Missy downshifted as she pulled into the median of the interstate to avoid the state troopers and the mess of traffic-snarled cars attempting to leave the coast too late. I tried not to look at the panicked faces inside the cars, lit by the headlights of those behind them. All waiting to escape the storm. Just like us, but powerless to move — to phase, if needed — the way we did. Sucking on the cigarette, I slid lower onto the wornout springs of the back seat. Slowly I pulled my gaze away from those we were leaving behind.
One thing I learned from Oklahoma: if I thought about the people too much, I’d be worthless.
Rated R. Contains graphic violent imagery, intense themes of natural and man-made disasters, and incidental profanity. Not one of our lighter stories.