Vortex

by Kimberly Packard

  He hadn’t put the van into park before she was already out the door and sprinting toward her room.

  “Nim!” Her panicked shouts were contagious, he almost felt the fear himself.

  People crawled from the rubble. Their faces slack, dazed by the new reality facing them. Electricity sparked from the broken lines.

  Water poured from burst pipes. A woman tugged at a hastily packed suitcase with clothes caught in the clasp. The echo of sirens bounced around the destroyed motel, barely audible over the cries and screams for help.

  Elaina hesitated at her closed door, giving Tuck a chance to catch up.

  Her chest heaved. The pause at the door; it was all denial.

  He’d been there. Hell, he was there himself.

  Stepping through that threshold changed everything.

  “Why don’t you let me go first?” Tuck asked.

  She nodded and handed him the room key.

  The lock turned easily, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  He pushed again, but it was like trying to move a freight train. Tuck took a step back and looked up. Part of the concrete walkway from the second floor slanted down. Chances were, the other side of the door also had that same slant. “Elaina, wait back by the van.” He didn’t turn around to speak. Instead he kept his gaze on the precipitously balanced concrete above his head.

  “No, I have to be here—”

  “As soon as I get your dog, you’ll have him, but you’re not going to do him any good if you get yourself killed.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Now, git.”

  Elaina pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow. After a few seconds, she sighed and backed up. Not all the way to the van, but far enough back, if the roof caved she’d be clear.

  Tuck turned back to the door and gave it one more half-hearted push. Why the devil was he risking his life for some mongrel?

  Because there was more sorrow in those green eyes than he’d care to see for the rest of his life. Or, any lifetimes that came after that.

  “Hey pooch, you in here boy?” He put his ear against the door. There were so many sounds of despair it was hard to tell if Nimbus whined on the other side or not. He cupped his eyes and looked through the dirty window. The aluminum blinds clung to one side of the window, having given up on the other.

  The room was dark. Pink puffs of insulation hung down from the ceiling at the front of the room, confirming his suspicion that part of the ceiling caved in.

  Tuck moved, trying to get a better view of the room. The bed was still in the middle of the room, but the dresser that held the TV had scooted to the back of the room. Her clothes were strewn around; the bed, the floor, the lampshade. Somehow he thought that was more from Hurricane Elaina than the twister.

  He held his breath, waiting for any sign of canine life. Then he saw it. At first, he’d assumed it was the strap to a yellow bag sticking out from under the bed, but then it shook, twitched, a nervous, irregular wag.

  Of course, the dog would go straight under the bed to escape the storm.

  Damn, he’s alive.

  He pushed on the pane of glass and felt it wobble. Kicking down the door was out of the question. Tuck would have to go in through the window.

  A torn shower curtain hung out of the window a few doors down. He wrapped his fist in it, and pretending the glass was every bookie, loan shark and casino he owed money to; shattered it with one furious punch.

  His boots crunched on the broken glass when he stepped into her room. Water poured down in the far corner and the room hummed with electricity. It wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to deduce this was a stupid idea.

  Tuck whistled. “Nimbus, come on you mangy mutt before you get us both killed.”

  The dog’s tail stopped its erratic movement and then started wagging a more regular beat.

  “Come on boy, Elaina’s waiting on you.”

  The dog whined his response but didn’t move.

  He bent down, bracing his hand on the sopping wet carpet and looked under the bed. From what he could tell, the dog didn’t appear trapped. Tuck pulled his cellphone out and lit up the flashlight app.

  A coil from the mattress punctured the flesh above the dog’s shoulder. The only way to get him out would be to crawl under and free his caught coat.

  “Dammit dog, you got us both in a fine pickle.”

  He only needed to get his shoulders under the bed, so his belly wouldn’t have to worry about getting squished. Either by patience or shock, Nimbus sat perfectly still while pulled free.

  A quick check showed he wasn’t caught on anything else, but the dog still cried out when he pulled him from under the bed.

  “I know, buddy, sucks for me too.” Tuck heaved the big yellow Lab up into his arms and carried him to the window, bending over sharp shards of glass to set him on the other side while he climbed over.

  The dog looked up at him. His brown eyes full of appreciation and fear. He picked him up again and carried him free of the destroyed motel.

  Elaina stood by her truck, chewing on her fingernails. Relief loosened her face when she saw them coming. “Oh, Nimby.” Her voice was filled with a sob. “I’m so sorry.” She clutched his face, checking him for wounds and gasped when she saw the tear in his back.

  “I don’t think it’s deep, but you’ll want to get him to a vet,” Tuck said, still holding the dog. “Your truck drivable?”

  “Yeah, I think.”

  He gestured with his chin. “I’ll put him in there for you. Take him to the nearest vet, I gotta get back to my group.” Tuck gently laid the dog on the passenger seat.

  Nimbus looked up at him again, his mouth opened in a slight canine smile.

  “You’re welcome,” Tuck mumbled, one side of his mouth flinched into a grin.

  A glint of light caught his eye. A tarnished gold chain hung from her rearview mirror. At the end of it, a tiny ballerina twirled in midair. Like the tiny dancer he used to lift up, swing around in circles, her chubby legs kicking as if she could make him go faster. The only song they danced to was the music of her childish giggles.

  A cool hand on his forearm sucked him back to the present.

  “Thank you. For saving him. For saving me. I’ve lost so much, I couldn’t—” Elaina covered her mouth with her fist.

  Tuck grimaced, hoping she’d think it was sympathetic toward her instead of a side effect of the acid rising in his gut. “You take care of Nim. I’ll find out where they’re taking Heath and give you a call.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath and nodded.

  He watched her drive off. Her old pickup truck moved slow as it circumvented debris.

  When it was well out of sight, Tuck exhaled.

  Mother.

  Fucker.

  38

  She was never going to forget the smell. It hung thick in the over-air conditioned building, assaulted her nose, clung to her clothes. A sickening chemical odor to mask decay that was not-so-successfully covered up with a floral air freshener.

  Death reeked in a way that if she had food in her stomach, she would’ve puked it up all over the white tile floor.

  The Sheriff saved her from having to deliver the news to Chloe, but Elaina couldn’t hide from her forever.

  She dropped off Nimbus to a kind, older vet who promised her dog would be fine. All he needed was some stitches and a good once-over to make sure there were no internal injuries.

  The vet wanted to keep him for a couple of days, to administer some strong antibiotics, monitor him.

  Elaina had numbly agreed. She walked out of a vet clinic empty handed only to head to the morgue to meet her dead best friend’s fiancée.

  A cup of coffee appeared in front of her, attached to Tuck. The man followed through with everything he’d promised. He’d saved Nim, texted her with the address to the morgue and showed up as soon as his tour group had dispersed, safe and with a healthy dose of fear.

  “Thanks.” She pushed her elbows off her thighs, trying to get as vertic
al as possible.

  The older guy eased himself into the chair beside her. “The coroner said it’s likely he didn’t feel any pain. It severed his spine. He probably didn’t even know what happened.”

  She sighed. Heath might not have felt physical pain, but her friend very definitely knew what’d happened. What had caused it, too.

  Who had caused it.

  Her phone buzzed in her hands. Seth. She sent it to voicemail. With all the other missed calls from him. He was just calling to check in on her. She’d been relieved when she’d gotten his first message. To hear his voice and know that he’d made it through the outbreak in one piece. Alive.

  This time he didn’t leave a voicemail, but a text message popped up instead.

  Really worried. Rumors a chaser was killed. Please respond.

  Elaina closed her eyes and banged her head on the wall behind her. The last thing she needed was Seth holding up a mirror, showing her how awful she already knew she was.

  Her phone buzzed again.

  Before I make an ass out of myself at the hospitals.

  She felt the sides of her mouth spasm, as if they wanted to pull into a smile, but the rest of her body shut them down.

  Later she’d respond. After Chloe.

  When her self-worth was so low that cheap tequila was too good for it.

  Then again, when he hears she’d caused Heath’s death, he’d want nothing to do with her. She’d rank right up there with that redhead.

  Been in worse company.

  “You know, I never asked where you grew up,” Tuck said, crossing an ankle over the other knee and resting his coffee on his belly.

  “Small town, Oklahoma panhandle.” Her words felt robotic exiting her mouth. “You’ve never heard of it.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He took a sip of coffee. “How did you end up in this field? Your momma or daddy storm chasers?”

  Her mom. Her moms.

  The one who’d raised her. Who, because of her prodding, was lying in a hospital in another state. The other mom, the one who’d given birth to her. Lost somewhere in Elaina’s mind.

  “My mom was a nurse, but now she just farms and ranches.”

  “What about your daddy?”

  Elaina shrugged one shoulder. “Sure I’ve got one, but I was adopted. Single mom.”

  Tuck ahhed next to her. Slurping at his coffee.

  She glanced at him. His shoulder length hair hung in stringy curls and the hair on his cheeks was almost as filled in as his goatee. She rested a hand on his arm, halting the sip he was about to take.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t meant to sound short. I owe you so much right now.”

  His steel-blue eyes froze, his mouth slightly agape. Tuck almost looked scared of her. Maybe she was as awful as she thought.

  “Think nothing of it, kiddo. I’m just trying to take your mind off—”

  The opening automatic doors cut him off. Heath’s bereaved fiancée jogged in, Harry following close behind her. From the way Chloe was dressed, she’d left straight from the clinic. Even still wearing her white doctor’s coat.

  Elaina stood, dropping her arms, ready to give her friend a hug or block a punch. Whichever was coming.

  “Where is he?” The woman’s blonde updo hung mostly down. Her nose was rubbed red, her skin pale. Chloe’s eyes roamed around the empty hallway, narrowing when they settled on Elaina. “You did this.” Her voice was low, tight with anger. “You put him in this situation, you convinced him to abandon Dr. Pierce, you manipulated him into working with someone he didn’t trust.” Her gaze flashed above her head. “You can bet there’s a wrongful death suit coming.”

  “Chloe, I’m, I’m—” Elaina stammered. Sorry was such a weak word.

  “Save it, Elaina. This has always been about you. About your career, about whatever’s going on in your fucked up brain. Yeah, Harry told me. What were you thinking? You’re more than unfit for field work.” Heath’s fiancée broke down crying, her arms wrapped around her waist.

  Was she imagining Heath holding her? Wanting him to tell her it would all be okay?

  She stepped forward, reaching out to the woman, but Chloe drew back, as if afraid of the Elaina’s leprosy.

  “Don’t. You. Touch me,” she hissed.

  Harry stepped between them. “Right. Elaina, I think it’s best you leave.”

  “Chloe, please listen,” she pleaded. Listen to what? She had no justifications. Her friend—former friend—was right on every accusation.

  A big hand gripped her elbow, tugging her gently. “Come on. You’ve done all you can. Let’s go.”

  She turned, her mouth opening to argue, but a quick shake of Tuck’s head told her it wasn’t worth it.

  Elaina glanced back over her shoulder, but Chloe had turned her back away. Just like how she’d turned her back on Heath and didn’t see the second tornado touching down.

  Until it was too late.

  Tuck led her out of the building. It was dark, the front moved through taking with it all the clouds, leaving only a canopy of brilliant stars. “Let’s get you some food.”

  She let him lead her to his van. “Not hungry.”

  “Fine, you can watch me eat.”

  They stayed silent until they were snuggled into a booth at a chain restaurant one could count on to be at every interstate exit.

  When the waitress asked for their drink order, Elaina’s brain wanted whatever was the strongest liquor the bar stocked, but her mouth said iced tea. That was fine; her brain had made enough mistakes lately. It was time to let some other body part be in charge.

  She didn’t remember ordering food. Maybe she had, or maybe Tuck had taken the liberty to get her a burger and fries.

  Time skipped ahead and suddenly the waitress placed a piping hot plate in front of her. It repelled her. Enticed her. Her stomach begged for it, but it also warned her she might be seeing it again.

  “She spoke out of grief,” Tuck said through a mouthful of food. “Give her a few days.”

  “Chloe couldn’t be more right.” Elaina dipped a fry into ketchup, but it looked like the bloody wooden stake through her best friend and she tossed it aside. She’d never look at ketchup and fries the same way again.

  “Sure, you’re a bit ambitious…”

  “It’s more than that.”

  He chewed another huge bite, studying her as his jowls worked over his burger. “That part about your head? Well, that’s just…that’s just pain.”

  She threw her napkin over her food and pushed it aside. “That’s the part she’s most right about.”

  The man reached for his tea, sipping through the straw, his gaze never leaving her face.

  Elaina twisted the paper from her straw around her finger, pulling so tight the tip turned white. She couldn’t bear another person looking at her as if she was crazy, but with Heath gone, Nim being cared for and Seth…she could talk to him, but he wouldn’t be able to relate to what she was going through. Everything in his life was perfect. Perfect career, perfect purpose, perfect hair.

  Tuck, he could understand. It was written all over him. Life had knocked him around, sucker punched him, pushed him down, and yet he kept standing up, coming back for more when he probably should’ve stayed down.

  That was who Elaina was. Someone stubborn enough to ignore every sign of defeat until the sign was sticking through her research partner.

  Her gaze flitted from her cold, untouched dinner to the man sitting across from her. She took a deep breath, holding it in until she was sure she could speak. “Have you ever heard of a drug called Rententamine?”

  Tuck pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Is that what kids are doing these days?”

  “No, it’s what doctors give to people suffering extreme PTSD to help them re-write memories. It’s not perfect, and I don’t know this for a fact, but I’m pretty sure I was given it as a child.”

  He tossed his own napkin over his empty plate and leaned forward on his elbows. “What
do you mean?”

  “A few months ago, at the start of the season, I got too close to a tornado. Except, I didn’t see the storm, I was inside rubble and saw the face of a man rescuing me.” Her mouth went dry and she sipped on her nearly empty tea. “When I asked my mom about it, the woman who raised me…” Elaina took a deep breath. “She had a stroke before she could answer, and she’s been in a coma since.” A rogue tear slipped down her cheek. She sniffed, wiped it away and looked out over the mostly empty restaurant.

  How many fellow diners had caused one person’s death, another person to have a stroke and nearly got her dog killed? Elaina no doubt took the gold medal in the death and destruction category.

  When she turned back to Tuck, his face was unreadable. His eyes were narrowed, hard; his mouth moved, like he chewed on his tongue or an imaginary toothpick. “What did you see today?” His words were laced with a seriousness she’d never heard before.

  “My mom. My real mom, she looked like me. I was running, down a street in the rain. To get help.” She wasn’t looking at him when she spoke; Elaina went back to that place in her head, the field with the tornado-fueled vision.

  Tuck stared at her for several seconds before whistling for the waitress to bring their check. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “You know, Elaina, not all of us have what it takes to be out in the field.” He peeled off bills as he spoke. “Not everyone has the temperament, the nerves to handle the storms. Maybe it’s best you stay indoors, behind a computer.” He stood and started for the door. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your truck.”

  Elaina sat there, silently cursing herself for sharing her darkest secret with the last person who didn’t think she was crazy.

  39

  It was a gorgeous day for a funeral. Which felt wrong.

  Sunny days with low humidity and perfect seventy degree temperature weren’t made for saying goodbye to her best friend.

  They were made for playing in the park with her dog. They were made for sitting at an outdoor cafe sipping lattes and going over data with Heath. They were made for planting seeds and pulling up weeds with her mom.