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Show Twisters . . . 93 We went on through the green pastures and the still waters, I saw the lambs, all soft and fluffy, I heard them bleat for their mothers. We hadn't come to the valley of the shadow of death or "my cup runneth over" when all the lights in the place went out. We sat straight up. Stacey rushed to the window, jumped a few times trying to see out, "They're off down below, too," she said. We automatically grabbed hands when she came back, I couldn't believe it, but hers had already turned cold. In the big room one of the men struck a match. The light drew the parents together like a magnet. In the brief flickering we could see the girl on the sofa was sitting up, too. "Auxiliary power's gone," one of the men said, "must have blown the generator." "Dan," Stacey whispered, her voice suddenly grown quavery, "this really scares me." "It doesn't scare me," I lied right in my teeth. "I'm not scared at all." I held her hand tight, marveling that it was exactly the same size as mine, and squeezed my eyes shut against the terrifying dark. I started in again on the Twenty-Third Psalm, only to myself this time. Funny, how that shepherd, who sure enough had Jesus' face to start with, was looking more and more like my own dad. The next thing I knew I was being jolted awake by the thundering roar of helicopters going right over our heads. |
