Storm Chasers: Revenge

The second episode in the teen fiction series, Storm Chasers. It is entitled "Revenge."
Andrew sees a menacing tornado about to destroy a small city. After saving the citizens, he views the twister as a person; an enemy, and wants to kill it as revenge for his own death.


The short bend leading to Dwight Warner’s farmhouse from the highway was already filled to the brim with yellow leaves, even though it was still early in the fall. He trampled down the path, making a sound like broken glass. Ten yards down the road he met up with Andrew and the others.
“Oh, thank you,” he said. “Thank you for coming back...I think.” Mr. Warner had a confused look on his face for a moment. “Do I know you, son? Are you the young man who delivered my supplies yesterday, just before the twister hit?”
Andrew said nothing. He stared blankly at the old man.
“Oh, it doesn't matter. You're here now. And you brought reinforcements. Good. The Chamber of Commerce still needs a lot of help organizing for the fair next weekend. Won’t you kids please go to the office downtown and…” Another look of bewilderment. “Are you sure you weren’t here yesterday?”
“I don’t think so,” Andrew replied.
“Where were you when the storm hit?”
“I guess I was hiding out at home.”
“Home, eh? You live around here?”
“Yeah. My place isn’t too far off,” Andrew offered, with a quick rightward glance of his head. “Over by the creek.”
“The town creek is that way, young man,” said the old timer, matter of factly, pointing a hitchhiking thumb behind him. The breeze blew a glaze of suspicion in Mr. Warner’s eye.
“I live close by,” said Andrew, pointedly, tiring of the interrogation. There was no chance in hell he was going to reveal to the gentleman that he lived in heaven. Quickly as it had come, the breeze blew the mistrust from the elder’s mind.
“Well...okay, if you say so. Just go and see what assistance the city officials need. And hurry. It looks like some more dark clouds are rolling in. The forecast says it’s supposed to clear up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we got another visit from one of those monsters again.”
“Yes, we will hurry. It was nice chatting with you, sir.” And with that, Andrew turned and walked off, the others falling in like toppling dominoes.
“I can’t believe he didn’t recognize you,” said Floyd. “You were here only yesterday, weren’t you, just before...you know…”
“Of course, I was,” answered Andrew. “There’s my destroyed truck over there.” He pointed about a hundred yards to his right, where the remains of a once happy and alive motor vehicle lay among ruins of cardboard boxes, cement blocks, wires and cables, and planks of lumber. One headlight peered out from the myriad of trash like a lone eye which had once belonged to a familiar face, as if to chastise its owner. 'How could you just leave me like this, Andy? You selfish little brat! Only thinking of your own survival, eh?' “But things are different now. The world, at least for us, has changed.”
“Do you think people will believe us?”
“About what?”
“That we’re angels.”
“Who said we have to tell them? Who said we should tell them?”
“Maybe we’re not supposed to. Maybe we’re supposed to be like traditional superheroes, with secret identities,” said Katrina. “You know, rescue the damsel in distress, then up, up and away back to Krypton before anyone’s the wiser.”
“So we just do our jobs, then split?” added Camille. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Sounds like someone’s eager to get started,” Andrew said, with a slight smirk. He continued down the country lane which took them into town, knowing the others would follow without procrastination, as if his role as leader was pulling them like a rope. The group walked in absolute silence for the next ten minutes, the end of which brought them to the heart of downtown and the city hall offices.
“Last door on your left down that hall,” said the front desk receptionist--pointing behind her--when the inquiry was made as to the location of the Chamber of Commerce room.
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” said Andrew.
The kids were asked to deliver supplies and equipment to McCoy field, behind the high school, and help set up the tents and exhibits for the annual country fair that was to take place over the upcoming weekend. Most of the debris and evidence of devastation left behind by yesterday’s tornado had already been cleared away by the government emergency workers. The rest...well, it would be taken care of in time; meanwhile, it served as a reminder of nature’s wrath.
The fair was not due to begin for another two days. Andrew wanted to spend the time with his new friends letting them take in the sights of his town. Or perhaps...former town. To Andrew, community was more than just a physical space. It was the citizens which made up its character, and the memories it held. But for Andy, that pleasure was no more. No soul alive in his home knew who he was anymore, for he wasn’t alive. He remembers everyone; he is a stranger to all. So he felt the least he could do to even the score of this injustice was to give his friends the joy of his memories. It was like walking through a surreal reenactment of life. The images flew by like ghosts. It was form without existence. They visited the day when the ribbon was cut for the new General Store downtown. Andy watched his eight-year-old self jump up and down as the first item sold--a red lollipop--was handed to him. They saw his father--then the town mayor--plant the seed that would replace the old oak tree which was blown down in front of City Hall the year before. Andy wondered if it had been destroyed by a storm, and wished he could have been an angel then to save it.
Saturday finally arrived, with the glory of a quiet, blue sky. No dark clouds around for miles. The kids were glad to see that. It meant one less group of innocents spared from having their lives shattered. But still, they wondered when they would receive their first assignment. The elders said "soon". It didn’t look like today would be the day. However, the day was still young.
There was a slight breeze whispering through a clear, blue sky, as Andrew and the others crossed the wide courtyard of the Chamber of Commerce complex, into a secondary building.
Once inside, they were introduced to Ramira Sanchez, too tall and overdressed for the day’s work: an organizer of supplies and events for a town fair. But she didn’t care about that. She always tried to overdress, in an attempt to make up for perceived inadequacy. She often felt that because of her Hispanic heritage, others did not give her proper credit. She looked up from her paperwork when she saw Andrew extend his hand in greeting.
“Hello, my friends and I came to help,” he said, with a quick glance toward the gang. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of Floyd licking his lips, with a lustful look on his face. She was wearing a wedding band and was at least a good ten years older than him, but he seemed to have no hesitation over those facts. Andrew gave him an icy glare, which he returned with a sheepish grin and a quick shrug of his shoulders.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, in kind. “I was told some young persons would be coming over. I don’t know exactly what there is for you to do. Just ask around and see what people need, I guess.”
“Thanks,” said Katrina. “We'll give it our best shot.”
The kids looked around at the various tables, where folks were engaged in tasks ranging from painting banners to sanding the wooden planks that would build the many gift and concession stands. Andrew said, “Don’t stray too far, people. We’re still new at this, so make sure you know where one another is.” The others gave a quick nod in agreement before setting off.
Floyd stayed behind for a moment, staring curiously at the piles of papers set before Ramira. She asked, “Would you like to help me organize these receipts?”
“Sure,” he answered. “I’ll give it a try.”
“And that’s all you’ll help her with,” Andrew told him, sternly. “Promise me you’ll behave yourself.”
“You should know me by now.”
“Of course, I do. But promise me, anyway.”
A slight draft passed through a narrow, open doorway at the rear of the room, leading to a yard. There wasn’t much of a view, but enough to see the piles of splintered lumber and bags of trash torn open, as if a wild animal had been consumed by savage hunger. This suspicion grew in Camille as she stepped to the threshold and surveyed the scene.
The evidence of a potential massacre was strewn for a hundred or more feet beyond, and into several adjoining properties. Plastic and glass bottles, ripped cardboard and other paper products, and scraps of metal from toys, small appliances and other consumer items were scattered across this small universe. She turned to a gentleman standing behind her, coiling a rope upon its holder, and asked, “Is this what you do with your waste? Just indiscriminately toss trash around outside? Have you no decency; no respect but to litter?”
“Little lady,” he answered, with a tone of intolerance for naivete. “That is not intentionally discarded trash. Ours or anyone else’s. That’s a small sample of the destruction left by yesterday’s tornado. It was bad. Real bad. I doubt even a team of guardian angels from heaven could have prevented that disaster. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
Camille held her head in one hand and shook it slightly, chuckling to herself at the irony. If only I could go back in time, she told herself, I would love to show that guy how wrong he can be.

§

The rest of the day and the next was comprised mainly of putting the finishing touches on the projects that would become the festivities for everyone to celebrate, placing in memory the catastrophe from earlier in the week. The sky was as clear and calm as the twister was dark and agitated. The scene disturbed the heroes. They knew this couldn’t last. They felt that fate was just setting them up for disaster to rain down on them later.
Mrs. Sanchez came up to the kids strolling the fairgrounds. She placed a hand on Floyd’s shoulder and gave a wide smile to the group. But, of course, Floyd thought it was just for him, and returned the gesture.
Andrew couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“The event is a great success,” she said, handing a stick of cotton candy to Andrew, even though he held a caramel apple. He passed the fluffy confection to an empty-handed youngster shuffling past, who eagerly took it with a broad grin, then ran off, shouting, “Mama, look!”
“I can’t thank you enough for all your help,” she continued. “Free free to help yourself to anything. The park is yours.”
Andrew smiled graciously for her words. They continued to stroll in silence for several more minutes. Finally, Katrina said, “If everything is going so great, then what are we doing here? Where is there something or someone to save? Or is all this just a dream?”
“Be patient,” replied Camille. “I’m sure that sooner or later...we will be needed.”
Camille just had to tempt the devil in the details. The remainder of the afternoon seemed to whiz by in the blink of an eye, cause as it is said, When you’re having fun...
It was only day one of a week-long event of amusement, but apparently the skies had other plans. No sooner had everyone begun to disperse and clean up after the first full day of activities than a shotgun-sounding blast of thunder crackled to life overhead. It was followed almost immediately by a stinging lash of lightning which snapped in two the sign at the fairground’s entrance that read Centerville Town Fair, dropping it to the ground as if an axe had murdered, in revenge, a wild animal who left a mess in a yard the day before. No one had even noticed the sky darkening until this sudden wake-up call, jolting them from their reverie.
“You wanted to know if we would be needed here,” Camille barked at Katrina. “Does this answer your question?”
“No time to argue,” boomed Andrew. “Just get ready to move. Floyd, help me clear away this sign before someone trips over it.”
Floyd was distracted by a couple of college girls who had exited a tent and apparently had no knowledge of the impending doom. "“Floyd!” Andrew shouted.
Floyd instantly jumped to attention. He saw a look in Andrew’s eyes that told him he would be engaged in a lecture later on. Katrina and Camille--situated nearby--saw it, too, and beamed a strong frown at Floyd. In that instant, it was cemented that Andrew was their leader.
The storm was picking up. No sooner had Andrew and Floyd tossed away the debris than another pile of unused wooden boards, resting in a pile on a cabinet shelf came tumbling down on top of the legs of a young man, who was running from the commotion, securing him to the ground. He couldn’t move. “Somebody help me!” he screamed. “Please help!”
Camille was the first to arrive on the scene. Please, if I never do anything else, let me do this, she prayed to heaven, for she clearly remembered, from her earlier life, being buried alive by the snow, crying out for help, and being unable to move. This was her chance to get even with the powers-that-be.
But try as she might, she could not budge the planks, lest she come away with her hands full of splinters. Not that she cared about that, anyway, considering what was at stake.
Camille didn’t have the strength to help the kid, but Andrew more than made up for it. He was standing a mere five feet from the site of entrapment, when he caught the eyes of Camille and the youngster. Camille uprighted herself and stood back. She did not know exactly what Andrew was going to do, but knew, somehow, that everything would be alright. She braced herself, one hand on the young man’s shoulder to comfort him as a localized, hurricane-force gust of wind suddenly blew through the area.
The fair’s crowd--now huddled inside a building at the edge of the grounds, and kept indoors by Katrina and Floyd, who had assumed the stance of guards, standing astride an invisible DO NOT CROSS line of tape--stood by helplessly and in awe at the scene outside before their eyes.
Camille had trouble keeping her balance, at first, as the squall passed through. It presented no difficulty at all for Andrew. He was one with the wind; it was his territory. If a blizzard tore through, Camille would know just what to do.
The gale concentrated on the wooden dragon clamped down on the kid's legs. Suddenly, they blew off him and lay in a rubble in a bush fifty yards away. It worked as easily as if Andrew had used his breath to blow down a model house made of toothpicks.
The moment the kid was free, Camille placed her hands underneath his arms and lifted him up. She gently pushed him ahead of her, encouraging him to run. She wanted him to join the townsfolk in their sanctuary, as Katrina and Floyd waved him over from a distance, urging him to safety.
Floyd looked back for just a second to grab the door handle of the building. He caught a glimpse of those college girls again, but didn’t give them a second look. He was more focused on getting the kid inside. Katrina took note of this, knew what was happening, and was proud of him. When he had a job to do, which involved the work of savior, he did just that and nothing else. He didn’t let his lust or love of freedom take over. He knew what was important. Hope was not lost. Katrina made a vow to report this revelation to the others later.
Andrew knelt forward for a few moments and placed his hands on his knees, catching his breath. It was as if it took a great deal of energy out of him to carry out his task. But he told himself it was just the stress and excitement of the ordeal. Besides, it was his first real job.
Camille thought he was about to fall, and rushed over to steady him on his feet. He reassured her he was fine.
The kid hesitated for a moment before running off. “Hey! Wha…” he said to Camille. “You watched him! You know about this!” He then demanded of Andrew, “How did you...what are you?”
“I'm your friend! I saved you!” Andrew tried to shout above the roar of the wind. Camille gave the young man a slight shove into the arms of Katrina, who had come to drag him away. “Don’t ask questions, just go!” she ordered. “There’s a big storm coming! Go, now!”
A few men were still outside, at the other end of the field, trying to tie down a protective tarp over some of the fair’s booths. The kid called out to them. “Don’t let these guys help you! There’s something strange about them!"
Katrina ignored his rant. “What are you still doing here?” she yelled at them. “Get inside with the others! You’re gonna get yourselves killed!”
Sure enough, as soon as they saw everyone was indeed safe inside, the four angels stood in front of the steps leading to the Community Recreation Center. Mrs. Sanchez, the principal of the high school and three others stepped onto the porch to get a closer look at what had made everyone hang their mouths open in terror and awe; what created that deafening roar.
It was their old friend, Mr. Twister. Or rather, its replacement, come to finish the job. And it was a big, ugly mother, too, at least twice the size of his brother. That noise the populace heard was the sound of their city being destroyed and, as if sensing human blood, the tornado aimed for the fairgrounds to eliminate its citizens.
“Get back inside, guys,” Andrew told the brave souls who had ventured outside. “We’ll handle this.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Sanchez retorted. “What are you going to do, give the storm a spanking?”
“I said go back inside!” Andrew scolded, a little more sternly. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. Tell everyone to get down to the basement. You’ll be safe there.”
Mrs. Sanchez and the others followed the given instructions as Andrew took a step forward, his gaze never wavering from the cloud. Katrina, Camille and Floyd followed, slowly, cautiously, also keeping their stares skyward.
Andrew took a further step, and the tornado returned the favor, inching toward him. A sneer, then a scowl, crossed Andrew’s face as he could have sworn he caught glimpses of lines scratching their way down the funnel cloud. It appeared to Andrew to be forming into the likeness of a human face, or perhaps it was only his imagination. The face appeared to take on the expression of a bully, seemingly laughing in the face of cowardice. But, like most bullies, it was all a show, and deep down did not want a confrontation with someone stronger. Andrew and the others certainly wanted to give the impression that they were the stronger.
Andrew took another step forward. The menacing cloud, as if thinking this was a game, reciprocated once more. Andrew moved closer, this time with his band of accomplices in tow. The funnel cloud retreated. One angry kid was enough; it wasn’t prepared to face the wrath of four.
Andrew continued to move forward, then sideways. The twister followed, parallel, never inching closer than one thousand yards. Katrina and the other storm killers didn’t let him stray too far. He was never out of their sight. Andrew began to chase the thing, the others hot on his tail.
Katrina yelled, “Andrew, what are you doing? You can’t take that thing on by yourself!”
“Watch me!”
“Andrew--!”
Andrew turned, furious, and faced his friends. “That monster just cleared this town off the map! And the other day he annihilated the next village over, when I had my earlier life. I was killed as a result. I will not stand idly by and watch these things obliterate peoples’ lives. He must be dealt with! He must be taught a lesson!”
Camille gave the gang a look like she thought Andrew was half out of his mind. She glared right at Andrew. “He?”
“That’s right. Him and his kind.” Andrew glanced back and saw the dark mass still swirling, stationary, as if it were eavesdropping on the heroes’ plans. Then he turned back to the team. “I’m gonna kick his--”
“Andy!” interjected Katrina.
Floyd said, “No, I don’t think he wants to kick its Andy. It doesn’t even have an Andy.”
“He does now,” beamed Andrew, turning to face the twister. The darker the cloud stirred, the darker the rage churned in Andrew.
The twister started to move away, as if sensing inevitable punishment. Andrew took a few more steps, in a trot, which soon blew into a steady run. He transfixed on the evil from the skies above, and was not about to let this feeling go. But even though he had power over it (when he let it out), Andrew could not run like the wind.
The twister ran away from him, farther and farther, across the valley, and back over the hills on the other side of town. Andrew, nearly out of breath, tried his best to capture the thing, as elusive as chasing a rainbow.
The others called out after him, trying to keep up. “An-deeeee...!”
At one point, Andrew nearly tripped over a fallen branch, allowing the other kids to catch up. Andrew bellowed to the storm, a far enough distance away for it to count as futile. “Hey! Where you going? Huh? Come back here and fight me!
“I want you! Do you hear me? This isn’t over! Not by a long shot!” Andrew thought he heard an echo rumble through the valley, which sounded eerily like maniacal laughter. He was really going to have to do something about these hallucinations. He vowed to check on it...later. Right now, he was primed for battle. Katrina, Camille and Floyd surrounded him, holding him back, and preventing him from running away. He had a look in his eyes bordering on madness. “THIS ISN’T OVER!”

§

When the skies returned to a cloudless, clear blue an hour later, Katrina, Camille and Floyd opened the doors to the Rec Center, and found about five hundred people huddled on the floor in the lobby, in the adjoining rooms, on the upstairs balcony, and in the upstairs rooms. There was no basement.
They opened all of the outside doors. Opened them wide, in order to let the sunshine in and let the town know the danger had gone, at least for the moment. They informed everyone that it was getting late, and suggested they should all just go home and rest. The next day would come, and they and the fair would endure. Life must go on.
Centerville Mayor Thomas Branson confronted the three of them. “Weren’t there four of you? What happened to your friend? We didn’t...lose him, did we?” he asked solemnly, the lump in his throat clearly showing.
Floyd hung his head and shook it with a slight grin. “Nothing of the sort, sir,” he assured. “We’re strong, healthy kids. You don’t get rid of us that easily.”
“Then where is he? What is he doing? When will he return?”
“He’ll be back soon,” said Camille. “He went to--” She instantly realized that it may not be the wisest choice of words to speak. She wasn’t sure if their first assignment was the right time to reveal themselves. But, then again, she knew that no time would be the right time, for it would always be as much of a shock as any other moment. And it was no use holding back the truth from the world forever. Besides, she had already begun by foolishly opening her mouth. The secret had broken free of its prison, and was peering around the corner to see if it was safe to make a run to freedom. “He went to take care of that tornado for you. He’ll be back.”
Mrs. Sanchez stepped forward. “Seriously,” she quipped, “where is he?”
Katrina said, with a straight face, “She just told you. He went to kill the tornado. We’re a special breed of storm rangers.”
The young gentleman who was freed from the wooden board collapse exclaimed, “See? I told you there was something odd about them.” He cast a wide, sarcastic grin. “Pretty monsters in human form. I got dibs for the one on the right.”
Camille cast him a challenging look. I don’t think so, mortal.
Mayor Branson confronted the youngster. “I think now would be a very good time for you to keep quiet, son. Those storms out there are the real monsters!” he cried, with an outstretched arm, his finger pointing to the horizon. “Whatever or whoever these kids are...they saved us. They saved our town. We are all alive at this moment cause they kept us safe in here,” he motioned to the crowd.
He focused his attention on the three saviors. “Thank you, thank you, whoever you are. Are you new in town? Where are your parents? Do you live in Centerville?”
“No,” answered Floyd. “We’re not from this area.”
“What brings you around?”
“We were just doing our j--we just wanted to see the fair, that’s all.”
“Nice save, angel boy,” whispered Camille.
“Well, you’re welcome here anytime. Won’t you please stay awhile?”
“Thanks, but we have to go,” said Katrina.
A girl of about ten in a red and white striped cap asked, “Will we ever see you again?”
Katrina knelt down to the girl, at eye level, and handed her a lone daffodil that she plucked from the ground at the girl’s feet. “As sure as there is a heaven above, yes. We will return one day,” she replied, with a smile that made the youngster’s day so bright, it was as if a storm had never come.
Katrina retreated to join Camille and Floyd.
Heaven, the striped hat girl thought. She placed her hands on top of her head and cried out with glee for all to hear. “They’re...they’re gods! They’ve come to save the world! After all this time, we have our salvation!”
The three heroes smiled at the crowd, and the people of the town were lost in a trance for a few moments. When they awoke, their saviors were gone. A slight breeze rippled across the field. The girl in the striped hat stared at the daffodil. Instead of the flower blowing away in the early evening twilight, it shone with a glow.

§

The old man in black jeans and white sweatshirt sat on the curb, with his head in his hands, and refused to wipe away his tears. Maybe if the remnants of the winds of change could look inside his broken soul, they’d have at least an ounce of remorse, and vow never again to destroy. But it was futile. He knew there was no way to undo what had been done. There was nothing anyone could do, as he was sure they were all going through the same ordeal. He pictured his neighbors picking through the ruins of what was once their homes and shops,
salvaging what were now only memories of their once lively town. He brushed away a pesky fly tickling his face.
He could overhear William down the street spewing his curses as he picked through the trash of his partially-still standing apartment building. Willie the Whippersnapper, he called him. On the one hand, he was glad he and his friends could no longer annoy everyone with ‘that infernal racket‘. But, at the same time, he felt bad for the young man because, like everyone else, he had nothing left.
“Damn it! Damn it, where is it?” he old timer heard the kid complain. “That stupid storm better not have ruined my guitar!”
He heard the Tucker family next door, discussing what was worth saving as they picked through the wreckage. Their three young children ambled about, shrieking cries of fun and joy, as if they had stumbled upon some grand new carnival or fair. Little did they realize that a real fair was but two miles away. The old man thought about the majority of the town’s residents, who were probably embroiled in amusement when the storm hit, and had most likely rode it out in the Rec Center building, which served as a shelter.
He thought about what things would be like for them when they returned to town. He thought about if insurance would cover the losses. He thought about where his next meal would come from. He thought about all of it, and a million other things. He admits, he was always a worrier. This play running through his mind was interrupted by what he thought was a buzzing sound. It was not a fly pestering him, after all. The sound faded after a time; he realized it was simply a glider passing overhead. And the strange sensation he tried to wipe from his cheek was his own mere tears. Then why was he touching flesh not his own? And why did he suddenly seem to have grown an extra finger? His mind paused just long enough coming out of its trance to sense the apparition hovering near like a fog. Only this apparition had a voice! A female voice? He thought mirages only existed in the desert. Could the storm have blown him into arid wastelands?
Sir…?
Then, as he came around, his vision clearer, he could see the face peering down at him. The face matched the voice. It indeed was female. A young voice.
Excuse me, sir…?
And it wasn’t alone. And neither were the faces.
Sir, are you alright?
The gentleman was fully awake and aware now, confronted by three youths. At first, he thought they might be there to cause some trouble, cause they were the same age as Willie. But their expressions were clearly filled with compassion.
A young lady of about eighteen, with straight blonde hair and a porcelain face gently took hold of the man’s arm and helped him stand up. It didn’t take long for him to do a 360-degree turn and get a better look at his surroundings. He could just as well have been surveying the results of an attack during wartime. His hands trembled slightly at the same time they tried to reach out to her...for comfort...for anything to hold on to...for he had nothing left.
His tears welled up. “S-Sam’s world is gone,” he cried. “I spent a lifetime building up treasures and existing peacefully with Nature. I never did anything to hurt her, and she came suddenly and destroyed me. For no reason. I didn’t get a chance to save anything. I didn’t even get a chance to protest. She’s...she’s evil. Don’t trust her. Don't…” At that point he broke down, into the arms of the girl.
“I know. I know Sam is hurting. But Katrina is here to cry to. And to tell you it’s all over, and you will be alright.”
A small crowd had started to gather. Willie was there, as well as the Tucker family. Other families and individuals soon joined in from down the road and nearby side streets. Everyone had lost something. But it seemed like Sam was hit the hardest. Indeed, unlike the others, his home was wholeheartedly annihilated. Perhaps Sam was taking it hardest because he lived alone as an old man, with no one to really lean to, and had lost everything accumulated from a full life--then it was taken from him by violent force. And he felt anger and jealousy at the fact that everyone else was younger, had loved ones to turn to, and had a chance to rebuild.
Maybe the general relations he had with his neighbors over the years would have gone smoother if he had maintained a more pleasant demeanor. Alas, he was often filled with a brash temperament and not the kindest word of affection whenever the opportunity arose. He often complained that the world did not treat him as he felt he deserved, and he often lashed out at perceived injustice.
But now, Willie’s and the others’ hearts were not filled with condemnation, but empathy. They looked past his bitterness, straight into his spirit. And they found pure humanity. They were ready to forgive. All feelings of animosity disappeared in an embrace. In a moment, Sam and Katrina found themselves in the middle of a bear-hug sandwich, as Camille and Floyd looked on, eager for a piece of the action.
Only the wind heard Camille sigh. “Yes,” she said, “the big, bad storm is all gone, and everything will be better now.” She put her arm around a young mother, while offering to hold a basket of clothes. The woman was struggling with a fidgety two-year-old in her other arm.
Katrina took a more focused gaze at the destruction around her. She faced her left, then her right, then behind her before twirling back. “My God,” she muttered under her breath, while looking at Camille and Floyd. She did not want the townsfolk to hear her, for they did not need the stress of further confirmation that their world had just been shattered. “Lord Almighty, Sam was right. This wasn’t just a storm. Evil did this. Pure evil from the angry skies came to visit. It’s been happening since even before recorded time began. And no one has been able to stop it--or explain it. Everyone is just a victim. Something must finally be done!”
“You see, this is why we were sent,” said Camille. We are their redemption. Andrew was right. That…thing…must be dealt with. This cannot go unpunished!”
“Don’t worry,” said Floyd. “Andrew will take care of this. Andrew will put a stop to this. Andrew will--” Floyd stopped just long enough to look about him for a moment. His two female colleagues knew exactly what he was thinking. He continued, “Where’s Andrew?”

§

And speaking of our Andrew, he was on the far side of town, past the hills, looking adamantly for the twister he vowed to destroy. He glided into the air and rested on a cloud, letting it take him on a journey into distant lands, where he could get a better view--of the skies, and the destruction left below. He let out a sigh as a tear began to fall. He didn’t wipe it away, for he thought it was mist from the cloud, and he wanted to blend in with his element.
He finally spotted it, or another one of them--trying to form--perhaps to destroy another nearby community. Andrew told himself he was going to be damned if he’d let another one get away. Another city is about to be devastated? I don’t think so!
“What do you think you’re doing? Huh? You don’t come here, with your big, bad self, tear up my world, and run away!” Andrew shouted to the sky, without a human soul around to hear him for miles. The wind in the funnel swirled faster and faster, and the cloud turned darker and darker. Andrew was determined to put an end to this thing, once and for all. He didn’t care that he’d risk being killed in the process, for that couldn’t really happen; he was already an angel.
The wind was picking up, violently. Andrew was tossed about a few times, but he concentrated on staying afloat. His own power over the wind helped him with that.
And then something seemingly magical happened.
Andrew’s power over the wind, he realized, gave him the strength to overtake the wind of the cloud. With every gust that was thrown at him, he fought back with a thrust of his own. The twister tried, repeatedly, to knock him down and rid itself of the last remaining obstacle in its quest to wipe away another town. And failed at every attempt. Andrew threw his own force of wind straight at the cloud, and ripped shreds down its face. He could literally hear shrieking as he tore it to pieces. Crack after crack he tossed at the thing, until it was shattered into nothingness. Gradually, the skies turned blue, and the tornado was no more.
But spending all this energy apparently took its toll on Andrew. He was out of breath…and out of luck.
They finally spotted him. Floyd and the girls rushed across a broad field, followed by a large crowd of the town’s people. The scene took on the look of a bunch of kids being chased by an angry mob--for starting a storm, instead of trying to stop it--if it were viewed by an onlooker.
Floyd slowed his run as he looked about him. “I could have sworn I heard his scream come from exactly this direction. I have excellent hearing, and I hardly ever miss a beat.” Even though Floyd’s ears gave him no trouble, he forgot to check his eyes.
Before anyone knew it, they saw Andrew falling…
…falling…falling…
…straight from the sky, and landed face down on the ground, one hundred yards in front of them. Floyd thought about how the crowd in the city must have reacted when he collapsed near his building, just before he succumbed.
“Andy, Andy, are you alright?” asked Katrina, over and over again.
Mayor Branson pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Hey, kid,” he said. “What’s up? Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re not hurt!”
“I’m fine, I said I’m fine. Will everyone please back off?" Andrew picked himself up, and sat Indian-style in the grass. He sat, watching the valley from the plateau they were all on.
Katrina asked, “Andrew….? Honey, what are you looking at? What’s going on? And more importantly, where were you? What did you think you were going to do…?
“It’s all over,” he replied. “It’s all over, including the shouting.” He stood up. “I took care of the storm. I taught him and his friends a lesson, and told them never to come back. This town will never be bothered by one of those demons, ever again.”
“What do you mean, ’you taught it a lesson’?” asked Camille.
“I destroyed it. Plain and simple.”
“You destroyed…a funnel cloud?” asked Floyd. “Look, I know this was our first assignment, but..."
“You heard me correctly. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know myself. But I used my power over the wind. I punched holes in the thing. I hurt it real bad. I could actually hear cries of agony from the skies. I destroyed it, and sent a warning. I told the menacing clouds that if they ever show their ugly faces around here again, they will deal with me once more, in exactly the same manner. I told them I will give them more of that treatment. And I will. I was killed, as a human, in this town, by one of them. This is more than a personal crusade. I will be watching over this town. That is all I have to say.”
Mayor Branson walked right up to Andrew. “What do you mean, ’you destroyed it’?” he asked. “What does your friend mean, ‘your first assignment’? What are you? You’re a kid! How can you…how can anyone…destroy a tornado? Will you please be a little more clear and tell me, son? Cause I’d sure love to know. I’ve got lots and lots of time.”
“Yeah, I’d like to know, too,” said a gentleman in a gray, tweed sports coat, flashing an open business card holder, with identification.
“That’s them,” the kid who was rescued from the wooden planks told him, and who had apparently made a call and turned the heroes in, whispered to him, as he pointed to the small group of four souls gathered together, as if being sentenced to a lynching by the town mob who thought they had brought a storm.
But this storm was of a different sort, and was about to get much worse.
The gentleman offered a sincere smile. “Hello,” he offered. “I don’t mean you any harm. I was just wondering if I could ask you kids a few questions. I’m Tom Canarelli. I’m with the New York Times.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------