The howl on the other side of the shelter door is deafening, like some ancient deity come to furiously atone the sins of mankind. The heavy metal door groans and shutters under the whipping wind. Hail pings sharply and rain pounds relentlessly. I’m not afraid though. The screams of a tornado are as common in the springtime as the pungent blooms of the Bradford Pear, which is why everyone in t...