No one had seen anything about this in the forecast. Rock was at his friend Walt Webber's house, and they each looked south across Russellville and much of the Arkansas River Valley from Webber's property on Crowe Mountain. There had been no warning either was aware of, but there was an unimaginable tornado headed their way. It was miles wide and stretched into the valley below from purple and orange clouds. As they watched, they could see it had spawned a dozen or more smaller funnel clouds, each rushing about like infant raptors from the Jurassic Park franchise.
Next Rock knew, he and Walt were in the house. He watched Walt run into a bedroom, where he gathered a set of golf irons and clinched them to his chest as he lay in the midday darkness beside his and his wife's kingsize bed.
"Don't you think it would be safer here in the hallway?" Rock said.
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