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Show Twisters . . . 33 Sure enough, the wind had died down. Maybe the storm wouldn't amount to anything, after all. That nice comforting thought had hardly entered my mind when the siren blared forth again. With a jolt, I remembered what Mom had told us to do, "We always turn on the radio," Arthur said, already on his way to the kitchen. "You want me to? I'll get the weather station." I was hardly listening. I hurried down the bedroom hallway to Ryan'8 room at the end. I hated like everything to get him up. He'd cry. I knew he'd wake up and cry. Without Mom, Arthur and I would have him screaming in our ears the whole time. When I saw him in his crib, peacefully sleeping on the side of his face, his rear end in the air, I just didn't have the heart to wake him up. I'd wait a minute or two. Mom would be back. Anyway, it's blowing over, I told myself, it won't last. Quietly, I closed the door behind me. That's when the lights started flickering. In the hallway, I practically had a head-on with Arthur, who was coming at me real fast. The look on his face scared me. "There's no . . . there's no . . -" "What?" "There's no radio reception anymore. It just went dead! This guy . . . he kept saying 'tornado alert, tornado alert!• . . . then it went dead." We rushed back to the living room. The TV was flashing these big letters that filled the entire screen: CD . . . CD . . . CD . . . "What'8 it mean?" Arthur cried. |