Scott walks up to me, his handsome smile looks a little less kind now. “Well, Hayden, you’re the smallest one of us. You’d fit great in the trunk.”
Unease creeps up my throat, or maybe it’s just the urge to vomit. This is a Ford Taurus, meaning the trunk isn’t a great place for a person. Are trunks airtight? I’ve always driven an SUV, and airtight feels like the right word for trunk… but everything has a generalfeelingright now. It’s all very floaty and unfocused with the mix of schnapps and vodka swirling in my stomach.
“We’d all be able to go then,” Lisa agrees, coming back over to the trunk before her firm grip wraps around my wrist. Is it friendly? I can’t tell. She pushes back her blonde hair, which thewind is doing a fantastic job ripping out of the updo. Then she slides a bit of my dark black hair between her fingers. “You’ll blend in back there. And it’s just one little ride.”
I frown. She makes me feel way less settled than Scott, who gives my arm another squeeze. The group grins at me, and as the J guy opens the rear passenger door and people start crowding in, I bolster my nerves.
I wanna fit in. I’m twenty, and I don’t make friends easily, and these people seem to want to spend time with me. Maybe it’s the alcohol clouding my judgment, but didn’t I used to coast around in the trunk of cars as a kid? I mean, it was a truck bed usually with the family dog, but the principle should be the same…
Scott nudges me towards the trunk as Lisa releases me, and I let him. Everyone else is already cramming themselves into the front and back seats, ignoring me. He pops the trunk and I eye the inside, doubt creeping in.
“There’s sports gear back here,” I tell him, staring at the football equipment. I lean in, but it doesn’t look like he has an icky gym bag back here at least.
Scott gives me a push, and my knees bang against the edge of the car. “It shouldn’t be in your way, babe. Just nudge it to the side.”
“Will I be able to breathe in here?” I ask, grabbing my head. This suddenly feels like a stupid idea, and I’m glad the people in the car can’t see us with the trunk popped. “I don’t think you can breathe in a closed trunk.”
I don’t get to turn back and see what Scott thinks, because he gives me another push. My cloudy brain doesn’t react fast enough, and I hiss when my hands slam against the floor of thetrunk. I think I’d rather stay at the party or call a ride home than commit to this. The fear is real.
Scott grabs my legs, flipping me into the trunk. I groan when I’m pushed inside, practically hugging the helmet that’s in my way.
“You’ll be fine, babe!” Scott tells me, and I squirm around to try and see him over my shoulder, lying on my stomach. It’s cramped in here, which makes my breathing speed up. “We won’t go too far out of town. If we get lucky we can see a funnel and start a real race.”
Is there a storm warning? I can’t remember, but the panic sets in when he slams the trunk closed above me and blankets me in the dark. My bag is still crushed between my torso and the floor, so at least I have all my things.
Fear grips me as the realization hits that I’m locked in here. I don’t think anyone riding inside the rest of the car knows a damn thing about the weather, but if an advisory goes off—
The car starts moving and I gasp, fidgeting around to grab my phone. It’s weird lying in the back of a car, feeling my stomach doing flips from all the liquor I consumed. It feels like it’s going incredibly fast, but that could be my imagination.
Swallowing, a little thrill goes through me as I bang against the roof of the trunk. Fear should be all consuming, but the rational - or maybe irrational - side of me really wants to get up close and personal with a storm. I probably have no business trying to storm chase, especially with a group of college kids who don’t know what they are doing.
But what’s better than experiencing a tornado up close and personal?
2 Keith
When a storm is brewing, the air shifts. I’ve snuffed out my cigarette, my team loitering around as we keep our eyes on the clouds and determine if we need to move or not as the wind picks up. Storm chasing is one of my favorite pastimes, and since I have enough money to do what I want, I decided to seek out adventure with a different sort of hobby than some of my business associates. I’ve always loved the chaos of storms, and this hobby just kind of fell into my lap thanks to my friendship with Beck.
This has now become more than just a run of the mill hobby and I’ve become well-versed in storm chasing. It’s a passion, one I share with my group of friends who also storm chase. We’ve formed a bond traveling around, and our adventures have taken us across Tornado Alley plenty of times over the years. Every year when storm season rolls around the five of us meet up again, and even if we don’t travel around together for the whole season, it’s nice chasing storms here and there as a team and having that friendly bond.
So long as I manage investments every few days and ensure that my accounts are happy, I rarely have to leave my happy place out here in the middle of nowhere. I have a few different houses that I’ve used depending on the weather and where my travels take me, but there’s one common strand among all of them: they stay off-grid.
“You ready to move, Keith?”
I glance over at Whitney, her arms crossed as she waits for my response. She’s another avid storm chaser, but Whitney has a regular job and just does chasing for the rush when it fits into her schedule. Of the five of us she probably does the least chasing because she has a regular life to attend to, but she likes to pop in anytime we head out to Oklahoma.
Whitney likes Beck, and I’m fairly certain that’s the reason she decided to join today’s chase. If Beck was still back home in Tennessee, Whitney wouldn’t be here. I’ve never really gotten along with her, and she has no problem telling me how she feels about me, either. She could at least be respectful. We’re close to forty, and childish antics like mumbled insults just aren’t tolerated in the group. We don’t have time for frivolous nonsense, especially when we need to focus on the storms.
With a nod I breeze past her, and she scoffs behind me. “Yeah, let’s head out. Ride with Drew and Dex.”
Whitney and Andrew don’t get along, so I’m screwing Dexter by saying that. I just don’t think I can handle her flirting with Beck right now when we should be focusing on the weather. Glancing up I can see the storm forming; it isn’t turning into a heavy downpour yet, but it likely will before the cumulonimbus clouds form to create a funnel. We need to get moving so we can track the storm, and I’m itching to get back into the truck. I still don’t see a point in the sky where the funnel is forming, but depending on how fast the storm develops will determine how close we’re going to get.
My ride is equipped to handle the elements, meaning that my truck has extra protection from the abrasive winds and any projectiles. For the most part, we stay back from the thick ofthings. My truck has some exterior armor to protect us from the dangers an F4 and up can produce. That’s why it’s better to use the custom trucks for this type of mission. Little cars and small projectiles are easily picked up and thrown in a severe storm and we aim to avoid that.
Storm chasing isn’t about getting sucked in, it’s about watching from the sides. Feeling the rush of life and all that shit.
“You and Whitney are getting along well,” Beck tells me as I hop into the driver seat and pull the door down. It’s one of those fancy trucks, with a door that lifts up instead of pulling out. Cost me a pretty penny, but it works better when I need to slip in around the elements. Plus the additions I put into the design worked better if the door lifted. “She still in a mood?”
“Such a mood,” I groan, shooting him a look. I’m fairly certain it’s his fault as is. “Poor Dexter.”
