The Fallen – 1st Chapter Teaser
Curtis could see people running by him toward the barn entrance as the sound grew louder. It was now like thunder that never ended, and he noticed the old wooden barn wall rattling violently.
As he stumbled to his feet, he saw the last of the boys scramble out the door, except for the one who had been stabbed. On shaky legs, Curtis plowed forward, and as he made it to the front door, he felt something tug at his pants leg.
Looking down, he saw the blood-soaked hand of the wounded boy, who pleaded with him, “Please, don’t leave me. I’m sorry, please help me.”
Curtis kicked his hand away and pushed the barn door hard. The rusted hinges screeched, and a cool breeze kicked up a small whirlwind of dust that danced around the barn. He paused for a moment as his father’s voice echoed in his mind, “Always do what’s right.” Then reluctantly, he bent down to where the boy was lying, picked up the steak knife, and cut off the arm of the boy’s shirt completely, exposing the wound. Quickly, he tied the material around the boy’s shoulder and pulled it tight to stanch the bleeding. With one arm, he hoisted the boy to his feet and placed his uninjured arm over his shoulder.
As Curtis focused his gaze through the open door, he could see what was causing the sound. A storm must have blown in, and as the two boys distanced themselves from the barn, Curtis could see a huge vortex whirling across the sky beyond the field. The wounded boy yelled, “Twister! We need to get to a cellar! Run for the house!”
Curtis plowed forward as fast as he could toward the old brick house, with the weight of the injured boy dragging him down. The tornado was at the barn now, and Curtis looked across the field to see the other boys scattering in all directions. Shaking his head as he tried to maintain his balance, he wondered how the storm had blown in so quickly. It had been clear and sunny when he entered the barn.
The edge of the field was very near, and the fence was only a few feet in front of them. Heaving the wounded boy over, Curtis watched him topple to the ground on the other side. Curtis jumped the fence and once again lifted up his maimed counterpart, then braced him against his shoulder. They ran by the parked cars, and as they approached the opposite side of the roadway, a sudden jerk caused Curtis’s feet to fallout from beneath him. The rope that was still tied around his neck had tangled around a fence post. The wounded boy’s body flung forward and landed on the grassy area near the driveway that led to the house.
“Keep going!” Curtis screamed at the boy. The wind was now unbearable.
Running back to the fence, he began tugging at the rope to free himself. Despite his desperate attempts, the rope would not budge, and he could see the vortex
closing in. Giving up on breaking free, he decided that the only chance he might have would be to lie down in the ditch next to the fence.
As he did, he watched the path of the whirling mass of air coming across the field, and he noticed something odd. He’d seen many twisters before in his lifetime, since the small area that he lived in was known as Tornado Alley, but never before had he seen a tornado behave as this one did. It seemed to move and change directions frequently. It weaved through the field and quickly shifted to the left, then back to the right.
Refocusing his attention to the horizon, Curtis could make out the distant image of the other boys running across the field. To his disbelief, it seemed as though this tornado was following them. Watching more intently, he saw one of the boys get sucked upward into the wind. The twister changed direction once again and seemed to be tracking another boy; it quickly was upon him and scooped him from the ground, like an enormous cat pouncing on a mouse.
Once it had consumed that victim, it backtracked into the field again, and Curtis could see it closing in on Johnny, who was running in the opposite direction from the others. It enveloped him quickly, and Curtis saw Johnny spinning upward, flailing his arms and screaming.
Looking toward the house, Curtis saw that the wounded boy was nearly up to the small trap door that led to the old cellar. The twister plowed through the center of the field and into the front yard of the farmhouse. As the wounded boy opened the cellar door, the tornado moved directly overhead, and he clung to the handle with his body waving in the wind like a kite caught in an updraft. The force of the wind was too much, and Curtis watched as the wounded boy was sucked upward.
Fear began to grip Curtis, and he sank low into the ditch. The swirling air reversed its course once again and came back across the road directly toward him. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to find the lowest spot possible to hide in. The twister was now on the other side of the parked cars, and as Curtis looked up into it, a feeling of sheer horror overtook him. As the vortex grew closer, he lowered his head to wipe the dust and debris from his eyes. When he looked up again, the twister was directly in front of him, and he stared into the center. His fear peaked as he continued to gaze at it in horror. Something hovered in the middle of the massive tornado, and although Curtis could not make out its exact outline, he was definite about one thing. It was laughing.
