Free Tornado Warning by J.R. Tate

caused a complete collapse. He was lucky the tornado hadn’t finished the job with him inside, completely helpless.
    Clutching the canteen, he wiped the sweat from his brow and ambled over to the faucet. Rinsing it clean, he filled it up and drank almost half of it, his parched lips craving every drop he brought to it. He refilled it and told himself he had to ration it. On foot, the journey to Ryan’s house was going to be a challenge. As long as he stayed hydrated and didn’t run out of water, he could do it. He had to do it. There was no other choice.
     
    ~~
     
    Ryan hadn’t slept that night. He worried about Ty and about the looters, and with the makeshift piece of metal he had found in a field serving as their only security, he wasn’t able to sit still. He continued to check Ty – with head injuries, sleeping was possibly a bad thing, especially if he had a concussion. He seemed comfortable and didn’t complain about pain. That could also be his body in shock, which meant the longer he was without medical attention, the worse everything would get.
    He pulled out some instant coffee and measured out a couple of spoonfuls, stirring it in a plastic cup. He didn’t take the time to heat water up – it was luke-warm, and while it wasn’t the best, it aided in appeasing his caffeine addiction.
    Kneeling beside Ty, he watched him for a few seconds. His son was still asleep, and for the first time since the tornado, he looked comfortable. Ryan told himself it was a good thing – he couldn’t harp on the possibility of it being detrimental to his health.
    He pulled out a jar of peanut butter. It’d be a good, filling breakfast that wouldn’t take too much out of their surplus. Using the same spoon, he ate a glob and took a sip of coffee. He adjusted the lantern, brightening the cellar. With the piece of metal over the exit, it had made the room pitch black, and he was curious to see what the weather was like outside.
    Finishing his coffee, he climbed up the wall and slid the homemade door off. It was cloudy and humid, but the heat hadn’t set in. There was still no sign of the sun, and Ryan was starting to miss it. No wonder people up north got depressed during winter – with no sun, it definitely affected his mood. Or maybe it was the whole situation – he needed to talk to Cecilia, her parents, and his father. He needed to make sure they were all okay and accounted for.
    He kept the pistol in his pocket. What if those guys came back with their own weapon? He had to be ready. It was a shame people resorted to that kind of behavior in times like this, instead of pulling together and helping each other out. He would’ve been glad to give them more food, but when they threatened him and his son, Ryan’s protective instinct came out.
    He needed to find a way to lock the cellar. With the barn half gone and all of his tools missing, it was going to be a challenge. He kept the sturdy wood separate – his plan with that pile was to rebuild the steps that had been torn to shit. At least he still had the Swiss Army knife in his pocket. He never went anywhere without it, and it’d serve a crucial role in his attempt to rebuild their bunker.
    Grabbing the thin branches that were scattered over the ground, he cut thin strips off of them, keeping the pieces as long as possible. Weaving them in and out of each other, he made as many pieces of rope that he could. He braided them, his fingers raw as he tightened the strips. If he couldn’t rebuild the stairs, he could make a stretcher out of what he was finding and get Ty out that way.
    “Dad?”
    Ty’s voice echoed below, and Ryan shimmied down to meet him. “Hey, Ty. How are you feeling?”
    “I’m hungry. What time is it?” He was groggy and rolled on his side, keeping the weight off of his arm.
    Ryan glanced at his watch. “Seven AM. Want me to make you some breakfast?” Maybe Ty should get up and walk. He wasn’t a medical expert, so every decision he made