“Hold it, Doc,” said the man. “Not another step or I’ll blast you ta atoms.”
Justin blinked rain from his eyes and wondered briefly how this man could possibly know that he was a doctor, but then decided that it scarcely mattered at the moment and nodded slowly.
“OK, OK,” he said. “Just don’t shoot anyone, alright? Just take it easy.”
The man smiled, a wry, crooked expression devoid of warmth or humanity. “Doc,” he said, “me an’ my bike take it any way we can get it. Now move away from them two or I swear to God, I’ll blastya where you stand.”
“But,” struggled Justin, “you don’t understand. We’re from the Center for Disease Control, in New Atlanta, and we’re—”
“Shut up,” said the man, cutting Justin dead. “And keep it shut. Now, you two, get over here.”
Justin was furiously trying to think of something to do or say, but events—in the shape of the massive storm—suddenly intervened as the rain went from steady to torrential and the wind, so far just brisk, increased to the point where everyone had to lean into it to stay on their feet. Shading his eyes from the rain with one hand, he peered at the ragged little man in their way, considering grabbing Mr. Lampert and running away under cover of the storm, but the man was staring right back and showed no sign of any lack of vigilance.
“We can’t stay out here!” Cornell told the man, shouting to be heard. “We’ll get killed!”
The man seemed to consider this and looked up into the rain. Then he jerked the rifle at the group and gestured towards the farm.
“OK, go,” he shouted. “Into that barn! Move!”
They did as he said, making their way unsteadily to the largest building that was still intact. The man followed, so as to keep all of them covered. Who was this person, Justin wondered frantically? Despite his ragged clothes, he certainly didn’t seem like the average survie banger. And how did he know about them? But there was no time to think; the man herded them into the barn, a big, empty structure made of sheet metal and arced steel girders, and then into one corner, where he took up a guard-like position. Outside, the rain came down even harder, the wind was a constant roar, and lightning made the black skies look like a display from a strobe light. If the man noticed any of this, though, he made no sign and, as calm as if he was in line at the grocery store, simply stood and waited. After a few minutes, after an exchange of perplexed glances with Cornell, Justin, almost shouting but still trying to sound reasonable and confident, spoke up.
“Um, sir?” he said. The man’s pale, icy blue eyes slowly revolved to look at him. “Er, hello. May I introduce myself?”
“No,” said the man. “Shuddup.”
“But…” Justin began, but the look in the man’s eyes made him snap his mouth shut; there was obviously no sense in going on. Unless, that is, he cared to be shot to death.
Just behind him, Justin heard the Old Man say something, but the roar of the wind and pelting of the rain on the steel roof more than drowned it out. Wildly, the storm seeming to create as much chaos in his head as it was outside, he tried to think of something to do, some trick or another he could play on this odd, threatening little man. What would Teresa do, he thought? She wouldn’t have been taken prisoner, for one thing. That he knew.
Just then, something substantial impacted the roof of the barn with a crash that made everyone except their captor jump and cringe in alarm.
“What the fuck was that?!” howled Bowler, arms raised to protect his head.
“Wind, blowin’ shit around,” called Cornell. “Big shit, too, whatever it is.”
Justin looked apprehensively at the ceiling, where a thin layer of corrugated sheet metal was all that stood between them and the storm, and then over at the man.
“The roof won’t hold!” he shouted at the man. “We need better shelter!”
Their captor, with no more alacrity than before, looked back at him and shrugged.
“Like what?” he asked. “Where you gonna go?”
Justin frowned and looked quickly around the barn. The man was right; they were about as sheltered as they could get. If only there was a storm cellar or basement… But the big space was almost empty, just a few dusty old crates and a couple of big metal tubs for watering cattle. Then it hit him and he almost reached out to grab the man by the arm. Almost. He settled for pointing and shouting.
“What about those tub things?” he yelled. Something else hit the barn and there was a screaming sound as one wall partially gave way. “We could flip them over, hide under them!”
Glancing at the rapidly-disintegrating wall, where sheets of rain were now pouring in, the man suddenly nodded and motioned with his gun.
“Fine!” he called. “Go ahead!”
Eagerly, having watched this exchange, the others scrambled for the heavy watering tubs, where they quickly flipped them over and, ignoring the slimy ooze left in the bottoms, crawled under. Justin helped Cass and Swails with the Old Man and then scuttled beneath the other tub with Cornell and Bowler. As he did, he saw that the stranger was making no move to join them. Instead, he had wrapped one arm around a support girder and seemed to simply be waiting.
And then Justin dropped the tub, quickly pulling back his fingers from being smashed, and crouched on his knees in the darkness. Around them, the noise of the storm only intensified; the wind was now a solid roar, like a huge engine, and the thunder was almost constant.
“Holy shit!” rasped Cornell, no more than a foot away. “This is bad, Doc!”
“I know, I know!” Justin snapped back. “We just have to stay low! Away from the flying debris!”
And then suddenly there was no more talk as the roar all around them increased yet again and suddenly Justin was as terrified as he’d ever been in his life. Not the Plague, not the Fall, not all of the terrible, violent things they’d undergone since, came anywhere close to the mortal dread he felt now, as the very air around them seemed to tear itself apart.
Then there was a dreadful, screeching crash, as if the whole building had just come down, and rain, hail, and windblown objects began to ping and bang off of the upturned tubs like ricocheting bullets. The roar was tremendous; Justin could feel it through the ground itself, like an earthquake. Was this an actual tornado? And if it was, were they about to be torn to bits, smashed by debris, or maybe even whisked up into the sky?
Crazily, he realized that this would certainly be in keeping with the Old Man’s Wizard of Oz analogy. Except, of course, that they wouldn’t be simply borne away to Oz in the Gayle family shack. Rather, they would be shredded and pummeled and beaten to death by the force of the wind and the innumerable foreign objects whipping through it, reduced to bloody corpses before being dropped God knew where and probably from a not-inconsiderable altitude. Not exactly the stuff of kid’s stories. Well, he thought, at least it should be quick.
The roar and the banging and drumming on their meager shelters seemed to go on for hours, but in retrospect Justin knew that it was probably only about fifteen minutes before the worst of the noise and violence abated.
“Is it over?” he asked hoarsely. He could just barely see Cornell and Bowler, huddled into balls, but he could hear their heavy, frightened breathing. “Has it stopped?”
“Don’t know,” said Cornell shakily. “Maybe it’s like a hurricane, you know? With a, like, eye of the storm. You think?”
“I’m not sure,” said Justin, listening. “I suppose that’s possible.”
They waited for some time, teeth gritted against a return of the titanic roaring mayhem, but nothing happened. In fact, things got even more quiet. Even the rain let up and, before too long, was down to a relatively gentle patter.