Cora and the Terrible Twister by Francesca Ficorilli

Author:Francesca Ficorilli [Gilbert, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure story; chapter books for girls; female hero; survival story; tornado; tri-state tornado; natural disasters; historical fiction for kids; ages 8-12; grades 3-7
Publisher: Capstone
Published: 2023-08-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Murphysboro, IL

Logan School

March 18, 1925

2:55 p.m.

“Put it back,” Claire gasped.

Dazed, my hands slipped from the rock. It rolled forward onto Claire’s arm with a solid thud. Pain lashed Claire’s face, but the bleeding beneath her arm slowed.

“What was that?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Where is all the blood coming from?”

“I… I think my arm is worse than I thought,” Claire said. “The pressure from the rock is stopping me from bleeding out.”

The classroom floated before my eyes for a second. Buzzing filled my ears, and my lungs got tight.

I didn’t do well with blood. I’d seen plenty of it earlier, both on myself and others. But at the height of the tornado, I didn’t have time to reflect on what I was seeing. Now I was face-to-face with my friend’s injury, and I was about to faint.

“Cora Jane Moffat, don’t you dare pass out on me!” Claire exclaimed.

My eyes snapped to her face, and I nodded. The classroom spun at the motion.

“Take a deep breath for me,” she said.

I complied, trying to ignore the dust I was inhaling.

“And another one,” Claire said, her eyes not leaving mine.

I took a deeper breath. My vision settled and the buzzing in my ears receded.

“It’s kind of funny,” I said. “You’re the one with the serious injury, but you have to take care of me right now.”

“It’s not like I didn’t expect it,” Claire said. I could hear the affection in her voice, and it made me happy. “Remember the dolls?”

“Yuck, don’t remind me,” I said with a shiver.

“It was your idea to give them haircuts,” she said.

“But you’re the one who suggested I use your mother’s butcher knife,” I added.

“That’s only because I couldn’t find her sewing scissors,” Claire said. “And how was I supposed to know you’d practically cut half your finger off?”

“I mean, we probably could have guessed,” I said. I ran my thumb over my index finger.

“Probably,” Claire agreed. “Do you still have the scar?”

I nodded and held up my finger. Claire reached over with her free hand to catch mine. She looked and then squeezed my fingers. “Are you calmer now?” she asked.

“Yes, why?” I answered.

“Because I need you to put a tourniquet around my arm,” she said. “It will stop the bleeding. Then I need you to go get help.”

“I can do that,” I said, feeling my heartbeat starting to race. “Except I’m not sure how to do a tourniquet.”

“I’ll talk you through it,” Claire said. “Remember how my grandfather was a doctor?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“He taught me. And I’ll teach you,” Claire said. “First, you need to continue what your dog started this morning.”

For a second, I thought Cora was teasing me. “Rip up my skirt? Why?” I asked.

Claire just tilted her head and waited for me to connect the dots.

“Oh, right, bandages,” I said. I sat back on my heels and began ripping long strips of fabric from what remained of my skirt.

“I’m sorry for teasing you about it,” Claire said. I almost couldn’t hear her over the rip of material.

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