The remarkable twist to the tale of Oklahoma's tornado-hit hospital The fate of these two mothers showed the capriciousness of nature on a day when split-seconds made the difference between life and death. If Mrs Futrell had reached the clinic, as more than 200 other residents did, she would have lived to tell Case about the day the tornado struck. Surveying the shredded shell of the medical centre, the two-floor structure torn apart as if a bomb had struck, it is hard to believe that there were no casualties inside. Yet the accounts of those who rode it out inside make the story of survival all the more extraordinary. They describe people lifted off their feet and carried tumbling down hallways by screaming gusts; the thump of cars smashing into the building; shards of doorways, picture frames and tiles turned into projectiles and hurtling past them; the air choked with dust; and that all-encompassing noise -- a jet engine meeting a freight train. That nobody suffered more than cuts and bruises is down to a combination of detailed planning, calm heads, quick thinking, selfless bravery and plain luck. And in a part of the country so devout that it is known as the buckle on the Bible Belt, plenty will tell you there was another hand at play -- that of God. "It's remarkable when you look at this now that nobodywas killed or injured," said Stephanie Barnhart, a vivacious young doctor with a contagious smile. We had a great team, we had a plan but I also give thanks to the Lord. Dr Barnhart, 34, who was heading the emergency room at the Moore medical centre when the twister struck, described Monday's tumult as she returned to the scene with The Sunday Telegraph. She had been following the predictions of severe weather on the clinic's television since starting her shift at 6am. But for natives of Oklahoma, a bull's eye in the heart of America's Tornado Alley, such forecasts are a way of life during storm season. "We knew there was a tornado watch and I was just thinking 'yeah, right, whatever, it's Oklahoma, we might get a thunderstorm," she said. Then came a tornado warning. That means there is one on the ground and I started following it more closely. Then the tornado alert was announced over the pager system. That's a code black. And I thought 'I've never heard that before. This is the real thing'. The tornado had touched down about 12 miles west of Moore at 2.46pm on Monday afternoon, spawned by the collision in the skies above the Great Plains of cold air heading down from Canada with a warm front from the Gulf of Mexico. At the medical centre, the emergency alert was made at about 3pm. There were already television images of the huge tornado, its funnel and debris field two miles wide, churning its way towards them, gouging the land beneath it. Now Dr Barnhart and her team learned they were directly in its path. Until a few minutes earlier, it had been a quiet day, but two newpatients -- a woman suffering a seizure, a girl with an asthma attack -- had just arrived for treatment alongside two already in the clinic. The medical staff knew their drill and moved with their patients into a designated safe area, a room in the middle of the ground-floor. There they gathered mattresses and pillows for protection and explained to the patients how to brace low to the ground. As they waited, they watching the ominous pictures on the television until the power suddenly cut out, leaving them in darkness, the air sticky, a roar approaching them. "We could hear it and we knew that it was coming for us," she said. Outside, Nick Stremble, the emergency department manager, and his colleagues were making sure that patients and staff were taking refuge in inner rooms and corridors and decided to evacuate the upper floor. As emergency sirens wailed across the town, he headed back downstairs, only to discover an influx of locals streaming through the clinic's front doors in search of safety. For many, there were harrowing memories of May 3rd 1999. Forty-six people died that day when Moore was hit by a tornado with maximum wind speeds of 302 mph, the highest recorded in history. The new arrivals added to the pressure on space and most were shepherded into the cafeteria, others spilling into corridors. Mr Stremble raced upstairs to do a final check. It was now that he looked inside the labour room and was stunned to see find four nursing staff around a woman in the final stages of delivery. "She was in active labour and the nurses said the baby was in possible distress so we decided that it was too risky to move her," he said. We moved her into a surgical suite with back-up power and the nurses all volunteered to stay with her. He passed a bank of windows as he ran back to the stairs. "I could see a huge tornado heading straight for us," he said. There was no doubt we were going to take a battering. Back on the ground floor, he wedged his back against the building's front doors in attempt to hold them shut. But he was no defence against the might of the storm. The doors blew inwards and I was wedged between the doors and the wall. The wind and debris surged down the hallway and carried people tumbling and falling into a pile at the end of the corridor. In the other direction, I saw a car flying through the air and hitting a pillar by the entrance. The noise was incredible. There was so much stuff flying through the air. And then it just ended. Dr Barnhart was meanwhile hunkered down in an inner sanctum. "We were on the ground, saying prayers and bracing," she said. The floor was rocking, my body was shaking and ears popping, the noise was deafening. It seemed to last forever, but it was probably only a minute or two before it passed. Then there was just a dead silence, a complete calm. I looked around and we were all unhurt. I had no idea how bad it was until I opened the door. She walked out into what resembled a war zone. Lamp-posts and vehicles impaled the walls, the car park was transformed into a junkyard, much of the building had collapsed, the second floor appeared to be nothing but rubble. Mr Stremble's first thought was the fate of his colleagues and the pregnant woman upstairs. Remarkably, even amid the devastation, they were unhurt. Emergency workers were able to carry Mrs Taylor down to an ambulance on a gurney and she gave birth almost as soon as she arrived at a nearby clinic. Dr Barnhhart helped another group of patients scramble through the rubble to safety. She stopped briefly to call her husband to say that she was alive, then returned to work at a triage centre set up for injured locals in car park of the neighbouring cinema. Elsewhere, two dozen were dead, including seven children in the third grade at Plaza Towers elementary school, just half a mile away. As Moore mourned its dead, there were more funerals on Saturday, including those for Emily Conatzer and Christopher Legg, both nine, who were among those killed when Plaza Towers was levelled. And in his now all too familiar role as the nation's consoler-in-chief following its latest tragedy, President Barack Obama will arrive for a memorial service for the victims on Sunday evening. The sorry coincidence that Monday is Memorial Day, the holiday when Americans commemorate their war dead but also celebrate the start of summer, is lost on no-one here.