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Show Twisters . . . 95 Before we knew it, she was herding us toward the same double glass doors we'd walked through five or six hours earlier. Outside, dawn showed us a gray and sodden world. It didn't look as if the sun would rise or set on anybody that fourth day of June. I had always wondered what Grandpa meant when he said he can smell tornado weather. I can feel it: my clothes never really dry out. The humidity that morning was no exception; it must have been ninety percent to start with. Or maybe it wasn't the weather right then, maybe it was me. Maybe I was a lot more worried than I knew. For whatever reason-humidity or nerves--! found that air heavy and musty and very hard to breathe. I finally knew what Grandpa was talking about. I can't remember much about going to the armory, except that we got through without any trouble. Inside, there were people everywhere, asleep on cots or just waking up. Stacey and Arthur led us straight past the gym and down a dark hall to their dad's office. That's where we found Mr, Darlington, looking really hashed, yelling at some operator on the phone. I'll never forget the expression on his face when he saw us. He grabbed up his kids like they were featherweights, one in each arm, kissing and hugging them like crazy. We couldn't stop smiling, any of us. Mr. Darlington hugged me, too, until I thought my ribs would crack. He's a great big man, someone who doesn't know his own strength when it comes to a welterweight like me. Then he sent Stacey and Arthur off to find the rest of their family while he and Mrs. Minetti talked a minute. We'd no sooner turned to leave than back came Arthur to smack me a couple of good ones on the arm, finishing off what his Dad had begun. "See you, Hatch," he said, letting me grab him around the neck before he |