There was nothing.
He ran towards where they had been when the wave hit. The voice was a bit louder here, but still he saw no sign of Angelo. Apart from Ben and the pick-up truck, the road was deserted. He glanced nervously towards the tornado. If he was going to get out of here, he had to leave quickly. He had to leave now.
It was only then that he saw him.
Angelo wasn't on the road; the wave had thrown him to the edge and now he was hanging onto the raised barrier with a single hand. Ben sprinted towards him. The face of his Italian friend was etched with a mixture of concentration, exhaustion and sheer terror. One hand was taking all his weight, and with an immense struggle he raised the other over the edge of the barrier.
He was still clutching the detonator.
'I can't hold on much longer, Ben,' he shouted urgently. 'Take it! Take the detonator! We can't let it fall into the water with me.'
As he spoke, Angelo's grip faltered. Half of his face disappeared behind the barrier, leaving only his eyes in view. They were urgent and terrified as he waved the detonator in the air.
Ben knew he was right. He knew he should grab the detonator first. But somehow he simply couldn't. He fixed Angelo with a steely, determined stare, then used his good arm to clutch onto his friend's wrist — the one that was holding the barrier.
'Let go,' he hissed. 'I can't pull you back if you're still holding on.'
Angelo hesitated.
'Let go!' Ben insisted. It was a leap of faith, he knew that. But it was one that had to be made.
Angelo's fingers relaxed; all of a sudden, Ben was supporting all his friend's weight.
Then he pulled.
Battered and exhausted, Ben felt like he had no strength in him, but he didn't give up. One-handed, he tugged at Angelo's arm with every last bit of power he possessed, slowly dragging his friend — and the detonator — over the barrier towards him. On the fringes of his vision was the tornado, watching over them, waiting to strike; and all around them were the sounds and sights of the storm and the raging seas.
Ben ignored it all. He ignored the pain in his broken arm; he ignored the spray that was all around them. He just pulled for all he was worth.
It took nearly a minute to haul Angelo in. The Italian boy fell heavily onto the ground, but he did not let go of the detonator. He lay on his back, panting; but there was still no time to rest. The very moment Angelo was on the road, Ben's attention was elsewhere.
The tornado was coming. They had to get away.
'Get in the truck,' Ben bellowed. 'You'll have to drive — I can't with this broken arm.' He winced as he spoke, trying to ignore the wooziness that was creeping over his body.
Angelo struggled to his feet and together they hurried to the pick-up. 'I can't,' he replied as they ran. 'I've never driven. I don't know how.'
They were at the truck now. Ben looked nervously once more at the tornado. 'When that thing gets here,' he shouted, 'it's going to rip up everything in its path.' He turned to Angelo. 'All right,' he shouted. 'I'll drive. But you'll have to help me.'
Angelo looked unsure of himself, but he nodded and they both jumped into the pick-up.
It was saturated inside, dripping like the inside of a shower cubicle. Ben sat behind the wheel, his broken arm hanging limply by his side, then awkwardly used his other hand to turn the ignition. The engine coughed and spluttered, but it did not turn over.
Ben cursed, then tried again.
Nothing.
He looked at Angelo. 'I can't keep doing this,' he said. 'I'll flood the engine.'
'Er, Ben,' Angelo said tensely. 'We haven't really got time to wait for this thing to dry out. Either we get it going, or we run.'
The two of them looked at the road ahead. It stretched off into the darkness: neither of them needed to say out loud that if they tried to do it on foot, they'd never make it.
Ben took a deep breath and turned the key one more time. The engine choked alarmingly but then, suddenly, it sprang into life. They exchanged a relieved glance.
'Knock it into drive,' Ben instructed.
Angelo did as he was told and Ben gingerly moved forward. His arm was shrieking in pain and his whole body was sweating, but he tried to ignore it as he accelerated, and soon they were thundering along the slippery road once again.
Ben did his best not to look in the rear-view mirror, knowing that if he caught another glimpse of the tornado it would do nothing for his concentration. He just kept his eye on the road ahead. Now and then the windscreen would be splattered with sea water and his vision obscured. But he just kept going, keeping the truck straight with his good arm, all the while doing what he could to ignore the pain in his other one.
He could never have kept it up for long. They had been driving for little more than ten minutes when he started to feel faint. His foot slipped from the accelerator; the pick-up started to slow down.
'Don't stop,' Angelo shouted, rousing Ben from his moment of faintness. 'I think I can see land. Keep going.'
Ben's foot felt for the accelerator again; he increased his speed and did everything he could to keep his concentration up. Angelo could clearly tell he was having difficulties, because he kept talking, loudly and in tones of encouragement. Ben had no idea what he was saying, however. He wasn't even listening. He was just concentrating on getting off the Overseas Highway and onto Key Largo.
When he finally saw the first of the Florida Keys, he felt like a condemned man who had been given a last-minute reprieve. A huge billboard flapped in the wind. 'WELCOME TO, KEY LARGO' it read in big, bright letters; but the island didn't look very welcoming. Nowhere looked welcoming in the middle of the night in this kind of weather. Ben was vaguely aware of the wind-devastated buildings up ahead, but he paid them no attention. They were a familiar sight now, after all. The pick-up truck screamed onto dry land and Ben travelled away from the coast for a good couple of minutes before finally allowing his foot to slip from the accelerator. The truck slowed down gradually as Ben coasted along the main road that was still mercifully deserted. And finally it shuddered and stalled to halt.
Ben glanced to one side. Angelo was there, ashen-faced and soaking wet. But in his hand he still held the detonator. Safely. Soundly. Clutching it for all he was worth.
It was the last thing Ben saw before he slumped, exhausted and in agony, over the steering wheel of the vehicle, and then passed out.
Back out at sea, the tornado whirled and twisted. It sucked up huge amounts of sea water and then spat them out again, all the while making its relentless way in the direction of the Overseas Highway.
It reached that huge structure barely minutes after Ben and Angelo had evacuated it. It only took a few seconds to rip up the huge girders of concrete, steel and tar from which the road had been constructed; and only a few seconds to throw it out again, leaving a scene of utter devastation in its wake.
And had anybody been there, they might have noticed a curious thing. It was a truck that seemed to erupt from the murky, stormy waters of the sea, as though it were defying the laws of science and nature and taking flight. It was nature herself, however, who sucked it up into the sky, spun it round like a stone in a sling and then hurled it even further out to sea, where it broke up into a hundred pieces as it slammed against the water.
But nobody was there, and a good thing too. Because no human could have survived standing in the course of that immense, powerful freak of nature.
The twister continued its way out to sea, howling and roaring as it spun into the empty void of the night.