Greg thought he could outrun the storm and get to safety, but where? He drove south on 19th street but had to stop at the light.
“Oh, no!” He turned his rearview mirror for better focus on the spiraling cloud that tossed an eighteen-wheeler into the air like a toy. As soon as the car in front of him passed, he slammed the accelerator to the floor, running the red.
The deafening roar sounded like a freight train bearing down upon him. The debris made it hard to see straight ahead. Before Greg reached the freeway, the road beneath him grew progressively smaller, as if he was looking at a runway beneath an airplane taking off. Jerked upward, he groaned when the seatbelt cut into his shoulder, but he was thankful he hadn’t struck his head on the ceiling For a moment he felt weightless, then settled into his seat as the car dropped like a rock.
He braced for the impact, sure that Hell was one last breath away.
From out of the darkness, a man’s voice faintly came like a distant echo. “This is Doctor Thompson. Can you hear me?” Someone squeezed his hand.
Greg opened his eyes, then quickly closed them. The light was too bright. “Where am I?”
“At Mercy Hospital. You’re lucky to be alive, but you’re going to be all right.”
“I hope so,” Greg said, “because I’ve been going the wrong way. It’s time I turned around.”

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