The Twister

When Dylan and Veronica went on vacation, they chose to go storm-chasing in Tornado Alley, which is probably the most unlikely place one would go for such a getaway.  They preferred the excitement of danger to the enchantment of the tropics or luxurious cruises.  Their philosophy was that if nothing ever threatened their lives, then it wasn’t truly an adventure they were on.  Driving into the heart of storm country was the ultimate vacation for them, for the thrill of the chase, and being chased, eclipsed any sense of enjoyment brought about by relaxation and safety.  Safety was boring and they couldn’t tell stories about it to their loved ones when they returned home.  All they could do was glam up the scene by involving abstract details to create a vision of paradise for their listeners.  Paradise wasn’t as memorable or exciting as the pitfalls of perdition.  If they really wanted to open people’s eyes in awe, they had to tell a thrilling blockbuster involving their courage in the face of adversity.    
    Dylan had an aunt named Macy who lived on a farm in southern Kansas.  She let them stay there while they went off to watch the storms during the day.  On the first morning, she made what turned out to be the best breakfast either of them had ever had, sending their palates into joyful celebrations of satiety.  They mouthed down mountains of pancakes topped with maple syrup rich as hot fudge.  Avalanches of blueberries fell off the sides, swimming in the syrup like bees in honey.  Dishes of sugar-powdered French toast decorated with freshly cut strawberries and whipped cream sat by their sides like snow-capped foothills.  Sausages, scrambled eggs and hash browns were also served, all so ripe that they’d seemed to come right off the farm.  Glasses of milk and apple juice reflected the morning sunlight that ached to have a taste of Aunt Macy’s breakfast of its own.  Cows mooed, roosters cawed, and bugles echoed off the edges of barns, announcing that another day was imminent.  
    In the afternoon the land would heat up and levitate the vapor that covered it into thermodynamic tyrants.  Anvils of impeding chaos created black tapestries in the western sky as they slowly moved their way eastward across Tornado Alley.  Dylan’s van was a mobile meteorologist’s laboratory; computers lined the walls, feeding off the data from various equipment like GPS, XM Satellite, Ham & NOAA radio.  Cameras and tripods leaned against one corner of the van; walkie-talkies, manuals, and atlases were shelved on another.  It had cost him a fortune to get the van fully operational for storm chasing activities.  He’d received a grant to research tornadoes in the Midwest from the Department of Atmospheric Science at the University of Washington, both for his skills in research as a student and for his talent in photography, but it still wasn’t enough money to fully fund the trip.       
    Even in the 21st century tornadoes remain a mystery to us.  Where, why, and how they form is still as unpredictable as a favored baseball team winning the World Series.  With more research we can better predict where they are heading in order to save more lives, and this was the motivation behind Dylan’s research.  But thrills and research weren’t the only things that had brought him to the dead-land of civilization.  The sheer beauty of a thunderstorm’s formation and its destructive symptoms, such as lightning, also called at him to witness the pinnacle of nature’s discontent.     
    Evenings on the farm were quiet with the small of jasmine wafting in off the windward garden.  The sound of storms rumbled off in the distance, departing for the horizon where Missouri lay in their shadows.  When the stars came out, Veronica liked to go for walks in the field and listen to crickets chattering amongst the constellations.  In the field there was a clearing where she’d lay with Dylan watching the stars.  She liked to kiss and fondle him as a reward for surviving another day on the chase. 
    On the fourth day the storms were more ferocious than usual.  Dylan wanted to call off the chase, but Veronica persuaded him to push on, saying that he’d get the best data and photographs if the storms were more intense.  Most amateur chasers wouldn’t dare approach such supercells as the ones they saw that day, not without an expert.  Atmospheric juice like this was rare, and if he didn’t want to get caught in a whirlwind, his instincts would have to be in their finest shape.    
    He checked the HR Nexrad radar and scanned the horizon to south, which had sported a healthy front that was billowing up what looked like bituminous coals from the depths of the plain, which were steadfast approaching from the border of Oklahoma.  The computer models indicated increasing updrafts and strong amounts of moisture down there, where a wall of cells had gained strength through the course of the afternoon.  There she is honey.  She’s harmless now, but inside she’s boilin’ up a soup like no other. 
    Heading south on 77 they were greeted by a demonic heathen of a cloud from the stratosphere draining a cavity out of its cumulonimbus vapor.  Crosswinds that intersected the updrafts were picking up in velocity, putting the anemometer on top of their vehicle into a spinning frenzy.  Light rain falling from the sky had suddenly transformed into hailstones the size of marbles.  They assaulted the truck, beating it with drums of rage on the windshield.  In the heart of the front, a funnel took shape that resembled the jaws of Satan and bore the color of emptiness.  From its orifice there materialized a stream of etheric dust taken from the land, brazen by the wind-scapes below.  The tornado had taken form more quickly than any Dylan had ever seen, and as he watched it his mouth gaped in awe as it extended from the cloud down to the ground.  
    He went fumbling in the back of the van for his camera, despite protests from his girlfriend.  Are you insane!?  Let’s get out of here!  Dylan took two photos of the spinning marvel and wiped beads of sweat off his forehead.  It’s going to be an F5 baby, an F5!  The blades of a windmill bounced by them on the road, nearly gutting a wheel on the van.  He took a deep breath and started to think she was right.  To witness the formation of an F5 tornado was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but it sure was better to wake up safely back at the house than out in the fields with missing body parts and a mound of debris piled on top of them. 
    The van didn’t start and Veronica screamed.  Doubling her stress was the course of the tornado; it had shifted direction and was heading straight for them.  Not only that, but it had gained in size to nearly a half a mile in width.  Weeds blasted by the windows; scraps of hay dematerialized in thin air.  Lightning struck somewhere nearby- its location impossible to detect- and the impeding thunder deafened them in milliseconds.  Gusts of wind rattled the van, strong enough to move it a few inches.  Dylan looked up and saw the anemometer fly off the top of the vehicle, as if it had been but a pinecone in a light breeze.  Again he put the key in the ignition.  Start, you defective sack of shit, start! 
    The ghostly face of a man suddenly appeared outside Dylan’s window, hollering at them  to get out.  Veronica glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed that a truck had pulled up behind them.  The couple quickly abandoned the vehicle without saving any of their equipment, because they knew that any delay could mean the difference between life and death.  The only thing Dylan salvaged was his camera, which he shielded from the elements with his leather coat.  They got in the stranger’s truck and he drove them away from the twister as fast as he could. 
    What in God’s great gullet were you two doing back there!?, screamed the man.  Next to him was seated an unassuming Asian woman, who looked back at them and welcomed them aboard, as if it nothing serious had just happened.  Dylan thanked them both and looked out the back window, where the F5 has gained full strength.  The body of the twister had bulged to nearly a mile in diameter, and the mesmerized spectators could only watch it in wonder.  The van was lifted off the ground and swung around on its axis, as if it were a planet in orbit.  Then it sailed off into oblivion behind the storm.  Dylan may not have been crushed by the tornado, but inside he’d been mangled by it.  With the van went his life, ambitions, and dreams, all vanishing into the sky in the blink of an eye.  Not only would his sponsors never trust his judgment with their expensive equipment again, but years of his atmospheric research had been lost. 
    The brave student held his fiancé in his arms, and together they wept.