Page 58 of Desperate Creed

“Oh no,” she whispered and her eyes met Maggie’s. “Can they track this?” Her fingers were sliding the band up and down her wrist. Maggie could see the skin turning red. She put out a hand and stopped her.

“It’s Bluetooth,” Maggie said. “It’s possible.”

“And you think they’re here, don’t you?”

“Just relax, okay?” Maggie noticed the wind had picked up, and now, fat drops of rain started hitting the window.

“Folks,” a short, stout man came into the middle of the restaurant. His bald head glistened with sweat. He was waving his hands for their attention. Maggie hadn’t see where he’d come from, but he was wearing a stained apron.

“Folks,” he tried again, and everyone quieted. “My name’s Hank. I’m the head cook. I need to tell y’all, we’re in a tornado warning. Nobody needs to panic,” he said.

Even as he said this, Maggie saw the two waitresses hustling through the restaurant, picking up and delivering and finishing, reminding her of flight attendants when a pilot comes on to warn about turbulence.

“We have a small basement. It’s nothing fancy, but y’all might want to consider coming on down. At least until we know it’s safe. It’s over this way.” He gestured to the back of the restaurant and started walking in that direction, but no one followed.

Maggie looked to Frankie, but she was so busy studying the parking lot that Maggie wondered if she had even heard the man. And now, Maggie could see the wind had gotten stronger. Trees swayed. The rain was coming down in sheets.

There was a crash of thunder. No warning. No slow, distant rumble.

Lightning flickered in the dark sky and so did the restaurant’s lights. A second crash sent almost all the guests to their feet.

“Everyone, please, let’s head this way,” Hank said and now the two waitresses were encouraging people.

“Oh no!” It was the trucker sitting in the booth close to the front door. He bolted up out of his seat. Just as he turned, the glass in the front doors exploded.

“Let’s move it!” Maggie shouted as she raced across the room and started herding people to the back.

She looked over her shoulder to check on Frankie and saw her helping the two older women who had been seated close to them. A teenaged boy pulled and pushed at the woman with him, despite her being paralyzed by the loud roar that blared through the shattered glass door. Hank was already out of sight, yelling for guests to hurry. Maggie could barely hear him over the wind.

The couple that had looked like new lovers started running for the back, but the man was three steps ahead, glancing back but not waiting for the woman. The man in a polo shirt followed. He stopped to loop his arm through the woman’s and pulled her along.

The trucker stopped to help one of the waitresses. He was motioning for Frankie to hurry with the other two women.

“Go,” Maggie shouted to Frankie when she saw her stop and look as though she might wait for her.

Maggie turned back around to gather the last waitress. She was nowhere in sight. Maybe she had gone ahead and Maggie missed her. Was that possible? The only other place was the kitchen or the restrooms. Over the counter she could see into the kitchen area. The grill was abandoned. There was no one. Maybe the woman had already gone down.

“Rita?” she called but the howl drowned out her voice.

She saw the older man, the one with salt and pepper hair who had been at the far end of the counter. For some reason he was clear across the restaurant close to where Maggie and Frankie had been seated. He looked like he was searching for something.

“We’ve got to go,” she yelled at him.

He didn’t seem to hear her.

More windows shattered. Another crash followed by a boom. It sounded like explosions. The lights flickered. Maggie felt her ears pop just as lunch plates took flight. One of them sailed into her forehead before she could duck. It knocked her off her feet. Blood dripped down her face as she crawled. One blurry-eyed glance out the door and she saw trees swaying erratically. Behind the trees a cloud of black smoke was spitting out ash.

Then it occurred to Maggie what it was, and her heart started banging against her ribcage. It wasn’t smoke behind the trees. And it wasn’t ash. It was the tornado spewing debris, and it was heading directly for the restaurant.

She pushed to her feet fighting against the wind and being pelted by what it brought with it. She felt her way along the wall, hoping she was heading in the right direction. Chairs and tables were skidding across the floor. More glassware crashed against the walls.

“Come on,” a deep voice called. “Hurry!”

Objects were pummeling the roof. There was a scream of metal ripping away and a new draft overhead. She didn’t dare look up. Suddenly, in front of her was a hulk of a man reaching his hand out to her. It was the truck driver.

“Hurry!” Frankie yelled from behind him.

Maggie stretched her arm toward them. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her the rest of the way. She stumbled down the concrete steps, descending into dark shadows. She saw that the older gentleman had made it down before her. There was a landing. Her hand pressed against the cool concrete. Before she turned to descend down the next set of stairs, the door above her slammed shut.