1:10 PM, DES MOINES, IOWA, USA

James tensed his arms and legs, preparing. The darkness shuddered. A train raging through the cellar, louder than hell. The children were under a matress, mother’s arms draped over it with only a blanket for herself. He took two deep breaths. Insulin. Insulin. Can’t let her slip. Be hours before anyone can get to a hospital. She could be dead before then. “I’m going!” He shouted. Stepping up toward the roaring cellar door, he reached up and unlatched the door. Another step, pressing both hands against it and pushing upward. Strain, strain, strain, free as the door rips from his hands, off the hinges, whipping into the air. He grabs the frame to keep from flying with it. Crawls on his belly into the storm.
The roar nearly drowned out little Josie’s screaming. No sound of mom comforting her, of Danny whining. Crawling along the muddy track, an old horseshoe banged his leg on its tumble past him, searing pain then deep numbness. He kept crawling toward the front porch. Wind began to pull him up, no, can’t lose the ground, never get back down. He slid hard and slammed into the passenger door of the Toyota, denting it. He shook his head, eyes squinting in the blistering wind, rain like little knives driving into his face. The back of his head felt hot. He crawled past the car and touched the first step. Up, onto the porch and through the front door. It took all his strength to close it behind him.
An uncanny silence hung in the house like mist. The creaking of the frame the only noise, drowning out his own creaking footfalls as he ran, dancing over toys to the stairs leading onto the second floor balcony. Into the master bedroom, then the master bath, he fumbled with the medicine cabinet and grabbed the insulin bottle. He grabbed a handful of syringes and stuck everything in his pocket. He took the stairs back down four at a time, twisting his ankle at the bottom. The front door. He knew he’d never be able to pull it shut against the howling wind. A little rain damage. Shouldn’t be too bad. He stood to one side, allowing the door to bang against the other the instant he turned the knob. Three deep breaths and he ran out, into the maelstrom, determinedly facing the storm cellar. Less than forty feet between him and safety. He tried running at first, then had to duck, then crawl to hold against the wind. It still wasn’t enough. He felt his body stiffen as he rose into the air, tumbling end over end, then his head hit the roof of the car, spinning him madly as he continued to tumble. A swirl of dirt, wood panels, grass, black. Jeanie would not get her insulin. When the storm passed, mommy was sleeping and daddy was gone.