Twister

Chapter Twenty

The minute his feet hit the ground, Ben could sense the immense, billowing waves on either side; and as he ran to the overturned truck, he found himself choking on the thick, salty spray that had filled the air.

The mercenary's truck was lucky not to have fallen into the sea below. The vehicle's cab was dangerously close to the edge and the back wheels, which were positioned a little behind the cab, were actually overhanging. It wouldn't take much, Ben realized, for the truck to go over. He had no idea if contact with the water would activate the detonator, but that was a risk he wasn't prepared to take. Even though he felt scared to approach the edge too closely, he ran towards the upturned truck, vaguely aware that Angelo was following him.

The windscreen, which was facing into the centre of the road, had shattered; so had the passenger windows, and the door that he approached was dented and crumpled. When Ben crouched down to look into the upside-down vehicle he saw the mercenary. The man was a mess. His face was pierced with the broken glass, and blood oozed out of each one of those many wounds. He was still strapped into the seat, but his body had slumped so that his head was pressed up against the roof of the truck.

But most alarmingly of all, he was still conscious.

To one side of him, lying on the upturned roof of the truck, there was a black bag — a rucksack. The mercenary didn't even seem to have noticed Ben: he was focusing all his attention on retrieving that bag, which was just out of reach.

The detonator, Ben thought to himself. It's in there — it has to be!

He moved on pure instinct. Grabbing the handle to the door, he pulled it open with a mighty tug. Only then did the mercenary appear to become aware of Ben's arrival. He turned his head and looked at him with an expression of pure hatred that was all the more sinister for the fact that he was upside down. No words were spoken, but a kind of spiteful hiss came from the mercenary's lips before he turned his attention back to the rucksack. He seemed to stretch for it with all his might.

Ben plunged his arm into the cab of the truck, past the mercenary's head and towards the rucksack. He wasn't trying to grab it so much as push it out of the man's reach.

In the end, however, he managed neither.

At first he couldn't work out what the mercenary was doing, or why. He had grabbed Ben's arm and seemed to be sizing it up, as if feeling for something. And then he jerked his arms sharply.

It was only when Ben felt his bones snap that he finally understood what was happening.

The pain was indescribable. Ben let out a shriek of agony as he lost all control of the limb, and he offered no resistance at all as the mercenary pushed him out of the way. He fell heavily to the ground, then watched helplessly as the mercenary's fingers clasped the fabric of the bag. There was a look of triumph on the man's face: he plunged his hand into the bag and started to pull something out.

'NO!' Ben roared. He tried to push himself up, but the devastating pain in his broken arm stopped him from doing anything. 'Don't do it!' he yelled. 'Just don't do it!'

But the mercenary ignored him. He had it in his hands now, a small metal object no bigger than a mobile phone.

That was it. Ben stared in frozen horror, realizing there was nothing more he could do to stop what was going to happen.

He'd played his last card.

He had lost.

He opened his mouth to shout again, but the sound never left his throat, because just then he saw Angelo.

The Italian boy appeared on the other side of the truck. The mercenary hadn't clocked him — he was too busy clutching the detonator, gazing at it with a look of greedy elation as he prepared to activate it. But from his position on the wet ground Ben watched, heart in mouth, as his friend ripped the other door open and dived into the cab of the truck.

The mercenary was completely taken by surprise. He roared in anger and started to struggle, but it wasn't enough. Angelo's fingers curled round the detonator. He snapped it away and then wriggled back outside.

The man squirmed as he tried to release himself from the truck's seatbelt while Angelo sprinted round the front of the vehicle to Ben. 'L'ho preso!' he yelled. 'I've got it! I've got—'

He stopped and took one look at Ben.

'What's the matter?' he asked. Clearly Ben looked as bad as he felt.

'My arm!' Ben screamed over the noise of the waves and the wind. 'I think it's broken.' As he spoke, he felt himself being sprayed yet again with salty water; then he furrowed his brow. Angelo was looking out to sea and he had a strange look in his eyes.

'Ben,' he said quietly, 'move.' And then he shouted it, pulling Ben up by his good arm. 'Move, Ben! Now!' Ben felt himself being pulled to his feet, and as he did so he glanced out to sea. It was only then that he realized what Angelo had seen. For a split second it looked as if there was something rising out of the ocean — some huge, shapeless beast, like something out of a nightmare.

It was nothing of the sort, of course. It was the ocean itself, swelling hugely and hurling at them a titanic wave, the very size of which made Ben's eyes bulge.

Instinctively, he ran.

They managed to get as far as the pick-up. Ben threw himself to the floor and flung his good arm around one of the truck's tyres, squeezing and gripping onto it with all his might. He tucked his head down, took a deep breath, braced himself and closed his eyes. When the wave hit, he knew, it would carry with it all the force of the ocean.

He wasn't wrong.

It didn't feel like water thumping into his body. It felt like something solid. Instantly all the air was pumped out of him; on a reflex he tried to draw breath again — his lungs simply filled with water that was crashing over and around him. So it was that he had no breath in him to be able to scream, not even when the water smashed against his broken arm. The rushing in his ears was like an explosion. All he could do was hold onto that truck and hope — against all hope — that this wasn't the end.

It was with a sinking, sickening feeling that he felt the truck move. Not even that great hunk of iron could withstand the force of the angry sea — it slid towards the other side of the road and spun round so that Ben — blinded by the wave — could not tell where he was or in which direction he was pointing.

Any second now, he thought to himself, and I'll be pushed over into the sea. When that happened it wouldn't matter that he was clutching hold of the pickup; but he gripped it a little tighter, just in case.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the wave subsided. Ben was dizzy from lack of air. He felt himself coughing up salt water, and for a long moment it didn't even register with him that he was still on the road. He let go of the truck, wiped the water from his eyes and looked around.

The truck was still the right way up, but it had moved about twenty metres back the way they had come and towards the other side of the road. Ben looked back over towards the mercenary's truck. Then he blinked.

It was no longer there.

He squinted his eyes and looked around again. There was no doubt about it. The mercenary hadn't survived the impact of the wave. He was gone.

And then he realized something else. He was alone. The mercenary might have disappeared, but so had…

'Angelo!' he screamed. 'Angelo! Where are you?'

Ben stopped to listen for a response. There was none: just the sound of the storm and Ben's panicked breathing.

He spun around, doing his best to ignore the pain in his limp arm. His eyes were still smarting from the salt water; he squinted them as he peered into the darkness, desperately trying to see Angelo.

He couldn't. What he saw instead was something quite different.

The moon had appeared again, bright and full. And out to sea, in the distance — though not as far as the last time he had seen it — was the tornado. Ben blinked, transfixed for a few moments by that awesome, awful sight. There was no doubt about it. It was coming this way. How fast it was moving he couldn't tell, but the last place he wanted to be if that thing hit the Overseas Highway was here.

But what about Angelo? He couldn't leave until he was sure that his friend was…

The very thought made him shudder.

And as he shuddered, he heard a voice.

It was faint. Barely audible above all the other noise. But it was definitely a voice. Shouting. Ben made out a single word: 'Help!' He spun round again, trying to see where it was coming from.

There was nothing.

He ran towards where they had been when the wave hit. The voice was a bit louder here, but still he saw no sign of Angelo. Apart from Ben and the pick-up truck, the road was deserted. He glanced nervously towards the tornado. If he was going to get out of here, he had to leave quickly. He had to leave now.

It was only then that he saw him.

Angelo wasn't on the road; the wave had thrown him to the edge and now he was hanging onto the raised barrier with a single hand. Ben sprinted towards him. The face of his Italian friend was etched with a mixture of concentration, exhaustion and sheer terror. One hand was taking all his weight, and with an immense struggle he raised the other over the edge of the barrier.

He was still clutching the detonator.

'I can't hold on much longer, Ben,' he shouted urgently. 'Take it! Take the detonator! We can't let it fall into the water with me.'

As he spoke, Angelo's grip faltered. Half of his face disappeared behind the barrier, leaving only his eyes in view. They were urgent and terrified as he waved the detonator in the air.

Ben knew he was right. He knew he should grab the detonator first. But somehow he simply couldn't. He fixed Angelo with a steely, determined stare, then used his good arm to clutch onto his friend's wrist — the one that was holding the barrier.

'Let go,' he hissed. 'I can't pull you back if you're still holding on.'

Angelo hesitated.

'Let go!' Ben insisted. It was a leap of faith, he knew that. But it was one that had to be made.

Angelo's fingers relaxed; all of a sudden, Ben was supporting all his friend's weight.

Then he pulled.

Battered and exhausted, Ben felt like he had no strength in him, but he didn't give up. One-handed, he tugged at Angelo's arm with every last bit of power he possessed, slowly dragging his friend — and the detonator — over the barrier towards him. On the fringes of his vision was the tornado, watching over them, waiting to strike; and all around them were the sounds and sights of the storm and the raging seas.

Ben ignored it all. He ignored the pain in his broken arm; he ignored the spray that was all around them. He just pulled for all he was worth.

It took nearly a minute to haul Angelo in. The Italian boy fell heavily onto the ground, but he did not let go of the detonator. He lay on his back, panting; but there was still no time to rest. The very moment Angelo was on the road, Ben's attention was elsewhere.

The tornado was coming. They had to get away.

'Get in the truck,' Ben bellowed. 'You'll have to drive — I can't with this broken arm.' He winced as he spoke, trying to ignore the wooziness that was creeping over his body.

Angelo struggled to his feet and together they hurried to the pick-up. 'I can't,' he replied as they ran. 'I've never driven. I don't know how.'

They were at the truck now. Ben looked nervously once more at the tornado. 'When that thing gets here,' he shouted, 'it's going to rip up everything in its path.' He turned to Angelo. 'All right,' he shouted. 'I'll drive. But you'll have to help me.'

Angelo looked unsure of himself, but he nodded and they both jumped into the pick-up.

It was saturated inside, dripping like the inside of a shower cubicle. Ben sat behind the wheel, his broken arm hanging limply by his side, then awkwardly used his other hand to turn the ignition. The engine coughed and spluttered, but it did not turn over.

Ben cursed, then tried again.

Nothing.

He looked at Angelo. 'I can't keep doing this,' he said. 'I'll flood the engine.'

'Er, Ben,' Angelo said tensely. 'We haven't really got time to wait for this thing to dry out. Either we get it going, or we run.'

The two of them looked at the road ahead. It stretched off into the darkness: neither of them needed to say out loud that if they tried to do it on foot, they'd never make it.

Ben took a deep breath and turned the key one more time. The engine choked alarmingly but then, suddenly, it sprang into life. They exchanged a relieved glance.

'Knock it into drive,' Ben instructed.

Angelo did as he was told and Ben gingerly moved forward. His arm was shrieking in pain and his whole body was sweating, but he tried to ignore it as he accelerated, and soon they were thundering along the slippery road once again.

Ben did his best not to look in the rear-view mirror, knowing that if he caught another glimpse of the tornado it would do nothing for his concentration. He just kept his eye on the road ahead. Now and then the windscreen would be splattered with sea water and his vision obscured. But he just kept going, keeping the truck straight with his good arm, all the while doing what he could to ignore the pain in his other one.

He could never have kept it up for long. They had been driving for little more than ten minutes when he started to feel faint. His foot slipped from the accelerator; the pick-up started to slow down.

'Don't stop,' Angelo shouted, rousing Ben from his moment of faintness. 'I think I can see land. Keep going.'

Ben's foot felt for the accelerator again; he increased his speed and did everything he could to keep his concentration up. Angelo could clearly tell he was having difficulties, because he kept talking, loudly and in tones of encouragement. Ben had no idea what he was saying, however. He wasn't even listening. He was just concentrating on getting off the Overseas Highway and onto Key Largo.

When he finally saw the first of the Florida Keys, he felt like a condemned man who had been given a last-minute reprieve. A huge billboard flapped in the wind. 'WELCOME TO, KEY LARGO' it read in big, bright letters; but the island didn't look very welcoming. Nowhere looked welcoming in the middle of the night in this kind of weather. Ben was vaguely aware of the wind-devastated buildings up ahead, but he paid them no attention. They were a familiar sight now, after all. The pick-up truck screamed onto dry land and Ben travelled away from the coast for a good couple of minutes before finally allowing his foot to slip from the accelerator. The truck slowed down gradually as Ben coasted along the main road that was still mercifully deserted. And finally it shuddered and stalled to halt.

Ben glanced to one side. Angelo was there, ashen-faced and soaking wet. But in his hand he still held the detonator. Safely. Soundly. Clutching it for all he was worth.

It was the last thing Ben saw before he slumped, exhausted and in agony, over the steering wheel of the vehicle, and then passed out.

Back out at sea, the tornado whirled and twisted. It sucked up huge amounts of sea water and then spat them out again, all the while making its relentless way in the direction of the Overseas Highway.

It reached that huge structure barely minutes after Ben and Angelo had evacuated it. It only took a few seconds to rip up the huge girders of concrete, steel and tar from which the road had been constructed; and only a few seconds to throw it out again, leaving a scene of utter devastation in its wake.

And had anybody been there, they might have noticed a curious thing. It was a truck that seemed to erupt from the murky, stormy waters of the sea, as though it were defying the laws of science and nature and taking flight. It was nature herself, however, who sucked it up into the sky, spun it round like a stone in a sling and then hurled it even further out to sea, where it broke up into a hundred pieces as it slammed against the water.

But nobody was there, and a good thing too. Because no human could have survived standing in the course of that immense, powerful freak of nature.

The twister continued its way out to sea, howling and roaring as it spun into the empty void of the night.