The Tornado Chasers (12 page)

It had stopped raining biscuits.

We sat on the edge of the quarry, looking out across the countryside. It was quite a sight now the clouds had finally cleared. The valleys to the East were a sea of yellow rubber ducks. Blankets and feathery pillows were strewn for miles and miles in either direction, turning the furthest treetops into great circuses of colour. The hillside we sat on was decked with thousands upon thousands of wedding dresses.

The tornado lay on the horizon. It had doubled in size since the first day we saw it. The clouds had now stained a darker grey, funnelling into jet blackness as they wormed their way to the ground. In its wake lay
the remains of half a dozen destroyed factories, their contents scattered for miles in every direction.

‘It doesn’t
look
like it’s heading this way,’ I said, chewing on a flapjack.

Orlaith took a bite of her Victoria sponge.

‘That’s because it’s, er … not,’ she mumbled, spraying crumbs.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Ceri, licking the icing off a cupcake. ‘And it wasn’t supposed to go near the factories either, was it?’

‘No,’ said Orlaith sheepishly. ‘It wasn’t. But it looks like it, er … pulled away from the stormtraps. I guess the tornado was just too strong for them to control it.’

‘Huh,’ said Callum, jamming an entire doughnut into his mouth. ‘Well, it’s been a pretty good result for us, anyway.’

It was true. The storm going unexpectedly off-course and devastating several dozen factories had been an absolute triumph for the Tornado Chasers. We had feasted on cakes and buns and biscuits until we’d been sick, before napping the nap of kings in a giant nest of throw-cushions that had collected in the quarry. I had woken up in glorious midday sunshine to find Pete sharing a wedding cake with the sheep, their old rivalry a distant memory.

‘Well,’ muttered Orlaith nervously. ‘Not
that
good.’

We looked at her. Callum swallowed his doughnut whole, with some difficulty.

‘Why?’ he managed to choke out.

Orlaith held up the stormtrap. It had finally got its signal back.

‘The tornado’s left the path it was on,’ she said. ‘It broke away from the stormtraps and went on a rampage through the countryside. Luckily it got picked up by another set of stormtraps – but
look
.’

She rubbed a sleeve across the display and cleared the pen lines, before re-sketching the new path across the grid.

‘It’s going to keep going North, now,’ she said, putting the marker pen back in her pocket. ‘It’s not going to head towards us any more.’

She trailed off. We sat in silence, watching the distant tower of clouds as they wound away from us. We had underestimated the tornado. All of a sudden it seemed very far away again.

‘Isn’t there somewhere else we can cut it off?’ said Ceri.

Orlaith sighed. ‘Well, now it’s going to run over to the north side of Skirting, before being funnelled up away from the valleys …’

‘The other side of Skirting?’ Callum cried. ‘But … we’ll never get around the village in time!’

Orlaith shook her head.

‘We will,’ she said defiantly, ‘if we walk
through
it. That way, there’s still a good chance we can cut off the tornado when it passes by on the North side tomorrow morning.’

Everyone signed with relief – except me.

‘
No!
’ I cried, startling massively.

Everyone turned to look at me. I shook the twitch out of my neck, slightly surprised at myself.

‘I … I can’t go through Skirting,’ I mumbled. ‘I used to live there.’

Callum frowned. ‘So? Everyone’s going to be shut up indoors, Owen. There’s a tornado right outside their valley!’

‘But … I could still be recognised!’ I protested. ‘I mean, if someone looks out of a window and sees me, even for a second … They must have put out a notice across the valleys for us by now, right? And people in Skirting will know what I look like!’

The others shared a glance.

‘He’s right.’ Orlaith sighed. ‘We have to make sure no one recognises him.’

Callum frowned. ‘What about the rest of us? We’ll need to be in disguise, too!’

‘Yeah,’ said Ceri. ‘I mean, Orlaith – you look
exactly
like your dad.’

Orlaith flushed. ‘No I don’t! We look completely different!’

‘Oh, right,’ said Ceri, nodding. ‘Except for your hair. And your eyes.’

‘And your ears,’ I added helpfully.

‘Plus you’re both black,’ said Callum.

Orlaith glowered. ‘Well – whatever! We’re not going to be in an identity parade! We just need to make sure no one recognises Owen! Sheesh!’

Everyone turned to look at me, scratching their chins like I was a tricky crossword puzzle.

‘Well, he doesn’t have that helmet any more, does he?’ said Ceri, as if I wasn’t there. ‘Maybe without it people won’t remember him.’

Orlaith shook her head. ‘Not enough. We need to make him look so different, no one would even consider it was him.’

Ceri shrugged. ‘Well – maybe he could put on some different clothes, too?’

Callum snorted. ‘Oh yeah, great idea, Ceri! Let’s just use all those extra clothes we have magically lying around out here, on a hillside in the middle of nowhere …!’

He cast his arm around him, and stopped. He gazed at the hundreds of wedding dresses that covered almost every inch of grass on the hillside beside us. He looked at the others. They smiled.

My face fell.

‘Er,’ I said. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be difficult, but I really would rather not wear a wedding dress – if you don’t mind.’

The others didn’t say anything. They were still smiling.

‘Guys? Did you hear me?’

They started walking towards me. I swallowed.

‘… Guys?’

‘You look lovely, Owen.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Now pull down the veil.’

I reluctantly adjusted my headpiece. Ceri stepped back with a satisfied grin. Everyone nodded appreciatively, with the exception of Callum who was bent double with laughter against a nearby tree.

‘I still don’t see how this is going to make me stand out less,’ I mumbled sheepishly.

Ceri sighed. ‘Owen, for the hundredth time! So long as people don’t see it’s
you
, it’s an improvement. Consider it just like wearing the cape. Except white and frilly. And – if I say so myself – very flattering on the waist.’

I held out a bunch of plastic posies.

‘Can I at least lose the bouquet?’ I begged.

‘First rule of undercover reporting,’ said Ceri, shoving them back into my hand. ‘The details matter.’

We were on the valley floor, crouched behind the hedges that surrounded Skirting. The road that led through town was barely a stone’s throw away. Orlaith pulled everyone together into a huddle, including Callum, who was still wiping tears from his face and struggling to breathe.

‘Now listen,’ she said. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave the bikes behind.’

Everyone made to protest, but Orlaith waved us quiet.

‘We don’t have a choice,’ she said. ‘Their chains got wet and they’re squeaking. We can’t risk anyone hearing us when we go through Skirting. We’ll have to go on foot from now on. We can pick everything up again on our way back.’

Callum quickly glanced up. ‘Hang on – what about Ceri? How’s she going to walk?’

Ceri shrugged. ‘I can walk it.’

Orlaith bit her lip. ‘We’ll … we’ll need to be fast, Ceri. We’ve only got until tomorrow morning to get onto the other side of that hill.’

She pointed at the valley beyond Skirting, where clouds were already beginning to darken in anticipation of the approaching tornado.

‘Maybe … maybe it’d be better if someone carried you,’ she suggested carefully.

Pete put a hand on Ceri’s shoulder.

‘I don’t mind doing it,’ he said gently.

Ceri smiled. ‘Thank you, Pete, that’s very sweet of you. But if you
ever
try to pick me up, I’m going to punch you in the face.’

Pete squeaked and backed away. Ceri nodded at us. The matter was apparently closed. Orlaith shrugged.

‘Fair enough.’ She turned to me. ‘Look round the corner, Owen. Is it clear?’

I peered around the hedge. There was no sign of anyone patrolling the streets. The town looked still, and silent. I smiled.

‘Hey! I know this road!’ I whispered excitedly. ‘Look – there’s the baker’s! And the pub! And
that
corner right there goes to the high street!’

I turned to the others, my heart racing. It was nice to finally be the one who knew what to do.

‘If we go down there, we can get to the church in the main square,’ I said. ‘That’ll lead us out the other side of town.’

Orlaith nodded. ‘Perfect. We’ll go one at a time – Owen, you can lead. You’ll know your way around Skirting better than all of us.’

I checked round the hedge again – the coast was clear. I adjusted my veil with authority.

‘Ready?’ I whispered to the others.

They nodded. I lifted up my skirts, crept out from the hedge, and zipped along the edge of the road. I came to a stop by the bakery, crouching down beside a wall. Orlaith quickly arrived behind me, followed by the others. I glanced out across the road, my chest hammering. Still no sign of anyone.

‘Right,’ I said breathlessly. ‘The high street’s round the corner. Ready …?’

‘Hang on,’ said Ceri. ‘What’s going on with their windows?’

She pointed to the houses opposite us. They looked – well, completely normal.

‘They haven’t stormboarded their windows,’ Ceri explained. ‘Look. Or their doors, either.’

She was right. Not one of the windows along the street had any boards over them. Some curtains hadn’t even been closed. Empty milk bottles still stood on the doorsteps. In fact, the street looked
exactly
the same as when I lived there.

‘Well … Skirting never seemed that bothered about tornadoes, to be honest,’ I said. ‘It’s not like Barrow.’

‘Exactly,’ said Orlaith sternly. ‘We don’t know
what
precautions they’ve taken for it. They might all be in a bunker in the centre of town. Right, Owen?’

Everyone looked at me expectantly. I fumbled.

‘Er … yeah, I guess they might be,’ I said. ‘Let’s just keep going.’

Everyone nodded. I took a deep breath, and shot out from beside the bins, the uneasiness in my chest growing and growing. It was strange to be back in Skirting – even stranger to be doing it like this, in secret. And now I was about to see the high street again. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was like being in a dream, or a past life. Maybe that was why something felt so
wrong
…

I turned the corner, and stopped.

The high street ahead of me was exactly as I remembered it. The post office, the butcher’s, the newsagent, the restaurants, were all in exactly the same places.

They were also open.

The street ahead was full of people.

Orlaith crashed into the back of me, sending me sprawling to the ground. She gawped ahead of her in disbelief.

‘
What?
’ she cried.

Callum came to a stumbling stop beside her, his mouth hanging open. Then came Pete, and finally Ceri. We gazed at the busy street ahead of us in shock. The people of Skirting were going about their daily business, shopping and running errands and stopping for chats. It was like they had no idea that a tornado was right on their doorstep.

‘Owen,’ Callum hissed, ‘what the
hell
is going on?’

‘I … I don’t know!’ I said, my eyes searching the street for some sort of explanation. ‘Why are they … why are they all outside?’

My stomach dropped. The reality of what was happening suddenly dawned on me. Maybe people in Skirting didn’t care at all about the tornado. Maybe I was standing in the middle of a busy street, in a town where people knew my face, while I was on the run. And wearing a wedding dress.

‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from right behind us. ‘Are you children lost?’

I startled – or rather, I
almost
startled. I just managed to hold it back at the last minute. Behind me stood an old woman, wearing a peacock-blue skirt suit and a fancy feathered hat. She was carrying big bags of shopping in each hand.

‘Are you lost?’
the old lady repeated, a little louder.
‘You seem a little confused. Are you from round here?’

I squeaked, and whipped the veil down over my face. People were stopping in the street and turning to look at us, nudging each other, pointing. I started to panic. Sweat beaded down my forehead. If I startled now, and somebody recognised me …

The bottom of one of the woman’s shopping bags suddenly fell through, scattering her food across the road. I clenched my jaw shut, forcing the twitch down into my fists and toes and guts. It took all the strength I had. The old woman tutted, looking down at her spilled shopping on the cobblestones.

‘Oh my
goodness
me!’ she squeaked. ‘These thin plastic bags are just hopeless! What a mess. I couldn’t possibly carry all this myself …’

Pete’s face suddenly lit up. He ran forwards and scooped up the old lady’s shopping into his arms. The old lady clucked in approval.

‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘What a polite young man! And so strong!’ She patted him warmly on the shoulder. ‘Thank you ever so much, my dear.’

Pete glowed.

‘You’re welcome, miss,’ he said, looking at her with an expression I hadn’t seen on him before.

The people around us in the street started slowly
turning away, their attentions taken up by other things. Just five weird kids helping out an old lady – nothing to see here. I breathed a sigh of relief. The woman turned to us gratefully.

‘Would you children be so kind as to carry them to the end of the street for me?’ she asked. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting my daughter for lunch, and I’m already running late. She’s not been at all well lately, you see …’

‘Of course we’ll go with you!’ said Orlaith, leaping forwards. ‘We were heading to the main square anyway – weren’t we, guys?’

The old lady turned to me and smiled.

‘Ah! Well, of
course
you are,’ she said, pointing at me. ‘I suppose this dress is to celebrate the wedding, is it? What fun!’

I nodded wildly, even though I had no idea what she was talking about. The old lady suddenly frowned, and looked at me in confusion.

‘Hang on a moment,’ she said, peering at my face. ‘Don’t I know you …?’

Pete thrust the shopping bags into my hands and grabbed one of the old lady’s arms, wheeling her away down the street.

‘You shouldn’t be carrying around shopping at your age,’ he muttered, his voice suddenly warm and
protective. ‘It won’t be doing your back any favours, will it? Let’s get you going – your daughter must be wondering where you are!’

We looked at each other in disbelief. Pete was an expert nan-talker. And what’s more, it was working perfectly. With the old lady beside us, nobody in the street seemed to bat an eyelid. It was as if we just blended in with the rest of Skirting. No one even seemed to be bothered that I was wearing a wedding dress. I gazed at them in utter bewilderment through my veil.
Why were they still outside
?

‘So nice of you children to help me,’ the old lady was saying warmly. ‘You know, I paid ten pence each for those bags! Ten pence!’

‘What? You never,’ tutted Pete, genuinely shocked.

‘Dreadful,’ said Ceri, scampering forwards. ‘I mean, really. You should write a letter. So … the high street certainly seems busy today, doesn’t it?’

She pointed ahead. There was a crowd at the main square, cheering and jostling excitedly.

‘Well, it would be!’ said the old lady. ‘There’s a big wedding at the church today! I thought I’d bring my daughter outside to see it – although she does so
hate
being outside at the moment …’

‘Quite,’ said Orlaith, struggling to hide her boredom.
‘But … they’re having a
wedding? Today?
And no one’s worried about the tornado?’

The old lady turned to look at Orlaith quizzically.

‘The
tornado
?’ she repeated. ‘Well, no dear. It’s on the other side of the hill. It’ll do us no harm here.’

We glanced at each other.

‘But … it just broke away from the stormtraps and wrecked a load of factories!’ said Callum.

‘Oh yes,
that
,’ said the old lady with a sigh. ‘They were talking about it on the radio this morning. An old faulty stormtrap, they said! Nothing there to push the tornado onto the next one, so it broke away from the chain. Luckily, our one is working perfectly.’

She pointed to the church spire, where a single stormtrap blinked in the sun. We looked at each other in confusion.

‘But … shouldn’t you all be inside anyway?’ I said. ‘You know – just to be on the safe side? I mean … the bears are still going to be roaming the valleys, aren’t they?’

The old lady looked at me, her brow furrowing.

‘Where did you children say you were from again?’ she muttered.

I froze. Orlaith quickly stepped forwards.

‘Oh, nothing!’ She laughed, wheeling the old lady
away from me. ‘Just … wondering aloud. You know what they say – better safe than sorry!’

The old lady laughed.

‘You sound just like my daughter!’ she said. ‘Always worrying about safety. I’ll tell you, we had quite a fight getting
her
to leave her house and come to Skirting during the storm … She thinks she should be back in her house, digging herself into the basement. But it’s like I told her yesterday – Victoria, a few weeks out of that nasty village and away from all those vicious rumours about your mental health will sort you out in no time … oh look, here she is now!’

We turned around. Stood in the middle of the street behind us, mouth hanging open, was Miss Pewlish.

I startled. BIG time. My arms swung the bags of shopping around like Catherine wheels and they split in mid-air, scattering eggs and bottles in a wide arc and sending them shattering onto the tarmac. A whole watermelon hit the ground with a great meaty
THUNK
and bounced along the pavement. The crowds swung round to face us, staring at Miss Pewlish as she opened and closed her mouth like someone wolfing down a hearty stew of confusion, shock and rage. The old lady suddenly stepped forwards.

‘Victoria!’ she said. ‘I just met the
nicest
young children, you simply
must
say hello …’

Miss Pewlish shoved her aside and faced us.

‘That’s them!’
she bellowed.
‘The Tornado Chasers!
SOMEONE ARREST THESE CHILDREN!’

The people in the crowd around us looked puzzled. Some even started laughing. The old lady shot them a furious glare, and patted Miss Pewlish on the shoulder with motherly concern.

‘Yes, dear,’ she said. ‘Of course they are. The Tornado Chasers. Perhaps we should get you home now. Looks like being outside has, er … overexcited you.’ She turned to us and gave us a wink. ‘You lot run off now. I don’t think she knows what she’s saying …’

‘ATTENTION PLEASE.’

The voice came through a loudspeaker behind us, echoing down the streets. The crowds muttered with confusion, and parted. At the end of the road stood a convoy of black vans. On the side of each one, in great white letters, was written COUNTY DETENTION CENTRE. My stomach fell.

‘Oh dear,’ I whispered.

A group of burly men in black uniforms stepped out of the vans. They wore black gloves and carried truncheons and handcuffs. The one at the front lifted the loudspeaker up to his mouth.

‘YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE,’ he repeated.
‘WE ARE CURRENTLY SEARCHING FOR FIVE CHILDREN WHO HAVE RUN AWAY FROM THEIR HOMES IN BARROW. I REPEAT, IF ANYONE HAS SEEN
FIVE CHILDREN
…’

The crowd gasped, and turned to us. Fingers were pointed. The old lady looked at us in confusion. I gulped.