“She’s shifted her track. She’s coming straight for us.”
“But it’s moving away.”
“Look, I don’t have time to explain this,” I yell, grabbing my camera from the tripod. “That thing's coming straight for us, and we need to move.”
His eyes widen as he looks past me at the massive funnel. For the first time, real fear flashes across his face. Good. At least he's not completely divorced from reality.
“Get in the truck!” I shout, already grabbing my tripod with one hand while clutching my camera with the other.
He hesitates, looking back at the news van like it's a lifeline. “But the van?—”
“Leave it!” I snap. “That van won't outrun this. My truck might.”
The tornado's roar grows louder, bearing down on us. I don't wait for his answer, just sprint to my truck, tossing the camera and tripod into the back. When I glance back, he's standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights, staring at the monstrous funnel.
“Move your ass, Reed!” I yell, throwing open the passenger door. “Unless you want to become flying debris!”
That snaps him out of it. He lurches forward, slipping in the mud once before scrambling into the passenger seat. I'm already behind the wheel, firing up the engine before his door is fully closed.
“Seatbelt,” I order, throwing the truck into reverse and spinning us around in a move that sends mud spraying from all four tires.
The tornado is less than a quarter mile away now, its massive circulation pulling at us like some hungry god. Through the rain-streaked windshield, I can see debris flying—fence posts, tree branches, something that might have been part of a shed.
“Hold on!” I warn, slamming the accelerator to the floor. The truck lurches forward, tires fighting for purchase on the slick mud as I steer us away from the tornado's direct path.
Dr. Reed grips the dashboard with white knuckles, his scientific composure completely shattered. “It's moving faster than I calculated,” he shouts over the roar. “The intensification rate is exponential!”
“No kidding!” I swerve around a fallen branch, eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror where the tornado fills the frame. “Maybe save the observations for when we're not about to die!”
The truck fishtails as we hit a patch of standing water. I counter-steer instinctively, fighting to keep us on the road as rain hammers the windshield. Through the downpour, I can barely make out the county road stretching ahead.
The radio crackles with static. “...confirmed tornado on the ground, large and extremely dangerous. Take shelter immediately...”
“We need to find shelter,” Reed bellows, his voice tight with tension. “A ditch, a culvert—anything below ground level. A vehicle is the last place we want to be.”
“My truck is built for this. We just need distance,” I say through gritted teeth.
I take a sharp turn onto a connecting road, heading east. The move puts the tornado on our left flank rather than directly behind us—exactly what we need. The massive funnel churns across the landscape, its path shifting as it encounters different terrain.
“It's changing direction,” Reed observes, his scientific mind apparently kicking back in despite our situation. “The rotation pattern suggests it might be?—”
“I can see what it's doing!” I snap, focusing on navigating the flooded road. “I don't need a play-by-play!”
He falls silent, and I immediately regret my harshness. He's scared, falling back on what he knows—analyzing the storm. It's what I'd do too.
The tornado begins to shift again, its path bending more northward—away from us. I ease off the gas, calculating distances.
“We're out of immediate danger,” I remark, scanning the sky and the road ahead. “It's shifting north.”
He exhales heavily beside me. I can feel him staring at me, but I don't take my eyes off the road. The tornado continues its northward trajectory. The rain hasn't let up, though, turning the rural road into something closer to a river.
I drive for another mile before I yank the truck off the road, tires splashing through a puddle as I cut the engine. The tornado has moved far enough away now, its massive funnel visible but no longer an immediate threat. Rain drums on the roof in sheets as I turn to face him, fury rising in my chest like a secondary storm.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I demand. “You could have gotten yourself killed out there. You could have gotten us both killed.”
He blinks rapidly, chest heaving from the sprint through the rain. “I was collecting data?—”
“Bullshit.” The word explodes out of me. “You were stalking me.”
