Bad Penny by Sharon Sala

holding began to sink in and he knew for sure. If the storm had ripped the windshield out of the truck, Cat could have gone with it. He couldn’t let himself think of finding her in pieces, as he was finding her clothes.
     
    He brushed the bit of yellow cloth against the side of his face, swallowed past the knot in his throat, and then put the fabric in his pocket and kept on moving.
     
    There had been a small grove of trees about a hundred yards from the dam. They were gone. Ripped up by the roots. He paused, staring down at the holes in the ground like a man in a trance, as if their absence was a clue to Catherine’s whereabouts.
     
    Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t feel them. He was numb from the inside out to everything but fear. Finally he looked up and turned around.
     
    Another dead pig lay a short distance away. Already a swarm of flies was beginning to gather. He gritted his teeth as he looked away. Focusing on death wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not until he was faced with the undeniable proof.
     
    A shadow passed across the ground in front of him. He tilted his head, suddenly aware that the news chopper was still there. Then he saw the cameraman waving wildly and saw him pointing out into the pasture beyond where he was standing.
     
    He turned to look, and that was when he saw it. Movement.
     
    In the distance.
     
    His heart ricocheted against his ribcage with a sharp, painful thud. Someone in brown clothing was walking toward him—no, staggering. Suddenly the figure disappeared, and for a moment Wilson thought he’d imagined it. But when the figure reappeared on the horizon, he realized that whoever it was had just fallen down and was in the act of getting up again.
     
    He started walking, his stride long and measured. The closer he got to the figure, the more anxious he became, but it wasn’t until he realized it was a woman and saw her long dark hair that it hit him.
     
    Catherine!
     
    She’d done it again. Survived when the odds were against her.
     
    He dropped her boot and began to run—forgetting that their reunion was about to be caught on tape by the film crew in the air.
     
    The closer he got, the faster his heart beat. She was covered in mud and
     
    leaves, and her hair was plastered to her face and neck. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing left on her body, but she was in one piece, and all he could do was praise God for the miracle. When he got close enough for her to hear him, he began calling her name.
     
    Cat had come to, flat on her back in the middle of a pasture, lying on top of what appeared to be a windshield and staring up at a scattering of clouds partially covering a pale blue sky. She took a breath and then moaned. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t remember why.
     
    When she tried to sit up, the world went crazy, dipping and swaying and turning in circles. She grabbed hold of the only available stability—the windshield on which she was lying—and held on for dear life until the spinning stopped.
     
    When it finally did, she realized that, except for a layer of mud and leaves, she was naked. There were streaks of blood mixed with the mess —which explained the burning sensation she was feeling all over her skin— but she still couldn’t remember what had happened.
     
    It wasn’t until she got to her feet and saw the debris left by the tornado’s aftermath that understanding dawned. She remembered turning off the highway and starting down the long road leading to the ranch when she’d gotten swept up by the storm.
     
    Her thoughts went immediately to Wilson. What if the tornado had hit the ranch?
     
    She needed to find him. She needed to see his face. All she had to do was
     
    put one foot in front of the other, but as soon as she tried, it became apparent that it was easier said than done.
     
    Movement caused pain—and pain caused confusion. She didn’t know which direction to go, or even if she could stay upright. But she had to find