TUSCALOOSA, Ala. 5:07 p.m., April 27, 2011 — The sky above Tuscaloosa turned the color of a yellowing bruise. The birdsong stopped, and through the pregnant silence came the intermittent moaning of wind. The air held a charge. Now visible from the outskirts of town, the tornado emerged from the west. Even those who could not see it could feel its presence slouching across the horizon.
The dark column twisted down to the earth as the earth rose up to meet it. It plowed the verdant landscape, ripping up trees and chicken houses, grinding them up and spitting them out like shrapnel. Mesmerizing in its terrible beauty, it moved indiscriminately across the land, grinding at 60 miles per hour toward the city.
Across Alabama, people followed the black mass growing on their TV screens. In solid brick houses and double-wide trailers, in college dorm rooms and government projects, in church basements, corporate offices and living rooms, people watched it unfolding, live. Through the unblinking eye of the rooftop camera, the people of Tuscaloosa saw death come into town.
They had been given 64 minutes of warning.
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