The Tornado Chasers

by Ross Montgomery

  ‘That won’t work, Owen,’ said Mum. ‘They’re locked from the outside. You don’t ever need to be frightened again, angel!’

  ‘It’ll just be for a while,’ said Dad desperately. ‘Just a little while. Until we can be sure you’ll be safe. Until everything’s safe again.’

  I leapt to my feet. ‘Wait – what do you mean …?’

  ‘We’re locking you in your bedroom, darling,’ said Mum. ‘Until the storm has gone.’

  ‘Until the beginning of the next school year, actually,’ said Dad. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’

  I stared at them in disbelief, and stepped forwards. ‘What?’

  ‘Quick!’ said Dad. ‘Lock the door, before he tries to get out!’

  Mum gripped the door handle and swung it shut. I stumbled desperately over the floorboards but I was too late. The door slammed shut, and the lock turned. I jiggled the foam handle hopelessly.

  ‘Mum! Dad! Please!’

  I hammered and hammered against the door, but it was no good. They weren’t listening any more.

  The wind suddenly picked up outside, pounding against the house and rattling the shutters like angry ghosts. I pressed myself against the door, my heart pacing with fear. And yet at that moment, what frightened me wasn’t the wind, or the dark, or even the realisation that my parents had lost their minds.

  It was the thought that my friends had no idea what had just happened. They would wait for me tomorrow night. And when I didn’t turn up, they would think I had deserted them. That I had let them down. That I was a coward. And they would leave without me.

  And the one chance I had ever had in my life to be a daredevil – to be a real-life Tornado Chaser – would be gone forever.

  The last of the clouds covered the sun, and my bedroom was thrown into darkness.

  This notepaper is kindly provided for the inmates of

  THE COUNTY DETENTION CENTRE

  Use one sheet per week

  No scribbling

  And so, Warden, we come back to where I started. Back to the night we escaped.

  By now, you’re probably a little confused. Why am I writing my story like this? Why don’t I just tell you everything like you asked?

  The truth is that I tried to – and I couldn’t. Remember back when I said that this was the only way I could tell my story? I really meant it. When I began writing, I had no idea how to get it all out. I started over and over again, hundreds of times. I threw each new attempt away before I even finished the first page, straight out the window of my cell. The pile had become pretty high last time I looked.

  This is what I ended up with. It might not be what you asked for, or what you wanted, but like I said: it’s the only way I could tell it. For now, you might as well keep reading.

  Who knows – you might even find out where I’ve gone!

  YOURS SINCERELY,

  INMATE 409

  12

  How it Began, Again

  ‘You. Me. The Tornado Chasers.’

  Callum stood before me, my bedroom shutters flapping madly in the wind behind him. His trainers were stained green with moss from climbing the tree outside my window. He threw down his samurai sword, and tore off his balaclava, and pointed to the shattered pop-tart at my feet.

  ‘You gonna eat that?’ he said.

  I shook my head. Callum grinned.

  ‘Get in.’

  He scooped the crumbs off the floor and greedily stuffed them into his mouth. He looked around my bedroom, at the bare floor and single light bulb.

  ‘Nice room,’ he muttered. ‘Love what you’ve done with it.’

  I blushed. ‘It was my parents. They got rid of everything.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘And, er … the ham?’

  He pointed to the ‘11’ of ham that was stuck to the wallpaper.

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh,’ said Callum.

  There was a long pause while Callum finished eating the crumbs from the floor. I stood, staring at him. He looked at me incredulously.

  ‘What?’ he muttered.

  ‘Callum,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He gave me a blank look.

  ‘I told you already – it’s six o’clock! We’ve got a meeting to go to, remember? And here you are, eating floor cake and wall pizza like some sort of king …’

  I stepped forwards.

  ‘But we all agreed yesterday,’ I said. ‘If anyone didn’t show up, the rest of us would just … go ahead without them.’

  Callum shrugged. ‘Yeah, well – I saw your parents arrive just after I took your bike. I figured you might need a little help, seeing as they’re so mental.’

  I blinked. ‘You … you came back to get me?’

  Callum rolled his eyes.

  ‘Owen,’ he said. ‘Please. As if I’d let you wuss out now on the most important adventure of our lives! I can’t chase a tornado without you.’

  I smiled. ‘You can’t?’

  ‘Course not,’ said Callum. ‘You’re my human shield, remember?’

  He gave me a smack on the helmet that was meant to be playful but still hurt quite a lot.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. It wasn’t much of a compliment, but it was the best one I’d ever get from him.

  ‘Well, come on then!’ he said. ‘Let’s go before your parents come back and really lose it. Grab your stuff and meet me at the bottom of the tree.’ He pulled on his balaclava. ‘Oh, and, er … try not to fall out of it this time.’

  He sniggered, and in a flash he had leapt out the window and was gone.

  Magnolia Crescent had become a ghost town overnight. Cars were left abandoned in the middle of the street, their doors wide open, their windscreens bleached with valley dust. The shopping I had seen thrown to the ground the day before was still there, the plastic bags flapping wildly in the breeze. High above us the stormtraps twinkled on the hilltops, surrounding the valley in a flickering red cage of light. The wind blew slow and steady.

  ‘You ready?’ Callum whispered.

  ‘One moment,’ I said.

  I looked back up to the bedroom shutters I had locked behind me. I could still see a crack of light between them. I held my breath, and waited. Suddenly the light disappeared. I sighed with relief. My parents had turned it off – they thought I was in bed. I was safe to be out until morning.

  The two of us crept down the road to Callum’s house. It was like we were walking through another version of Barrow, a night version where nothing made sense any more. Garden gates slammed open and shut, and backyard swings strained wildly at their chains and tangled themselves into knots. Flurries of valley dust drifted down the empty roads beside us like great moving monsters. By the time we arrived at Callum’s house, the whole street was in darkness. At the end of the garden I could just make out a crack of light peeking under the doorway of the shelter.

  ‘Looks like the others are already there,’ I whispered. ‘Should I go first, or …’

  Callum suddenly clamped his hand over my mouth, and flung me into the bushes.

  ‘Mmmmph …!’ I cried.

  We hit the ground just as a pair of headlights swung across the lawn where I’d been standing. They slowly panned across the front of the house, casting the squirming bushes around us in a yellow glow. Beneath the roaring wind I could just make out the hum of a car engine.

  ‘Orlaith’s dad,’ Callum hissed into my ear.

  The lights stopped and held for a moment. A stream of bitter dust danced through the air. I didn’t dare breathe. Then, slowly, the car moved on, and the light faded. The hedges were once again blanketed in darkness. Callum waited until the sound of Officer Reade’s car had drifted into silence, and then shoved me away.

  ‘What are you touching me for?’ he muttered. ‘Weirdo.’

  We crept across the back garden. Outside the shelter, all was silent. The bushes rustled menacingly in the wind beside us.

  ‘The door’s unlocked,’ Callum whispered.
‘You go first.’

  I smiled. ‘Really? Thank you Callum, that’s very …’

  ‘Just do it,’ Callum suddenly snapped, shoving me forwards.

  I stumbled through the door and was almost blinded by the brightness inside. I squinted against the hum of light. The shelter was unrecognisable. The beams across the ceiling were lined with candles, lamps and fairy lights, glowing and twinkling like stars. In front of me stood Orlaith, Pete and Ceri. All three were holding presents.

  ‘Now!’ said Ceri.

  Pete quickly pulled on a cord that hung down beside him, and a large banner unfurled from the ceiling. The words ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY OWEN!’ were written along it in big bubble letters. Callum strode in and slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Happy birthday, ratbag,’ he said. ‘Hope you’re grateful.’

  I stared at the shelter, dumbstruck. ‘How … how did you …?’

  Orlaith stepped forwards. ‘Ceri saw your birthday on Miss Pewlish’s register. Pretty good timing.’ She shoved a shoebox into my hands. ‘Happy birthday, Owen.’

  I wordlessly opened the box. Inside was a small figurine, carved from a sweet potato. I lifted it out. It was me. It had a mushroom helmet, held on by a single chive chinstrap. Before I could even thank her Pete barrelled forwards and thrust a scarf into my hand.

  ‘Habirday,’ he mumbled as he scurried away.

  I looked at the scarf. It was handmade, and had tassels at the end. Pete had even knitted my name into the pattern: OWIN. Well, it was close enough.

  ‘Thank you, Pete,’ I said. ‘It’s lovely.’

  ‘It’s going to be pretty windy,’ he muttered, blushing.

  ‘I got you something too!’ said Ceri, handing me a package wrapped haphazardly in newspaper. ‘Go on, look! Look!’

  I pulled aside the crumpled newspaper. There was nothing inside it.

  ‘It’s empty,’ I said.

  ‘Look at the front!’ said Ceri excitedly.

  I turned the paper over, and smiled.

  SPECIAL BOY TURNS 10 11 TODAY!

  Local boy Owen bowled over

  by personalised newspaper gift.

  ‘It took flipping ages to make, so he’d

  better like it,’ says our source.

  ‘Best present ever, right?’ said Ceri proudly. ‘Sorry I got your age wrong. Everything else in the article is accurate though. In fact there are a couple of quotes from Callum you might not be too happy about.’

  I beamed at them.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, stepping forwards. ‘All of you. This is the best birthday of my …’

  ‘STOP!’ Orlaith screamed, holding out her hand.

  I froze mid-step. Orlaith pointed down at the ground. My foot was hovering only inches away from a doormat that had been placed at the entrance. I recognised it immediately – it was the booby-trapped burglar alarm she had made for her presentation. I glanced up. Sure enough, hanging from the ceiling were a series of water rifles aimed directly at my head, filled with stinking month-old mayonnaise.

  ‘For intruders,’ Orlaith explained. ‘We can’t be too careful now my dad’s on patrol.’ She turned to Callum. ‘Any sign of him outside?’

  Callum nodded. ‘He just passed the house.’

  Orlaith sighed, and wiped her face. She looked exhausted.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That gives us another half-hour at least before he’s round here again. Now’s our chance, let’s go!’

  Without another word she strolled over to a tarpaulin sheet that lay at the back of the shelter, and whipped it off with a flourish.

  We gasped. In front of us stood our bikes. At least, they used to be our bikes. They were more than that now, much more. Orlaith had obviously been working on them all night, taking them to pieces and stripping them down to make them feather-light before welding them back together. The new frames were needle-thin, sleek, already itching to move. Each and every one had been painted midnight black. Orlaith rested a hand on one proudly.

  ‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep, but it was worth it,’ she sighed, rubbing her eyes. ‘They’ve all got silencers on every moving part, and I’ve almost halved their weight. Plus, the black paint is a special non-reflective type that doesn’t glint in the dark. My dad wouldn’t notice us even if we were stood right in front of him.’

  ‘Ooh!’ said Ceri. ‘Tell me that one’s mine! Please!’

  At the end stood the bike with a sidecar. We cooed in amazement. Orlaith had added new panels around the sides to reshape it, all polished to within an inch of their lives. It was like a bullet, beetle-black, moulded to perfection.

  ‘That one took the longest,’ said Orlaith proudly, attempting to sound modest and failing. ‘All the wheels have got padded suspension now, so you won’t get any wobbly photos. Plus, I added a few of my own … adjustments.’

  She patted a metal box on the front of the bike. It had a screen on the front, and a light bulb on top. It made the sidecar look almost like the cockpit of a plane. My eyes widened.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘Is that a stormtrap?’

  Orlaith stifled a yawn. ‘Yep – an old one my dad had lying around. I used it to help me design the stormtrap for the play. But get this – I played around with it last night, and managed to fix the wiring inside.’

  She flicked a button at the base of the stormtrap. The bulb on top glowed steadily awake. Orlaith tilted the box towards us.

  ‘Remember what stormtraps do? They push tornadoes away. Well, who knows what could happen when we’re out there – the tornado could suddenly change direction when we’re right next to it, and come towards us. This little box might just save our lives.’ She reached into the sidecar. ‘And then of course, there’s … this.’

  She carefully twisted a hidden mechanism. At once, a specially made tripod flipped up from beside the seat, ready for a camera to be loaded into it. Ceri squirmed with excitement.

  ‘Orlaith, you genius!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you made all this in one night!’

  Orlaith shrugged, and pretended to inspect her nails.

  ‘Whatever. It wasn’t so hard.’

  Callum glared at her jealously. ‘Oh, right. Just had all this stuff lying around the house, did you?’

  Orlaith bristled. ‘An engineer always finds a use for something.’

  ‘That’s what you want to do when you grow up?’ said Callum. ‘Be an engineer?’

  Orlaith blushed. ‘It’s a well-paid career. With excellent prospects.’ She fumbled awkwardly. ‘Er … shall we?’

  We didn’t need telling twice. We ran to the bikes and grabbed them eagerly. I almost toppled backwards when I did – my bike had become as light as a feather.

  ‘Wait!’ Orlaith cried. ‘I almost forgot – there’s one more thing.’

  She reached into the sidecar again and brought a pile of black sheets. She held one up.

  ‘I realised last night,’ she said. ‘There’s no point riding stealth bikes if we’re not hidden too, is there?’

  She scurried around us, fastening the sheets to our necks and wrists. We looked down at ourselves. Each one of us now wore a lightweight jet-black cape, stretching from our shoulders down to our ankles and hiding our bodies in complete velvet darkness. A face mask attached to the neck, covering our mouths so that only our eyes showed. We looked at each other in the light of the shelter.

  ‘Capes,’ said Callum, his voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement ‘We look like flipping ninjas!’

  ‘Or superheroes,’ said Ceri dreamily. ‘A team of superheroes.’

  There was no denying it – we looked amazing. Those photographs of my grandparents beside the tornado, in their homemade outfits and specially adapted planes – they were nothing compared to this.

  ‘I … I don’t think I’ve ever looked this cool in my whole life,’ I whispered.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ said Orlaith, grabbing another patch of material and chucking it at me. I opened it in confusion.

  It was
a black shower cap.

  ‘To cover your helmet,’ Orlaith explained.

  And with that, my moment of coolness passed.

  13

  Our Daring Escape

  A howl echoed down through into the village, carried from far beyond the hills.

  ‘Hear that?’ Orlaith whispered. ‘That’s the tornado. It must be right on the other side of the valley.’

  We stood in the bushes, silent, nervous, our eyes darting down the windswept street before us. It was empty. The wind billowed through our lightweight cloaks. My shower cap rustled.

  ‘Remember,’ said Orlaith, ‘my dad’s going to be circling the green by now. So keep your eyes peeled for him. I’ll go in front and head for the road out of town – the rest of you follow. Owen, stick at the back and keep an eye out for any bears behind us.’

  I nodded. My heart was pounding against my ribcage like a piston. I was surprised the others couldn’t hear it over the wind. It rippled through our capes, flapping them out behind us. Orlaith braced herself on her bike.

  ‘Ready?’ she said.

  We pulled on our masks. Orlaith gave us one last glance. A smile winked at the corner of her eyes.

  ‘The Tornado Chasers!’ she hissed.

  And with that she was off, whipping out the bushes at lightning speed and disappearing round the corner. Callum leapt up and down on his bike in excitement.

  ‘The Tornado Chasers!’ he said.

  Without another word he kicked his bike away and shot after her. Ceri stood up in the sidecar and held out her cape to the wind.

  ‘The Tornado Chasers!’

  Pete grinned and heaved himself down onto the pedals. They powered out of the bushes and flew down the street, Ceri giggling with excitement and slapping Pete on the bum to make him go faster.

  I watched them disappear, and waited for a second. I quickly glanced over my shoulder. I could swear I heard something rustling in the bushes behind me. I swallowed, and pushed myself off.