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- [00:00]
Narrator/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]
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. This episode contains depictions of violence and death involving children and may not be suitable for everyone. Please, please be advised. Causing total destruction. Chief Meteorologist Gary Englund stands live on air, watching a monitor carrying Jim Gardner's helicopter feed. It's 3:35pm on May 20, 2013. Inside the studio at KWTV, a massive tornado has been on the ground for 39 minutes, carving a path of destruction through southwest Oklahoma City and the suburb of Moore. Now the storm is about 2 miles northeast of Moore, crossing open farmland. It's heading toward Draper Lake, still doing damage on the ground. The funnel narrows as it tears through trees, flinging debris thousands of feet into the air. On radar, Gary can see the circulation beginning to weaken, but he knows better than to trust it. The tornado has already thinned out several times only to come roaring back stronger. With storms like this, you never assume it's over until it's truly over. Gary checks in with Jim Gardner. Jim, what are you seeing?
- [01:40]
Jim Gardner
Well, Gary, it does seem to be slowing down some, but there's still so much debris wrapped around this thing. Unbelievable.
- [01:48]
Cassie DePechel
As the tornado moves past Draper Lake, it seems to stall out. Jim keeps narrating from the helicopter.
- [01:56]
Jim Gardner
Right now, it almost appears stationary just sitting there. It's roping out now, Gary.
- [02:03]
Cassie DePechel
The violent stovepipe twists tighter and tighter, shrinking into a thin rope against the dark sky. And then it finally dissipates as Jim circles his helicopter back toward town. News 9 begins broadcasting the first clear aerial images of the devastation below before they could only catch glimpses through the rain and hail. Now Gary watches, narrating as the full picture comes into focus. The Warren Theater is damaged. The hospital's destroyed. The scene is catastrophic. Cars picked up and thrown like toys. Buildings stripped to bare foundations. Entire neighborhoods flattened into piles of wood, brick and debris. Smoke and fire rise from the rubble. Gary stares at the screen in disbelief. Just an hour earlier, Moore had been green and lush with spring. Now the landscape is coated in thick red mud and raw earth, as though the tornado peeled the town apart down to its bedrock. Then Jim banks the helicopter over a massive square of rubble in southwest Moore. As the camera slowly zooms in, they both fall silent.
- [03:26]
Jim Gardner
GARY does does that look like a school to you?
- [03:30]
Cassie DePechel
Gary's stomach drops. Yes. Yes it does. It's Plaza Towers elementary or what's left of it. The building is gone. Completely flattened. From above, Gary can see tiny figures running toward the wreckage.
- [03:50]
Jim Gardner
This. This ain't good. That's for sure.
- [03:55]
Cassie DePechel
As Jim circles wider over the debris path, the camera reveals another gut wrenching loss. Just west of Plaza Towers. Briarwood elementary is gone too. Totally decimated. Jim's voice cracks again.
- [04:12]
Jim Gardner
This is a nightmare scenario, gary. Just like May 3, 1999. I can't believe it. We never thought we'd see another one
- [04:21]
Cassie DePechel
of these from above. It's unmistakable. The tornado tore straight through the heart of the community. Another EF5. As Jim circles over the wreckage, he tries to continue, but emotion catches in his throat.
- [04:39]
Jim Gardner
I'm sorry, it's a little hard to talk here,
- [04:49]
Lindy Simpson
Honey. Did you invite the minions over?
- [04:52]
Xfinity Advertiser
Well, you know how we talked about getting WI fi from Xfinity?
- [04:54]
Narrator/Announcer
Yeah, I ordered it this morning.
- [04:56]
Dan Tabursky
Was online in minutes, then they showed up.
- [04:59]
Cassie DePechel
So they just came over to use the wifi.
- [05:01]
Lindy Simpson
For what?
- [05:05]
Xfinity Advertiser
Better not to know.
- [05:06]
Lindy Simpson
Get online in minutes with same day wi fi from Xfinity plus lock in your price for 5 years and see Minions and Monsters only in theaters. Xfinity. Imagine that. Restrictions apply. Not available in all areas. Learn more@xfinity.com SameDayWiFi this is actually Happening
- [05:20]
Xfinity Advertiser
as a podcast that features extraordinary true stories of life changing events told by the people who lived them. And in a special six part series called A New Kind of Being, this Is actually Happening explores the powerful and unexpected ways artificial intelligence is changing human lives. Follow this Is Actually Happening wherever you get your podcasts.
- [05:44]
Cassie DePechel
From. Audible Originals I'm Cassie depechel and this is against the Odds. On May 20, 2013, a monster tornado with winds topping 210 mph tore through Moore, a suburb south of Oklahoma City, destroying entire neighborhoods beyond recognition. For Moore, it was a nightmare the town knew all too well. In the previous 14 years, the community had survived three other deadly tornadoes, including the devastating EF5 of May 1999, when winds over 300 miles per hour carved through this same stretch of land. But this time, the tornado hit during the school day, tearing directly through Briarwood and Plaza Towers elementary schools. Teachers shielded students with their own bodies as walls collapsed around them. When the storm finally passed, some children and teachers were left buried beneath the rubble. As terrified parents waited nearby. First responders raced against time, clawing through the debris with their bare hands, searching for survivors. This is episode three what Remains. Lando Haidt claws his way out from beneath a pile of shattered wood and Twisted metal, gasping for air. He's covered head to toe in mud. His shirt is gone. His boots are gone. His jeans would have been ripped away too, if not for the weight of his oversized belt buckle. Every part of his body hurts. For a moment he just stays on his hands and knees, coughing dirt from his lungs. Then he looks up and freezes. The horse training facility where he works is gone. The barns that stood across the Orr family farm only minutes earlier had been flattened into splintered piles of lumber. The tornado threw him nearly 100ft from the stall where he tried to shelter. Lando slowly pushes himself to his feet, staring out across the wreckage. Dozens of horses lie motionless across the torn up pasture. A few are still alive, but injured and struggling weakly in the mud. Landa's face crumples. Oh no.
- [08:23]
Jim Gardner
No.
- [08:25]
Cassie DePechel
When he saw the tornado bearing down, he tried to save them. He ran from barn to barn, throwing open stall doors, driving the horses toward the pasture. He believed they'd have a better chance in the open than trapped inside the barns. He stands in the middle of the devastation, trying to understand what he's seeing. These weren't just animals to him. They were the horses he fed every morning before sunrise. The ones he groomed, trained and rode. He spent more time with these majestic creatures than almost anyone else in his life. Lando looks around, searching for movement, any sign that Moore survived. And one stunned thought repeats in his. What the hell just happened? Ladonna Cobb forces one eye open and thinks, I must be dead. Everything is dark and muffled. Then a sharp pain pulses through her skull. No. She's alive. But she's trapped beneath the rubble of her daughter's first grade classroom at Briarwood Elementary. And now she hears children screaming underneath her, including her youngest daughter, 7 year old Erin.
- [09:47]
Jim Gardner
Mom.
- [09:48]
Cassie DePechel
Mom, wake up. Ladonna tries to move, but agony shoots through her body. She has no idea how long she's been unconscious. The last thing she remembers is clinging to the classroom wall as the tornado ripped the building apart. Then the wall gave way. Heavy cinder blocks crashed down onto her. Something struck her head and everything went black. Through the dust and darkness, she sees Aaron pinned beneath her. She looks pale, almost ghost like. Ladonna tries to lift herself, but the weight crushing her chest is unbearable. The collapsed wall is lying across her shoulders. Her body is the only thing propping it up and keeping it from collapsing directly onto the children beneath her. She can feel herself weakening. Every breath is a struggle. Crushed. I'm being crushed. Her voice barely comes out above a whisper. She doesn't know if anyone can hear her. She doesn't even know if there's anything left standing outside this room. Then the wall moves just slightly. Someone is lifting it. It's her husband, Steve. He must be fueled by pure adrenaline because he wedges himself against the slab of concrete and heaves upward with everything he has left. The wall lifts just enough for the children to scramble out from underneath her. The moment Ladonna pulls herself out, pain explodes through her head. Something warm runs down her neck. Blood. She touches her face. It's swollen and numb. Her cheekbone may be broken, but she barely registers it. We survived. We survived. As she struggles to her feet, the world tilts some sideways. Her head spins. Her thoughts feel foggy and distant. But the moment she finally looks around, everything snaps into focus. The classroom is gone. The roof is gone. The walls have collapsed inward. She stares out toward the walkways between the school buildings, or where they used to be. The entire school looks flattened, like soda cans crushed beneath a boot. Panic tears through her. Her other daughters, 11 year old Sydney and 9 year old Jordan, are still somewhere out there in the wreckage. And in that moment, Ladonna feels certain there is no way they made it. Our family of five is now a family of three. Amy Simpson stares up at a square patch of blue sky above her. Just minutes ago there was a roof there. Now the tiny faculty bathroom is ripped open to the air. For a moment she can't understand how the world already looks calm again after what just happened. When the tornado hit, Amy and four other staff members crammed inside and covered their heads with cushions. Then the building began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling, then chunks of debris. The roar became deafening. Amy remembers screaming into the darkness, Leave. Go away. As though the storm might actually hear her. She hears crying and looks around to see the other women are alive. Amy feels strangely calm, though almost numb, like she's running on autopilot. She pushes herself up and looks around. Somehow the bathroom walls are still standing. She clears some debris from the doorway and opens it just wide enough to crawl through. The moment she sticks her head out, she comes face to face with a car bumper. Her brain can barely make sense of what she's seeing. An overturned car lying inside the front office. Amy climbs around it and pulls herself onto a desk. Then she looks out at the rest of the school and her breath catches. The roof is gone. The walls are gone, and beyond them the whole neighborhood is flattened. Homes destroyed, trees stripped down. Even the grass looks scraped away. It's like a scene from an apocalypse MOVIE Neighbors are running toward the school to help, some carrying shovels. Amy heads toward what used to be the front hallway. Children are crawling out of the rubble all around her, crying, dazed, covered in dust. Then she sees an SUV flipped upside down right in the middle of the hallway. She runs toward it. Two teachers are trapped underneath, alive but clearly injured. Two fathers rush over and brace themselves against the vehicle. With a desperate heave, they managed to raise the SUV just enough for the teachers to slide free. And then small children begin crawling out too, crying and dirty but alive. The teachers had taken the brunt of the vehicle to shield them. Amy's mind is already racing ahead. She smells gas in the air and worries the whole place could explode. She starts directing people toward the parking lot through a hole in the front of the building. Keep moving. Go to the parking lot. Stay together. Teachers, students and parents stumble through the wreckage toward open ground. Outside, the scene is completely chaos. Some parents cling to their children, sobbing with relief. Others wander through the debris, screaming their kids names. Amy moves through the crowd, trying to calm students and parents while mentally piecing together who's been accounted for. Then she hears someone shouting behind her. Amy. She turns. It's Lindy, her husband, an off duty firefighter. He sprints through the wreckage and pulls her into a tight hug. I jumped in the truck the second the storm passed. I cut across lawns, jumped curbs. I even clipped a mailbox. I'm just so happy you're okay. Lindy reassures her that the kids are safe. They all took cover in a neighbor's storm shelter. Amy leans into his embrace, feeling relief wash over her. But there's no time to stop. There's too much to do. Lindy looks at her. What do you need? How can I help? Amy scans the devastation around her. Then suddenly dread hits her. She hasn't seen a single second or third grader. She turns and points toward the far end of the destroyed school. See that tree? One lone tree still stands there, stripped bare of bark and leaves. Go there, then head east. That's where the back building used to be. Lindy nods and without another word, takes off running. Jennifer Doan lies buried in complete darkness beneath a crushing pile of rubble. Heavy debris presses across her back and legs. She can barely breathe. Dust fills her mouth, nose, and eyes. All she wants to do is wipe her face clear, but she can't move. Not her arms, not even her head. She realizes her right arm is still wrapped around one of her students. Porter. He's crying and struggling to free himself. I can't breathe. I don't want to die. Every time he squirms, agony shoots through Jennifer's body. Something in her back feels terribly wrong, and her hand is throbbing. A jagged piece of rebar has pierced straight through her palm. It's okay. Somebody's coming. She hopes it's true, but she has no idea. She can hear muffled cries somewhere in the darkness. When the tornado hit, she held onto as many children as she could, but in the whirl of it all, everyone but Porter was torn from her grasp. Xavier, Kai, Nicholas. No one answers. It's agony. Not knowing if her students are alive or dead, Jennifer thinks about her two young daughters, then her unborn baby. She only recently found out she was pregnant. A fresh wave of grief crashes over her. She's certain the baby is gone. For the first time in a long time, the future had felt bright. She was happy, engaged to Niall, slowly rebuilding after years of heartbreak following her divorce. But now, trapped beneath the ruins of the school, it feels like everything is slipping away. Her students, her children. Her baby. Her life. Shayla Taylor lies on a stretcher in the destroyed operating room, breathing through another contraction. She stares out through the space where the wall used to be. An entire side of Moore Medical center has been ripped away. She can see the interstate and the damaged Warren Theater across the street. Another contraction tears through her body, stronger this time. It steals her breath completely. The baby is coming, and there's no stopping him. Around her, shattered medical equipment litters the floor. Lights hang loose from the ceiling. Pieces of insulation and broken ceiling tile are scattered across the ground, and gray dust covers everything. Shayla looks around the room and thinks, I can't have this baby here. The nurses huddled nearby seem to agree. One looks at her with a reassuring smile. We're going to get you out of here just as soon as we can. But how? The nurses can't just wheel her out. The floor is buried in debris, and there's no way she can walk or even stand. Before the tornado hit, one of the nurses gave her an epidural. Her legs feel numb and impossibly heavy. She can barely move them at all. Then she hears someone calling her name. Shayla. Sheila. Relief floods through her. It's her husband, Jerome. Before the tornado struck, hospital staff sent him downstairs with her young son and Chayla's mother to shelter in the basement cafeteria. Jerome rushes into the room and drops beside her stretcher, overwhelmed to find her alive. They said everybody was out of here, and I said, no, my wife's upstairs. Stairs. Shayla grabs his hand tightly as another contraction builds. Jerome consults with the nurses, then slides his arms beneath her and lifts her off the stretcher. He's a big man and handles her way easily. I got you. I got you. He carries her carefully into the hallway, stepping over broken glass and chunks of concrete. A few hospital workers rush over with a backboard, and together they maneuver Shayla onto it and carry her down the stairwell and through the wreckage of the hospital. Outside, Shayla sees her mother and young son waiting for her. Relief washes over her. Her mom reaches for her hand as they carry her past. We'll see you real soon, baby. Another contraction hits. Shayla gasps as paramedics lift her into an ambulance. The ambulance pulls away and the EMTs tell her they're headed for Norman Regional Hospital, five miles south. Shayla grips Jerome's hand. Months earlier, they picked out a middle name for their baby boy, Emmanuel. It means God is with us. After surviving the storm, Shayla understands why.
- [22:52]
Dan Tabursky
Hey, Dan Tabursky here. I'm a podcast host, a journalist, and now with my newest project, the author of my own manifesto. Well, it's a manifesto about manifestos, my search for inspiration in a world that feels more infuriating, more out of its freaking mind with each passing hour. Manifestos are a call to action, an artful scream. They capture our anger and they try to do something with it. This is my attempt to take the manifesto back from mass shooters and nihilists and return it to its rightful place with the warriors, the visionaries, the regular folks with just the right amount of crazy. I compare notes with radicals, secessionists, Internet trolls out for a laugh, and punk singers screaming their guts out, all trying to turn their anger into the world they want to see. Listen to Manifesto wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of Manifesto early and ad free right now, join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts.
- [23:58]
Cassie DePechel
Ladonna Cobb scrambles over a collapsed wall and climbs out of what's left of the first grade classroom at Briarwood Elementary. Her husband, Steve, is right behind her, gripping their daughter Erin's hand and pulling her carefully through the debris. One of Ladonna's eyes is almost swollen shut, but she can still see enough. The school looks like it's been bombed. Debris is scattered in every direction. Massive steel beams that once held up the roof are bent and twisted like pipe cleaners. Entire walls are gone. All around them, students and teachers emerge, covered in mud and dust from head to toe. Teachers and students cling to one another, sobbing. Most look too shocked to speak. Ladonna stumbles forward into the open air. For a moment she just stands there, frozen. Then panic surges through her. Her other daughters are still missing. Jordan. Sydney. She scans the crowd, desperately looking, searching. A wave of guilt crashes over her. Why didn't she pick up the girls earlier? She knew there was a tornado coming. She just never believed it would actually hit the school. And now that terrible decision may have cost her everything. Then suddenly, through her good eye, she spots Jordan, her 9 year old. A teacher is loping toward them, carrying her. One of Jordan's legs hangs limp and bloody. Jordan Steve rushes forward and scoops her into his arms. Ladonna and Aaron wrap around them, all of them crying and holding each other tight. Then Jordan looks up at her mother's face.
- [25:54]
Lindy Simpson
My mom.
- [25:55]
Cassie DePechel
Somebody help my mom. She's going to die. Only then does Ladonna realize how much blood is covering her neck and chest, soaking her shirt collar. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm hurt, but I'm alive. We're all alive. But even as she says it, a knot tightens in her stomach because her oldest daughter is still missing. Steve carries Jordan while Adonna grips Aaron's hand and they continue searching through the debris field. SYDNEY Then a voice cuts through the chaos.
- [26:30]
Jim Gardner
Mom.
- [26:31]
Narrator/Announcer
Dad.
- [26:32]
Cassie DePechel
11 year old Sydney is running toward them. For a second, Ladonna can hardly believe she's real. Sydney says she wrote out the tornado inside a bathroom and somehow escaped almost completely unharmed. The relief is so overwhelming, Ladonna nearly buckles. All three of her girls survived. It feels like a miracle. Amy Simpson stands at the edge of a mountain of rubble. What used to be the back building at Plaza Towers. The hallway where the second and third graders took cover is completely buried beneath it. Up on top of the debris mound, Amy spots Lindy working beside his fellow firefighters. Dozens of first responders have arrived, forming a human chain. Police officers, paramedics, firefighters, neighbors. One after another, children are being passed down from the rubble into the the arms of frantic parents waiting below. The crowd erupts each time another child or teacher appears. But then the mood changes. Rescuers pass down chunks of concrete and broken debris, but no more survivors. The longer the digging continues without cheers, the quieter everyone becomes. At the foot of the pile, parents cry and pace, waiting in agony. A police OFFICER approaches. AMY how many are still missing? Amy feels her stomach tighten. She doesn't know. Before the tornado hit, parents were checking their children out of school so quickly that there's no reliable record of who was still inside. But one thing is becoming painfully clear. Every class appears to be accounted for except the third graders and their teacher, Jennifer Doane. If only Amy had made it back here before the tornado hit, maybe she'd know exactly who was trapped beneath the rubble. Logically, she knows she made the right decision. She had to get to the intercom to make that final announcement for everyone to take cover. Still, she's flooded with guilt. She knows every one of those children. Their faces, their names, their parents. A few desperate parents try climbing onto the rubble to dig with their bare hands, but police officers gently hold them back. Please, my son is under there. Amy's heart breaks. The fear on their faces is unbearable. The helplessness. More than anything, Amy wants to tell them their kids are okay. She wants this nightmare to end. She keeps staring at the top of the debris pile, silently willing another child to appear. She's already seen miracles today. Children pulled alive from beneath collapsed walls, from underneath overturned cars. She holds onto hope with everything she has. Then she spots Lindy again. He stopped digging and is just standing there, staring down into the rubble. Amy catches something in his expression that stops her cold. Not concern, more like anguish. And in that instant, she begins to fear the worst. Lindy Simpson steels himself and goes back to digging through what used to be the hallway the third graders took shelter. With his bare hands, he claws away chunks of concrete, splintered wood, and twisted metal. As badly as he wants to find more survivors, he's terrified of what he might find instead. Around him, a small army of helpers has formed. Several firefighters from Lindy's department rushed here the moment they heard Plaza Towers had taken a direct hit. Lindy is still wearing jeans and a T shirt. Technically, he's off duty, but none of that matters now. When he first got here, adrenaline carried him. He and several other rescuers managed to lift an entire collapsed section of wall. Underneath it, they found 17 second graders alive. Bruised, bloody, terrified, but alive. One by one they were passed down the human chain into the arms of frantic parents below while the crowd erupted in cheers. But since then, there hasn't been much to cheer about. Deeper inside the wreckage, Lindy and the others found three children still curled together in their tornado positions. Two were breathing. The third was not. Lindy has seen death before. House fires, car wrecks, storms, but nothing as terrible as this. He glances down toward the edge of the debris pile and catches Amy watching him again. She's covered in mud with bits of insulation tangled in her hair, but she barely seems aware of it. Her entire focus is on the parents still waiting for missing children. Even in the middle of all this horror, she's trying to hold everyone together. Lindy feels proud of her. Suddenly, someone calls out. Everybody quiet. I hear something. Everyone freezes, straining to listen through the rubble. For a few agonizing seconds, nobody moves. But there's nothing. Only the wind. Lindy exhales. Keep going. What unsettles him most now is the silence. Earlier, muffled cries for help echoed beneath the debris. But now those voices are gone. Then, only a few feet away, someone yells out again, we found two more. Lindy goes over, hopeful. Two little girls are in the rubble, side by side with their hands and still clasped together. But it's too late. For a moment, everything around Lindy seems to slow down. Two firefighters gently carry the girls away and cover them with blankets. No one says a word. But they can't stop digging. Not yet. There are still children missing, and their teacher is somewhere in this trench of broken cinder blocks and twisted steel. Lindy turns back toward the pile, reaches down and grabs another piece of debris. Jennifer Doane doesn't know how much longer she can hold on. Pain pulses through her entire body, and every breath feels weaker than last. She's still buried in complete darkness beneath the rubble. With her student Porter trapped against her arm, she's lost all sense of time. Has it been minutes? Hours? She tries to call out, but there's barely enough air left in her lungs to make a sound. And even if she could scream, who would hear her through all this concrete and steel? For a terrifying moment, Jennifer wonders if rescuers are even still searching. The cries and voices she heard earlier around them have faded away. Jennifer drifts in and out of consciousness. Then suddenly, she senses movement above her. Very faint at first. Her heart pounds. Porter, Hang on.
- [34:25]
Jim Gardner
Hang on.
- [34:26]
Cassie DePechel
They're here for us. Porter doesn't answer. Panic rushes through her. Maybe it's not too late. She can now hear it clearly. The sound of people digging and debris shifting above and beside her. Porter moves just slightly. Jennifer closes her eyes in relief. He's alive. Slowly, the crushing pressure across her back begins to lift. Not much, but enough for her lungs to finally expand again. Then a tiny beam of sunlight and a voice break through the darkness. We're gonna get you out. She's so overwhelmed with gratitude, she almost starts crying. Hands reach into the opening and pull Porter out first. Then rescuers carefully lift her from the rubble and place her onto a backboard. She can't process what's happening. Above her, the sky. The sky is bright blue, clear and gentle. After so much darkness and terror, it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Jennifer stares up in disbelief as rescuers carry her across the devastated school grounds. Near the front of the school, they lay her down on a concrete slab that's become a makeshift triage area. A fellow teacher takes Jennifer's phone and tries calling her feet Niall, but there's no signal. Then Jennifer turns her head as much as she can and sees one of her students being carried over. A young boy named Kai. He's covered in dust, mud and bits of concrete. Rescuers lay him gently beside her. His eyes are closed. Jennifer holds her breath. Then slowly, Kai opens his eyes and looks at at her. Am I okay? Jennifer still doesn't know how many students are trapped beneath the rubble. But in this moment, seeing Kai alive beside her, relief washes over her so powerfully it almost feels like joy. Yeah buddy. You're okay. Amy Simpson stands at the base of the debris pile. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Minutes earlier, rescuers pulled Jennifer Doan and several third grade students from the rubble. The children were soaked, scratched and covered in dust, but okay. Jennifer survived too, though it looks like her back may be broken. Ambulances still can't get through the debris covered street surrounding the school, so rescuers loaded her into a 4x4 truck to get her to a hospital. Each rescue had sparked another wave of cheers, but now the debris pile has gone quiet again. A police officer approaches Amy once more. How many do you think are still missing? Amy scans the crowd below the rubble pile. Only a handful of parents remain standing with empty arms and hollow expressions. Less than 10 around her. Grief hangs in the air like heavy fog. One mother approaches Amy, her face twisted with panic. Where's my baby? The question hits Amy like a punch to the chest. Not knowing feels unbearable. Without thinking, Amy turns and starts climbing the debris pile herself. Her open toed sandals slip against broken concrete and jagged stone, but she keeps climbing anyway. Nobody stops her. At the top she looks down into the crater where the second and third grade hallway used to be and her breath catches. There's a blanket lying across something below. Something still and small. Amy's stomach drops. Then suddenly Lindy is beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gently turning her away. She tries to resist. I want to see. Lindy shakes his head. You don't want to see this. Firefighters and police officers begin pushing people farther away from the rubble pile, creating more room for the crews below. As the wife of a firefighter, Amy understands instantly what this means. This isn't a rescue operation anymore. It's a recovery. Below her, anguished sobs echo from the parents still waiting. Amy feels every bit of it. The horror, the grief, the unfairness of it all. Children are dead. The very thing she feared most. The nightmare. Every principal praise no never happens has happened here at her school. But the tears still don't come. It's as though some invisible shell has wrapped itself around her, holding her together just long enough to survive this moment without falling apart. Jennifer Doan wakes up in a hospital bed at the University of Oklahoma Medical Center. She tries to move but finds that she can't. A rigid brace is locking her neck and back into place. Her fiance, Niall, is sitting beside her. His eyes are red from crying. The moment he sees her awake, relief spreads across his face. I ran to the school, but when I got there, you'd already been taken away. I didn't know how anybody could have survived that. I'm just so thankful you're alive. Jennifer listens quietly. Then she asks the only question on her mind. What happened to my students? Niall hesitates, then reaches for her hand. You need to rest right now. Don't worry about that. But Jennifer knows from the look on his face that the answer is bad. She turns her eyes toward the doctors nearby, searching for answers from them. But they don't know what to say either. No one does. An ultrasound technician steps beside the bed and gently presses a wand against Jennifer's abdomen. The room falls quiet. Everyone waits. Then the technician looks up. I have a heartbeat. Jennifer closes her eyes. Her baby is alive. She can feel tears sliding down her cheeks. Amy Simpson stares silently out the passenger window as she and Lindy drive through more in near darkness. It's 10pm block after block of the town is gone. Families stand outside destroyed homes, wrapped in blankets. Beneath floodlights, people search through piles of debris for anything they can salvage. Amy wonders how anything will ever feel normal again. Inside the car, neither of them speaks for a long moment. Then finally, Lindy breaks the silence. You did everything you could. Amy keeps staring out the window. It doesn't feel like enough. Those parents trusted me with their kids. Lindy reaches over and squeezes her hand. And those kids knew you loved them. Amy closes her eyes. For a moment she wants to break down, but even now her mind keeps jumping ahead to the injured teachers. She needs to check on the grieving parents. She wants to comfort the traumatized students who survived. She and Lindy just left Abundant Life Church, where the parents of the missing third graders gathered all Evening waiting for updates. At first. At first there had been some confusion. Rumors that maybe the missing children had been taken to hospitals under different names. But as the hours passed, the grim reality slowly settled over the room. Earlier, parents had been asked to write down descriptions of their missing children. The clothes they were wearing, their height, birthmarks, anything that might help identify them. Amy can still picture mothers and father filling out scraps of paper with shaking hands. And she can still hear the sounds that came later. The unbearable cries of parents realizing their children were not coming home. Now Amy and Lindy are on their way to pick up their 7 year old Scarlet and 12 year old Rourke from Amy's parents house. Amy feels overwhelming relief knowing her children are safe, but also overwhelming guilt. Why were her children spared when seven others weren't? She knows there will never be an answer. The moment the car pulls up, Amy opens the passenger door before it fully stops.
- [44:02]
Jim Gardner
Mom.
- [44:03]
Cassie DePechel
Mommy. Amy rushes toward them and wraps both children tightly into her arms. For a second she can't even speak. She just holds them tighter and tighter. Are you okay mommy? That question breaks something open inside her. All day long Amy has held herself together. But standing in the driveway with her children in her arms, she finally lets herself fall apart. I'm okay now. She buries her face against them and cries for the first time all day. Gary Englund lies awake in bed beside his sleeping wife, staring into the dark. It's after midnight. He's finally home after more than 12 straight hours on air at the station. But sleep feels impossible. His mind keeps circling the same questions that always come after a major tornado. How many people died? Could I have done more to save them? There's still no official death toll, but the early reports are grim. Dozens missing. Some reports say more than 50 people, including children, may be dead. Gary closes his eyes, but the images won't leave him. The black wall of the tornado. The schools flattened to rubble. The house is floating in the air. As a boy growing up in western Oklahoma, he used to stand at the window watching thunderheads build across the prairie, unable to look away. By seventh grade, he already knew this is what he wanted to do with his life. Forecasting was never just a job to him. It was never about spectacle or ratings. It was a responsibility. A chance to give families enough warning to survive. But days like this make that responsibility feel impossibly heavy. People often ask Gary how many tornadoes he's covered over the decades. He's stopped counting long ago. He just tells them, I've dealt with thousands and I feel like it too. Tonight, lying awake in the dark, thinking about the school, schools, the children and the families whose lives were shattered, Gary realizes something. For the first time in more than 40 years on television, he's not sure how much longer he can keep doing this. Mayor Glenn Lewis stands at a podium inside the lobby of Moore City hall in a blue dress shirt and burgundy tie. It's Tuesday morning, the day after. Bright television lights glare into his face as reporters crowd the room. For a long moment, Glenn just stares back at the cameras. He can hardly believe he's standing here again, giving another post tornado press conference. Outside, roads are lined with smashed homes, overturned cars, snapped telephone poles and piles of splintered wood and bricks. It looks like a war zone. Moore has survived devastating tornadoes before, but this feels different. They never lost this many children. A reporter speaks up. How are you holding up, Mr. Mayor? Glenn, known for his steady, reassuring leadership, pauses before answering. My city has been blown to hell. They're making street signs to put up so people can tell which street they lived on. That's how bad it is. Glenn already knows what comes next. Calls with fema, with President Obama. The Red Cross is already on the ground and recovery efforts have begun. Even while rescue teams continue searching. Glenn knows that Oklahomans are resilient, stubborn even, especially the people of Moore. No place in America is hit more often by violent tornadoes, and still people stay. They rebuild. They keep going. Because this is home. Glen takes a breath and looks directly into the cameras. Hang in there. We've been through it before and we'll get through it again. The May 20, 2013, Moore tornado killed 24 people, including 10 children, and injured more than 300 others. In just 39 minutes. The EF5 destroyed roughly 1,200 homes, displaced thousands of residents and caused more than $2 billion in damage. Jennifer Doan spent weeks recovering from serious injuries to her spine and hand. When she learned that seven students had died, including six from her own class, her cries echoed through the hospital halls. She eventually learned to walk again and months later married her fiance, Niall. That December, her son was born. She and Niall named him Jack Nicholas, giving him the middle name of one of the students Jennifer lost in the storm. After surviving the tornado while in labor, Shayla Taylor gave birth by emergency C section just hours later to a healthy baby boy named Brayden Emmanuel. Shayla is now a nurse herself and never forgets the heroism of the nurses who protected her during her labor. For Lando Height, the hardest part of the tornado was seeing the horses he couldn't save. In the end 34 horses survived right away. Plaza Towers and Briarwood elementary announced plans to rebuild with reinforced safe rooms designed to withstand the most violent tornadoes. Amazingly, everyone at Briarwood survived, but for Amy Simpson and the Plaza Tower staff, the emotional recovery of losing so many students would last far longer than the rebuilding. Mayor Glenn Lewis and the Moore City Council later enacted some of the strictest building codes in the country, requiring newly built homes to include reinforced construction capable of withstanding powerful tornado winds. FEMA grants and other donations also helped thousands of residents install safe rooms and underground storm shelters. But before more had a chance to recover, the sirens sounded again. Just 11 days later, on May 31, 2013, another massive tornado struck near El Reno, west of Oklahoma City. At 2.6 miles wide, it became the largest tornado ever recorded and killed three veteran storm chasers. For longtime meteorologist Gary England, the relentless tornado season took a heavy toll. After more than 40 years helping Oklahomans through their darkest days, he announced his retirement in the summer of 20.
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Narrator/Announcer
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Cassie DePechel
From Audible Originals. This is the third episode of our three part series Nightmare and 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. Next week I'll be speaking with author and journalist Holly Bailey about her book the Mercy of the the Story of a Tornado, which recounts the story of the 2013 Moore tornado. 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 Enriquez Original theme music Scott Velasquez and 2K for freeze on Sync Produced by Emily Frost Managing Producer Desi Blaylock senior producers Andy Herman and Austin Rachlis, Executive Producer for Audible Jenny Lauer Beckman, Head of Creative Development at Audible Kate Navin, Head of Audible Originals North America Marsha Louie Chief Content Officer Rachel Giazza Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals, LLC Sound Recording Copyright 2026 by Audible Original.