Leaving the motor running—in case we had to make a quick escape or race to a better location—Lex got out. The moment he was on his feet, he slapped the roof of the bug. “Oh shit. Guys, guys, guys. Move your asses. We need to record this. Fuck yeah.”
I climbed over Noah to peer from his open window, assessing the rotating mass overhead. “Oh baby. If she wants to come down right here, we can lay the turtle.”
“Hurry up.” Lex craned his neck. “It’s gonna happen. Come on, girl. You can do it.”
Hustling, I ducked my head inside the vehicle and raised the window in case it started to rain. “Remember,” I said, tossing Vern a satellite phone and Elliott a headcam, “crank up theenergy. We’re playing to a crowd, and we want all the votes. We cannot make ourselves a target. Keep it light and friendly. Work off one another. Don’t give the audience a reason to hate us or break us up.”
Realizing Noah already had a camera in my face, I deadpanned. “Seriously. Dude, I’m fucking explaining how to manipulate the viewers, and you’re recording me.” I shoved the lens out of my face. “Idiot.”
Noah chuckled. “Relax. I already told you. I can edit out the shit we don’t want. Charles will never know.”
“Vern, can you get a live stream going?” I motioned to the satellite phone.
“We aren’t allowed. It was in the contract.”
“Shit. I forgot.”
Lex pounded on the roof of the car again, shouting and pointing at the sky. “Funnel. There’s a fucking funnel forming right the fuck over top of us. What are you guys doing? Get the probe. We’ve got to lay it and run.”
Vern’s eyes blew wide. “How is this our luck?” He grabbed the tote with the probe as Lex opened a back door. “Help me with this.”
In seconds, we were out of the car, scattering across the dirt road, faces aimed at the swirling clouds above. It wasn’t quite funneling like Lex said, but it wanted to. My blood roared with a release of adrenaline. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was only a few hundred yards away.
“Do you see it?” Lex yelled.
Oh, I saw it, and it was beautiful. Magical. This shit never got old. Every time I witnessed a shifting mass of clouds slowly take shape and pull toward the earth, it stole my breath. It raised goose bumps along my arms. It was a living, breathing entity. I was born for this. Lived for it. The feverish rush heated my blood.
The impressive power of nature was no joke. It commanded respect.
Lex and Vern dug through the tote and prepared the probe in case we needed it.
I spared half a glance at Olivia and her crew, where they gathered on the road, processing and recording the event for their own purpose.
Noah shouted my name, reminding me that I was supposed to be providing commentary as the storm unfolded, so I described what was happening, motioning at the shape forming above.
“What you’re looking at is a potential funnel. See how it keeps forming a cone?” I made the shape with my hands. "That happens when low pressure in a rotating vortex inside the storm causes water vapor to cool and condense, making it visible. It’s called a funnel cloud, and it isn’t technically a tornado unless it touches the ground. Right now, she’s struggling.”
As I spoke, the funnel strengthened and kept her form for longer, giving me hope. For a moment, I paused to watch, holding my breath in wonder. “Come on, baby. You can do it. Touch down for daddy.”
Noah snorted.
The chaser in me studied the movement pattern to determine its direction of travel should it land. It seemed to have a south-southwest trajectory. Interception was the goal.
The rapid-deployment probe was meant to be placed in the direct path of a tornado. Ideally, it would record data from inside. The most violent part. It measured pressure drops, temperatures, and wind speeds in the lowest section of the vortex, providing crucial insights that radar couldn’t capture. One way we supported our hobby was by selling data and video footage to news affiliates and university research teams.
Considering the technicality and luck involved, we were rarely successful.
“You see that?” Lex called from the far ditch, pointing. “We’ve got flying debris. Watch yourselves.”
I should have been narrating, but I was concentrating on the funnel. It grew stronger as the seconds ticked by. The wall of the storm hit, unleashing sharp pelts of rain that quickly turned to shards of ice. The wind increased, battering us and stealing my breath.
“It’s happening,” Vern hollered, “Do you see it? She’s coming down.”
“Lay the probe. We have to get the fuck out of here. We’re too close,” Elliott yelled, backing toward the vehicle.
Technically, it was too soon to lay the probe until we knew the tornado’s path, but she was coming down practically on our heads, and there wasn’t time to communicate my opinion.
Besides, Vern ran toward the vehicle with the empty tote. We were too eager with the damn thing. It was why we often failed.
