“Oh my God,” his aunt gasped. She looked over at Shane. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” he replied hoarsely, having trouble getting air. “But your nose is bleeding.”
She wiped it and studied the blood on the back of her hand, stunned. Her eyes widened, and her tan skin turned whiter than he’d ever seen it.
“Here,” Shane said, handing her the handkerchief he had stuffed in his inside jacket pocket.
She held it to her nose, and they climbed out. Blood covered the car’s crumpled front end. Jagged bits of bone, burst organs, and shredded meat lay in a quivering pile entangled in the front bumper. Shane stared down at the twisted carnage, his body shivering from the shock of the accident. What was left of the cow’s legs twitched, and its mouth opened and closed like it struggled to take a breath.
His aunt had her phone out. “I’m calling 911,” she said frantically, turning her back to the wreck. The howling wind whipped her hair into a rat’s nest and made it hard for Shane to hear her.
Shane couldn’t stop looking at the dying cow. He wanted to do something to help but didn’t know where to start. Its crimson blood flowed across the hot asphalt toward him, mixing with neon-green radiator fluid trickling out of the car. He inched back so it wouldn’t get on his dusty, leather dress shoes.
“Come on, come on,” his aunt said, “why isn’t anyone answering?”
It may have been a minute or five before the cow stopped trying to live and lay still. But to Shane, watching and imagining how much suffering the poor animal was enduring, it seemed like a torturous eternity. Pacing back and forth on the other side of the car, his aunt dialed again and held the phone to her ear. Shane tore his eyes away from the dead animal. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the chemically smell of the car’s fluids started his head spinning. He stumbled to the rear of the car and put his hand on the trunk. Leaning over so he wouldn’t get any on his clothes, he waited for the vomit to come up.
“Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” His aunt walked around and put a trembling hand on his shoulder, the other still holding the phone to her ear. Her voice had a hysterical pitch, like she was about to lose control.
“Yeah,” Shane lied. Too dizzy to stand, he squatted down. The hot, tar smell rising from the asphalt didn’t help his nausea. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”
“911 isn’t answering,” she said worriedly. “I’ve tried three times, and it just keeps ringing and ringing.”
“Maybe we should call the police station directly,” Shane suggested, pulling out his phone.
“You have the number?” she asked, incredulous.
“Granny made me put all the emergency numbers in my phone,” he replied.
“Sounds like her,” she said with a weak grin and leaned back against the car’s trunk, putting his handkerchief up to her nose.
Shane dialed the number for the police. After twenty rings and no answer, he tried the fire department. No one there either.
“That’s so odd.” His aunt crossed her arms over her chest and hunched forward, looking ill.
“A tornado might’ve struck town,” Shane said, studying the horizon to the west. The sky was still the eerie lime color, and the wind blew even harder now.
“You may be right. We should get to Granny’s house.” His aunt surveyed the front of the car, its tires twisted out at opposite angles. “I don’t think we’ll be able to drive.”
“It’s only about a half mile from here,” Shane replied, trying to keep his eyes from drifting back down to the twisted carnage. “We can walk.”
He hooked his arm through his aunt’s. They started down the road, leaning forward and shielding their faces against the dirt and dust the wind whipped up. She looked so awkward and delicate with her fancy, black dress, high heels, and expensive purse tucked under her arm. Being a city person, she seemed as skittish and out of place here in the middle of nowhere as a horse in a henhouse.
They passed the sprawling walnut tree Granny said her father planted when she was born, and the wind died down. The electrified quiet made Shane worry a twister would strike at any second. He eyed the drainage ditch, knowing they could take refuge in it if need be, or even crawl into one of the large, concrete pipes running under the road if things got really bad.
“This is way too creepy,” his aunt said and walked faster. “This is why I’ll take New York over Georgia any day.”
“Do you hear that?” Shane asked. A deep humming caught his attention. He glanced back, but he didn’t see anything.
“Yes, weird. But at this point, I don’t care to find out what it is.” She kicked her shoes off and started jogging on her panty hose-covered feet. “We just need to get to shelter.”
Shane jogged beside her, and the humming grew into a near-deafening drone. Off to the left, he saw a dark cloud moving straight toward them, hovering a few feet above the dry, brown grass in the pasture. Horror gripping him, his skin tingled from head to toe.
“Hornets!” he shouted.
“What?” his aunt asked.
“Run!”