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- [00:00]
Audible Announcer
Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of against the Odds ad free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app.
- [00:10]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Against the Odds uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, may be invented, but everything is based on research. Val Castor squints through the windshield as a thin gray funnel drops from the sky and plants itself firmly on the ground. Out in the open farmland ahead, the vortex tightens, then widens, and within seconds becomes a thick, violent tornado rotating with terrifying speed. It's 2:56pm on May 20, 2013. Val and his wife Amy are sitting in their pickup truck parked a quarter mile south of the storm, about 20 miles southwest of Oklahoma City. They're professional storm chasers for KWTV, Channel 9 News. Val drives and reports on air while Amy shoots video. Val raises his phone, already live with meteorologist Gary England, back at the station. GARY It's a stovepipe all the way down, about 200 yards wide, moving east northeast. It's a quarter mile wide and getting stronger by the second. Val and Amy provide what meteorologists call ground truth method because technology can only go so far. Radar can detect rotation high in the clouds, but not whether a tornado has actually touched down. That's what storm trackers are for. They are the eyes and ears in the field. He and Amy have been married 14 years and have been chasing storms together even longer. They have six kids and a well rehearsed network of babysitters who know that when the sky turns like this, it's time to rush to the Castor's house. This spring had been unusually quiet until a few days ago. Now central Oklahoma is in the midst of a severe weather outbreak. Just yesterday, they chased a tornado that ripped through a mobile home park east of the city, flipping tractor trailers into the air. And now this. Val watches as the funnel rips across green fields in the distance, tearing up everything in its path. Earth, soil, wood, debris. Blue and green flashes light up its base as it chews through electrical lines. It's expanding fast as it moves past Newcastle. His chest tightens as he reports what he sees. GARY this thing is growing fast in both size and intensity. I see trees in the air. Whole trees. This is not good. The words just hang there. He knows what comes next. Unless it somehow stops. This tornado is moving straight east towards southwest Oklahoma City and the suburb of Moore. A chill of recognition runs through him. I've been here before. Gary this is May 3rd, 1999, all over again. Almost the same path. He can hardly believe it. Fourteen years ago, One of the most powerful tornadoes ever recorded tore through this exact stretch of land. It was an EF5, the most extreme rating, with winds over 300 mph. It killed dozens of people and destroyed whole neighborhoods. He and Amy had chased that storm too, back when chasing was more of an adrenaline, thrill seeking thing. But after that day, they realized what they were doing mattered. That warning people could save lives. He thought May 99 was a once in a lifetime event. But now, watching this tornado grow into a massive black wedge nearly half a mile wide, he's not so sure. It's moving off farmland and toward the interstate, toward the city limits. He can feel his anxiety surge as he speaks into the phone.
- [04:19]
Gary England
Oh God, Gary, this thing is coming.
- [04:23]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
A monster tornado, gaining strength with every second, is heading directly for more.
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- [06:07]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
From Audible Originals. I'm Cassie depechel, and this is against the odds. The Great Plains are known as Tornado Alley, the part of the country where tornadoes strike most often. Here, the atmosphere lines up just right. Warm, moist air drifts north from the Gulf of Mexico. Hot, dry air pushes in from the southwest, and cold air sweeps down from Canada. When those forces collide, storms explode. Just 11 miles south of Oklahoma City sits the town of Moore A suburb of about 56,000 people, right in the heart of Tornado Alley. Over time, it's earned a reputation for being the tornado capital of the US Nature's bullseye. Anyone who's lived there for a while remembers one date in particular. May 3, 1999. That was the day Moore took a direct hit from one of the strongest tornadoes ever recorded. A mile wide, EF5. Packing winds over 321 mph, it tore through the town, killing 36 people, injuring many others and causing over a billion dollars in damage. The destruction was catastrophic. Then, four years later, as the community was still recovering, Moore was hit again by an EF4. Then again in 2010, another EF4. By that point, people were asking why. More meteorologists will tell you that being struck like that again and again is rare. But on May 20, 2013, it would happen again. This time, another EF5 following an eerily similar path. This is episode one storm watch. Gary England sits at his home computer, studying the morning's weather data. It's 5am on Monday, May 20, 2013. His wife, Mary, is still in bed, but he's wide awake. Even though he didn't get much sleep last night. He was on air until nearly midnight, tracking a major tornado east of the city. Several mobile homes were destroyed. He couldn't stop worrying, kept up by the same questions that follow every storm. How many people died? Was there anything more he could have done? For days, central Oklahoma has been caught in a severe weather outbreak. The pattern revealed itself last week, and forecasters have been working overtime ever since, tracking storms and warning the public. Gary is Tornado Alley's most famous meteorologist. At 73, he's been Chief Meteorologist at KWTV News 9 for over four decades. Around here, he's more than a weatherman. He's who people turn to when the sky turns dark. His face appears on billboards that read, Oklahoma's Number one Meteorologist. He played himself in the film Twister, and a local blog voted him the most influential person in the state. Jesus came in second. It made him laugh. But the responsibility is real. Today looks like it might be even more volatile than yesterday. Forecast maps suggest the worst of the weather will stay south of Oklahoma City, out over open farmland. The best case scenario. But as Gary studies the live radar, he sees something else. A line of moisture sitting directly over the city. A hint that trouble could be brewing closer to home. There's only one way to know for sure. Gary stands up, walks to the front door and opens it. A blast of warm air hits him so salty, more moist and heavy, that his heart starts to pound. The last time the air felt like this was May 3, 1999, the day an EF5 tornado tore through southwest Oklahoma City and more, and changed everything. For hours, Gary narrated the destruction live on television. Homes ripped apart, cars lifted into the sky, spinning like toys. In his calmest, most direct voice, he told viewers the truth. If you're not underground, you're not going to survive this. But many didn't listen. It became the deadliest tornado disaster Oklahoma had seen in decades. Afterward, survivors painted messages on the ruins of their homes. God bless Gary England. Thanks for getting us out alive. He appreciated it, but the loss of life haunted him. Ever since, he's felt relentless pressure to get everything right. On air, he's steady and reassuring, but privately he obsesses over every word, every gesture, because if he gets it wrong, people could die. Gary sits back down and starts typing an email to his staff. Priority one. All hands on deck. On days like this, he thinks like a battlefield commander. He deploys his team, Jim Gardner's helicopter in the air and his ground crew, Val and Amy Castor, broadcasting live from the field. It's always a gamble where to send them, but today he keeps them close, just west of the city. A tornado is bad anywhere, but when one takes aim at a city, it becomes a nightmare. He hopes his gut is wrong, but it rarely is. Amy Simpson opens her eyes in bed, curled up beside her husband, Lindy. It's 6am and still dark outside. For a moment she considers rolling over and going back to sleep, but she can't. Responsibility is already calling Lindy. A firefighter has the day off, but their kids, 7 year old Scarlet and 12 year old Rourke, need to be up, fed and out the door. And Amy has to be at school early. She exhales, pushes back the covers and swings her legs out of bed. You're getting up already? Yeah, I've got a big day. At 42, she's finishing her third year as principal of Plaza Towers elementary, just a mile from home. It's the last week of school before summer break, which is always hectic but also fun. This morning she'll oversee the year end award ceremonies for the first and second graders. There's nothing she loves more than watching her students light up and stand a little taller as their names are called. At Plaza Towers, moments like that matter. The school has been through some difficult years. Built in 1966, it was once one of the top elementary schools in town, but over time, demographics shifted Redistricting sent many of the neighborhood's more affluent families to a newer school a couple miles south. The transition hasn't been easy, but Amy is proud of Plaza Towers, of its resilience, its close knit culture. She glances at her phone. More severe weather. Predicted hail, high winds and thunderstorms later this afternoon with a strong possibility of tornadoes. She barely reacts. Sounds like a typical spring day in Oklahoma. Growing up here, storms are just a part of life. Every May, the sky threatens. There have been close calls, storms that almost hit her house. But she's never considered leaving. Not once. In Moore, you don't run from the weather. You live with it. People here pride themselves on being weather aware. You pay attention. You stay alert. You can't get worked up over every bad forecast, because even in a town that's seen more than its share of tornadoes, they're still pretty rare. Amy brushes her straight blonde hair, pulls on a dress and slips into a pair of open toed sandals with small heels. Students and teachers will be expecting her soon. Schools in Oklahoma don't cancel for storms. If they did, there wouldn't be much school at all. Rick Smith sits at his desk in the command center at the National Weather Service, studying the latest forecast. It's 7am and the sun is rising. He left work just before midnight, and now, seven hours later, he's back, bracing himself for another treacherous day. Rick has worked at the weather service for 20 years. He's 49 now, with silver hair and a calm, steady presence. The command center is located on the second floor of the National Weather center on the University of Oklahoma campus, about 15 miles south of Oklahoma City. From here, Rick and his colleagues track storms across the country. But today all eyes are on their own backyard. More than 40 screens glow. Radar loops, satellite images, atmospheric sensors. With every update, the picture sharpens. Something bad is coming, maybe even worse than yesterday. Around him, the room stays calm. No raised voices, no panic. Just quiet focus. Working here is like being on a flight deck. Everyone is trained to stay composed no matter what's coming. Rick's title is Warning Coordination Meteorologist. His job is to tell people what's coming, how bad it could be, where it might hit and when, and to say it early enough that people can act. But he has to be right, because every time the sirens go off and nothing happens, people trust the weather service a little less. And complacency can be deadly. Rick stands and heads into a briefing with his boss, David Andra, the head meteorologist on duty, and another colleague. David looks around the room and poses just one question. Is there anything in the data that suggests violent tornadoes won't develop today? No. No, there isn't any hesitation. Everything is lining up for a horrific storm. Outside the center, a massive white radar dome rises above the trees like a giant golf ball perched on a tee. Doppler radar allows meteorologists to see inside storms, tracking rainfall, rotation and movement. Yesterday it gave people about 15 minutes warning. Not much, but sometimes it's everything. Yet even with all this technology, there are still mysteries. They can't say exactly where a tornado will form or or which storms will evolve into rotating supercells, the kind that can spawn tornadoes. And even then, only a fraction of supercells actually produce a tornado. But when they do, they move fast. Just yesterday, a storm went from a small blip on the radar to a deadly EF4 in under an hour, with speeds nearing 160 mph. Meteorologists can't measure those winds directly. Instead, they survey the damage left behind using the Enhanced Fujita Scale. EF1 means broken windows. EF2 means trees stripped bare. EF5, the most extreme means entire buildings gone. Less than 1% of tornadoes ever reach that level. Back at his desk, Rick knows he has to strike a balance in his wording. He doesn't want to scare people, but he needs them to take this seriously. Because even if he can't say for certain that a tornado will touch down today, people need to act like it will. He leans in, starts typing, and sends out a warning to anyone who might see it. Get ready. Jennifer Doan drives through a quiet neighborhood and Moore and pulls into the parking lot of Plaza Towers Elementary. It's 8:30am the school, a low red brick building, sits calm beneath a brightening sky. But from the moment she woke up today, she's felt anything but calm. A strand of her long brown hair falls forward as she leans over the wheel, scanning the sky. Yesterday, a tornado touched down near her home in Edmond, just north of Oklahoma City. It mostly tore through open fields, but it was enough to rattle her. And today more storms are expected. She's already thinking about the drive home, about getting caught in the downpour. Jennifer is 30 and has two young daughters, and she's pregnant again, something she only found out a few weeks ago. Before she left the house, she kissed her fiance, Niall, goodbye and said she had a bad feeling about the day. He told her to stay home. But she can't. It's the last week of school. There's too much to do. Jennifer Parks gathers her things and readies herself to greet her third graders inside. The day begins like any other. Most of the school's 500 students gather in the cafeteria for the daily Rise and Shine assembly announcements, then the school creed. Jennifer smiles as the students recite in unison. I am a capable and dependable student, full of possibilities and potential. This is her second year teaching at Plaza Towers, and she still loves this part of the day. Afterward, Jennifer leads her class to the back building, an addition built in 2006 where the second and third grade classrooms are. The kids are laughing and buzzing with energy. Summer is just days away. They settle in with music playing softly as they draw pictures about the school year and their plans for the break. Jennifer watches them, smiling. She loves this class. They're kind to each other. They lift each other up. In her five years of teaching, she's never had a group like this. She glances out the window. The sun is breaking through the clouds. For a moment it looks like a perfect day. Maybe the storms will hold off. Maybe it won't be that bad. Shayla Taylor walks through the sliding doors of Moore Medical center, her hand on her belly. Bad weather is the last thing on her mind today. She's having a baby. She's 25, calm and focused, with long black braids tied back. She's here to be induced to give birth to her second son later this afternoon. There's a severe weather watch in effect. Everyone in town has been talking about it for days, but Sheila isn't worried. She grew up here. Storms are part of her life. If people freaked out every time a tornado might hit, she figures they'd spend all of May in a constant state of panic. Her husband, Jerome, is beside her, holding her bag. You okay? I'm good. Her mom plans to come later with their four year old son so he can meet the baby. A nurse checks her in and leads them down the hallway. We'll get you settled in here. Shayla nods, easing herself onto the bed. She's ready. But then a doctor comes in and delivers unexpected news. We're thinking about sending you home and rescheduling. The weather could get bad. Shayla just looks at the doctor. She's 40 weeks and then some, and her body has already made the decision. The contractions have started, mild but unmistakable. I'm not going anywhere. This baby is coming. Storm or no storm, Shayla isn't leaving.
- [23:43]
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- [24:49]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Rick Smith examines the latest data rolling in from his desk at the national weather service. It's 11am the risk area has narrowed to a broad bullseye stretching across south Central Oklahoma. As Rick and his colleagues refine the forecast, the timing sharpens. Storms are expected to develop early this afternoon as early as 1pm which is unusual for tornadoes. Most don't form until late afternoon or evening. Rick glances over at his boss, David Andra. David is known for being almost impossible to rattle. But Rick notices something subtle a flicker of unease. He considers David his barometer. If he's nervous, I'm nervous. Rick starts typing an email to more than 380 officials across the region, government agencies, hospitals, emergency managers flagging the critical timing. Unlike yesterday, today is a school day, and if storms start forming as early as expected, expected students could be getting out during that peak window, he writes. Make sure schools are aware of this risk. Begin planning now. A few minutes later, he records a video briefing. Attention school systems, parents and students. Dangerous storms may impact you at dismissal time. Plan ahead. He uploads it to YouTube, then post the link to Facebook and Twitter platforms he's started using in recent years. Because he knows not everyone watches tv. He's trying to reach as many people as possible. What worries him most are the ones who've heard warnings so often that they've stopped listening. Everyone says they're afraid of tornadoes, but many don't really believe it will happen to them. Principal Amy Simpson sits in her office near the front entrance of Plaza Towers elementary, preparing to interview candidates for a teaching position in the fall. It's just after 1pm Outside, the sky is shifting with sporadic rain showers, but inside, the day keeps moving forward. Amy glances down at her phone. It's an alert from the National Weather Service. A tornado watch has been issued for the Oklahoma City metro area, including more rapid storm development expected. It says, tornado threat increasing through the afternoon. Amy reads it, then sets the phone down. She's been trying to treat this like any other storm day. The morning had felt normal. She gathered the students in the cafeteria for the daily Rise and Shine assembly. Then came the awards for the first and second graders. She cheered for them like they were her own. But now the tension is creeping in. Thunderstorms could hit as early as 3pm but school doesn't let out until 4. Amy's phone buzzes again. It's an email from the district head office. In response to the tornado watch. After school activities are now canceled, but they're keeping the regular dismissal time. The superintendent signs off the email. Keep calm and carry on. That's what she'll do. Amy takes a slow breath and leans back in her chair. Whatever happens, the school is as prepared as it can be. Like most older schools and most homes and more, Plaza towers doesn't have a storm shelter. Retrofitting older buildings with underground safe rooms is costly even in a place this familiar with tornadoes, when warnings are issued, teachers and students move into the hallways away from windows. It's not perfect, but it's the safest option they have. Under Amy's leadership, the school's 500 students and 50 staff run regular tornado drills. They just practiced a few weeks ago. Amy reminds herself. Everyone knows what to do. The school's office assistant, Penny, pokes her head in. Your first applicant is here. Thanks, Penny. Go ahead and send her in. Okay. And Amy, you saw the tornado watch? I did. Let me know if anything changes, anything at all. I will. This afternoon, Amy will be tied up with interviews so she won't have time to monitor conditions herself. But she can rely on Penny, who tracks the weather so closely the staff jokingly call her Plaza's radar watcher. Amy trusts her. If something dangerous is coming, Penny will know. Gary England stands inside the horseshoe shaped command desk in the KWTV studio, pivoting from screen to screen, tracking the storm as it evolves in real time. We can see a dry line here on Radar west of Oklahoma City. A tornado watch is in effect areas south of the cold front. Just stay alert. It's just before 2pm and he's already been live on air for nearly two hours. With his suit and yellow tie and thin blonde hair neatly in place, Gary hopes he looks composed and controlled, but feels like he's monitoring a ticking time bomb. The air over central Oklahoma is unstable, moving in all different Directions, exactly the kind of setup that forecasters worry about. The kind that can turn dangerous fast. Around him is a team of young meteorologists assisting with the coverage, many of whom grew up watching him on tv. As Gary studies the radar screen, something catches his eye. Just southwest of Oklahoma City, near the small farming town of New Castle, a tiny speck of glass cloud pops up where moments earlier the sky had been clear. Then the cloud begins to spin like a top, faster and tighter, almost in fast motion. Gary's heart begins to race. His hunch was right. He dashes off camera, grabs his phone and calls his news Nine stormchasers, Val and Amy Castor in the field. Val head toward Newcastle now. Looks like a supercell is going up. The storm is building fast.
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Gary England
Copy that. We're moving.
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Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Gary hangs up and moves back into position. Val and Amy Castor are one of two husband and wife teams the station sends into the field. On air, Val is the one who gets the most attention. But Gary knows it's Amy who's the brains behind the operation, handling the cameras, the radar, the tech. All while trying to keep her daredevil husband in check. Gary watches as within minutes, what had been a small, isolated cell begins to expand into a full fledged storm. On radar, the colors shift from greens and yellows to oranges, then crimson, the color of the most dangerous storms. We're seeing rotation tighten here. This storm is spinning fast. On air, his voice stays calm and steady, but that's what people expect from him. That's how he serves them best. But inside, his pulse is rising. He has no doubt this is the storm they've been fearing all day. Jennifer Doan glances out the west facing window of her classroom in the back building at Plaza Towers. It's just after 2pm the sky is dimming and the wind is picking up. She finds herself looking up again and again. What's coming? She wonders. There's still almost two hours until dismissal. Her third graders have just returned from music class and are now emptying their desks, getting ready for the end of the school year. They're also passing around yearbooks. The room is full of chatter and laughter. Can you sign mine?
- [33:41]
Gary England
Wait.
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Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Don't forget me. Jennifer tries to stay focused on that, but her attention keeps drifting back to the sky. She picks up her phone and refreshes her weather app. A new alert flashes across a screen. It's 2:12. A severe thunderstorm warning is in effect for central Oklahoma, including Moore. She's not surprised. She felt it earlier. There was a heaviness to the air at lunchtime she drove to Chick Fil a to satisfy a sudden pregnancy craving for chicken nuggets. The air was so thick and muggy it was hard to breathe. Just walking from the car to the door left her skin damp and sticky. She turns away from her phone and looks at her students again. Over the past hour she's been making small memory books for them. Simple stapled packets they can pass around and sign. Many of her students can't afford the official yearbook and she wants them to have something to take home. Something to remember this year by. She watches them as they work away, smiling to herself. Then she hears voices in the hallway. Adult voices and movement. She steps into the doorway and looks down the hall. Parents are starting to trickle in to pick up their kids early. Jennifer turns back to her class. Alright everyone, go ahead and start packing up your bags. Be ready to go if your parents come get you early. The kids start gathering their things, zipping backpacks, slipping papers inside. Jennifer returns to her desk and picks up her phone again. For a moment she wishes her fiance Niall could come pick her up early too. She texts him, I hope I make it home before the storm. Then she looks back out the window. The sky is darker now. Whatever is coming is getting closer. Principal Amy Simpson sits across from a job candidate mid interview, doing her best to stay focused. It's almost 2:30pm but outside her office window to the west the sky has turned dark. Amy tries to keep her attention on the conversation in front of her, but the approaching storm is hard to ignore. She can hear chatter outside her door. Then her assistant Penny sticks her head in her eyes say everything. Amy knows instantly something's wrong. There are a lot of parents out here. How many more than usual? Way more. Amy turns back to the candidate. I'm so sorry. We'll have to reschedule. Then she steps out into the main office. It's chaos. A long line of parents stretches through the lobby, far more than she has ever seen on a storm day. Early pickups aren't unusual when storms roll in, but this is different. Amy moves fast. We're expediting pickups. No need to sign out. Just speak to a staff member. Take your child and go. She recognizes almost every face. She knows these parents, families she's greeted a hundred times, but she has never seen them so restless, so afraid. Then the rain starts pouring down, heavy now. She takes out her phone and refreshes her Twitter feed. A new tweet from the National Weather Service reads, severe storm near Newcastle, intensifying, showing Signs of rotation. Stay alert. It's not a tornado warning. Not yet, but the rain is coming down hard. Then, just a minute later, her phone buzzes again. And at the same time, the weather radio on Penny's desk crackles to life. The automated device broadcasts emergency alerts, acting kind of like a smoke alarm, but for severe weather. Tornado warning in effect for Moore in South Oklahoma City. Take shelter immediately. And then sirens begin to wail. Amy freezes for half a beat. She can't believe how fast it's all happening. For a moment, everything feels like a dream, almost unreal. Then she snaps back. Amy looks around at her staff and sees fear on their faces. The parents have become frantic. Some start running toward the classrooms. But Amy doesn't hesitate. She calmly steps to the intercom mounted beside her office and presses the button. She keeps her voice steady because if she panics, everyone will. Get into your places. Gary Englund is on air in the chaos of the fast paced KWTV studio, switching between ominous images coming in over various video feeds. It's 2:45pm Val and Amy Castor are now positioned near Newcastle, about 20 minutes southwest of Oklahoma City. Their camera feed shows a massive dark cloud spread across the sky, while on radar, a long jagged streak of deep crimson slices across the screen, radiating menace. All the signs are there. A tornado could drop any second. Then, beneath the cloud base, a thin gray vortex begins to descend. Gary can hear Valcaster in his earpiece, already talking, tracking it in real time. Okay, Val, you're live. Go ahead, Gary.
- [39:51]
Gary England
I can see it. Here it comes. Wow. Look at it spin.
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Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Gary watches on screen as the funnel dips lower, stretching down. Then suddenly it pulls back, swallowed back up into the massive black cloud above. For a moment it disappears. Then it forms again and drops lower this time before lifting once more. A tense standoff between sky and ground. Val keeps talking, calling every movement, like a sportscaster narrating the play by play. Gary listens, but his focus is on the bigger picture. For decades, he's pushed for better tools, better warning systems, anything that might buy people a few more minutes. In the 80s, he became one of the first TV meteorologists in the world to use Doppler radar. He helped pioneer on screen maps that warn viewers in real time. Everything he's done has been about keeping people alive. Suddenly, at 2:56pm reporter Jim Gardner's voice cuts through the studio. Guys, we have a tornado here. He's calling from the helicopter hovering a mile south of the storm. His view is nearly level with the cloud base. Gary watches as the funnel touches down almost casually, so smooth, so controlled, for a split second, it almost disguises the horror of the moment. But Gary knows exactly what he's looking at. VAL we can see the tornado. Give us a description from where you are.
- [41:35]
Gary England
GARY It's a stovepipe all the way down, about 200 yards wide, moving east northeast. It's at least a quarter mile wide and getting stronger by the second.
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Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Gary stares, stunned at just how rapidly it's growing. In under 30 seconds, it's gone from barely brushing the ground to a thick elephant trunk hurling debris into the air. The tornado seems to to be moving slowly, maybe just 20 miles per hour, which is bad. It means it's lingering, taking its time to rip up everything in its path. Wood, grass, even the soil. Meteorologists call it a grinder.
- [42:19]
Gary England
GARY this thing is growing fast in both size and intensity. I see trees in the air, whole trees. They this is not good.
- [42:29]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
The massive cloud darkens further, expanding into a large black wedge shape. It's already a huge, powerful, destructive tornado. An EF3 may be stronger on air. Gary stays focused and steady, but he can tell this is going to be another bad one. Memories from the past flicker in his mind. And then Val says exactly what he's thinking.
- [42:57]
Gary England
I've been here before. Gary this is May 3rd, 1999, all over again, almost the exact same path.
- [43:05]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
Gary also feels it. A horrifying sense of deja vu. A raging thunderhead growing larger by the minute is now moving past Newcastle on a path heading straight for the interstate, straight for southwest Oklahoma City and more. The worst case scenario. But this time it could be even worse. It's happening hours earlier than 1999. Many kids are still in school. He then looks at the map, at the spread of new neighborhoods, new businesses, all the new buildings, 14 years of growth sitting directly in the storm's path. There's now so much more to hit, so much more to lose. Rick Smith watches the funnel widen on the live feeds in the National Weather Service command center. It's confirmed the tornado is on the ground near Newcastle, strengthening fast. The office remains quiet and calm. But as the track projection updates, there's no doubt if it holds its course. It's heading directly for more. Rick and his colleagues have seen enough. They move to issue the highest level alert. The weather service has a tornado emergency. It's reserved for only the most catastrophic storms, the kind certain to hit populated areas and pose an immediate threat to human life. The term was coined in response to the tornado that hit Moore on May 3, 1999 when forecasters realized ordinary warnings weren't enough. In Oklahoma, where people can grow numb to tornado warnings, the emergency alert is meant to signal something different that this is no ordinary storm. This is deadly. In the 14 years since the emergency alert was created, their office has issued it only a handful of times. It's not a call anyone makes lightly. Rick has compared it to launching a missile. You want more than one hand on the button. But today there's no debate. At 3:01pm they send out an alert. Large violent tornado moving toward Moore and South Oklahoma City. Take cover right now. Do not wait. This is an extremely dangerous and life threatening situation. The message immediately blasts across every channel. Tv, radio, weather radios and phones. A minute later, Rick sends out another message on social media.
- [45:55]
Capital One / Enterprise Advertiser
Media.
- [45:56]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
This is as serious as it gets. Rick stares back at the radar screen, watching the supercell creep forward. There's nothing left to do but keep warning people and hope they get the message. Ladonna Cobb lifts another moving box from her mother in law's garage and carries it toward the truck. She and her husband, Steve, work quickly, loading up their belongings, trying to finish before the weather turns. The humid air clings to her skin. She can hear tornado sirens in the distance, but she barely reacts. In Oklahoma, that sound isn't unusual. It happens all the time. Usually nothing comes of it. It's almost 3pm Ladonna works as a pre K assistant teacher at Briarwood elementary in Moore, the same school their daughters attend. But she took the afternoon off to start moving into their new house, just in time for summer. Now the rain starts to fall. Hon, let's get a few more and then call it. Ladonna glances up, squinting toward the sky. The storm to the west looks distant, hard to read. Just a few more boxes, she tells herself. They keep loading up the truck. She thinks about the house, how excited they've been to finally settle. In the past few weeks, the whole family has been squeezed into Steve's mother's place and more. It's been cramped, to say the least. But today they finally signed the closing papers and got the key. A fresh start. She smiles to herself as she sets another box down. Then the rain intensifies and suddenly it starts to hail. It comes fast, slamming into the driveway, bouncing off the truck. Ladonna flinches as it strikes her arms.
- [48:02]
Gary England
That's it.
- [48:03]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
I'm done. They drop what they're doing and turn toward the house, moving quickly. Then her phone erupts with a loud alert. She stops and glances at the screen for a moment she just stares at the words Tornado Emergency. A tornado is approaching. More A surge of panic hits her. She thinks of her daughters, 11 year old Sydney, 9 year old Jordan and 7 year old Erin. They're still at school.
- [48:33]
Mentos Advertiser (Travis)
School.
- [48:34]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
She wasn't planning on picking them up for another hour. But this isn't just background noise anymore. This is close. She looks up at Steve. He's already looking at her.
- [48:47]
Gary England
Let's go.
- [48:49]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
They run for the car as hail pounds around them with only one thought. Get to the girls.
- [49:02]
Audible Announcer
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- [49:16]
Narrator (Cassie DePechel)
From Audible Originals. This is episode one of our three part series, Nightmare in Tornado Alley. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the book the Mercy of the the Story of a Tornado by Holly Bailey. You can also listen to the audiobook version of the Mercy of the sky right now on Audible. Produced by Audible. I'm your host Cassie DePechel. Rachel Matlow wrote this episode. Sound design by Jamie Cooper engineered by Sergio Henriquez Original theme music Scott Velasquez and 2K for freesound sync produced by Emily Frost Managing Producer Desi Blaylock Senior Producers Andy Herman and Austin Rackless Executive Producer for Audible Jenny Lauer Beckman, Head of Creative Development at Audible Kate Navin, Head of Audible Originals North America Marshall Louie, Chief Content Officer Rachel Giaza Copyright2026 by Audible Originals, LLC Sound Recording Copyright2026 by Audible Originates LLC.