Chase Me If You Can(11)
“We got a funnel for a few seconds.” Matt points to the telltale horseshoe section of the storm where the tornado will form if it’s going to. “Fifty-fifty on whether it gets its act together.”
I tilt my head, stare at the storm, and then check my phone again. A severe thunderstorm warning has been issued, but no tornado warning yet, which isn’t a surprise. These types of storms are less likely to have the strong rotation needed to kick out a tornado than the one I left behind. Not impossible. Just less likely.
Then again, the ingredients are all there. The dew point is already oppressive, humid air clinging heavily to my skin while the temperature climbs and climbs. A hot breeze does little to combat the sticky air as the storm greedily sucks in even more fuel. And tornado or not, the towering structure is gorgeous.
As promised, I snap a quick shot with my phone and add it to the group text before concentrating on my camera and the storm, which is quickly getting stronger. Tracy spots the funnel first, whooping with delight and pointing like a madwoman at the same time our phones all howl with the incoming tornado warning.
My cheeks ache from smiling so wide. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to the season. There will be down days, and long drives, and terrible meals cobbled together from gas station snacks, sure, but today is epic.
When the tornado finally drops, the sun is low enough to light the whole thing up. A loud cheer goes up, adrenaline igniting at the thrill of a tornado sighting, and with a practiced hand, I high-five Tracy while pressing the shutter release with the other. The infectious joy of the moment is almost as magical as the scene in front of us.
Then it’s a mad dash for the cars, peeling out in a cloud of dust as we race along the road running parallel to the swirling vortex. It’s not strong—a blessing for the locals—but the angle of the sun makes it incredibly photogenic, gleaming against the red-brown earth. In a time-honored, if questionably safe, chaser tradition, I hang one hand out the window as I drive, filming with a death grip on my phone while gleefully ping-ponging my attention between the road and the tornado.
It’s a full twenty minutes before it finally ropes out, leaving us sweaty but exhilarated as mammatus clouds fill the sky.
“Are you going to be our good luck charm this season?” Matt jokes as we pack up our gear.
I laugh and shake my head. “Just a nice welcome back from the universe.”
“We’re going to keep with it,” Tracy tells me as I slide my camera back into its protective bag. “I’m on the hunt for night shots this year. You in?”
I hesitate with my bag halfway shut and chew on my lip. Night chases can produce some spectacular images, but I’ve been going since dawn. Even if I load up on coffee, I’d rather not risk continuing in the dark when I’m not at my best. Too dangerous. The smart thing to do is check in on tomorrow’s forecast, pick a hotel for the night, and sleep while I can.
“Not tonight,” I say with an apologetic smile. “Send me a text when you stop for the night. I’ll find you guys tomorrow. We can grab breakfast if nothing is going on until the afternoon.”
With another round of sweaty hugs, they head off after the storm. There’s a twinge of FOMO, but it’s only the first day. As soon as the adrenaline high fades, I’m going to crash hard.
I don’t notice the text from Wes until I pull into the hotel parking lot. Heard you caught a danger noodle.
I can’t resist a little taunting when it’s so rare I get to one-up him. You didn’t?
Wes replies instantly. Nah. The text is accompanied by photos of two distinctly different tornadoes. I got two.
My grin turns to a scowl. “Of course you did,” I mutter under my breath, then do the mature thing and send back a middle finger emoji.
* * *
Morning comes far too soon.
I reach for my phone with one hand while scrubbing a palm over my face with the other. A few taps on the screen and my exhaustion disappears as soon as I scan the latest Storm Prediction Center forecast.
Unsurprisingly, the group text is already active. Matt and Tracy ended up staying at this hotel last night too. For once I can’t even be mad that Matt is one of those obnoxious morning people who’s been up for two hours—he’s already found a coffee shop. There’s no mention of Wes joining, which hopefully means he ended up somewhere else.
Grinning to myself, I fly through getting ready in ten minutes. It’s a small thing, but I make a point of getting my coffee from local businesses whenever possible. These communities deserve to get something back in exchange for hosting the small army of storm chasers rampaging through their towns every spring.
My good mood falters when I step into the lobby and find Wes holding court. He’s surrounded by a group of guys, some of the faces familiar, but most not. It’s nothing new. The combination of charm, money, good looks, and devil-may-care recklessness that surrounds him—and his social media presence—attracts attention anywhere he goes. The newer chasers idolize him and the risks he takes.
Wes has never been one to shy away from praise. Hopefully he’s too busy being admired to come to the coffee shop.
As I do my best to slip by unnoticed, someone tosses him an energy drink. He grabs it out of the air with ease, jabs a hole in the can with his keys, and proceeds to shotgun the whole thing in a couple of seconds. Raucous cheers go up from the group instantly, and judging by the scowl of the receptionist, I’m not the only one who finds a man in his early thirties behaving like this obnoxious.