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carved headboard to a bed lay nearby, split in two.
    Emory swal owed hard—it looked like the headboard to the bed his parents had shared.
    Panic licked at him, but he tamped it down. A glance behind him confirmed the water tower was intact. The sirens stil sounded, but were growing weaker, signaling their battery source was petering out.
    He headed downhil , his feet and heart tripping faster as he wondered what sight would greet him at the bottom. Al around him, thudding noises sounded as things fel out of the sky and bounced on the ground. Birds, he realized sadly. Probably sucked up into the vortex of the twister and spun out. He pressed on, gulping air to stay calm, as he’d been trained.
    His prayer that his SUV hadn’t been upended or blown away had been answered. It was covered with debris, but it was operational. He jumped in and steered the vehicle down the trail, stopping twice to remove logs and branches and other debris large enough to cause damage to the undercarriage. Two other vehicles had been picked up and dropped alongside the trail, but after checking to make sure they were empty, he was able to maneuver around them.
    He was sick with worry by the time he got to the bottom of the trail. From there, it was a short ride through the trees up to the main road that wound through Sweetness. He slowed to turn toward the center of town.
    And stopped.
    Emory’s heart fel to his knees. “Oh, dear God,” he murmured.
    He’d imagined the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for the utter devastation that lay before him. Absolutely nothing in his field of vision was left standing. The buildings were little more than piles of lumber and brick. Remarkably, the road itself was passable. He spotted several groups of people who were climbing out of the flattened buildings.
    He was relieved to see survivors and kept driving until he reached the building where his father’s office was located. His father, Nancy Cole, and a handful of other people, including the woman from the flower shop who’d sold him Shelby’s roses, stood next to the road, stunned and disheveled. His father’s face lit up when he saw Emory.
    “Thank God you’re okay,” his dad said.
    “You, too,” Emory said. “Any injuries?”
    “None here…but look at this place. There are bound to be.” Then he gestured to Emory’s hands. “You’re bleeding.”
    Emory waved off his concern. “Just a scratch. Do you need my SUV to get around?”
    “No, I have mine here and it’s driveable.”
    “Okay. I’m going to find Shelby.”
    Dr. Maxwel frowned. “You weren’t with her when the storm hit?”
    “No,” Emory said, but the rest of the story could wait. “I’l be back after I make sure she’s okay.”
    A sheriff’s car pul ed up. “Good to see you’re okay, Doc. How are you fixed for supplies?”
    “I haven’t had a chance to look yet, but I hope some things are salvageable.”
    “I’l send a deputy to help you. We’l need to get an area set up for treating the injured.”
    “Sheriff,” Emory asked, “does anyone outside of Sweetness know this happened?”
    The man nodded. “We had a radio in the basement and were able to cal out. Help is on the way. I don’t know who sounded the alarm on the water tower, but he saved a lot of lives.”
    Emory appreciated the man’s words, but right now, he had concerns that trumped taking credit for setting off the alarm. He pul ed away and continued his slow trek down the main street. The destruction was incomprehensible. The school, the bank, the Presbyterian church—al rubble. He maneuvered around a stray refrigerator and rounded the bend to get his first look at Moon’s.
    His breath left his body.
    It was gone. The only thing that would make anyone guess a grocery had once stood on the spot was the line of blue baskarts lined up in what used to be the front of the store.
    The fact that no survivors mil ed around left his heart pounding in his chest.
    The cars in the parking