Whirlwind

5. Ryker

Chapter five

Ryker

PRESENT DAY

“Look at that beauty,” I whistle as we crest over the top of a hill.

“Incredible,” she says, voice breathless in her amazement. “It’s a healthy supercell. Impressive wall cloud.”

My pulse spikes as Finley accelerates, my eyes taking in every aspect of the storm we’re approaching. She’s right, of course—the supercell is healthy. And the wall cloud, a dark, low-hanging section of clouds underneath the thunderstorm, makes it appear as if the sky is sinking.

“Does it ever get old?” she asks.

I turn my gaze back to her and study her profile—silky hair blowing in the wind from the open windows, round face, apple-shaped cheeks that are pink from a tiny bit of blush. “Chasing?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it get old for you?” I counter.

“No. But I haven’t been doing this for long.”

I smirk. “Are you saying I’m old?”

Finley grips the steering wheel. “No, that’s not what I meant. I—”

I chuckle and cut her off. “I was kidding.” When her grip relaxes, I continue. “Storms are always different. One is never the same as the other. They’re unpredictable, wild, and still so much of them are a mystery. So no, they never get old—because they’ re always new.”

A ghost of a smile crosses her lips. “I like that.”

Muggy wind whips through the cab of the car, and I place my hand on her shoulder in excitement. “We hit warm air. Look at that inflow band.”

The buzzing energy between us ratchets up, and I squeeze her shoulder a little tighter, forgetting that I shouldn’t be touching her.

“You really think a tornado will touch down?” she asks. “When I looked at the radar earlier, I wasn’t sure.”

I take my hand from her shoulder and point up at the supercell. “Look at this storm, and tell me what you think.”

Finley leans forward in her seat, hands gripping the wheel to get a better look up at the sky that’s now turned a pale and sickly green. Another sign of what’s to come.

“It’s rotating!” When she sits back, her smile is wide. “I think you’re right.”

I glance down at my phone then look back at the developing storm. “Up here, you’ll see a road on the left. Take that.”

“We’ll be far enough away, right?”

“Scared, Finley?” I ask, repeating my quip from earlier.

“Are you?” she volleys back, our eyes locking for a moment.

“That’s part of the fun.”

She tips her chin and turns her sparkling eyes back to the road while I determine the exit routes in case we need one.

“Ryker, holy crap. Look!”

My chest smarts when I hear her speak my name. I may like when she calls me Professor West, but my name? Since the moment she first slipped up, using it when she asked me a question in front of the whole class, I’ve craved the sound of it on her lips—especially at night when I’m alone in my home, trying not to think of her as I wrap my hand around my di—

I clear my throat and follow her finger, which is pointing to the supercell now directly in front of us. Another kind of spark lights in my chest. “We’ve got a funnel!” I pump my fist. “Drive down this road then pull off to the side. That was your camera in the back, right?”

“Like I would leave it behind?”

We give each other a knowing smile, and then she steps on the gas. When we’re another mile down the road, she asks, “Are we close enough now?”

She bounces in her seat, and I bite my tongue at her palpable joy and thrill for storm chasing. I can’t wait to see her with my team and find out how she reacts to that environment. I know she’ll thrive in it.

Her passion for chasing is another reason she got the spot for this weekend’s chase—second only to how smart she is. Over the last year, I’ve learned a lot about all of my students, but Finley gets the best grades, chases solo often, shows up to my office hours when she has questions, even challenges me on data she believes I’ve missed.

I still remember the first time she came to my office a month after class started and did just that. It was hard not to fall inappropriately in love with her right then and there. No other student had done that before—too scared to challenge the “Twister Tamer.” But not Finley.

“Let’s stay conservative with this one,” I say, interrupting my own thoughts. “We’ll have plenty of opportunities this weekend to get up close and personal when we have Thor.”

“Right.” She pulls off to the side of the road. “Probably better to be inside a tornado with an armored vehicle built for that sort of thing.”

“Always a good idea,” I quip.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and push open the door. Sticky wind whips around me as I step out of the car, and it’s so strong that I have to hold my hat down and keep my footing steady.

As I make my way to the front of the car, Finley heads for her camera. I take a moment to type out a quick text to my communications lead, Ezra. Since he’s in Oklahoma with the rest of my team, I’ve been keeping him updated so I can have another pair of eyes on the storm.

ME

Looking like this is going to drop a tornado. I’ve sent you my location.

EZRA

Copy that, boss.

ME

Alert the National Weather Service that I have a confirmed funnel, and I’ll update upon touchdown.

EZRA

You think this is my first rodeo?

ME

Just making sure you don’t fall off the bull.

EZRA

Never.

I pocket my phone and crouch low to the ground so I can get a better look up. Much of studying storms comes from looking at doppler and forecasts, but nothing compares to this, to being in the field and looking Mother Nature directly in the eye. It’s exhilarating and everything I live for. What I’ll probably die for.

“That’s a massive mesocyclone!” Finley exclaims as she comes up beside me with her camera around her neck, snapping a photo as she says it .

My gaze tracks to the eye of the storm only a few miles from us, standing to my full height and swaying a bit as wind gusts unpredictably and the storm draws air inward. “It has a massive updraft base,” I comment. “Can you feel the wind blowing into the supercell?”

She grins wide as she tucks hair behind her ear that keeps whipping in front of her face. “I can feel it.” She laughs. “Remind me to bring a hair tie next time.”

The unprofessional side of me wants to say no. I like watching her chestnut-colored locks blowing in the wind around her soft features. But of course I don’t say that—instead, I smile back at her before I walk to the center of the road.

I study the mesocyclone that’s closer to us now. “Finley, it’s about to happen. Look at the spin on the backside.”

I hear the click of her camera snapping before she sidles up to me. “That’s a lot of spin, don’t you think? It’s tightening, too.”

Her observation again confirms that I didn’t make a mistake in choosing her for the chase this weekend. Finley knows storms. She’s not only book smart, but she’s also got kick-ass spotting and observational skills that I believe she acquired from photographing and chasing on her own—either that, or she was born to chase like I was. Nevertheless, she’s perfect for this job.

The wind dies down for a moment and things go quiet—the calm before the storm that happens when the moist air that fuels the storm is pulled in. In another moment, the wind gusts again, and I point to the clouds. “It’s trying!”

“Ryker!” Finley cries, her hand gripping my bicep as her eyes sparkle with pure happiness. “It’s going to do it! We’re going to get a tornado.”

We both let out a happy laugh as lightning splits the sky, briefly illuminating the darkened storm clouds. Light rain begins to fall, and my eyes flick to the soybean plants bending in the open fields, their leaves dancing in the growing wind. My pulse quickens, and my body freezes as I study the direction of the wind and the swirling funnel that appears closer to us than it was before. The inflow winds near the storm’s updraft base have become louder and more intense, pulling warm, moist air into the heart of the storm, feeding its rotation.

Fuck me. This storm is about to explode, and it’s unstable. It’s also nearly on top of us now. “Get in the car, Finley.”

I hear her laugh, and I know she hasn’t heard me. She’s too enraptured by what she’s seeing and the adrenaline of it all. “It’s amazing, Ryker! This storm is moving fast—I’ve never seen anything like this in person.”

I place my hand over hers, the one that’s still gripping my bicep to get her attention. Her brilliant smile falls when she sees the seriousness on my face. “Get in the car! We need to back up and get further out.”

I tilt my head back up to the clouds. Finley is correct—the storm is moving fast. Too fast. I thought we were far enough out that we could observe and be safe, but I’ve put us right in harm’s way. How the fuck did I let this happen?

You know how this happened. You let your dick take the lead, you prick.

I push away the thoughts. “Come on, we need to move now!”

Without another word, both of us head to her car as fast as we can. Thankfully, she’s left the engine on like she’s been prepped to do in a live chase. More thunder booms overhead, and the sky is so dark someone would think it was almost night.

I have the protective urge to say I’ll drive, but I told her she could take the wheel, and this is her car. I don’t want to take it back and make her think that I am a misogynistic ass. I know I can trust her, even though we’ve never chased together before.

Once we’re inside, Finley almost throws her camera on the floor of the backseat before placing her hands on the wheel. The way she parked, my side is facing the storm. I look out my window to get a better view of the supercell, and my body goes cold .

“Shit, she’s fully condensing!” Panic mingles with the adrenaline-fueled excitement I can never suppress when it comes to tornadoes, no matter the danger. I grab my phone and see Ezra’s been trying to call. I start typing a text about our situation right as a powerful gust of wind shakes the car, stopping me.

“Fuck, Ryker, which way should I go?” Finley yells.

I study the cell and make a quick decision. “Go back the way we came, and step on it.”

“Oh my god, Ryker. The tornado is on the ground!”

The car wobbles again, and my gaze focuses on the beast that’s dropped—it has to be at least two hundred yards wide already. The black vortex kicks up debris as it rotates through the field, and I know we’re in trouble. “Go, Finley, go, go, go!”

“Okay!” she yells and steps on the gas. My body jerks as she turns the car around, gravel spitting from the tires and shocks springing as she whips us back in the direction we came. I turn my gaze to look at the tornado ripping to our left, inching closer to the road as its base gets larger. The debris field is also growing.

Shit. Shit. Shit. There’s no way this thing isn’t going to catch up to us.

“Debris!” Finley yells. My head whips from the storm to the front of the road where something that looks like fencing flies past us, almost hitting her car. My head follows it as it soars past Finley’s window, barely missing the rearview mirror.

My hands itch, and my foot presses down on an imaginary pedal. “Faster, Finley!”

She punches the gas while glancing at the storm as best she can. “Holy shit—it looks like it’s not moving!” she yells.

She’s right, and the fear in her voice only locks in what we both know: This twister is heading right toward us. If it was shifting laterally, that would be another thing—but it’s not.

My stomach rolls, and a part of my brain tries to figure out why I didn’t know this would happen. If Finley gets injured or dies, it’s completely on me. She may know storms, but I’ve been doing this longer, and I’m the expert, the experienced one. I know better. Of course I’ve had close calls but not with one of my students in the vehicle with me or since the early days of my career.

“Push faster,” I attempt to say calmly. “Once we’re on the main road, we can hook—”

“It’s moving too fast!” she interrupts.

I don’t want to say she’s right, but she is. However, we don’t have another option. “Don’t look back—just drive.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” she chants as rain pounds harder against the windshield. She switches on the wipers, the blades swiping furiously to clear her view as she floors it, speeding like there’s no tomorrow.

When she comes to the main road and turns onto it, the wheels squeal against the pavement, and the smell of the rubber burning fills the car. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I’m sure it’s Ezra, but I don’t have time to pick up. His yelling through the phone isn’t going to change this situation we’re in.

A situation I’ll have to take a closer look at if we survive, because I was distracted by Finley. This storm should’ve been a textbook chase, one that maybe didn’t even set down a tornado—or at least not one this unstable. My brain is frantically trying to understand why it’s happening. It could’ve been a sudden change in wind shear or instability on the ground I didn’t see that caused the storm to shift direction. Yet none of that changes the fact that I was more focused on the way the wind blew Finley’s hair than our safety.

“We’re not going to outrun it!” she yells shakily, stating what I already know.

“I need you to listen to me, alright? We’re going to be fine.”

“Are you really going to lie to me right now?”

Despite the situation we’re in, I laugh. Finley laughs lightly, too, but it lasts for only a moment because a piece of debris hits the car, forcing her to swerve. She yelps in surprise, and I grab the wheel on instinct to keep it steady .

“You’ve got this,” I reassure her. “Breathe, and keep driving.” The freight-train noise of the tornado is getting louder, and the wind has gained enough speed that I’m surprised we’re still on the road.

I turn in my seat and look out the back window. It’s utterly dark behind us, and I think the fucking thing is rain wrapped now, hiding how massive it is—and how truly close it is to us as well.

“Ryker. Fuck, Ryker. We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

I turn back so she can hear me loud and clear. “We’re not going to die.” I press my eyelids together and think. “We’re not.”

She cries out again as more debris hits the car, and she swerves. I press my hands to the dash and bark out, “Take a right up at the stop sign.”

“Ryker!”

“Do it! Take a right. If we stay in this car, we’ll—” Die . But I don’t say the last word out loud. “Take a right!” I yell.

Finley nods, and I hold on as she takes a fast right like I told her to. The rubber of the tires is burning again, and the rain is now coming in sheets. Thank Christ there’s no hail.

“Now what?!”

“Stop!” The car comes to an abrupt halt, and I look into her panicked eyes. “I noticed a ditch when we were on our way here; we’re going to make a run for it.”

“You’re serious?” she balks. Her usually bright eyes are wide and terrified.

I cup her cheeks in my hands, feeling her clammy skin. “We have no other choice. Are you ready?”

After only a split second of indecision, she nods vigorously. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Our eyes remain locked for a second as the car rocks from a strong gust of wind and I try to convey my apology through my gaze. I wish I could shield her from this.

She nods, seeming to understand without words, and I know we can’t waste another second. I drop my hands and turn to push the door open as Finley mirrors my movement. It takes a few tries with the force of the gusts, but we both somehow manage to get out—probably thanks to sheer adrenaline.

When we reach the front of her car, our hands clasp together in an earth-shattering grip. Then we run for our lives.