The Stormchasers: A Novel (13 page)

The dashboard clock says six fifteen P.M. Kevin is in the driver’s seat, his door open, tapping on a laptop.

“Good morning, Laredo,” he says.

“Morning,” says Karena. She wipes her mouth and looks at her hand with disgust.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Badlands,” says Kevin.

“The Badlands!” Karena repeats. “Goodness. I have been sleeping a long time.”

She steps out of the Jeep, and a hot wind like the blast from a hair dryer evaporates her perspiration instantly. A yard from where she is standing, the road drops off and a canyon begins, stretching to the horizon and filled with rock spires. The shapes are fantastic, turrets and spikes, and the colors amazing: red, rust, purple, gold. But at Karena’s back, there’s an entirely different ecosystem, grassland punctuated by mesas. Prairie dogs poke from invisible holes to regard Karena with their bright, somber preacher’s eyes, then vanish to pop up again somewhere else. Like a Whack-a-Mole game, Karena thinks.

She surveys the canyon, feeling a little sad. They were meant to come here once on a road trip, her family. To find the place in South Dakota where the pioneer Hallingdahls had their homestead, then drive through the Badlands to Mount Rushmore. But before they even made it over the state line Charles got wild in an A&W, pitching a fit when he didn’t get a second root beer float and running round and round the tables with Siri chasing him, and they had to turn back and go home. The twins were ten then.

On the shoulder in front of the Jeep the White Whale is empty. “Where is everyone?” Karena asks.

“Down there somewhere. Sunset photo hike.”

Karena shades her eyes. It will be a beautiful evening. The sky is a clear, ringing blue.

“So what happened to our storms?” she says, walking back to the Jeep and leaning against Kevin’s door.

“Busted,” says Kevin, without looking up from the laptop. “No soup for us. This is what we call a blue-sky bust, Laredo. The cap was too strong. It didn’t break.”

“Wait, hold on,” says Karena and takes her recorder from her pocket. “Blue-sky bust,” she says into it, “soupcap,” and then she asks Kevin, “Do you mind going on the record?”

“Not at all,” says Kevin. He bends toward the recorder and says, “Kevin Wiebke here, stormchaser and underwear model. What did you want to know?”

Karena snorts. She can’t help it. “So, Mr. Wiebke, our storms today have not cooperated. What about tomorrow?”

“Well, funny you should ask, Laredo,” says Kevin, turning the laptop toward Karena, “because tomorrow looks very good. I’m very optimistic. See this area here, over north-central South Dakota?”

Karena leans in farther to look at the area Kevin is describing. The Storm Prediction Center is showing a fried-egg shape over the Dakotas, the white outlined in green, the yolk in red. In the center of the yolk is the abbreviation MDT.

“That means moderate risk of severe weather,” says Kevin. “Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But it’s unusual for them to issue a moderate the day before. It means they’re pretty sure something’s going to go up. And look at this,” he continues, clicking on the tornado link. “Fortyfive percent probability is impressive, usually means significant, long-lived tornadoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got upgraded to a high risk by morning.”

“That’s good, right?” Karena says. “I mean, depending who you ask.”

“Indeed, Laredo. It means we could have an outbreak on our hands. But remember Dennis’s story,” Kevin says, “the one about the tire. That happened on a high-risk day. Things can get ugly fast. We’ll have to watch our timing.”

“Wow,” says Karena. “That’s scary.” But a high risk also means a higher possibility of finding Charles, she thinks. He won’t be able to resist that setup.

“Not scary,” says Kevin. “A learning experience. Remember what I said about fear too. You just need to know what you’re doing.”

He lifts his arm and curls his bicep into a muscle, then points to himself. “Like me,” he says in a meathead voice. “I’ll learn ya.”

“Oh boy,” says Karena. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“True,” says Kevin. “But any more lip from you, young lady, and I’ll make you stay after school.”

He clicks the laptop shut. “Want to walk, Laredo?”

“Sure,” says Karena and pockets her recorder.

They lock up the Jeep and set off into the canyon. Karena feels more overheated than ever, picturing being in Kevin’s classroom after hours. She fans herself with the neck of her T-shirt, another recent purchase that says “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” The road winds down in hairpin curves, the scenery changing every hundred yards. The spires tower over them, growing ever more improbable. A boulder balanced on a bottleneck. Two spines fused together, forming a keyhole. As they near the canyon floor the road curves into shadow, although the walls above them, still in sun, are lurid red as if aflame.

“Check out those striations, Laredo,” says Kevin. “Pretty neat, huh?”

He comes up beside Karena and puts his hand on her shoulder, turning her.

“Like those,” he says, pointing. “Know what they are? Sediment. This whole area used to be underwater, and what we’re walking through now was the ocean floor. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Karena nods, trying not to look sideways at his hand. Her stomach is melting.

“Oh God,” says Kevin and takes his hand away. “I’m geeking out again, aren’t I. Sorry, Laredo. I think I have lecture Tourette’s. Occupational hazard.”

Karena grins. “That’s all right, Mr. Wizard,” she says. “I kinda like it.”

They resume walking, their sneakers gritting on white sand.

“So anyway,” Karena says casually, and her stomach tilts as if she’s tumbling down a hill; she’s still not used to talking about this. “I saw Charles last night.”

Kevin stops.

“You
saw
him?” he repeats. “Where? At the motel?”

“Not exactly,” says Karena, and she tells Kevin about Charles’s guest appearance on Marla’s video. “It’s driving me crazy,” she says, “to be so close and yet so far. It’s like he’s playing some game with me. And I’m worried . . .”

Kevin nods. He is running a hand over his chin as if to check for five o’clock shadow, and he looks at her thoughtfully.

“You’re worried he’s manic,” he says.

Karena stares at him. She once fell off a makeshift trapeze in Tiff’s yard and landed square on her back. She feels much the same way now.

“You knew,” she says. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.”

She starts walking again. “This is the second time you’ve done this to me,” she says. “How did you know? Does everyone know?”

“Hold on, wait,” says Kevin, jogging up beside her. His face is flushed. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if you knew—Well, I know you knew, but I didn’t know how much you knew—Oh Jesus,” he says, “I sound like a fucking sit-com.”

He touches her elbow. “Please,” he says. “Can we just sit? Let’s sit and talk for a minute.”

Karena pauses, blows out a ball of air, and nods. They have been passing nature stations along the road, wooden platforms bordered by informational placards, and she lets Kevin lead her to one a few yards away.

“Oh yeah, like this is a good idea,” says Karena, looking at the signs. In addition to describing the dinosaurs that once roamed here, and giant jackrabbits and wild ponies the size of dogs, there is a large, sun-faded photo of a Western diamondback and a warning to stay on designated paths. Karena has never been fond of rattlers since coming eye to eye with a coiled ten-footer sunning itself in the New Heidelburg quarry.

“Don’t bother the snakes, Laredo,” says Kevin, “and they won’t bother you.” He sits and pats the metal bench and it makes a hollow bonging sound.

“Okay,” says Karena, sitting beside him. She puts her arms around herself and shivers. Without the sun, the wind is cool down here. “So, you knew Charles is bipolar. Why didn’t you say anything?”

When Kevin doesn’t answer right away, Karena looks at him. He is squinting at the cliff face opposite them, at a hologram of sunshine halfway up.

“Karena,” he says, “did you think I was going to make a move on you?”

Karena gives her head a brisk shake of surprise.

“Yes,” she admits.

“And did you want me to?”

Now Karena looks away, at the bleached-board path leading into the desert on their right.

“Yes,” she says.

“Good,” says Kevin. “Because I was. Am. Am considering it. Very seriously. But there’s something you need to know first. About your brother and me.”

He touches her hand on the bench, and Karena turns back. Her stomach flips. Kevin is scrutinizing her, his bright hazel eyes so intent on her face she wants to look away again.

“And there’s something I need to know too,” Kevin continues. “This may be inappropriate, a little accelerated—after all, I hardly know you. But I do feel like there’s something between us we could maybe test-drive, and if you feel the same way, I have to know going forward that you believe in honesty. Because after what happened with my ex, I believe in truth. Not half-truth, not sort-of truth, the whole truth. As in everything out on the table. Do you agree?”

Now Karena does look away, at the patch of light Kevin was peering at. It shimmers on the rock like a living thing. She takes a breath. Makes a decision. Turns back to him.

“Of course,” she says.

“Good,” says Kevin. “Glad we got that out of the way. So now I guess I have to tell you what happened with me and Chuck. Although maybe you won’t want to go for that test drive with me after you hear it. But that’s a risk I have to take.”

“God,” says Karena. She laughs nervously and rubs her palms on her shorts. “What is it? Am I sure I want to hear this? You weren’t secret lovers or something, were you?”

“No,” says Kevin. “Chuck’s cute, but he’s not my type.” He takes her hand again. “Seriously, I don’t have to tell you. I just figured, well, if it were my brother, I’d want to know. I mean, obviously you know he’s bipolar. You know him exponentially better than I do. But when you said you hadn’t seen him in twenty years, I just thought . . . maybe you don’t know what he’s capable of now.”

“That’s true,” says Karena. “I don’t.” She puts her free hand to her throat. Her heart is knocking there, her mouth dry.

“Please,” she says. “Just tell me. Before I have a freaking heart attack.”

“Okay,” says Kevin. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m not, actually. But I need to know. Information trumps fear, right?”

“Right,” says Kevin. “Atta girl.” He gives her hand a quick squeeze and begins.

“S
o this was in Oklahoma,” Kevin says, “in 2001—remember I was trying to think what year I last saw him? It was in ’01, and the reason it was the last time I saw him is what happened on this chase.

“I think I mentioned we used to chase together pretty regularly, Chuck and I—Charles, I mean. Whatever. Your brother. I met him at OU when I was getting my masters and he was a lunatic even then, but everyone loved him. They called him a crazy motherfucker—’scuse my French—a real wild card, but in a weird way that only added to his credibility. Because some of the best chasers are like that—I guess it’s that way in any field, you’ve got the straight-and-narrow successful types, and then you’ve got the savants. Chuck was one of the savants, though definitely not of the idiot variety. He was the exception that proved the rule. The rest of us diligent meteorologists would spend our mornings, noons, and nights analyzing the data, for like
weeks
before a chase, and then two days beforehand Chuck would swoop in from whatever odd job he was doing at the time, look over our shoulders at the models, go, ‘Mmmmm, nope, actually I’d play over here,’ and take off. And you know what? He was always right. I’ll be fu—freaked if I know how, but we’d all end up chasing our tails for at best decent shots, and Chuck would go off into the wilderness and come back with insane footage, like close-ups of touchdowns a hundred yards away. Every single freaking time.

“Of course that was because he took incredible risks, like core-punching high-precip superbeasts and getting right up in the bear’s cage, and you knew you were taking your life in your hands when you chased with Chuck, but during my last year I started doing it anyway. I respected his instincts—I was always trying to learn from him—and to me he was good company. He had his off days, as you surely know, but most of the time he was upbeat and high energy and absolutely fucking hilarious. I guess too because I was about to move up to the Twin Cities with The Ex and I had this sneaking suspicion my life as a man was almost over, I was in the mood for something wild. But most of all, again, what it came down to was when it came to predicting where a storm would be, or which one to go after, or what it was going to do when you got there, Chuck was almost always right.

“So this particular day, June tenth, 2001—a little late in the season for Oklahoma Panhandle Magic but that’s the thing about that area, you never know. It’s my favorite place to chase, actually, No Man’s Land. They call it that because it’s this little strip between Texas, Kansas, and Colorado, and at first nobody wanted to claim it, and they probably had the right idea because in the thirties it got eaten alive in the Dust Bowl. The people there are tough as boots. But anyway, if I had to choose a dead center of Tornado Alley it’d be Highway 412 in No Man’s Land, which bisects the Panhandle horizontally straight as a string. It’s so flat there the locals say you can stand anywhere and see fifty miles, and if you stand on a tuna can, you can see a hundred, which makes it prime atmospheric playground. The fronts collide and get cranking and the storms just bowl right down 412. So that day even though the models said we’d be better off in Amarillo, I was perfectly happy to hang out with Chuck in Boise City.

“And that’s what we were doing. Hangin’ on the hood of Chuck’s station wagon—he had an old beater in those days, God knows where he got it, but one of those seventies rockers with the wood-paneled siding like the walls of somebody’s rec room. He called it the Whirl-mobile, but we all called it the Chuckwagon. It was a total piece of shit, but man, could that thing go. Anyway, there we were at this Conoco, eating burritos and watching the radar and shooting the bull with the locals, telling them, yeah, they should watch the skies, there might be some action later. And just waiting for the Cu to go up. Good times, you know. Those are my good times.