprised me. Pleasantly.
My radio crackled to life as dispatch announced that the tornado watch had been upgraded to a tornado warning for the entire county. A tornado had touched down northwest of Maryville and was moving southeast at thirty miles per hour.
The siren positioned near the center of town went off.
I could hear its echo through the phone.
“Go now, Katie,” I said urgently.
“I love you, Brooke,” she blurted before disconnecting.
I didn’t believe her.
The radio on my dashboard crackled to life.
Not dispatch, but Chad’s voice.
“Looks like Maryville’s right in the path,” he said. “I’m heading your way to help.”
And though I hadn’t felt afraid, that call—the promise of his presence—made me feel safer.
Maryville’s weather spotters, I knew, would soon be seeking shelter out of the