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"Daddy. What's that?"

"What's what, Adam?"

"Outside. Come look!"

"Describe it to me. I want to make sure the table is ready in time for lunch."

"Um..." Underneath the table, Michael paused as his son considered whatever unfamiliar sight had attracted his attention. "Well, it looks like that thing you use to put oil in the car?"

Michael frowned. "A bottle? Adam, you've seen--"

"Not the bottle. The white thing. That's bigger at one end and smaller at the other."

"A funnel? It looks like a--" Michael swore. He swore again as he hit his head on the table as he slid out.

Adam was frowning. "Mommy didn't like it when you would say those words."

But Michael heard him only distantly. Outside the big living room windows was the porch. And beyond the porch was a tornado. What they called a twister in this part of the United States. He grabbed his son's hand. "Come Adam. We have to go."

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