Several moved equipment only far enough to avoid blocking the access path, then shut it down and ran.
Claire headed toward the low concrete storm shelter behind the machinery shed.
Her mother had already opened the heavy door.
Ruth stood beside the entrance shouting directions.
"Inside! Keep moving!"
Hail began striking the ground harder.
Wind whipped Claire's hair across her face.
She grabbed the handrail and turned toward the field.
Sutter was still standing beside his company truck.
He looked frozen.
The tablet was clutched against his chest.
Claire shouted.
"Move!"
He stared toward the funnel.
For one moment, he seemed incapable of understanding.
Claire ran toward him.
She caught his sleeve.
"Mr. Sutter! Now!"
He looked at her.
Then allowed himself to be pulled toward the shelter.
A violent gust struck the service truck.
Its door slammed against the frame.
Sutter stumbled.
Claire steadied him.
They reached the cellar entrance together.
Ruth ushered them inside.
Then Grant and Eli closed the reinforced door according to the shelter's procedure.
The last strip of daylight disappeared.
For a moment, the world became a small concrete room filled with breathing people.
Thirteen farmers.
Three mechanics and assistants.
Claire.
Ruth.
And Harlan Sutter.
The man who had arrived to tell Claire her farm was unimportant enough to abandon now stood beside her in the one place that might keep him alive.
Outside, wind howled.
Hail battered the ground above them.
Someone switched on a battery lantern.
The yellow light revealed frightened faces.
Grant sat against the wall with his hands clasped.
Maya checked that everybody had made it inside.
Eli listened to the portable weather radio.
Claire stood near her mother.
Ruth touched her daughter's arm.
"You all right?"
Claire nodded.
"Yes."
But she was shaking.
Not because of the argument.
Because she could imagine the wheat outside.
Fifteen hundred acres exposed beneath a storm that might undo months of work in minutes.
The wind grew louder.
Dust drifted from the ceiling near the door.
Claire closed her eyes.
Then felt her mother's hand tighten around hers.
"It's just wheat," Ruth whispered.
Claire looked toward her.
For a moment, she wanted to argue.
It was not just wheat.
It was the operating loan.
The leased acreage.
The combine financing.
The farm her parents had built.
The future she had spent years trying to protect.
Then Ruth continued.
"Not the people."
Claire swallowed.
Her mother looked around the crowded cellar.