Runaway Twin (10 page)

“They're trying to locate you, for an interview.”

I immediately regretted saying anything about Randy. I certainly did not want a reporter interviewing me and broadcasting my picture.

“Please don't tell anyone else it was me,” I said. “I don't want a big fuss.”

Jake smiled his approval. “Well, that's refreshing,” he said. “Most people mug shamelessly at a camera, trying to get on TV.”

“I'm shy,” I said. Then, hoping to change the subject, I asked, “Were there other survivors there besides Randy? I didn't see any people, but I didn't see any bodies, either.”

“Some folks weren't home, and everyone else made it to the town's underground storm cellar. The siren that was supposed to sound the warning malfunctioned, but people saw the hail and wind and realized what was happening in time to get to the shelter. When you live in tornado country, you learn to watch the skies and be cautious. We're always supposed to stay in the shelter until the all clear siren sounds, but this time it never went off. They waited almost three hours before they finally tried to open the door, and then it was blocked shut by rubble.”

“So nobody was killed?” I asked, thinking about June and the old man at the gas station.

“Nope. The only serious injury was the boy with the broken legs and the crushed pelvis, and he'll survive.”

A crushed pelvis, too. Poor Randy. At least he was alive and had not had to wait alone too long after I left him. I wondered if he had told Zooman and Hunker's parents how the older boys had deserted him.

“Tornadoes are unpredictable,” Jake said. “They hop about at random, creating chaos in some places and completely missing other spots. The town of Alliance, where I live, didn't even get the rain or hail.”

“Is there a veterinarian near here?” I asked. “Snickers got hit on the head and was knocked out.”

“He seems okay now.”

“I'd like to have him examined, just to be sure.”

“Maybe somebody at the school will give you a ride to a vet. I'd take you myself, but we were assigned territories to look for survivors and I need to stay in my area.”

Jake's truck pulled up to an old brick school building. A banner draped over the door of what appeared to be the gymnasium said AMERICAN RED CROSS TEMPORARY SHELTER.

A big silver van, the kind where a window opens on the side for serving food, was parked in the yard. A car next to it had its trunk open and two women were unloading boxes of food and supplies.

“Are you hungry?” Jake asked.

“I'm starving. All I've had since breakfast yesterday morning is a candy bar and some water.”

“Wait here,” Jake said, and he jumped down from the truck and walked to the women who were unloading the boxes. A moment later he climbed back in the truck and handed me a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. “I hope you like ham and cheese,” he said.

“Right now I'd be willing to eat cauliflower,” I told him.

I unwrapped the sandwich, picked out the ham, and gave it to Snickers, who gulped it down without even chewing. I bit into the sandwich. “Yum,” I said. “Thank you.” I gave Snickers a couple of bites of bread and cheese, and ate the rest myself. No meal had ever tasted better.

As soon as I finished eating, Jake said, “I need to leave you here. I'm supposed to be out driving around, looking for survivors who need assistance.”

“Thanks for your help,” I told him. I got out of the truck, and Snickers jumped out, too. He followed me to the door of the school, and up the three concrete steps.

“Stay,” I told him, before I opened the door.

Snickers obediently sat down on the top step and watched me go inside.

Rows of cots formed lines in the center of the building. People slept on some of the cots. A few people sat on others, talking quietly. Chairs lined the periphery of the room. A woman sat on one of the chairs, playing peekaboo with a toddler. Two little boys chased each other between the rows of cots until their mothers made them stop.

A table stood just inside the door, with two women behind it. The table held a notebook computer, lined tablets, pens, and a first-aid kit.

One of the women smiled and said, “Hello. Do you need a temporary place to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Let's get you registered on our Safe and Well Web site. Sign in here, please.” She pointed to a list of names, addresses, and phone numbers.

Stalling for time while I tried to figure out a reason to refuse, I said, “The what?”

“The Red Cross maintains a Safe and Well Web site. After a disaster, people can search for family members, as long as they know the phone number or a complete address. Once you're registered, your parents will be able to find out that you survived.”

I almost said, “That isn't necessary because I don't have any parents,” but I caught myself. A statement like that would only call attention to me and probably bring Hiss to the scene. Instead, I gave my name as Kaitlyn Smith and made up a fake address and phone number. “I'll enter your information on the Red Cross website,” she said. She handed me a folded blanket and a pillow. “Pick out any empty cot you want and it will be your bed as long as you're here.”

“I have my dog with me,” I said. “Is it okay to bring him in?”

“No, it isn't.”

“He'll stay on the floor by my cot. He won't bother anyone.”

“I'm sorry. Animals are not allowed inside. Some people are allergic to them. He can be outside with you, as long as he's leashed.”

“The leash was in my backpack, and it blew away in the tornado.”

“You can't keep an unleashed dog on the premises,” she told me. “There's too much risk that it would bite someone, or get in a fight with another animal.”

“Do you have something I could use for a leash? A piece of rope, maybe?”

She looked down at the table, as if expecting a coil of rope to miraculously appear in front of us. Then she shook her head.

“Sorry.”

“Thanks, anyway,” I said, handing back the pillow and blanket. I turned to open the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I don't know, but I can't stay here without Snickers.”

“If you can find a way to leash your dog, you can try keeping him here. As long as he's under control and nobody complains, I don't see what it would hurt.” She smiled at me. “I have a dog myself,” she added.

“Thanks. I'll look for something I can use as a leash.”

I didn't want to leave the shelter. Snickers and I both needed a source of food, and some sleep. I'd slept little the night before and I felt a weariness deep in my bones. I knew Snickers needed rest, too, and I still hoped to find a veterinarian to examine the lump on his head. It made sense to stay here, at least for a day or so.

I asked the people who were distributing food if they had something I could use as a leash. “I can't stay at the shelter unless I find a way to tie my dog,” I explained.

They looked around but found nothing suitable.

Then one of the women said, “You can have my belt, if you want it. That might work.” She unbuckled her belt and slid it free from the loops of her jeans. It was a woven belt, so the tongue of the buckle would pierce through at any spot. I looped it around Snickers's neck and fastened it. The belt length that was left was a lot shorter than his real leash had been, but it worked to keep him beside me.

“Thank you,” I told the woman. “I'll return it if I can find something else to use.”

“Meanwhile, I hope my pants stay up,” she said, and we both laughed.

I led Snickers back to the shelter building and this time I took him inside. I asked the woman at the table if she had tweezers, and she helped me get the splinter out from under my fingernail.

Then I picked up a blanket and pillow, claimed a cot, and lay down. Snickers did not want to lie on the floor beside me; he hopped up on the cot. Although it was crowded that way, I decided to let him stay. Once I fell asleep, my grasp on the belt would loosen and I wouldn't know if Snickers wandered off. If he was lying next to me, I would know if he moved. With me under the blanket and Snickers on top of it, I closed my eyes. Even with the low murmur of strangers talking, I fell asleep right away.

When I woke up, the room was crowded. Every cot was occupied, and so were the chairs. Some people sat on the floor. I took Snickers outside and walked him for a while, then returned and got in the food line, which now snaked around the corner of the building. When I got to the window, I was given a tuna sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. “Could I please have an extra sandwich?” I asked. The man inside handed it to me.

Most people took their food inside and sat on their cots to eat, but I walked to the edge of the yard and sat in the grass. I didn't want to take a chance that some fussbudget would complain about me giving a sandwich to a dog. Tuna is not my favorite, but I ate it. Snickers gobbled his sandwich, including the lettuce. All of his months of scrounging for scraps had apparently made him an unfussy eater.

Back inside, I noticed that the walls were now covered with papers, photos, and other items that were attached with masking tape. People were walking around the room looking at them, as if they were in an art gallery.

Leading Snickers with the belt/leash, I circled the room, too. There was a graduation photo of a pretty young woman in a red cap and gown, with a gold tasseled cord draped around her neck. There were pictures of a black cat. A loop of bright blue beads hung from a pushpin that had been jammed into the wall. A page from a calendar, with notations on the dates, hung between a lace doily and a packet of pumpkin seeds. Most of the papers and photos were torn and dirty, and I realized these were things people had found and brought here, hoping the people they belonged to would reclaim them.

I remembered the drawing I had found. I took it out of my pocket, smoothed it open, pricked it with a pushpin, and stuck it on the wall. Maybe Suzy's parents were here; maybe they would be happy to find her drawing.

Two women walked around the room ahead of me. “I wouldn't mind losing my house so much,” one of them said, “if I could still have the pictures of my grandparents, and of my kids when they were little.”

A few minutes later the same woman said, “Oh! Here's Grandma and Grandpa!” She was standing in front of a long table that was piled with items that had been picked up. I saw her hug a small framed photo to her chest.

The table also contained a tattered blue baby blanket, a leather-bound Bible, and a teddy bear. Curious, I went closer.

When I reached the table, I stopped and stared in disbelief. A pink diaper bag sat at the edge of the table and there, partly hidden behind it, was my backpack! While I had slept, someone had brought my backpack to the shelter and left it on the table. With trembling hands, I opened it.

I took out my UCLA sweatshirt, my underwear, the bag of cashews, Snickers's bowl and biscuits, and, yes, my money. All of it. I clasped the backpack, holding it tightly as a wave of gratitude swept over me. Whoever had found my backpack could have removed the money before they brought it here. No one would ever have known. But they didn't take my money. They brought the backpack here and left it with the contents intact, hoping the owner would find it. And I did.

I took Snickers's leash out of my backpack and snapped it on his collar. Then I removed the belt and took it back to the woman in the food van.

“Thanks for the loan,” I told her.

She smiled. “Anytime.”

The backpack gave me fresh hope and determination. Nothing could stop me now. I had survived a tornado!

T
he next morning, as Snickers and I ate scrambled eggs and toast, with orange juice for me and dog biscuits for him, I saw Zooman and Hunker waiting in line for food. I wondered what they would do if they saw me. Probably they'd complain that Snickers was a vicious dog who had tried to attack them.

I turned my back to them and positioned myself between them and Snickers so they wouldn't notice him. He's definitely a one-of-a-kind dog; if they saw him, they'd recognize him.

A white van with green lettering on the side pulled in to the parking area, and a man with a large video camera got out. I heard him introduce himself as the reporter for a TV station. “We're doing a feature story on heroes of the tornado,” he said.

Remembering what Jake had told me about the media wanting to find the girl who had helped Randy, I decided it was time to move on. Keeping my face turned away from Zooman and Hunker, I led Snickers inside and went back to our cot.

Many of the people who had slept at the shelter had already gone. Some had been picked up by friends or relatives; others had left on foot or had hitched a ride with a volunteer. Everyone was eager to return to their homes to survey the damage.

Although the food was tasty, and the cot comfortable enough, I knew I needed to leave before any questions were asked about where I lived, and before Zooman and Hunker caused trouble.

I folded my blanket and put my pillow on top of it. We had all been instructed to sign out when we left permanently so that anyone searching for us would know we weren't coming back to the shelter. I didn't need to do that. No one would come here looking for Kaitlyn Smith, or for Sunny Skyland.

I waited until the woman at the entry table was engaged in a conversation with someone else, then I added my blanket and pillow to a stack that was already started, and walked out the door. Zooman and Hunker were at the food station, receiving their breakfasts. I quickly went around to the back of the building, passed a chugging generator, and headed into town.