Gale #2
The reason why they’d never gotten this close came to me. Twisted Fates had a vehicle that could withstand a tornado’s tremendous winds. Olivia did not.
“This is too dangerous,” I yelled, but no one heard me.
Olivia, Roe, and Maggie followed Jazz out of the car.
Too stunned to move, I watched as they raced down the road, faces turned to the sky, radiating excitement.
Roe filmed. Jazz yelled and pointed at the churning clouds as though explaining what they were seeing.
Olivia joined him, facing the camera with a wide grin.
Her braid whipped around her face, and she held a hand to her forehead, so the loose strands didn’t blind her.
Roe’s shirt billowed and flapped, drawing up at the back and exposing skin.
“Gale.” I jolted when Maggie called my name. She held another video camera, aiming it at me. “Come on. You don’t want to miss a photographic opportunity, do you? This is once in a lifetime.”
“But—”
She peeked from behind the lens. “We know what we’re doing. It will be fine. This is normal.”
This was not normal.
She ran after the others, leaving the door ajar. It was insanity, but as I stared at the roiling storm, a sense of awe overtook me. I was in the presence of something amazing. A heavenly wonder. This was God’s hand. He created this.
A photographic opportunity. Of course. My anxiety melted. It was the only positive outcome to this madness. The photographs would be outstanding. Not many people risked their lives to get these kinds of shots. Ideas for future magazine spreads surfaced, and I blindly reached for my camera bag.
I removed the camera from its protective case and slung the strap around my neck, checked which lens was attached, and exchanged it for a more suitable one. When I slid from the vehicle, the wind stole my breath, battering and pushing against me like a strong shove from a giant’s hand.
Training my gaze on the sky, I observed the mesmerizing roil and swirl of the clouds nearly directly above us. A rich scent of ozone hung thick in the air. The view was dizzying, and my heart galloped out of control. If I didn’t ignore the danger, I’d faint.
I blindly removed the lens cap from my camera and tucked it safely in a pocket before scanning and deciding on the angle that would create the best shot.
I moved toward the farmer’s field butting up to the road on my right.
New stories and ideas crowded my mind. I saw it clearly.
A raw look at Mother Nature. A firsthand experience.
I walked without paying attention to where I was going, reading the sky like I was trained to do, utterly absorbed by the swirling and churning world above.
Every so often, I stopped to snap a picture, but I wanted more in the frame.
I wanted a balance of land and sky. I needed distance. I kept walking.
As I moved farther from the group, their shouted commentary faded, swallowed by the thunderous roar of the storm, until I couldn’t hear them anymore.
I heard Olivia shout, “Watch for ground circulation.”
Maggie. “Holy crap. Do you see this?”
Roe. “We’ve got a funnel forming. Oh my god. Look. Look!”
“Holy fuck.” The last comment was Jazz’s. “It’s awfully close.”
The wind roared monstrously. It screamed a warning. I should have felt fear. I should have run and taken shelter. Through the camera lens, the world took on an unreality.
The clouds swirled and attempted more than once to form a funnel, but it kept dissipating.
Its power surged in my veins, tightening my skin, tensing my muscles, and vibrating through my bones.
I kneeled on a mound of dirt to steady my arms. The wind battered me from every direction, making it hard to hold the camera still.
All I saw was beauty. A panoramic, humbling phenomenon. A gift from God.
I was in the presence of something sublime.
My heart pounded and swelled, full to bursting with awe and surrender. Wonder and amazement. I ached for something I couldn’t describe. Tears filled my eyes.
The grit thrown wild by the wind cut my cheeks, but it wasn’t grit. Rain fell. Icy rain. Hail.
Squinting at the heavens, I lowered my camera, closed my eyes, and prayed. He brought me here. He wanted to show me His greatness. He was with me. Around me. Inside me.
You are not alone, He whispered.
Even as the violent wind threatened to blow me away, I felt tethered. Tears and rain burned my eyes when I opened them.
A vortex had formed, like the eye of God staring down at me. Was He here to save me from this life? Did He want to take me home?
This was more than a promised tornado. It was the reassurance I sought daily.
It was the hope I looked for in the woods and by the streams. It was the comfort I longed for on cold, lonely nights when I remembered my mother and cried.
It was the shelter and protection I craved when no one understood what lived in my heart.
I remembered my camera and snapped pictures as the wind whipped my hair and hail sliced my forehead and bare knuckles. The roar of the wind was ferocious, louder than a freight train.
This was beauty. It was art. It was love.
It was the worst time for a revelation. Fear had escaped me, and I didn’t recognize the danger of a growing vortex or how close it was until a large branch came out of nowhere and flew like a missile within a foot of my head.
The shock sent me tumbling to my ass. Where had that come from?
Only then did I realize how far I’d wandered from the road.
Only then did I realize the intensity of the wind and hail.
Only then did I realize that a tornado was trying to form within a few hundred yards of me.
Before I could get to my feet and orient myself, a hand gripped my collar and yanked me upright. A humored voice hit my ears. “Come on, Dorothy. Time to split before someone drops a tornado on you.”
The person turned me toward the road, shoving so hard I stumbled and staggered before they caught my arm, stabilizing me once again, and urged me to keep going.
“Run,” he barked. The person kept one hand knotted in my T-shirt.
I glanced back, expecting Roe. Jazz wouldn’t rescue me. He’d leave me to die. But it wasn’t Roe.
The devilish smile on my rescuer’s face belonged to none other than Ozrik Devereaux.