Hail pelted the armored SUV nicknamed “The TANK.” The driver nervously steered into the teeth of the storm while the navigator quietly examined the radar on his laptop. In front of them, a giant mile-wide wedge tornado thrashed across the Mississippi countryside.
“It’s a MONSTER!” the driver yelled over the roar of the hail. “Look at that wedge! Check the map, Dr. Z. Are we headed the right way?!?”
The Dr. Z, the navigator, looked over his reading glasses and calmly said, “Yes Mike. But I don’t need a map. The tornado is headed toward Desoto Flats. It’s my hometown.”
Dr. Z, or Jimmy Zacharias, was the grandson of Greek immigrant Apostle Zacharias. Apostle had moved to Desoto Flats, Mississippi, after World War II and opened a hardware store. His son, James, inherited Zacharias Hardware when Apostle died of a massive heart attack. James’ son, James Jr. was to take over for him. At least that was how it was supposed to be; however, James Jr., or Jimmy as everyone called him, loved the weather. He was fascinated by an old Indian legend that said the love and sacrifice of an Indian squaw for a European explorer protected Desoto Flats from tornadoes. Jimmy studied weather from the time he was a young child. A scholarship offer from the University of Oklahoma was to be his big break in to the weather business.
Except that his father would have nothing to do with it.
“Who will take over the business?!? I need you! I forbid you to go,” his father screamed on that fateful August night.
“And you can’t stop me,” Jimmy yelled as he slammed the door in his father’s face.
Those were the last words he had said to his father in over 25 years.
Jimmy excelled at meteorology. He graduated with a 4.0, earned his masters and then his doctorate. He specialized in tornado formation and spent many hours chasing massive storms on the Great Plains. His big break came when Hollywood producers approached him about a new reality cable TV show called “Tornado Hunters.” An acting coach helped him lose his southern accent, a network executive suggested he change his name to Dr. Z and Hollywood created a cable TV legend.
Dr. Z was a star. And, like a star, he was lightyears away from Desoto Flats.
The Weather Network, a cable network based out of New York, hired Dr. Z to be its lead forecaster/storm reporter. Dr. Z’s fame quickly rose even higher. If Dr. Z showed up in your neighborhood, you knew doom was not far behind. Dr. Z used his charm, scientific knowledge and rugged good looks to woo America and chase tornadoes.
Now he could do nothing as he chased one right into his old hometown.
“OMIGOD.” he mumbled. His heart sank.
The TANK navigated through the downed trees, debris and fallen power poles. Dr. Z looked for familiar landmarks. None were to be found. The Pemberton Elementary school was gone. The Courthouse, built after Sherman had burned the old one, was leveled. Zacharias Hardware was gone. People walked in shock around the town square. It looked like a scene from “Walking Dead.”
Mike pulled the TANK over and he, Dr. Z and the cameraman got out to render aid. People first, tornadoes second was their motto. Dr. Z watched as the tornado roared over the horizon. Judging by the apocalyptic damage, it had to be an EF-4 or 5.
Dr. Z pulled out his cell phone. No bars. He threw it down and then dug through the TANK for his satellite phone. He called his assistant in New York. “Jan, this is Z. We’re in the middle of Mississippi. Tell the boss we need some aid send down here. Tell him to pull some strings. Call the damned President. And tell the boss I’m also taking some time off. I have some work to do.”
Jimmy looked around at what was left of Desoto Flats. God’s finger, as he called tornadoes, had destroyed over 100 years of history in seconds.
Mike put a compress on an older lady’s head. Dr. Z recognized her as Anne Smith, his old Sunday school teacher.
“Mrs. Smith,” Dr. Z called out.
Mrs. Smith weakly muttered, “Jimmy?”
“Where are my parents?”
Mrs. Smith shrugged. “You seen my kitty, Jimmy?”
She was in shock.
Dr. Z ran toward his parents’ house. The Victorian home had been built strong and had a storm cellar. He knew there was a chance his parents had survived. Bodies littered the streets. He pulled out the satellite phone again: “Jan, tell them there are mass casualties, too. WE NEED HELP!”
Dr. Z had lost his calm, cool demeanor. Even his southern accent started coming back.
He ran to the corner of Main and Stonewall Street looking for his parents house.
“MOM! DAD! MOM! DAD!”
He was silent for a second to hear any reply. The town was eerily quiet. The smell of pine burned his nose.
“MOM! DAD! MOM! DAD!”
He heard scratching coming from the storm cellar. It was covered with six-feet of debris.
Dr. Z started throwing boards out of the way. He then stepped on a nail which went through his foot, but the pain didn’t stop him.
“MOM! DAD!”
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled open the steel door. There, in the darkness of the cellar, were his parents. All three broke down in tears. The Prodigal Son had come home.
As they walked back to the TANK, Dr. Z called out to his crew: “Hey! I want you to meet my folks!”
“You have parents?” Mike asked with honest shock. “You were actually born and raised somewhere? ” Dr. Z had kept his past very private.
Now, though, he hugged the two people he had missed so much. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
Then a miracle happened. As the town crawled out of the rubble, church vans full of people with chainsaws and casseroles arrived to help Desoto Flats, Mississippi. Nature had done its best to knock the town down. But it was lifted back up by the compassion of strangers. Dr. Z smiled. Why had he run from this? Why had been gone so long?
Dr. Z held his parents and smiled. The storms he had chased for years finally led Jimmy Zacharias back home.
My work was done and I sat down.
