Peterson walks over to Cliff to check his progress.
PETERSON: You know what that is, Cliff?
CLIFF: I don't have the faintest idea.
PETERSON: Better hurry up before the wind fills it in. Looks like a sandstorm's kicking up.
CLIFF: You or Ed got any idea what happen out here?
PETERSON: Nope, nothing that adds up.
The ambulance drives off, Peterson approaches Blackburn.
PETERSON: How old you figure that kid is, Ed?
BLACKBURN: Oh, five or six. Tough break for her.
PETERSON: Yea. . . Look, they don't need us here right now, let's get on to Gramp Johnson's store and see if he knows something.
Peterson and Blackburn arrive at Gramp Johnson's General Store. The wind is blowing forcefully, making a haunting howling sound.
They enter through the front door, the store is demolished, like the remains of a tornado strike. Blackburn has his gun pulled.
PETERSON: Gramps! . . . . Gramps!
They wander through the store, Peterson enters Gramp's kitchen area, the radio is playing. Kettles are steaming, a half-eaten meal on the table.
PETERSON: Beats me. Look Ed, put in a call . . . . wait a minute . . .
Peterson walks behind the counter, bends down and picks up a shattered rifle, shows it to Blackburn. They look at each other.
Peterson heads over to a cellar opening. Double door, one side open. He swings the other cellar door open.
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