The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📕

going and see what was on the other side, not crossing it might be their safer option.

With the deer now out of sight, the tiny kitten began to squirm. Joule set him down, frowning at him for a moment. There was no telling what he wished other than his own four feet on the ground. Would he try to chase the deer? He couldn’t even keep up with her, and she was willing to bet the deer would leave her in the dust.

But she watched as he romped away and disappeared in the grass, much as the deer did. If she hadn’t just set him down herself, she’d have no idea there was even a kitten nearby.

Was that it? Was he gone? Had he just decided to let her carry him across the field so he could disappear?

She sighed. Maybe it was stupid, but she was becoming concerned about him. As tiny as he was, he’d be a target for predators—not that she’d seen any. Then again, any decent predator would be wise enough to not be seen.

“Kitten!” she called out, though it seemed really stupid to call him that. She did it again. “Kitten!”

Did he need a real name? Did it matter? Because he was really just a kitten. Maybe his mother was nearby and he was better off without Joule.

She looked around again and didn’t see any mother cat, but she didn’t see the kitten, either. She sure wasn't going to name him if he squirmed, got down, and simply ran away.

Following in the direction she'd seen him go, Joule searched but still couldn’t find him. Her own feet made shuffling noises through the grass, the sound filling the space around her. She wondered how long it had been since she’d been pulled from her friends and the pipe they’d been tied to. She’d been out cold, and when she came to, the tornado was well and over.

Heat flared at the back of her head—not quite pain, but definitely a little off. She possibly had a concussion. But being alone, she had nothing to compare to but the kitten. She paused to let the feeling pass and her mind wander.

In her memory, there had been at least three twisters. The two they’d been warned about—the F2 in Horton and anther F2 in Arab—and then whatever the hell had plowed through here. She had no idea what F-scale rating this one was. She was going to be very disappointed if she’d been plucked away by a 1 or 2.

But none of that gave her any idea of the time and distance between there and here.

She stepped a few more feet, but still didn't see the kitten.

Maybe he was gone. Stopping, she tried to think back and see if she could remember anything helpful. She wished she could remember being hauled away. She had memories of her feet lifting from the ground, but she’d still been holding on to Cage. She had memories of grabbing his hand and being yanked at, but she didn't remember letting go. And she didn't remember flying through a damned tornado. She didn't remember getting dropped out of the sky, or how far up she might have gone before she fell back to earth.

Had she been flung around and dropped, or had she been gently laid in the grass with the trash bag for a pillow? For a moment, Joule wondered if she had died. Was this heaven? It was beautiful. Clear sky, white, fluffy clouds, trees everywhere. The huge rut caused by the tornado made her confident that wasn’t the answer.

Was it hell? Because it was empty. She could wander alone, starving to death, dying of thirst, maybe even walking in circles. She told herself she was smarter than to do that. So, maybe it was purgatory—a dear little purgatory containing only herself, a cute kitten, and fifteen deer.

She stood quietly.

The kitten might be gone, but she still had to find water. She couldn't bank on the fact that she was dead and would survive forever without it. How would she find water?

Though she looked around to assess the landscape for anything helpful, she couldn’t help but think of her brother. What was Cage doing? Had he managed to stay tied to the pipe? If he and the others had even survived the twister, they'd gotten thrashed around quite a bit.

Joule remembered clearly that she and Izzy had bumped heads and arms more than once. Her foot had gotten stuck and she’d been tossed the other way and her ankle had twisted. If the others had come through, they might not be in good enough shape.

But they were gone—or she was.

She could hear her own breathing. The day was that quiet. And it had gone from being merely strange to becoming eerie. So Joule closed her eyes, pressed her hands against the sides of her pants, and held her breath. If she shut out all the other noise, she might find something useful.

There.

Maybe to her right.

Did she hear it?

30

The noise was close to deafening.

Cage stood in the parking lot, crowded on all sides with moving bodies. Frantic people trying to do the same thing he was. Too many questions and not enough answers.

He’d thought he would be tall enough to see over most heads, but not in this wild, squirming crowd that seemed to have a life of its own. Boomer and Bob had dropped them all here before heading out to fetch another round of survivors. But “here” was even further from what Cage wanted to be doing than the ditch or the back of the truck had been.

The other survivors had disappeared, blending into the writhing crowd, and he was left trying to stick with his friends. Sarah held both his hand on one side and Deveron’s on the other, unwilling to let them go. Cage wondered about her bad arm and told her, “Let me stay in the middle.”

But Sarah just shook her head and squeezed his fingers tighter.