by Lara Zielin
I wipe the tears off my cheeks and take a breath. “I don’t know how this is going to work,” I say. “I don’t know how to not be in the twister without you. But I have to try.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mom asks. She takes a long swallow of her drink, clutching her glass like she might get blown away if she lets go of it. “English, please.”
“It’s the vortex game. You and me. We’re in a twister. And only one of us gets to survive. Who is it?”
My mom glances at the cash, still in my hand. Her eyes narrow as her brain tries to wrap itself around what I’m saying. “You telling me you’re headed to a chase right now? With all that money?”
“No. I’m trying to explain how the vortex game works.”
She takes the cash from me. “You know who survives? The one who understands exactly what to do when the chips are down. That would be me. I’m cut out for this survival stuff, Janey. But you? The world is going to eat you alive. Without me, you think you can survive but you can’t. Hear me? You can’t.”
She might be right. I might die, tumbling out of the twister like this. But there’s no life left for me if I stay in the swirling chaos either.
I move toward the door. I’m so weighted, it’s hard to put one step in front of the other. I swear there are stones in my blood. I will my hair to become steel shavings, my bones to become metal rods. I am the heaviest human being who ever lived, and the tornado can’t hold me.
“You’re stuck with me,” Mom says. “You can’t leave me.”
“I can,” I say, even though my tongue is copper. “I have to go.”
Although I’m slow, Mom doesn’t try to stop me. She just stands there with her drink in one hand, the cash in the other.
“So that’s it?” she asks. “Because don’t think for one hot second you can walk out that door, then come back and live with me.”
I turn the door handle. My mom throws her plastic cup at me. Wine splatters on the wall, on my clothes. It reminds me of the blood on Cat’s white floor after the accident. I can feel the glass, all over again—only this time in my heart, not my face, slicing my arteries and ventricles into pieces. “You can’t go!”
For a second, I think she’s right. I’ve made myself too heavy. I am going to be stuck here, forever, trapped in this motel room with Mom. But then the door is open, and it’s a little easier to move again. I’m weighted, but I’m not broken.
“Bye, Mom,” I whisper.
With my iron hand, I close the door to 211 behind me, and exit the Super 8.
29
The farther away I get from the Super 8, the lighter I become. But my heart is still shredded, and my veins feel like they’re still pumping shavings.
I drive along the highway, glancing at the atlas and trying to remember how to get back to Shawnee. I’m behind the storm, tailing it, and I know that if the Torbros were here, they’d be screaming with excitement at the nearby wall cloud that’s getting lower and lower.
But they’re not here. Thanks to me.
Tears course down my cheeks, and I wipe them away so I can still see the road. What a disaster.
I wonder if Ethan will ever forgive me.
More than that, I wonder if Ethan will still want me to come live with him.
That idea that the answer might be no clutches at my ragged heart.
I look to the right and spot a long line of weather tourist vans parked hood to bumper, watching the nearby wall cloud blacken and churn. There’s no funnel cloud yet, but I’m betting there will be soon.
An idea sparks just as the exit ramp appears. I signal and pull off the highway, my heart racing.
I might have screwed up the Torbros’ chase, but I can still help them. Polly is still in the back, and if I’m careful, I bet I can put her right in the middle of the storm and get amazing data. She’ll get all kinds of new information before the Blisters can build their own prototype and scoop us. If I come back with a hard drive full of new numbers, Ethan can’t stay mad. We’ll make a clean start toward . . . wherever it is we go from here.
I race past the tourist vans, who honk at me. They might be afraid to get too close, but I’m not. I’m getting close enough to make this right. As if on cue, a funnel cloud starts spinning. And at the same time, my phone buzzes. I yank it out of my pocket and put it on speaker so I can keep both hands on the wheel.
“Jane!” It’s my brother again. “Stop the fucking van right now. I can’t believe you and Mom left the Super 8.”
“Not Mom,” I say. “Just me.”
“What the hell? You’re alone?”
I was alone, all right—big time. “Yes.”
Ethan’s silent for a second. “Jane, where are you going?”
“Up to the storm. Looks like there’s a funnel about a mile ahead.” Cars going the other way down the road are flashing their lights at me, but I keep driving.
“Okay,” Ethan says, and I can hear him trying to control his tone. “I need you to pull the van over right now. We’re behind you, and we can see you on the GPS, but you need to stop driving. Now. Do you understand?”
“I will. I’ll stop, Ethan, I swear. But right now, I have to get Polly out there so she can collect all that data you need. So I can make all this up to you.”
“Polly? What the hell are you talking about? Jane, don’t touch Polly. Just stop the van. Look, I’m not mad. Okay? If I promise you I’m not mad, will you stop?”
I shake my head. “No. I have to do this.”
“Jesus, Jane. What the hell happened with Mom? Did you snap or something?”
“No, of course not.” There’s a roar in my ears, and I realize it’s the storm. I’m awfully close.
There’s a fumbling sound, then a pause. I hear a breath. “Jane, this is Max.”
I lift my foot off the accelerator just a touch. “Max,” I say. I can’t slog through the logic of any of this. “Why are you on Ethan’s phone?”
“The Torbros called us when their van went missing. And now we’re chasing you.”
“Oh.” I slow way down, in part to concentrate on Max, and in part because there’s a road to my right that looks like it might take me closer to the funnel.
“Why are you talking to me?” I ask.
“Because I’m trying to help you,” Max replies. “You need some major, supercell-sized help right now.”
My blood heats up. “Why are you trying to save the day when you were the one who told Alex what I said about Victor?”
“Except I didn’t. The Weather Network was recording us by the pool without us knowing. I never said jack. They just showed their dailies to Alex.”
The van inches along. “The Weather Network?” I ask. “They were filming us?”
“Yeah. I think we gave them quite a show. If you come home, we can watch the footage together. Laugh about it until we decide to rip Alex Atkins’s head off.”
It strikes me then that he might be lying. He might be telling me all this just to get me to stop the van.
I stare down the road to my right. “I can see it now,” I say to Max. “The twister, I mean.” My hands are shaking so much, I can hardly grip the steering wheel. “It looks different this close. Not really as defined. Less like a funnel and more like if someone stuck gauze in a blender.”
Max lowers his voice. “God, Jane. You’re really close. Please stop, okay? Stop the van.”
I’m trying to follow along. He’s right. I need to stop the van to get Polly out into the field so she can take readings. “Okay,” I say. “I have to hang up now, but I’ll call you back.”
Max’s words tumble out, fast and loud. “Wait! Jane. Don’t hang up! Do not do this. You are going to get seriously hurt. Look, we’re only a couple minutes behind you. Stay in the van, and we’ll be right there.”
I want to point out that I can’t. I’ve come this far—I might as well finish the job. But I don’t get the chance. Our signal is gone. I need to get Polly into the field ASAP, so I turn d
own the road to my right, and panic only a little when I realize it’s dirt. And it’s started to rain. I force myself to press down on the accelerator.
I can see the filmy chaos of the tornado’s base up ahead. I put the van in park, and open the door, except I can’t open it because the wind is too ferocious. I kick at it with my feet and, after a few seconds of grunting, the door catches the wind and almost flies off its hinges. It groans and creaks. The minute I step out of the van, the wind pushes me into the mud.
I crawl toward the back of the van, desperate to unload Polly. I feel the wind tearing up the sleeves of my shirt, feel flecks of dirt stinging my face, the wind turning them into tiny projectiles. I clutch at the van’s rear tire. But at the same time, I turn my head and stare at the screaming haze. Just a few yards in the opposite direction, and I’d be there. I’d be right there at the tornado’s edge, and I could let go. I’m not heavy anymore. I’m just Jane. I’m all alone, and I’m not playing the vortex game.
Maybe it’s time to know what it feels like to get sucked into the sky. I imagine the spinning, the flailing, the total lack of control. It would be such a relief, I think, after having to make myself so very weighted.
In the wind, I hear a cry. “Don’t move!”
I raise my head, and there’s Ethan. His eyes are huge and afraid, and he’s crawling toward me. “Just stay there!” he yells. “I’m coming for you!”
A few yards behind Ethan, Max is struggling in the ferocious air. Behind Max is Hallie. I think I can make out Mason and Stephen. The entire team is out in the storm, trying to save me.
And then it hits me. The reckless, insane enormity of what I’m doing out here comes crashing down on me so hard, I lose my breath. I might die. Ethan might die. The entire Torbros team might die, plus Max. And not by accident, like what happened with Victor steering them too close to a funnel. But on purpose because I barreled headlong into the wind like the most selfish, reckless person who ever lived.
I’m a shaking mess when Ethan finally reaches me. “Listen to me!” he yells. “We have to move! Do you understand?” I nod, figuring we’re going to run away from the van, but instead he pushes me toward it. He all but shoves me into the open door that looks like it might come sailing off its hinges at any second. I climb into the van just as glass from the windshield and side doors shatters and hits me. I scream and cover my face. Glass is everywhere. Just like with Cat. Just like with Victor. If anything flies through the window now, I’ll be dead.
Waving frantically at everyone else to get back into the Blisters’ Escalade, Ethan throws himself inside our van behind me. He doesn’t even try to shut the door. A log the length of a canoe goes sailing past the hood. A few more feet, and it would have hit the van, probably killing us. “Go!” I holler. “Drive!” Ethan starts the engine and throws the van in reverse. He looks at me, and his mouth is moving, but I don’t hear the sound above the wind. Which is fine with me. As long as I hear the roar, I’m alive. When everything goes quiet, then we’re really going to be in trouble.
When there’s only silence, I’ll be dead.
30
The tornado’s shrieking all around us as we fishtail down the dirt road in reverse. We slide and slip, the sloppy mess eating away at our traction. Ethan’s hands are locked on the steering wheel.
My insides liquefy as metal screeches above us. It’s the scream of wounded animals. The next thing I know, one of the antennae from the van’s roof is tumbling past us, bent to hell. A sharp wind gust sends dirt and leaves flying into the van, and I swat at them just so I can see. “We’re almost there!” Ethan shouts.
We hit the paved road with a bump that sends me flying out of my seat. I grab on to Ethan as he whips the van around, then throws it into drive. The engine roars as we take off ahead of the twister. I watch through the cracked rear windshield as the twister grows smaller and smaller. I don’t turn around until it’s disappeared entirely.
Two miles later, we pull the van over behind the Blisters’ black Escalade, which looks more gray than anything now, thanks to the thick coating of mud it’s wearing. The tornado has petered out, and the sky is opening up. Golden rays from the evening sun are pouring through the patchy clouds.
Ethan turns to me. He has mud and leaves and sticks in his hair. His clothes are ripped in places. His face is six shades darker thanks to all the dirt. And his door is still open.
I expect him to open his mouth and start yelling at me, lecturing me about the horrible, dangerous, reckless, insane thing I just did. But instead, he just bursts into tears.
My brother. Is crying.
I’ve barely ever seen him sad, much less teary.
Within seconds, I’m sobbing too. Ethan reaches out and gathers me into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he cries into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for all of this. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t. I let you down. And I was such a jerk, not going with you to see Mom.” Ethan pulls away, and there are white tear stains tracked through the dirt on his face. “Jane, I’m so sorry I made you feel like the only option you had was to face down a tornado. That I made you think that’s all there was.”
I shake my head. Why is Ethan apologizing? “No, no. I’m the one who screwed everything up. I just—I stopped thinking. The only thing that made sense was getting Polly close to the twister. But then you showed up. I would have died, and I don’t even think I realized I was in such a horrible place. You . . . you saved my life.”
Ethan wipes his face with his T-shirt sleeve, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you. I just wanted you to have a better life. From the minute I left, it tore me up me to know you were stuck back in that piece-of-shit apartment with Mom. I’ve always wanted you down here, and I still do.”
Ethan’s eyes are bloodshot and pained.
“Even after what I just did? You still want me?”
Ethan nods and gives me another hug. “It just shows me how much you need me. And how much I need you. Our family’s pretty fucked up, Jane. I gotta say. But I think, maybe if you and I stick by each other and help each other out, we’ll be okay.”
I reach into the glove box for some napkins to blow my nose. I hand the remainder to Ethan so he can do the same.
“We just hired Max, by the way,” Ethan says after a minute.
“What?”
“He took that Twister Blisters’ Escalade without authorization. Just like you took our van without authorization. He heard us over the CB radioing in our situation, and then he basically heard Alex Atkins tell us to go fuck ourselves. Max didn’t like that option. So he did what you did. He stole the keys, got the SUV, and came to get us.”
I start at the realization that Max just threw away his Twister Blisters internship to save me. “He says we were taped,” I say. “That he never told Alex about Victor. The Weather Network crew did.”
Ethan nods. “Yeah. Max says it took him a while to figure out what Alex had said to you, that he played it like Max was in on the whole thing. But he wasn’t.”
“You believe him?” I ask.
“I’m not sure it matters what I believe,” Ethan says. “I think it matters what you believe.”
“I don’t know.” This all seems like a lot after we’ve just survived a tornado. And besides, even if I did decide that Max was telling the truth, there’s still the sticky matter of what happens with us after the season wraps.
“Jane,” Ethan says, like he knows what I’m thinking, “I’m no expert here. But I think any guy who risks his life to help save you might be worth taking a chance on. You don’t have to figure it all out now. You don’t have to know how the story ends. But you might have to give it a chance to unfold.”
I nod, hoping I haven’t screwed everything up beyond repair. “Unless Max thinks I’m completely out of my mind.”
“Well, what you did just now sure was five shades of batshit crazy,” Ethan says. “You need therapy, Jane. Like, for real. It will do you a lot of good to talk
to someone.”
I look at the floor mats until Ethan grabs my chin and directs my gaze at him. “I think I could use some myself, so I’ll make you a deal. How about we go together for the first few sessions?”
Somehow, facing counseling with Ethan makes it seem less scary. Maybe I wasn’t ready to tackle all the demons myself, but between the two of us, we could slay a few together.
“Okay,” I say. “I can deal with that.”
Ethan smiles. “For what it’s worth, I think psychiatrists know that everyone who hunts storms is a little crazy. Maybe all the Torbros should go, huh? Find out what we’re all chasing in our subconscious.”
Tears spill out of my eyes all over again. “God. The team. Do they hate me?”
Ethan grabs my hand. “Jane. They just braved what I’m guessing was an EF-3 to save you. They’re family. Same as me. That’s how it is with chasers. We go into the storms with each other. For each other. Yeah, we fight. Yeah, we piss each other off too. But that’s what happens with families. The difference between the Torbros and what you’re used to is that the responsibility for fixing a situation doesn’t fall entirely to you. People who really have your back might let things get messy for a while, but not for too long. People who really care about you will help mend fences. They’ll get in the dirt with you. The thing is, you gotta let ’em help when they show up.”
I nod, thinking about slamming the door in Hallie’s face the other night at the hotel. Next time, I think, I’ll let her in.
At the sound of approaching voices, Ethan jumps out his still-open van door, and I do the same. The Torbros—plus Max—are running toward us. The whole lot of us are muddy, cut, ripped, and bruised, but it doesn’t matter. The next thing I know, we’re clasped together, a sea of bodies and arms, and I’m smack in the middle of it.
It’s an EF-5-sized group hug, and nothing in the whole world has felt as good as this.
31