Enter into a sudden shift of light. The wind from the clouds has descended upon the earth. The dust kicks up, fine silt through the air, and it is almost impossible to see. A noise rises, and there is more to the surroundings than there seemed to be before.
The road is asphalt, not a crude path of crushed dolostone, and it is assaulted by sheets of rain. Above, the sky is like a rug turned over: too large, and impossible to comprehend. It is strange how such an intangible thing is destroying the landscape ahead. This is the edge of a town on the agricultural lowlands of Illinois. There are a few houses, new ones- houses with windows in odd places, young trees staked to the lawn. A childrens' playhouse, garish in red and yellow, now sits dimmed by the rain, tossed across the street.
A flashbang behind you from power lines, draped like lace from poles now leaning. The wind is steady and strong, and could match a tornado if it lasted long enough. To the side of the road, set apart by a low wire fence, sits an elementary school. It's made of brick, short and squat, with a large greenhouse poking up from the side. The gate is open. One of the front doors hangs open, and the occasional gust of wind slams it against the outer wall.
Do you go to the school and TAKE SHELTER?
Do you FLEE down the road?