The Tornado Chasers

by Ross Montgomery

‘… which brings us straight onto Dewbridge, Ceri,’ said Miss Pewlish, barely missing a beat as she put a cross next to Callum’s name. ‘So Ceri, if you’d like to, er … take it away.’

  Ceri slammed the PRESS hat onto her head and marched up to the front of the class with an enormous stack of paper. She dumped it on the floor and pointed at it dramatically.

  ‘Read it and weep!’ she cried. ‘Another exclusive report by the Dewbridge Gazette! Revealing the appalling working conditions behind the scenes of Barrow Prep’s so-called “celebration” of the life of Thomas Barrow, who I can now sensationally reveal …’

  Miss Pewlish sighed.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘A damning exposé. Just like last week. And the week before.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘Tell you what, Ceri – how about I give you a “B+”, and you can just sit back down?’

  Ceri thought about it. ‘Er … alright.’

  We applauded politely as Ceri sat back down. Miss Pewlish wiped her brow with relief.

  One by one, each child went up to the front. Everyone had something to present on, whether it be a favourite book or a piece of artwork they had done. Orlaith did hers on a burglar alarm system she had built herself, which sprayed intruders with month-old mayonnaise from head to toe when they stepped on a specially rigged doormat. Even Murderous Pete got up and did a presentation on a teapot he had brought from home, although he didn’t say much except that it was a teapot and then stood there in silence for the remaining two minutes. He still got a round of applause, although I suspected this was because everyone was frightened of what he’d do to them if they didn’t clap.

  Finally, there was only one presentation left to go.

  ‘Underwood,’ said Miss Pewlish. ‘Underwood, Owen.’

  I carried my shoebox to the front, stomach churning, and faced the class. They all sat, sparkly eyed, waiting for me to startle and smash a priceless antique vase or something. I steeled myself. I was sick of being a joke. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

  ‘My presentation is on my grandparents,’ I said.

  There was an audible groan from the back of the classroom that everyone ignored.

  ‘I never met them,’ I said. ‘They died before I was born. Back when they were alive, though, everyone in the valleys knew who they were. They were famous.’

  I put the box on the floor, and opened the lid.

  ‘My grandparents were called “The Tornado Chasers”,’ I said.

  I pulled out a brown leather helmet from inside the box, and held it up. The whole class murmured with interest. The helmet had ear flaps, and a fur trim, and pilot goggles attached to the front that had been smashed many years ago. Across the side, still visible despite its age, was a picture of a spiralling tornado, the shadow of a bi-plane emblazoned across it. Underneath, stitched in rolling script, read the initials: ‘T.C.’

  ‘They were pilots,’ I explained. ‘Daredevil pilots. They used to fly stunts for shows, doing loop-the-loops and flying right over the audiences’ heads and stuff.’

  Everyone cooed. Miss Pewlish shuffled nervously in her chair.

  ‘Well, that certainly sounds very dangerous, Owen …’

  ‘Oh, it was,’ I said, nodding. ‘Incredibly dangerous. There weren’t many people around back then who did what they did, and they were the best in the business. My grandmother even did a thing called “wing walking”, where she’d walk across the wings of the plane while it was in the air.’

  I pulled out a pile of black-and-white photos from the box, and started handing them round. The class gasped in amazement. The photos showed a plane in mid-flight, taken from the ground, my grandmother’s shadow on the wings cast against the sun.

  ‘Pretty exciting stuff,’ I said. ‘But that wasn’t the reason they were famous. That was because of something else they did. Something much more dangerous.’

  I paused, and looked up. The entire class was staring back at me in anticipation.

  ‘You see,’ I said, ‘they were always trying to be even more daring, to really push themselves. So they started a club called “The Tornado Chasers”, with some other daredevil pilots. It was a secret club. You couldn’t tell anyone that you were a member. Because actually, what they were doing was life-threatening.’

  Miss Pewlish shifted uncomfortably on her chair. ‘Er …’

  ‘Whenever a tornado landed in the valley,’ I said, meeting the eyes of my classmates, ‘and everyone else had shut themselves up safely at home – the Tornado Chasers would leap in their planes, and fly straight towards it!’

  The whole class gasped in shock, including Miss Pewlish.

  ‘They knew it was dangerous,’ I said. ‘But that was kind of the whole point – to do something that no one else would ever dream of doing. There used to be lots of tornadoes back then. There weren’t even any stormtraps to protect the villages – they hadn’t been invented yet. People were really frightened. But not my grandparents. They even had a motto: “We are the Tornado Chasers, and we are not afraid” …’

  ‘Lovely, Owen,’ said Miss Pewlish, getting out of her seat. ‘Well, I think that’s quite enough for today …’

  ‘Until one day,’ I continued, pulling out a newspaper from the box, ‘it all ended in tragedy.’

  I held up the newspaper, and the whole class gasped again. The cover was taken up by a giant photo of a shattered plane, hung upside down in a tree. It was surrounded by a circle of solemn policemen, their heads bowed. A helmet hung down from the cockpit by a torn strap.

  ‘One day a tornado touched down,’ I said, ‘and they flew out to meet it as usual. All five – my grandfather, my grandmother, and the three other Tornado Chasers – disappeared. No one knows what happened to them. Their bodies were never found. They figured the tornado just changed direction unexpectedly, and they couldn’t get away in time.’

  Miss Pewlish sighed with relief, and sat back down.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘A fitting end to such reckless and unsafe activity! It should be a lesson to all of you. Thank you, Owen, that was a very …’

  ‘But before I finish,’ I said quickly, ‘I’d like to show you all this.’

  I reached right down to the bottom of the box, and fished out a framed picture. I turned it round to the class.

  ‘It’s a photo of the tornado,’ I said. ‘Taken from the plane as they were flying beside it. That’s how close they used to get.’

  The class looked in awe at the photo in my hands. The background was a blur, a hundred mile-an-hour vortex of rocks, trees, whole houses, everything the tornado could tear up from the ground, a solid wall of wind that filled the frame from edge to edge. But right in the centre of the photo, strapped onto the wing of the plane, was a woman. Her mouth was open. Her hair whipped around her face, and she held up her arms to the sky. I tapped my finger on the glass.

  ‘That’s my grandmother,’ I said. ‘Wing walking beside the tornado. My grandfather took it himself from the cockpit.’ I smiled. ‘It’s my favourite photo.’

  I held it for a moment, and looked up. The whole class was whispering excitedly and nudging each other. To my surprise, Callum was staring at the photo, too. His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were glimmering. It was almost uncomfortable to look at.

  ‘Er … thanks,’ I said.

  The whole class burst into applause. Miss Pewlish glanced at them nervously.

  ‘Quieten down, everyone,’ she muttered. ‘Quieten down please.’

  I smiled. It was a good feeling.

  ‘Hey, Owen! Owen!’

  Ceri caught me as I was halfway out the door. I startled, and it immediately slammed back into my face.

  ‘Amazing presentation this morning!’ said Ceri, appearing not to notice.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, rubbing my nose. The presentation had certainly been a success. Miss Pewlish had given me one of the highest marks in the class, largely to stop the class from cheering when I had finished.

  ‘Your grandmother w
as an absolute legend,’ said Ceri. ‘Standing on the wing of a plane! Unbelievable! And your granddad was pretty nifty with a camera too, if I say so myself. Any idea what type of camera or lenses he was using? I do a bit of photography too, you know.’

  ‘Er … no, sorry,’ I said. ‘I guess I could find out, though. My parents still have all their old equipment at home.’

  Ceri’s face lit up. ‘That’d be great! How about you bring it all round to mine after school tomorrow? I’d love to interview you about your grandparents for the next Dewbridge Gazette. You’d have to stay the night for curfew, but I’m sure my parents would be fine with it. They’re pretty relaxed. They’re letting me make salad tomorrow.’

  I beamed. ‘Sure! Let’s—’

  I stopped, and my face fell.

  ‘Actually, I can’t,’ I said despondently. ‘My parents have grounded me for a week because they think I can’t stop climbing trees.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ceri.

  She paused.

  ‘Are you climbing trees?’

  ‘No,’ I said miserably.

  She thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well, let me know if they change their minds. See you tomorrow!’

  She made her way across the playground, walking straight past the little girl who stood waiting for her at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘Er … Ceri?’ I called after her. ‘Isn’t that your sister?’

  I pointed to the girl, who was eating yoghurt out of a pot by mashing it against her face with her mouth open. Ceri rolled her eyes.

  ‘Flossie!’ She sighed. ‘Not again! Honestly, she gets lost like, every single day.’

  She grabbed Flossie’s hand and dragged her across the green, gurgling. I turned to walk after her, and stopped. Callum was staring up at me from the bottom of the steps. He shook his head.

  ‘You,’ he said, ‘were going to go round a girl’s house.’ He paused. ‘For salad.’

  I walked straight past him. I wasn’t going to get tricked into talking to him again – not today. He quickly caught up with me, waiting for a reaction. I gave him nothing.

  ‘So,’ he said, after a moment of silence. ‘That thing about your grandparents was sort of OK. It wasn’t as bad as the other presentations, I mean.’

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘Er …’ said Callum. ‘What were they called again?’

  ‘The Tornado Chasers,’ I said curtly.

  Callum nodded. ‘Yeah. “Tornado Chasers”. That’s, yeah … really, really cool.’

  We crossed the bridge and walked beside the stream in silence. I picked up the pace. I wasn’t going to let him make me late again.

  ‘That’s the sort of thing I’d do, you know,’ said Callum, apparently under the impression we were having a conversation. ‘If I could be bothered. Run out of the village and chase a storm, take some pictures of it. Like it’s no big deal.’

  ‘Really,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah.’ Callum grinned. ‘That’d show all the idiots around here.’ His face darkened. ‘I’ll tell you what, they wouldn’t think I was such a big joke any more … Going on about me like I’m a baby, just because I got kept back a year!’ He growled. ‘I’d like to see the looks on their faces when they saw a photo of me, standing right next to a …’

  He stopped mid-sentence, and fell silent. I turned round. He was fixed to the spot, staring into the middle distance. The corners of his mouth slowly flickered up into a smile.

  ‘That’s it,’ he muttered. ‘That’s how I’ll show them! I’ll be a … what were they called again?’

  ‘Tornado Chaser,’ I said dryly.

  ‘Yeah!’ he said. ‘A Tornado Chaser! I’ll sneak out the village and run after a tornado! I’ll be famous! The hardest boy in Barrow – in all the valleys, even!’

  A ray of sunlight cut through the trees and lit up his face. He was beaming.

  ‘Great,’ I said, turning away from him. ‘Well, good luck with that.’

  Callum glared at me. ‘I mean it! I’ll really do it! And I’ll take pictures to prove it, too.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ I said politely over my shoulder.

  Callum glowered.

  ‘Well, who cares what you think?’ he said, running to catch up with me. ‘It’s because of having a dweebus like you as my Home-Time Partner that I have to do it in the first place!’

  I blinked defensively. ‘Well, I’m not a dweebus actually, so …’

  Callum snorted. ‘Oh, of course not! You’re a regular tough guy, aren’t you? That’s why you can’t go to Ceri’s tomorrow night – because of all that “tree-climbing” you’ve been doing after school?’

  I flashed crimson.

  ‘Er … well,’ I mumbled hopelessly. ‘I mean, my parents are quite strict about that sort of thing, and …’

  ‘Well, they don’t need to be!’ said Callum. ‘You? Climb trees? As if!’

  I shot him a furious glance.

  ‘For your information,’ I muttered, ‘I am extremely good at climbing trees. I used to do it all the time. I was the best in Skirting. Then one day … well, my parents caught me doing it, and I startled. So I fell and hit my head. It’s why I have to wear the helmet. It’s not because I’m a … a dweebus.’

  ‘Alright then,’ said Callum, taking a step forwards. ‘Seeing as you’re such an expert tree-climber, we’ll have a test.’

  ‘Fine!’ I said.

  ‘It’ll decide, once and for all, whether or not you’re a big fat liar. And the biggest wuss in the world.’

  ‘Fine!’ I said. ‘Name the time and I’ll be there!’

  ‘Tomorrow after school,’ said Callum. ‘After curfew’s started.’

  My eyelids barely flickered.

  ‘A-after curfew?’ I squeaked.

  ‘Yep,’ said Callum. He glanced at me casually. ‘That’s not a problem, is it?’

  I broke out into a cold sweat.

  ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘of course it isn’t.’

  Callum looked me up and down, and grinned. ‘You mean it? You’ll break curfew and everything? You’re really going to do it?’

  I looked at him. Was I really going to do it? Was I really prepared to lie to my parents, break the Storm Laws, risk being sent to the County Detention Centre, and possibly even get eaten alive by bears – just to climb a tree and prove Callum wrong?

  6

  How I Became a Tornado Chaser

  Callum patted the tree beside him.

  ‘This,’ he said, ‘is the tallest tree in Barrow.’

  I gazed up the tree. Then I wished I hadn’t. It was twice as tall as the one I fell out of in Skirting. The trunk was thin and wobbly, the topmost branches swaying perilously in the wind that blew down the valley. It was getting stronger and stronger every day now. I was quickly regretting yesterday’s snap decision. Callum strolled towards me.

  ‘Seeing as you’re so extremely good at tree-climbing,’ said Callum, a grin spreading across his face, ‘you are going to climb it. Right now. The whole thing. Every – last – branch.’

  I looked up at the tree again. I’d never tried to climb one like this before. The branches didn’t even look strong enough to hold my weight.

  ‘Are you … are you sure we have time?’ I said nervously.

  Callum nodded. ‘Of course! Curfew doesn’t start for another five minutes! Besides, you organised your cover story – right?’

  I had. I’d told my parents that my presentation had got the highest mark in class, before asking if I could stay the next night at Ceri’s as a reward. It was a risky strategy, but it had worked. After promising them that I would wear my knee-pads and sterilise the salad before I ate it, they had relented. After the test was over, I’d stay the night at Callum’s. It was foolproof. Which meant that there was no way I could get out of it now. I could have kicked myself.

  ‘Off you go then, Fearless Owen,’ said Callum, strolling back to the tree and leaning against it casual
ly. ‘Let’s see how brave you really are!’

  I gulped, and made my way to the base of the tree. The remains of a sawn-off stump lay just above my head. I gripped it in one hand, and slowly pulled myself up onto the first branch. I got to my feet, and tried to balanced myself. My legs suddenly wobbled, and I had to grip onto the trunk of the tree.

  ‘What a great start!’ said Callum, applauding loudly. ‘I certainly hope nothing goes wrong!’

  I grit my teeth. I wasn’t going to let myself be humiliated again – not by him. I looked ahead. There was another branch just ahead of me, slightly higher up. In a snap I vaulted over to it, grabbing the trunk again for support as I landed.

  ‘Hey,’ I heard Callum say from below. ‘Not bad.’

  Without a pause I grabbed the next branch above and swung myself onto it, before using the trunk to shimmy up another few feet and elegantly leap onto the branch above that. I glanced down. Callum was staring up, open-mouthed.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said quietly.

  I grinned. ‘I told you I was good.’

  I looked around. I could do this. Halfway up to the next branch was a knothole, big enough for my foot. I wrapped my arms around the trunk and wedged my foot inside it. Now, all I had to do was push myself up and reach out to …

  ‘STOP THAT AT ONCE!’ cried an angry voice from the ground below.

  I startled. My legs sprang out like pistons and catapulted me away from the tree like a squirrel, and sent me plummeting to the ground. Fortunately my fall was broken by the patch of stinging nettles at the bottom.

  I leapt up, skin on fire. A yellow car was parked in the clearing behind us, the words BARROW TRUANCY OFFICER marked out in big black letters on the side. In front of it stood a man in a bright yellow uniform. He had dark wiry hair, hard eyes, and a mean face. He was staring at me furiously.

  ‘Well?’ he barked. ‘What the hell do you two think you’re doing out here?’

  I mouthed hopelessly. Answers, explanations, excuses, all evaporated to dust in my mouth. I had no idea what I could possibly say. Callum suddenly leapt forward.

  ‘Why, Officer Reade!’ he cried. ‘What a surprise! I was just on my way home, actually, and er … got a bit lost …’