I’m never riding in the trunk of any vehicle again. The air was too thin, the darkness dizzying, and I was too drunk to look at the brightness of my phone screen and not throw up. The helmet kept bumping into my head while we drove, and I realize now that I should have gone ahead and puked out of spite.
Now, I feel like I’m on the verge of death and yet more alive. Taking in the thrill of the impending storm instead of the fear of suffocation.
My eyes widen as I stare through the windshield; the sky has taken on a strange greenish hue. Growing up in Oklahoma, I know exactly what that means. Through the rain, I can see tumbleweeds and bits of debris swirling through the air up ahead, carried by the wind in unpredictable bursts. Something’s coming, and it’s not good.
Passenger Dude points. “Those clouds—”
He cuts off when a loud clap of thunder emanates around us. I scream without meaning to, spitting water all over the back seat. The rain turns heavy quickly, pouring down in sheets from the greenish sky.
Passenger Dude is not impressed as he turns to glare at me. “What is your name?”
“Hayden,” I reply, coughing from the water I choked on. I look at the maddening weather. This is when I usually try to drive further from the chaos or, I don’t know, get into a storm shelter? What is wrong with these maniacs? Maybe I would have been safer in the trunk.
He nods, blowing out a breath. “I’m Beck. Keith’s going to lose his shit when he sees you spit on his seats.”
Muscles’ shoulders tense, and I guess I know everyone’s name now. “I just had this detailed.”
Beck laughs, shaking his head as he faces forward again. “Storms make you anxious, Hayden?”
I look out the window again, watching as Muscles—no,Keith—veers off the main highway down another road. I clutch at the harness, my stomach rolling. “I don’t usually drive into them. But, we were going to storm chase before I got in the trunk.”
“With the group that left you there?” Mr. Muscles asks dryly.God, call him Keith already.
“I was in the trunk,” I reply, trying to think of how to explain myself. That doesn’t seem like the best starting point, but oh well. “We were going to chase it.”
“It,” Keith repeats, and internally I’m proud of myself for not calling him Muscles again. I’m definitely focused andnotstill obnoxiously drunk, thinking about the way Keith’s body felt while he held mine. “Thank fuck you decided to not go that route.”
“They decided,” I reiterate, but it’s not totally true. We decided to go on this idiotic mission before Scott pushed me into the car. “I was in the trunk.”
There’s no response as we come out of the pounding rain, and it feels like I’m getting whiplash even inside the truck. I crush the bottle in my hands as I stare out the windows, watching the chaos form. I know some people love this dangerous lifestyle, and people train for this, but I always wanted to study it not beinit. This is overwhelming.
The more panicked I get, the more I want to throw up. Muscles will definitely boot me out if that happens. If I focus on the chair in front of me, and don’t look around at the amazing scenery, I might resist the urge to vomit.
All that focus goes out the window though when I hear something change outside, my brain lagging from the alcohol as I swallow and try to pay attention.
Suddenly, the silence in the truck is broken as an undulating whirling sound rips through the space around us. My eyes widen when Keith pulls off and finally parks. I stare out the window, turning to try and look for what I know is coming.
Twister.
“We’re going to have a great view,” Keith says from the front seat. “Sit back and enjoy the show, girly.”
I glare at the back of his seat, ignoring the way Beck snickers. The front windows are cracked open, and I can hear the wind whistling outside. Instead of giving Keith a real response, all I can manage is a grunt, even though my nausea is finally starting to fade.
Another truck pulls up alongside us. I wonder if they're with Keith and Beck, or if they’re just another random group of storm chasers. Before I can overthink it, I notice the sky changing.
The clouds are forming into a funnel, everything circulating and revolving together as the tornado comes to life. I press my hands to the window, peering out in awe. It’s totally different seeing the power of the elements up close like this.
“Looks like we have a storm freak with us,” Keith says with a chuckle, and I don’t even turn to him. I’m too focused on the weather, but I can feel the intensity of his stare.
“I’m going to school for meteorology,” I mumble, my mouth dropping open as the funnel begins to descend.
“It’s a beauty,” Beck continues, and all I can do is nod.
I’m living for the chaos that’s right in front of me and hungry for the show. I want to study every aspect of the storm, but the alcohol is making it hard to focus.
So when the tornado touches down, and Keith starts speaking, I let myself relax to the lull of his voice.
4 Keith
