The tornado was an F5. It picked up houses like they were nothing and disintegrated them in the air. It picked up cars like they were toys. tossing them down the street. Behind it had been cut a huge swathe of destruction, nothing had stood before it and lived to tell the tale. It was no different to setting off bombs in a long line, the devastation was just the same. Paths through neighbourhoods had been reduced to kindling. There was nothing salvageable for anyone. All the residents had left in the world were the clothes on their backs. They'd gone from homeowners in comfortable suburbs to refugees in the blink of an eye.
The trees creaked outside and the dust was whipped up into the air, semi-blinding us as we looked to the twisters across the plains. There were three of them. Three gigantic columns of violently twisting air rotating around each other. At first we stood there and recorded it on our cell phones, then we had fun leaning into the wind and letting it catch us. But as the twister got closer we realized it was on a direct path to our home. The radio was calling it an F2 on the Fujita scale, we'd be lucky if our house still had a roof this time tomorrow. There was only one thing for it, we packed up the truck and crammed us all inside, including the dog. Then we drove like Satan himself was on our tail and speed-limits be damned.