35. Ozrik #2
Once we were settled, Charles took to the front of the room and rubbed his hands together.
“What a season. I can’t express how excited I am to bring this show to an audience.
Today, it’s my privilege and honor to present you with an exclusive preview of the pilot episode of Stormz Rising that will air in three weeks.
No better way to draw in an audience than to open with a friendly competition.
“My goal with this program was to take the audience along on dangerous chases. I wanted them to feel like they were part of the action. At the same time, it was imperative that they build connections with you, the chasers. The more emotionally connected they become with the cast, the more intense the danger becomes. I wanted them to fear for your safety while also rooting for your success. Building that rapport meant giving the audience a peek into those intimate moments in your lives. Yes, you bitched and moaned about the camera crew and endless personal interviews, but I promise you, it was those stolen moments that gave the show its true character.”
I pressed my leg against Gale’s, and the corner of his lip twitched in acknowledgment. When Charles turned to his laptop and asked, “Are you ready for the preview?” I poked Gale in the shoulder, whispering, “Zap.”
He smothered a laugh and mouthed the word back.
“I can’t wait to go camping,” I said, leaning close and lowering my voice. “Starry nights and hot sex in a tent. No one for miles. Just you, me, and nature.”
“Shh. Watch.”
Charles got the show rolling. The screen lit up with the Stormz Rising intro we’d seen many weeks ago when first presented with this opportunity.
Vern beat his chest over the identical logo plastered to his shirt and coyote-howled until Maggie shut him up.
The words flashed with lightning across the screen, glowing and slowly fading as thunder rumbled. The image was replaced with a wide shot of Lex, sitting behind a computer, Doppler radar filling the screen, one of the storm cells we’d tracked back in April.
It was my voice that provided the narration. “You need a distinct recipe for a storm to produce a tornado, and we’ve decoded that recipe, so we know where to go.”
The image flipped to one of Olivia, scowling at angry, swirling clouds. Roe’s voice took over the narration, “Data will only get you so far. If you don’t learn to read the sky, you won’t have success.”
The video flipped through several more action shots of each of us, either reading data on a screen or examining the clouds. At the same time, another voice summarized what it meant to be a successful chaser.
Then it flipped to a personal interview. Mine. The one I’d recorded in Lex’s garage. The posed question had been edited out, but it wasn’t required to understand my answer.
“When I chased my first tornado, I did it on a freaking BMX.” As I spoke, my profile details appeared on the screen. Name: Osrik Devereaux. Age: Twenty-four years old. Born and raised in Elk City, Oklahoma. Experience: Nine years running down tornadoes.
The beginning of the show was much the same: snippets of pre-chase activity, then cutting to an individual profile where our initial experience was shared with the audience, and our details were displayed.
When it was Gale’s turn on screen, his tight voice stated, “This is my first season. I got dragged into it quite by accident.”
My boyfriend scowled at the TV and hissed, “They edited out the part where I said I didn’t want to do this and begged to be voted off.”
“Are you surprised?”
Sighing, he slumped in his seat. “No.” Shooting Charles a dirty look, he added, “Bastard.”
I chuckled but bit the inside of my cheek when Olivia shot me a dirty look.
Noah sat on my other side. He leaned in on occasion to comment on the videography.
He didn’t say anything I hadn’t already figured out.
As we suspected, Charles had taken full control of the narrative.
In less than ten minutes, it was clear that Twisted Fates had far more screen time and was favored over the Wind Riders.
Four weeks ago, it would have thrilled me. Today, it pissed me off.
As the first chase unfolded, showing the promising funnel that never produced and the Wind Rider’s complete disregard for Gale’s safety, Roe cursed under his breath. Guilt ate me up. I’d been so proud of that moment because I knew it would make them look bad, while Twisted Fates looked heroic.
I exchanged glances with Olivia, who grimaced and rolled her eyes with a shrug. It is what it is, she was saying. Nothing to be done now.
I wasn’t sure what to say. The truth was on the screen for all to see.
The Wind Riders had lost track of Gale, only realizing he was gone when it was nearly too late.
My rescue was enhanced by clever editing.
The danger all too acute. My race into the field.
A cut of Olivia and her team driving away.
Me forcing Gale into the bug. Scenes from inside the vehicle and Gale’s distress painted clear as day.
Charles had highlighted my care for his well-being in vibrant, glorious strokes, and although I was stoked with how it shone a brilliant light on my character, it felt unfair.
Charles hadn’t shown the audience that my team told Olivia to go for their safety, because their car wasn’t equipped to handle the storm the way ours was.
I was initially angry at her negligence, but in retrospect, we could have made the same mistake during such an intense moment. Considering Gale’s education, it wasn’t unreasonable for Olivia to figure he understood the dangers.
For a moment, I got caught up in memories. Of Gale’s nervous introduction. Of the spark of electricity that had jumped between us when we shook hands. Of him standing under a streetlight and staring forlornly at the sky.
I nudged his knee again, and we shared a smile.
The pilot episode was wrapping up, and as I digested what we’d seen, the previews for the next episode caught my attention.
A deluge of rain.
Flooded roads.
A downed tree over power lines.
Olivia’s team observing the mess as an electrical crew arrived.
Panoramic lightning strikes, forking and filling the sky.
My trek through a swamped road toward Gale’s Jeep.
Vern screaming at me to come back.
More lightning.
Enormous cracks of thunder.
Then… the final clip.
Gale in the passenger seat of the Jeep, his back pressed to the side door. Me, hovering over him, a hand on his face.
The look in his eyes.
The look in mine.
The kiss no one was supposed to see. The one I’d taken without permission.
My brain short-circuited as Gale’s entire body turned rigid.
How?
A hidden camera?
That didn’t make sense.
The angle was…
“No,” I whispered, realizing too late what I’d accidentally done.
I’d tossed my headcam on the dash.
I hadn’t turned it off.