Ozrik
As we settled at the picnic table, I glanced around, seeking signs of Charles’s camera crew, but we seemed to have gotten lucky.
It was a matter of time before they found us.
With nine people, they couldn’t be everywhere at once.
I didn’t know what Roe was like, but Noah filmed with caution and care.
He wouldn’t consciously compromise someone’s privacy.
We had a moment’s peace, and I intended to take advantage of it.
The churning, angry sky drew Gale’s attention. He studied it as I unpacked the food containers. The wind ruffled his hair, and for a second, I thought I felt rain on my cheeks and paused. When I didn’t feel it again, I continued.
“The temperature is dropping,” Gale said as I slid a portion toward him.
As though in response, a distant rumble rolled across the city.
He pointed at the sky. “That way. See that formation? It looks promising.”
I did. Our time was running out.
“Better eat fast. I have a feeling we’re going to have to run soon.”
Gale checked inside the containers, and a soft smile turned his lips.
I silently cheered.
“I didn’t know what you liked. Is it okay?”
“It’s perfect. I love mac and cheese. And chicken.”
“And cobbler?”
“Even better.”
We shared a smile, and my heart fluttered. What was it about him?
Ignoring the plastic cutlery, Gale pulled strips of meat off his chicken and spread them on top of his mac and cheese. Thunder rumbled. I wanted to say something about the previous night, express my enjoyment, but I didn’t know how to bring it up and feared making him uncomfortable.
It was a living, breathing entity between us, a current of energy I couldn’t ignore. I loved chasing storms, but I wished to be anywhere else at that moment. With Gale. Alone.
Scrambling for conversation, I asked, “What are you reading?”
“Oh.” He softly laughed and ducked his chin, seeming embarrassed. “Um… Dickens. Bleak House. I like classics, but I’m not a pretentious snob. I swear.”
“I would never think that.”
“Olivia does.”
“I’m not Olivia. I’ve never read Dickens, but I hear he’s good. Didn’t he write A Christmas Carol?”
“He did.” Gale peeked up from under his lashes as he grabbed a plastic fork. “Do you read?”
“Not if I can help it.” My phone buzzed on the table beside me. I gave it a dirty look. “Correction. I read mostly horror. What do you call those bite-sized books? Is there a name for them? They’re only a few sentences long. Sometimes a paragraph.”
Gale frowned. “Do you mean microfiction?”
“That sounds right. I read serialized microfiction horror.”
Gale glanced at my phone and back, clearly confused.
I chuckled and scooped a bite of macaroni. “It gets delivered to my message inbox at random throughout the day.”
“Are you making a joke? I don’t understand.”
“Yes. Sort of.”
How could I explain my mother? I could joke with Vern, but Stella Devereaux was far more complex than even he understood.
In truth, her condition—if we were calling it that—wasn’t a laughing matter.
I loved her. I wanted her to get help. I didn’t want to be the source of Elk City rumors.
The pariah. The kid everyone whispered about.
Changing the subject, I asked, “Why Dickens?”
“I don’t know. I enjoy his prose and themes.
He writes a lot of social criticism and likes to explore poverty and social inequality in his work.
I read a lot of classics. Did a minor in English lit in college.
Bleak House is one of the few titles he’s written that I haven’t read, so I’m rectifying that.
It’s not an easy read, but I’m plugging my way through it. ”
“Spoken like a true pretentious snob.”
Gale sneered playfully, and I laughed.
It was the most he’d ever shared, and I soaked it up. “A minor in English lit, and here I skipped out on college. I didn’t know what to take. Nothing interested me. I feel inferior.”
Gale huffed. “Believe me. I’m the inferior one. I don’t have an ounce of personality. You’re…” He frowned at his chicken but couldn’t seem to find the word. Eventually, he settled for, “So much better.”
“I’m not. We’re different. You read classic novels when you aren’t taking pictures and studying weather patterns.
I feed stray cats and hang out at the Salty Orange, drinking watered-down soda.
If I’m lucky and Bobby’s got a crowd, he lets me earn a few bucks pouring drinks. I still live with my mother.”
“I still live with my dad.”
“But you have a degree and career opportunities. I don’t.”
Gale shrugged, not looking particularly enthused.
“What else do you enjoy?”
“Writing.”
“Oh? Microfiction by chance?”
He smirked. “No.”
“Horror?”
“Short stories mostly, and I journal.”
“What kind of short stories?”
“Speculative fiction. Some fantasy.”
Everything about Gale was solitary. Photography, reading, writing. I wondered whether he had friends and went out, or whether he’d always been reclusive.
The wind gusted. I nearly lost my drink but caught it before it toppled. Gale slapped a hand over the empty paper bag that had once contained our food. We both glanced skyward as another rumble of thunder rolled over us, louder than earlier.
“Do you feel it?” Gale asked.
“What?”
“The cold threads of air against your face. It’s like they’re woven into the warm air. Like they haven’t quite blended together yet.”
I focused my attention on the wind against my cheeks and felt it immediately.
Movement at the far side of the motel caught my eye. Vern emerged from the makeshift command center with Olivia at his side. The pair spotted us and hustled over. One of Charles’s camera people, Hugh, followed hot on their heels. So much for a private meal.
“Incoming.”
Gale shifted, following my gaze.
“We should take off,” Olivia announced once she was close enough to be heard over the rising wind. I didn’t miss the confused crinkle of her brow when she realized I was dining with her brother.
“We’ve got multiple supercells on the Doppler,” Vern said, “and alerts are popping up everywhere. If we don’t get out there, we’ll miss the show.”
“How are we dividing our groups?” I asked.
Vern glanced at Olivia. Her braid whipped around her face.
She displayed two plastic straws, one short and one long.
“Last two. Everyone else has already picked. Short means you’re with me.
Long means you’re with Lex.” She hid them in her hand and rolled them around each other a few times before presenting them for us to make a selection.
I motioned for Gale to do the honors, a little sad that we would be separated.
Gale shook his head. “I’m taking the Jeep.”
“No you aren’t. Pick one.” Olivia motioned at the straws. “The Jeep’s not a safe chase vehicle.”
“I don’t care. I’m going on my own. I’ll follow.”
“Gale, it’s not an option.”
The siblings exchanged a look: Olivia’s pinched with venom, Gale’s impassive and unwavering.
“It’s about aerodynamics, bud,” Vern said. “The Jeep is too high off the ground and prone to rolling. If we manage to get into the nitty-gritty of this storm, which is kind of the whole point, it’ll be a hazard.”
“Ten people in two vehicles is a hazard. I don’t want to be crowded. Either I take the Jeep, or I don’t go.”
“We’re only nine,” I said. Eyeing Hugh and the rolling camera, I reluctantly added, “Elliott isn’t coming until tomorrow.”
I didn’t miss Olivia’s smug expression. She would report to Charles the first chance she got, and we would be in shit.
Gale dug his heels in. “Nine is still too crowded.”
“It’s not,” Vern said. “Five in the bug and four in Olivia’s car. That’s normal distribution.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me.”
“Oh my god, Gale. Stop being difficult. Why do you always do this?” Olivia shook the straws at her brother.
Vern gave me a look of irritation.
Gale stood his ground.
Olivia rolled her eyes and lowered her arm. “Fine. Do what you want. I don’t care, but your Jeep will be a write-off if you roll it, and you can’t say you weren’t warned.”
Olivia displayed the straws so I could select one. “Pick. We have to go.”
“He can’t take the Jeep. Gale, you can’t—”
“You won’t change his mind,” Olivia said. “Pick a straw, Oz.”
I stared at Gale, who refused to meet my eyes. Hot pink circles bloomed on his cheeks, and I suspected it was more from embarrassment than the sudden chill in the air. Why was he so stubborn?
From the command center, Jazz yelled, “What the fuck is going on? Move your asses. We’ve got reports of a touchdown west of here.”
“Shit. Oz, pick a damn straw.”
I glanced at Hugh and the camera and considered the repercussions of what I was about to do. Oh well.
“No. We’ll take three vehicles, but not the Jeep.” I glared at Gale. “I’ll drive my car. It has a lower center of gravity. My tires aren’t great, but they’ll do. If you don’t want to be crowded, come with me.”
Vern flinched and gave me a quizzical look. I avoided eye contact. My best friend could read me too well, and I didn’t want him to say something inappropriate. Now wasn’t the time for explanations or confessions.
I glanced between Gale and Olivia to see if this was a suitable compromise.
Olivia’s dissecting gaze was that of a sister trying to figure out why I suddenly gave a shit about her hardheaded brother’s comfort. Based on her earlier comments, I suspected she didn’t trust me or my motives.
If she only knew.
Gale managed to look wretchedly uncomfortable. Instead of answering, he deferred to Olivia, which annoyed the fuck out of me. How was he both stubborn and submissive at the same time? And why?
Jazz approached with Roe and Maggie. Great, because we needed a bigger audience.
“Gale?” I whispered.
“I’m going with Ozrik,” he said to his sister.
“We have fucking tornadoes down,” Jazz shouted once the three had made it to us. “Did you not hear me? We’re wasting time.”
Jazz was about the most unlikable guy I’d ever met.
“What’s happening?” Maggie asked.