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  “Oh my God,” Morgan gasped out in shock. “The basement?”

  “There is no basement.” Ross moved toward Morgan to get her inside.

  “What are we going to do?” Morgan ran inside, then stopped. “The Freezer.”

  “Grab Judd.”

  Quickly, each of them grabbed an end of the sleeping bag, using it like a stretcher to carry Judd.

  “How long?” Morgan asked.

  “I don’t know. A minute.”

  “That one is headed straight toward us.”

  “They don’t move in a straight line. It may veer off, we’re still getting caught in the wind.”

  When they arrived in the kitchen, the one bus kid lay on the floor by the freezer door. His forehead was bloody and there were bloody handprints on the freezer. It was obvious he ran over and over to into the door until he knocked himself unconscious.

  “Sister!” Ross yelled. “Open the door.”

  “She can’t hear us.”

  Ross tried again. “Open the door!”

  The freezer door opened and Sister Helena gasped. “Oh my Sweet Lord.”

  “Judd!” Dawson screamed.

  Hurriedly they carried him inside and set him down. Ross ran back to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Morgan asked.

  “We can’t lose everything. Stay here.” Ross closed the door and ran as fast as he could back to the dining room.

  The windows rattled and the noise of the impending tornados was deafening. He grabbed two backpacks in his run, tossing them over his shoulder, then the case with the radio.

  His heart pounded and he couldn’t think straight. Where were the batteries? The room had been thrown into disarray from the chaotic run in. Finally he saw the bag by the fireplace, he lifted that and a duffle bag that was on the floor.

  The funnel was close, he could feel the ground vibrating. He headed back to the kitchen, arms full but stopped, there was one more thing. Even though he didn’t have time to spare, Ross ran back to the dining area and grabbed it … Judd’s guitar.

  He balanced everything in his arms as he rushed back to the kitchen. His call for them to open the door was buried in the wind noise. He dropped the bags and opened the freezer. He shoved the items in with his foot then ran in just as a loud crack and boom rang out.

  He dropped the items, slammed the door, and held it closed while catching his breath.

  There was a certain amount of sound proofing in the freezer, but he could still hear things clamoring and banging outside.

  Inside though was a solo sobbing sound.

  Dawson.

  He didn’t want to let go of the door, so Ross looked over his shoulder.

  Dawson was seated on his knees. He held on to Judd’s hand and lifted his tear filled eyes to Ross. “Please tell me he’s going to be okay. Please. Don’t let him die. Please.”

  Ross didn’t know what to say. More than anything he wanted to tell the child it was going to be alright, but he couldn’t. All Ross could do was turn away, face the silver of the door and hold on as best as he could.

  THIRTY-SIX – FORTUNE AND FAME

  “Branson, anyone, anyone out there? Do you read?” Morgan called out. “Anyone? Over.” She switched the channel.

  Ross reached over and stopped her. “Give it a few minutes before switching.”

  Morgan nodded.

  Sister Helena called from the backseat. “Can we go any faster?”

  “No, Sister,” Ross answered. “Water on the road is deep. I don’t want to stall.” He turned the defrosters on to clear the windshield, but it wasn’t helping. A steady thin rain mixed with snow fell and Ross prayed the water didn’t freeze. They were headed south, it had to get warmer.

  Go faster, Ross thought. They were so lucky they were even on the road at all.

  He thought back to the moment they opened the freezer door. Things had quieted down and they had been in there safely for over an hour.

  Judd regained consciousness pretty fast and was a great patient. He took the pain pills and the antibiotics and even joked about how bad his luck was.

  His demeanor was a good sign. It didn’t help the horrified feeling Ross had before he looked beyond the confines of the walk in freezer.

  He had no idea what waited beyond the door. It was time to find out.

  A simple creak of the door brought in a blast of cooler air and a fine mist of water. He could hear the dripping and expected the worst.

  Tornados were peculiar things. Ross remembered the time as a kid when he lived in Kentucky, His grandmother’s house was spared during a tornado and the next door neighbor’s home was flattened.

  It was dark when he stepped inside the kitchen, but he could see enough with the help of a flashlight that things had been toppled. He had the others stay behind while he checked it out. He looked up, part of the ceiling was missing. It was a two story building, he was pretty sure the top floor was gone.

  A light rain carried in as he walked into the main dining area. His primary goal was to go outside, canvas a way to get out of town, if there was indeed a way. They needed to get to Branson, it was their only hope for help.

  The restaurant for the most part was intact. Windows were busted and the door was off the hinges. The area above the bar had collapsed and most of the upper floor was in the dining area.

  The place where Father Basko had died was buried.

  Ross made his way outside. It was black, he could barely see anything outside his flashlight beam. He moved it left to right. The school bus was on its side and against the buildings across the road. The convenience store was flattened, however before him was nothing short of a miracle.

  Even though it was covered with debris, Judd’s truck, complete with the boat, was essentially unharmed and still parked right where they had left it.

  Ross had seen instances like it before, though rare, it wasn’t impossible. He was forever grateful. He would see better once the sun emerged, but until then, Ross worked on clearing the debris from the truck.

  It started, had gas, and just before five in the morning, they carried Judd to the truck and were on the road. Slowly, but moving.

  Daylight brought the clarity that the entire area had been devastated.

  Chunks of woods, papers and even bodies floated in the shallow flooding that covered the area, causing Ross to drive with caution.

  Morgan sat up front attacking the radio.

  Judd lay on the back seat, his head on Sister Helena’s lap, while Dawson sat on the floor behind Morgan’s seat, his hand continuously on Judd.

  Judd waned between being awake and asleep, he even tried to talk and joke. Ross knew he wasn't well. His color was horrible, a pasty white, but Ross wasn’t giving up hope. Judd was a strong man, fighting with everything he had both physically and emotionally.

  Ross was determined to get Judd the help he needed. It was out there, and Ross pressed forward at a safe speed. That was all he could do.

  A ‘thud’ against the bottom of the truck stirred Judd from his sleep. When he opened his eyes it was daylight, the last time he woke up it was still dark.

  “What the heck are you hitting?” he asked.

  “Lots of things in the road,” Ross answered. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore.” That wasn’t completely the truth, his entire body felt aflame with pain and he had the bed spins when he closed his eyes. “I keep dreaming of Morgan calling out ‘anyone’.”

  Morgan looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to get someone on this damn thing.”

  “Well how dee damn, you are in a good mood and no fighting. Guess my accident isn’t a bad thing after all.”

  “Rest,” Sister Helena swiped her hand across his brow. “Please.”

  “Nah, I’m good Sister. But you can keep touching my forehead. It reminds me of my mom.” Judd could feel Dawson, but he couldn’t see him. He tried, but he was at his feet and Judd couldn’t lift his head enough to see him. “Hey little buddy, how
you doing?”

  “Sad,” Dawson said. “I’m scared, Judd. Scared for you. You look like a zombie.”

  “Dawson,” Sister Helena scolded calmly.

  “No, kidding? Really?” Judd asked. “How cool. I was never very vain. I feel good.”

  “You look bad,” Dawson said, “You gotta get better Judd. You found me, you have to stay with me.”

  “Buddy, I am going to give it my all.” Judd cringed in pain. It hurt to talk, to breathe. “I could use one of those pain pills right about now, and that bottle I watched you pick up from the rubble.”

  “Judd,” Sister Helena said softly. “You shouldn’t mix pills and alcohol.”

  “He can have them,” Ross said. “I think it will be fine.”

  Morgan handed back the bottle and pills as Sister Helena lifted his head so he could take them. Judd coughed when the pill lodged for a second in his throat. He washed it down with more booze.

  “You know what’s funny?” Judd asked. “If I was shot before all this happened, man my music would outlive me.”

  “Not that you’re going anywhere,” Ross said. “Your music is gonna outlive you anyhow.”

  “He saved your guitar.” Dawson said.

  “No kidding?” Judd said, “That’s really swell. Hopefully I’ll play it again. I want Dawson to know my music.”

  “I know your music.” Ross said. “Every word.” He then began to sing, “Walking in the rain, feeling no more pain, Jack and Jim my best friend again. I can stumble, I can fall, I can take it all, but the addictions in my blood …keeps me heart a flarin’…”

  At that instant, everyone but Judd sang, “Craven Carrot Cake and Karen.”

  Judd laughed and coughed. “You all know it.”

  Morgan looked to the back seat with a bright smile. “That was you? Oh my God, I love that song. You’re famous.”

  “Was.”

  “Is,” Dawson corrected, “Everyone knows who Mr. Heston is.”

  Before anything else was said, a hiss of static captured everyone’s attention.

  “This is Branson, responding to unknown caller. Anyone there?”

  As if they won some sort of championship, everyone in the truck cheered.

  Morgan grabbed the radio. “We’re here. We hear you.” She looked behind her to Judd. “We need help.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN – LAST CHORD

  They were filled with hope. Even though the slow moving trip was taking longer than it should have, they were in contact with Branson.

  “Radio when you’re within fifty miles. You may run into trouble. We’ll look for you,” Bill from Branson told them.

  Ross didn’t know what that meant, maybe they had trucks out on the roads. As instructed they checked in every fifty miles. Sometimes with a longer reply, most with a “Roger that.”

  They put the last of the gas in the tank, with a little over a hundred miles to go. Only in a few places did the water ever recede.

  Two hundred miles before Branson, Judd started to cough. He talked less, and slept more. Sister Helena said he was burning up.

  Fifty miles before Branson, they placed their final radio call and they didn’t think too much of the lack of response, until only three miles later, the journey ended.

  The road just ended and nothing but a huge lake of water blocked their way. The water washed back and forth in a wave like manner against the concrete, almost as if it was always there, a natural lake.

  Tips of trees poked through the dark water, but there was nothing more as far as the eye could see.

  Ross stepped from the truck. He knew the temperature had dropped, but he didn’t realize how cold it was.

  Too cold to rain, that was for sure, even though the sky was clouded over. Ross spread the map out on the hood of the truck. “Branson is by that mountain range.” He exhaled in frustration. “What now?”

  “You know, from the moment Judd picked me up, I bitched about cutting the boat loose.” She tilted her head in a nod to the boat. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”

  “Do you know anything about boats?”

  “Nope. Do you?”

  “Not enough. Should we stay here?”

  “No, we have to try. We’ll layer up clothing, we have to try.”

  “He’s sick, Morgan. If it rains, the cold …”

  “We have to try. Those aren’t rain clouds. They’re too high. This …” She pointed up. “Is snow. We need to move.”

  He was hesitant, but eventually he agreed.

  It was the trickiest thing he had ever done in his life and it reiterated to Ross how much he didn’t know. It was all guess work.

  Judd helped. He woke enough to explain how to unhitch the boat and coughed his way through explaining how to get the motor going and how to steer, explaining it was like a lawn mower.

  He loaded Judd, Dawson and the supplies in the boat first. Once he had the boat near the water’s edge, Sister Helena got in, and Ross and Morgan pushed the boat out, climbing in once they cleared the road.

  It was so cold it hurt and the muscles in his legs cramped.

  A chill set into his bones and he knew it wasn’t going away anytime soon. The cold wind that continuously blew didn’t help either. He hated starting the motor and the speed of the boat made it even colder. So many bodies floated in water, they looked like logs.

  Morgan kept trying the radio.

  Nothing.

  It was a mistake, a huge mistake getting in the boat. Ross felt it, he knew for certain when the water thickened with sludge and ice and the motor fluttered and finally stalled.

  The boat stopped moving. Ross tried and tried again to start it, however it was useless.

  They were going nowhere.

  Surrounded by gray chunks of concrete and ice that floated by. Unfortunately, they were at a standstill.

  In the quiet of nature’s newest Missouri lake, Ross resolved they had reached the end of their journey.

  He felt horrible for Dawson. The little boy was covered in a blanket, never leaving Judd’s side. Every time Judd’s body shook with a cough, Dawson hugged him.

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “We should have stayed.”

  “No.” Ross shook his head. “What’s meant to be was meant to be. I just... I just can’t figure out why we made it this far. What was the point?”

  “Maybe it’s bigger than us,” Sister Helena said. “Perhaps there was a reason beyond our knowledge that we were meant to be. Maybe being something to each other before we leave this earth was enough.”

  Immediately, Ross looked at Morgan.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Usually, you make an anti-God statement at this time.”

  “Nah, not this time.” She glanced at Dawson. “There are no atheists in this foxhole right now.”

  “Oh my God, people,” Judd spoke weakly. “You all are so morbid. I’m the one that’s dying here.”

  “Judd no,” Dawson whimpered. “Please don’t say that.”

  “Sorry, Buddy.” Judd tried to sit up. “You guys are moping.”

  Whispering, Ross leaned to him. “We’re stalled. We’re stuck. It’s cold. We aren’t going anywhere. We're at the end of the line.”

  “For now. There’s a reason,” Judd said.

  “What would that be?” Ross asked.

  “My legacy. My song. I have to make sure it lives on.”

  “I know it.” Ross laughed.

  “Yeah, but do you know the chords?” Judd asked, then coughed. “Sister, I know you have a journal. Was it saved?’

  “I … I think.” She grabbed her backpack. “Yes. Yes it was.”

  “Grab a pen, write down these chords. Ross needs them. Morgan, can you hand me my guitar?”

  “Sure.” Morgan grabbed it.

  Judd tried to inch his way to a sitting position. He grunted and Ross helped him up. He then placed the strap over Judd’s head.

  Weakly, he placed his hand on the guitar. He eyes rolled slightly and his he
ad jerked as he caught himself dozing off. He muttered the simple three chord progression of the verse, then the chorus to Sister Helena, then struck an off tune chord.

  “You gonna play, Judd?” Dawson asked.

  “I am. Not very good. Not very fast, but I need to play. Join in if you know it.”

  The beat wasn’t as fast as the recording, and in the stand still boat, Judd struggled to play.

  Steam emerging from their mouths, they slowly sang with Judd. Their voices echoing across the water filled land.

  “Walking in the rain, feeling no more pain, Jack and Jim my best friends again. I can stumble, I can fall, I can take it all, but the addictions in my blood …keeps me heart a flarin’…”

  “Craving …” Judd sang, then stopped. His head tilted back.

  “Judd? Judd!” Dawson screamed out panicked.

  “Look.” Judd peered up to the sky. “An angel.”

  Ross felt heartbroken when Judd said that, until he heard the distant flutter of a helicopter. “Judd. That’s not an angel. It’s a chopper. We’re saved. We’re saved.”

  Silence.

  Ross’ eyes met Dawson’s as the little boy clutched Judd’s hand and his head fell to Judd’s chest.

  The glory and excitement of the hovering rescue was shrouded in a gloom, far darker than the clouds.

  Judd … was gone.

  THIRTY-EIGHT – BRANSON

  Branson, Missouri was gone. Technically it was still there, but under water. Those who survived the drop of humanity, heard about the storms and retreated to the Branson Airport twelve hundred feet above sea level.

  Bill Thomas ran the airport and greeted them when they arrived.

  He was just like Dawson dreamt. A little older, a little thicker, but he looked and sounded the same as he had in his dreams.

  “Out west there's not much, but there’s life and civilization,” Bill said. “We have enough fuel for one more flight out.”

  Dawson didn’t hear much about where they were going. Somewhere in Colorado. He heard Bill explain to Ross that it was some sort of manmade incident gone bad. That’s what they were thinking, and nature took over.