“It’s dropping!” I shout, unable to contain my excitement. “Jonah, are you getting this?”
He’s already checking the readings, his face illuminated by the eerie green light filtering through the storm clouds. “This is exactly what we need!”
The funnel cloud continues its descent, not yet touching down but clearly visible against the darkened sky. I’ve seen dozens, maybe hundreds, of tornadoes in my life, but the sight never fails to steal my breath.
“Fire up, Girthmaster,” I yell to Jonah. “Let’s bust his tornado cherry.”
Jonah looks at me with that half-smile I’m starting to find impossibly endearing. “Did you just say ‘tornado cherry’?”
“Focus, Professor!” I shout over the wind, pointing at Girthmaster secured in the back of the SUV. “Less commentary, more drone!”
He nods and sprints back to the vehicle, leaning in to retrieve our newest team member. The massive drone looks even more imposing in his hands as he carries it back toward us, his face set with determination.
Lucas is practically vibrating with excitement beside me, his camera forgotten as he watches the funnel continue its descent. “This is incredible!” he yells, his broadcaster voice completelyabandoned. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen a storm develop this fast before.”
Jonah reaches us with Girthmaster, already running through the pre-flight checks.
“We might only get one shot at this,” he finishes, his fingers deftly adjusting settings on the controller. “The battery is fully charged, but in these winds, it’ll drain faster.”
“Then we make it count,” I reply, watching as the funnel continues its sinuous dance toward the ground. It’s mesmerizing—this deadly ballet between earth and sky.
Girthmaster rises into the air with a deep, powerful hum that cuts through even the howling wind. The massive drone holds steady despite the gusts, its reinforced frame proving its worth immediately. Jonah’s face is a mask of concentration as he guides it toward the storm, his fingers making minute adjustments on the controller.
“You’re a natural,” I tell him.
“I had a good teacher.”
Lucas lets out a whoop beside us. “It’s touching down!” he shouts, pointing at the funnel that has now made contact with the ground about a mile away. Dirt and debris swirl at its base, marking the beginning of what promises to be a significant event.
“This spot is great, Jonah!” I yell over the roaring wind. “Get Girthmaster as close as you safely can!”
Jonah nods, his focus absolute as he maneuvers the drone toward the tornado.
“I’m getting incredible readings!” he shouts back. “The vortex is intensifying rapidly!”
Lucas has abandoned all pretense of professional detachment. He’s jumping up and down like a kid at Christmas, pointing and yelling incoherently. Despite my annoyance with Weather Boy, his raw enthusiasm is infectious. This is why we dothis—for moments like these when the world reveals its terrible beauty.
“Wind speeds exceeding 120 miles per hour at the outer circulation!” Jonah calls out. “Girthmaster is handling this beautifully.”
“Yeah, he’s known for his performance.”
“What?” Jonah yells back.
“Keep going!”
“Just push it as close as we safely can!” I shout over the roar of the storm. “I want to see what this beast can really do!”
I watch in awe as the tornado suddenly surges in size, transforming from a narrow funnel into a massive cylindrical column. It balloons outward, the dark wall expanding with frightening speed until it’s easily half a mile across—a classic stovepipe formation that dominates the landscape.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, instinctively taking a step back.
Lucas has gone completely silent for once, his mouth hanging open as he stares at the massive tornado. I can’t blame him. Even for someone who’s seen as many storms as I have, this is spectacular.
The stovepipe tornado moves with surprising grace for something so destructive, keeping a safe distance while giving us a clear view of its structure. It tracks eastward, running parallel instead of bearing down on us. The part of me that studies this knows it’s ideal. After everything the last week has thrown at us, this storm is finally giving Jonah what he needs—and giving us a break.
The tornado continues east, holding its shape. There’s nothing in its path but open farmland—no buildings, no homes, just empty fields stretching to the horizon. Best-case scenario, raw force with no human cost.
“Look at the rotation pattern,” Jonah points out, gesturing to the bands of debris circling within the funnel. “It’s maintaining full cyclonic symmetry.”
