Saving Me

So much Destruction

Stormy's POV:

The storm raged outside, thunder rolling and vibrating the ground, followed by sharp streaks of lightning that woke me from what had already been a restless sleep. The wind howled, making the brick house feel like it could lift off its foundation at any moment. Rain came down in sheets, so heavy at times that I couldn't see out the windows. The fact that it was the dead of night only made my anxiety worse. I could usually manage storms during the day, but at night? It was like my worst fears—and the one memory I wished had only been a bad dream—came crashing back over me like an angry wave pounding the shore.

Since childhood, I'd always feared nighttime thunderstorms, especially the ones that came in the spring, bringing with them tornadoes and hail the size of baseballs. It would be easy to blame that fear on watching Twister at a young age—but that wasn't the reason. Not when I had my own story. Not when I could have very easily been that little girl in the movie, watching her father get sucked from the underground shelter while trying to keep the storm outside.

Only, we hadn't been in an underground shelter. Those were rare in Eastern North Carolina. I'll never forget that day for as long as I live, mostly because it was the day I learned what it meant to lose someone you love. The day everything changed—not just for me, but for so many others.

It was April 16, 1993. The day had started out like any other. Mama had made pancakes and bacon for breakfast—something I still can't eat because it reminds me too much of that morning. After we ate, Mama and Daddy loaded my sister Windy and me into the truck for a trip to the spring carnival about 45 minutes away. Windy and I sat in the backseat, playing "I Spy" while Mama and Daddy sang along with the country songs on the radio.

I remember the emergency alert coming through the speakers, startling me. We'd just learned about tornadoes in school that week, and I knew the local radio stations would issue warnings if one was nearby. I listened as the computer-generated voice came through the static, and Dad turned it up.

In more ways than one, I wished he hadn't—because even now, at 35, I remember the message word for word:

"From the National Weather Service in Wakefield, a tornado warning has been issued for the following counties in North Carolina until 10:23 a.m.: Halifax and Northampton. Locales that could be impacted are: Rich Square, Jackson, Weldon, Garysburg, and Roanoke Rapids. It is important that everyone in the storm's path immediately seek shelter. If you live in a mobile home, please get to the nearest sturdy structure immediately. Again, a tornado warning has been issued for Northampton and Halifax counties, expiring at 10:23 a.m."

I remember thinking how strange it was to have a tornado warning with the sun still shining. But I'd learned that weather could change in an instant. And as if to prove that, the sky darkened, and rain began to pound the roof of the truck. The wind picked up. But it was the worried look on Mama's face that told me we were in trouble. I remember her telling Daddy we needed to find shelter—and fast. But that was easier said than done. The stretch of road we were on only had a house every couple of miles, and between them were acres of open fields—perfect places for tornadoes to gain strength.

A loud crack of thunder and a sharp flash of lightning outside my bedroom window jolted me back to the present. I jumped from the bed as if it were on fire. I'd been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't realized how fierce the wind had grown or how much harder the rain had started to fall. Another deafening crash of thunder boomed, followed by a streak of lightning that momentarily turned night into day. I'd just picked up my phone from the nightstand to check the radar when the alert popped up: Tornado Warning.

My heart skipped a beat before instinct kicked in. Protect Sadie.

I bolted from the room like a track star, racing to my daughter's nursery. I flipped on the light, bathing the room in a warm glow, and scooped Sadie into my arms. She started to cry as I held her close and ran to the small linen closet in the hallway. Slinging the door open, I sank to the floor and slammed it shut behind us, hooking the latch I'd installed when we moved in six months ago.

Cradling my crying six-month-old to my chest, I rocked back and forth, whispering prayers to God to keep us safe. I know God doesn't make mistakes, and that whatever happens is part of His plan—but I prayed tonight wasn't the night our story ended.

As cliché as it sounds, the wind went from howling to roaring like a freight train. I knew then that all my praying might not be enough. A window shattered somewhere in the house, and the door to the closet banged against its frame, pulling at the latch. I stared at it, horrified, praying it would hold. The mix of howling wind and the sight of the door straining against its hinges brought me right back to that scene in Twister. I was about to reach for the door when I heard a voice—my daddy's voice—clear as day, telling me not to. "Hold on to Sadie," he said. "With both hands."

Even after all these years, I'd know that voice anywhere.

Doing what the voice said, I buried Sadie deeper into my chest and backed farther into the corner. This would be over soon. We had to survive. For me. For Sadie.

With tears streaming down my face, I prayed I was right.

⸻

Matt's POV:

The flashing lights of first responders illuminated the devastation left by the tornado that had torn through the town I now called home. It was catastrophic. Not a single house was untouched—most reduced to rubble, unrecognizable from what they had been just hours ago. Seeing how quickly life could change left a hollow ache in my chest. But I wasn't a stranger to this kind of destruction.

Having lived in Joplin, Missouri until I was 15, I knew tornadoes all too well. I'd seen devastation up close. Hell, I'd lived through it myself when I was just five. That storm had been one for the history books—the most destructive tornado to hit the town since the 1800s. It held that record until the 2011 tornado ripped through, flattening everything in its path. So many lives were lost that day. Some of them were mine.

Don't go there, Matt. Not now. Not her...

Shaking off the memory, I forced myself to focus. I had a job to do. Somewhere in this debris, someone might still be alive.

"This house is clear, Lieutenant!" one of the firefighters called out, pulling me back to the present.

"Keep searching, Mark. Someone had to survive this."

Two hours later, I was nearly ready to throw in the towel. Twenty bodies had already been pulled from the wreckage—none of them alive. I'd cleared one side of the road and was about to start on the other when I heard it.

A baby crying.

At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But then one of my guys turned to me, wide-eyed. "Did you hear that?"

We both had.

Heart pounding, I ran toward the sound, my team close behind. The cry grew louder with every step, fueling a renewed sense of hope. That sound tore at something deep inside me. Another piece of the past clawed its way up—but instead of paralyzing me like it used to, it propelled me forward. We tore through splintered wood and debris, each movement driven by urgency.

"I need a medic over here!" I shouted as we lifted the last piece of wall.

There she was. A baby, wailing, cradled in the arms of a woman—presumably her mother. Tears welled in my eyes as I gently lifted the baby from her arms, checking her over as medics rushed to the woman.

Peeling back the muddy blanket, I saw a pink onesie that read: Tough Like Mama.
"I hope your mama really is tough, little girl..."

"She has a pulse!" Mark called out, his relief evident.

Everything moved quickly after that. The EMTs stabilized the woman and loaded her onto a stretcher. I held the now-quiet baby in my arms, watching them work, praying we'd found them in time. She looked okay, but that didn't mean she wasn't hurt inside.

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked, still rocking the child.

"BP and heart rate are stable. She's got a knot on her head—probably hit by debris. We need to get her to the hospital for scans," the EMT replied.

"I'll go with her. The baby needs to be checked, too."

"Sure thing."

I waited for them to load the woman into the ambulance, then climbed in with the baby. The hospital was 15 minutes away. In that time, I whispered every prayer I knew—praying that someday, this baby and her mother would be able to look back on this day and say with pride:

We survived the 2022 Jackson, North Carolina tornado.