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Show Twisters . . , 77 MIDNIGHT We walked into the police station through double glass doors, into a big open space the size of a classroom. Officer Kelly, his hands on my shoulder and Arthur's, steered us left toward a sign that said Sheriff Department. I could tell by his grip he couldn't see worth a darn any more. When the policewoman behind the counter looked up and saw him, she practically threw her phone down on the desk. "Kelly, my God! Angle, get a deputy out here--" In that glaring overhead light he looked pretty terrible. Cuts were showing up all over his face-red lines dotted with pin-points of blood-and his eyes behind the empty frames had watered clean down on his cheeks. "I've taken some glass in my eyes," he said calmly, though I could feel his fingers tighten on my shoulder. I knew the pain was killing him now. "Can someone tend to these kids?" In two seconds a deputy was around from behind the counter, taking Kelly's arm. Someone else rushed out of an office. Suddenly we were surrounded by cops. "How bad is it?" "Can you see?" He tossed his car keys onto the counter. "I can't see much." "Angle, let the hospital know we're coming-" Someone took off his glasses. We stepped aside to let the others in around him. "You maniac," we heard the deputy say as he started off with Kelly, "out there chasing tornadoes!" |