Page 22

Lark

Somewhere in Rural Oklahoma

T he sky turned green.

Not gray. Not silver. Not stormy blue. Green .

And that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

Jake’s voice echoed through the SUV as we pulled off the road near a rundown gas station that looked like it hadn’t seen a customer since 1992. “Rotation’s accelerating. We’ve got a new cell forming west of us. That’s two on the ground now—maybe more.”

I wiped sweat from my temple and shoved open the passenger door. The air hit me like soup—thick, electric, wrong.

Tiff stood by the back of the truck, snapping clips onto her mobile weather rig. “That last funnel missed the town by a mile. This new one? Might not.”

“I need five minutes of video, then we’re gone,” Jake called out. “This one’s fast.”

The words hit me square in the gut.

Fast.

Too fast.

I set up my tripod on the edge of the lot, lens pointed toward the roiling cloud base just as the warning sirens began to wail—one long, haunting note across the empty town.

I reached for my phone. No bars. No Wi-Fi. No way to check in with Axel.

Come on, I muttered, stepping toward the edge of the road, arm raised to the sky like it would summon a signal. Nothing. Just static.

A flash of light split the sky. Thunder cracked a second later, deafening.

Jake cursed. “Debris signature confirmed! It’s on the ground!”

We turned—and there it was.

Massive. Black. Writhing. A wedge tornado chewing its way across the horizon like it had a vendetta.

“Back in the car!” Tiff yelled.

I hesitated. Just one more shot—

A burst of wind ripped the camera off the tripod and sent it skidding across the pavement.

I dove for it, heart hammering, barely catching it before it smashed into the curb. A flying sign clipped the edge of the gas station roof and shattered a window. The wind screamed.

Okay. Enough.

I ran.

Jake had the SUV already rolling when I jumped in, camera hugged tight to my chest, lungs on fire.

“We’ve got to outrun it,” he said. “It’s tracking northeast—cutting straight across 271.”

That was the highway we were on.

Panic flickered for a second.

But I bit it down.

“Floor it,” I snapped, bracing myself. “Let’s go.”

As the tornado loomed larger in the mirror, one thought burned into my brain like lightning:

Axel can’t know about this. Not until I’m back. Not until it’s over.