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Show Twisters . . . 68 ELEVEN O'CLOCK The few of us who couldn't get on the minibus were herded into two police cars. The only person not cooperating was the man we'd seen standing dazed in the middle of the street. He was totally out of it, just as we'd thought. We watched as two officers helped him into the car with Ruth Pavelka, her daughter, and the cornhusker kid. The three of us filled the back seat of the other cop car. Me first, Stacey in the middle, Arthur behind the driver's seat. We were all wet and clammy and shaking like crazy, but I didn't care any more; I wanted to get moving. I knew we'd hear some radio reports, maybe something about Phillips. Then our driver was sliding in behind the wheel. He wiped his glasses with his handkerchief, all the while telling us his name was Kelly, joking that it was a good standard cop name and easy to remember. He could see we were nervous, I guess. Then, before starting the engine and the windshield wipers, he asked our names and we told him. "Nine, zero, eight, four-" Officer Kelly said into the mike next, "--leaving the 1200 block on Fonda Way with two males, one female passenger, evacuees. En route to K Mart." The radio blasted us with noise as we took off. Arthur and I exchanged weird faces across Stacey. There were so many messages crackling back and forth we couldn't understand a word. What a garbled-up mess! The radio was going crazy. "Are you getting any of that?" Arthur blurted out. "Some," the officer said, glancing at us in his rearview mirror. |