Stockton County Cowboys Box Set

Chapter 17: Wet and Naked Chests

Chapter 17: Wet and Naked Chests

The Barnyard and Bunker

Arched Q Ranch

12:22 P.M.

Cord led me out of the barn and into the storm. As if on cue, brilliant white lightning flashed and thunder roared as Cord closed the barn door, while the Oklahoma rain pelted our bare torsos. Droplets of liquid drenched the cowboy’s furred chest and rolled down my hairless and muscular frame. The storm was out of proportion to what I was used to in Florida, but I took Cord’s outstretched hand we bolted toward the house. The rain was cold and the wind whistled around us as we ran through the water, the midday sky as dark as night.

Halfway to the house, Cord stopped running, and yanked me to his side. He was looking left, to the west. Even in the weird storm light, I could see the color draining from his face. “It’s a damn tornado,” he said, and I felt frightened. “We’d better run for cover.”

A funnel was headed right for us.

Frankly, it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. It swirled blue-gray while lightning played around it, accompanied by the booming thunder. It was titanic, hypnotizing in its beauty and destructive ability.

It was already over the horizon and coming fast. Cord tightened his grip on my hand, spun us around, and shouted at me through the rain, “The barn is closer! There’s a storm shelter there!”

I fought against the wind as we ran back to the barn, keeping one eye on the approaching funnel.

Cord paid no attention as he pulled us through the door and over to the hatch set into the floor. He pulled the door open and said, “We’ll ride out the tornado down here. There’s no need to worry.”

* * * *

So this was how it felt like to be Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Or was I Toto, or the Scarecrow, or the Cowardly Lion, or the Tin Man? No matter what character I played, I was afraid as I stared down into the shelter. My body froze; I really couldn’t move a single step. Thin, steep metal stairs—or was it a ladder, I couldn’t decide—led down into the dark shelter, where danger seemed to loom . My mouth went dry. I’d never really thought about hell, but the dark pit below me could easily have been its entrance.

Cord saw my hesitation. He said, “It’s a bunker, built during the Cold War. It’s perfectly good for tornadoes, so get your ass down there.”

He nudged me forward, but I didn’t move. No way was I going down those narrow stairs into the depths of a pitch-black somewhere. City boys like me were smarter than that.

The barn began to groan under the increasing wind. The wind started throwing things against the building: pails, rope, tools, whatever had been outside. The barn doors blew open and one tore off its hinges and just disappeared faster than I could see. I was frozen.

“Down!” Cord yelled at me. “We’re going to die up here!”

If we die, at least we die together, I thought, unable to move and scared out of my mind.

Cord had had enough of my cowardice and started down the steep, skinny stairs in front of me. But he kept hold of my hand, pulling me along as he descended into the darkness.

His tugging on me finally got me moving, and I somehow managed the steep descent. As he scrambled back up to pull the hatch door closed, I felt the walls closing in on me, the stagnant air thick and still with dust and disuse. And there I was, standing in a concrete tomb that had been poured more than half a century ago, trembling in the darkness, rain-drenched and cold, and I believed for the very first time in my life that I was going to die.