| OCR Text |
Show Twisters . . . 69 "Heavy congestion right now." He swung the car into the middle of the street where we were buffeted by wind strong enough to compete with the radio. I peered out the side window through water streaks. Total blackness. Only straight in front of the headlights could we see that this part of Fonda Way was in much better shape than where we lived. I strained to pick up some information from the radio. Now and then, something that made sense came through before the static took over. Engine six responding . . . I caught that much. Most of what I was hearing was the sounds of panic-the sounds of disaster, I realized with a shudder. . . . strong odor of gas . . . two occupants . . . Another barrage of static . . . Pagoda Lounge . .. Talk piling on top of talk, a jumble of ten-fours, numbers and stuff that didn't mean anything to me. . . . Dodge School . . . Hey, that was my school last year! Mine and Arthur's. Layers and layers of messages, enough noise and confusion to bruise your ears, but not one word about Phillips. Squad four needs fuel . . . National Guard . . . South Locust . .. Brrraaaaak! . . . e_n route to pick up body . .. Kelly turned down the volume a little. I gave up listening and stared at the blackness outside the window, concentrating on the little warm spot I had inside me: Mom and Ryan. I'd be with them soon. I could hardly wait. Mom wouldn't be afraid to ask questions. She'd find out what was happening in Phillips. |
