Page 21 of Forced Proximity
“Fuck!” he roared. “What the hell was that?”
I gave him a droll look.
“It had to come out,” I said as I tossed the sliver to the ground. “Come on. Let’s figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do.”
He looked at my hand that I’d held out to him and snorted. “I’m easily twice your size. And you’re barely standing up. I think I’ll get myself up, darlin’.”
He had a point.
I was on my feet, but I was dizzy and swaying with each gust of the wind—and let’s just say that the wind wasn’t very soft. It was more like gusty winds that would blow you right over if you weren’t careful.
He sat up like it was effortless and rolled to his feet, using his arms and legs to force himself upright.
A single rivulet of blood trailed down his left temple, and I walked up to him and turned his face sideways so I could see.
“A cut,” I breathed. “Does your head hurt?”
He shook his head. “Neck does a bit, though.”
I let him go, and he lifted my chin and twisted my head left and right. “You look good. Other than you look like you stood in front of a mulching machine. You have shavings of wood all over you.”
I also had a ton of microcuts everywhere. I could feel them stinging my skin.
“The tornado,” I breathed. “It was crazy.”
And it was.
I’d never be able to put into words just how scary it was.
Then again, I didn’t know if it was scary because of the plane crash I’d just survived, or because it was scary all on its own.
I would hopefully never experience one again to know either way.
Then again, by the way that the sky was looking, I might not get that wish.
“Fuck,” he said when a stray bolt of lightning landed so damn close to us it made my ears ring.
I tried to pop my ears and couldn’t.
“We have to get out of here,” I decided, jerking my head in the opposite direction of where the lightning had just struck.
He shook his head. “There’s nowhere to go.”
He was right.
There really wasn’t.
We were in the middle of a dense grove of trees, and the only clear path there was followed the path of the tornado.
“Let’s follow that path, I guess,” I suggested.
He shook his head.
He reached for his pocket, but he came up empty. “No phone.”
I held up my own hands. “Mine’s gone. It was on the tray table.”
And that had gone missing somewhere in the middle of our downward death spiral.
