Chapter 1

June 1975

Central Illinois

I had just finished pitching hay flakes to my two horses when the radio in my Jeep went off with that high-pitched squeal that meant I was being paged. It was overcast and dark and we were under a tornado watch, one of the reasons I'd decided to feed the horses early. If I was called out, there was no telling when I could get back to them. Their nervous stamping and huffing told me they didn't like the weather either.

I walked over to the Jeep and heard, "Unit 3, dispatch. Come in please."

I recognized the voice of my boss, Charlie Schrader.

"Dispatch, this is 3. What's up, Charlie?" I answered.

Abandoning radio protocol, Charlie said, "Oh God! Mac, you've got to come quick! We got hit and we need your help!"

"Dispatch, I'm on the way," I replied, slamming the door on the Jeep and aiming toward the road.

I was eleven miles away from town, most of the way not paved, and I knew ending up in the ditch wouldn't help. Concentrating on keeping the thing on the road as rain started gusting against the windshield and rocking the vehicle, I wondered what could have put Charlie into such a snit.

I was only a part-time deputy, and I didn't have the experience to deal with anything major. I was worried about what I'd find in town. Gardner was a typical small farming community in Central Illinois; Peoria was off to the northeast and Quincy lay to the southwest. The county was poor as most in the region are, relying mostly on volunteers to man the ambulances and emergency services. I'd come here two years ago to settle Dad's estate and decided to stay; Chicago hadn't worked out very well for me.

As I neared town, I had to detour over fallen trees and debris on the road. I lit the bubble rack so people could see me. My headlights barely pierced the blackness as I got to the crest of a small hill east of town and stopped, looking over the valley below.

Most of Gardner was simply ... gone. It was only 7:30 in the evening, but the clouds and rain made it seem like midnight. The thunder and lightning banged through the sky, illuminating the ghostly scene below me in fits and starts. The east side of Main Street was flat, and the rubble spread for hundreds of yards before tapering off. The west side hadn't fared much better. I could only see four buildings standing upright; the others appeared to be leaning against each other.

Wrapping my poncho tighter, I climbed back into the Jeep and drove down the hill, avoiding the biggest obstacles and bumping over God knows what in the road. The emergency generator was going and the door to the office was lit up as I approached and pulled up to the curb. Charlie ran out, saw me and ducked back inside to collect his raingear.

As I walked through the doorway, he said, "I'm glad you're here! The phones and lights are out everywhere but here, and we have limited radio contact with Tom and Eddie. I need you to stay here and man the radios!"

I said, "Yessir," and sat down at the dispatcher's desk.

Normally neat and tidy, there were scraps of paper everywhere with bits of information scribbled on them. As Charlie left, I tried to sort things into some kind of order. As folks arrived looking for help, I treated those that I could from our first aid box and sent the rest to the clinic down the block, hoping it was open. I enlisted the help of two teenage boys, giving them handie-talkies and telling them to ride their bikes or walk wherever they could and report what they saw. They took it seriously, talking to me every few minutes and telling me my worst fears had been realized.

Some of the least injured people congregated in the office, asking questions I couldn't answer. I put some of them to work making coffee and scrounging food; the others huddled in the chairs in their soaked clothes, staring at nothing. Apparently the twister had struck without warning and no sirens had been heard. Most of the houses and all of the trailers were either damaged or gone, and only half of the main part of town was still standing. Eddie came back to relieve me, the exhaustion showing on his face as he slumped in the chair.

"Mac, it's bad out there; be careful, okay?" he said.

"Okay," I replied, putting on my raingear and walking down to the clinic. Maybe my limited first aid could help someone.

All through the night people came and went, the headlights making shadows on the walls as the two volunteer nurses treated and stabilized the injured, loading them into the ambulances that came from nearby towns to carry the worst of them to the hospitals in the city. I removed splinters, applied band-aids and held a lantern for them to work, stopping only briefly every hour or so to check in over the radio. The dead were taken to our makeshift morgue, the meat locker in the grocery store. The building itself was still upright but part of the roof was gone, and the refrigeration unit was functioning on a generator.

They brought her in about dawn, a frail-looking girl in shorts and a T-shirt with a swollen ankle. She appeared to be sleeping in the fireman's arms.

"I saw her limping on the side of the road. I think her ankle's broken," he said as he laid her down.

She had a scalp wound that had darkened her blond hair, and bruises and cuts showing everywhere. I made her as comfortable as possible on the gurney and covered her with a blanket, smoothing her hair. She groaned and huddled into the blanket, clutching it to her tightly. 'At least she's alive, ' I thought, thankful for that small miracle.

They took her to the hospital about noon in an ambulance and I forgot all about her, absorbed by the work and lack of sleep as the injured kept coming. About nine that night, Charlie told me to go home and get some sleep.

I did, checking on the horses first and letting them into the pasture to graze. After a quick shower I hit my bed and fell asleep instantly, exhausted and sad. These people had done nothing to deserve this kind of misfortune; they were all hard-working, normal folks trying to make a living.

I slept through till morning. The sun was shining brightly into the window, the promise of a new day. I got dressed and fed the horses, ate and filled a thermos, then got back into my Jeep to start my day. In daylight the wreckage was more visible and frightening as I pulled up to the curb and got out. Cleanup efforts were going on all around me. Tow trucks were pulling cars upright, loaders were picking up trash from the street, and the roar of diesel engines filled the air.

"What's the damage?" I asked, as I walked through the door and saw Charlie.

He knew I wasn't asking about the property and replied, "16 dead and 155 injured. Some of them won't make it."

The phone rang, startling both of us, and Charlie picked it up. "Sheriff's office," he said, and listened for a few moments. "Ok, thanks," he said, hanging up the phone. "We got phones back to part of town temporarily," he grimaced, knowing it would ring incessantly with people wanting information about their families and loved ones.

I made a big pot of coffee and started answering the phones, giving out what information we had. Charlie left to get some rest and I monitored the radio, answering Tom and Eddie's check- in calls.

About ten, I looked up and saw the little blonde from the day before standing in the doorway. She had a walking cast on her foot and a pair of crutches, awkwardly held in her armpits.

"Hi, I'm Morgan Jessup. I remember you," she said, smiling.

"Come in," I said. "I'm McKenna Arneson. My friends call me Mac. How are you today?"

"Pretty good, considering," she said, "but I need help."