Krysty had looked away, turning toward the direction that they’d come in from. “Unless.” she said.
“Unless what?” Ryan followed her eyes. “Joaquin and his sec men?”
“Haven’t seen them since the tornado.”
“And it probably wouldn’t have reached them, the way it veered around on itself.”
Krysty nodded. “They’d have gotten wet, but that’s all. And we all know the warnings about the baron.”
Dean spit in the mud. “That double-sick bastard was interested in Emma because he thought she might’ve been a doomie, one that he could pluck and put in his zoo.”
Ryan sighed. “Joaquin obviously saw the tornado. Ace on the line that Emma had predicted. Blew her cover in a big way. Yeah, it fits together like a knife and sheath. They came in behind the storm. Caught them hiding somewhere close by here. Lifted them and away while I was being rescued. Easy as taking sugared candy from a sleeping baby.”
“Wind covered any shouting,” J.B. said.
“Let’s go check for tracks on the road back toward the ville,” Ryan said. “But fifty gets you one that we know what we’ll find out there.” As he looked around, the arrow wound tweaked at the small of his back, exacerbated by the strain of heaving himself out of the basement.
EMMA HAD FAINTED.
The roaring of the tornado had drowned out all the senses. Jak had picked up the young woman in his arms, intending to carry her to safety out of the creaking building, when Doc had stumbled in, looking for all the world like a demented scarecrow, hair blowing, eyes open wide, waving his arms in the air, shouting something inaudible. He was holding the sword stick in his right hand, the massive Le Mat in the other.
When Doc was close, Jak could just hear his screamed words. “Coming back! Tornado’s coming back.”
A chunk of the roof whirled loose, scattering its shingles around the empty staircase, some of them flying down to the first floor, narrowly missing Jak.
“Out back!” the albino yelled. “Shelter there!”
He’d spotted that the roof was slightly more solid at the rear of the building, and he staggered the few steps along the hallway, nearly falling over the piled masonry, heels crunching through piles of broken glass.
The next half minute was blinding madness for all three of them.
As the tornado finally raged away, Doc was first on his feet, brushing dirt and mud from his frock coat, running his fingers through his silvery hair to try to restore it to some sort of order.
“By the Three Kennedys!” he exclaimed, aware that there was still too much noise from the storm and the pounding rain outside for the others to hear him properly. “An old friend once told me that all experience is good experience, but I think I might pass if that one came around again.”
Jak blinked open his ruby eyes, finding that he was still holding Emma in his arms. When he looked up he saw that the gable wall of the house where they were sheltering had been damaged, supporting beams snapped like straws. It would only take a small blow of wind to bring the whole wall down, fetching the entire roof with it.
“Out back,” he shouted, clutching at the tails of the old man’s coat to draw his attention, pointing at the roof.
“Oh, my goodness! Yes! May I offer my assistance with the young lady?”
But the teenager was on his feet, using all of his wiry strength to lift Emma, stumbling out through what had been the kitchen into the overgrown, muddy rear garden.
Doc was at his heels, pushing aside an overgrown currant bush that held globular fruit, the size of tennis balls, but colored a leprous yellowy white.
All three of them were soaked, and Jak laid Emma down again, her golden eyes flicking open, looking around her in bewilderment and horror. “Where?” she muttered.
“Safe,” Jak replied.
“Upon my sempiternal soul!” Doc exclaimed. “But your prediction came as true as true can be, my dear. A tornado. But it has not whirled us away from Kansas, on the run from the wicked baron of the west, and the yellow brick road is somewhat beslobbered with mud, I fear.”