Myka's in a dingy little bar in Kiowa, Kansas when she first sees her.

The property is barely large enough for a person to pass between the row of bar stools and the booths pressed up against the opposite wall. There's a jukebox tucked between the end of the bar and the front windows, but Myka's not sure if it works. She hasn't seen anyone play it all night.

A woman is standing in front of it now, though. She's slight with a curtain of dark hair, wearing a lose, even baggy shirt and a pair of slacks that—Myka can't help but notice—hug every part of her legs.

She turns around and her eyes fall on Myka. She quickly averts her gaze, and when she chances a look back, the woman is circling the rim of her cup with her middle finger and smirking at her.

"Here you go."

Myka jumps as the bartender sets four drinks on the counter in front of her. The woman at the end of the bar nods at her and goes back to her own drink.

She sighs and take the drinks back to her table.

Pete and Steve are sitting closest to the wall, a map of the plains region of the Midwest spread out between them. Claudia is swiping at her phone with her thumb. Myka deposits the drinks in the center of the table and slides Pete's Mountain Dew over to him.

"So what do we think?" she asks.

"Two options," Claudia says as she reaches for one of the glasses. "There's a string of them down Route 183, about 150 miles from here, and one just over the Missouri line, near Joplin. Do you know which way Zach and Jim are going?"

Myka takes a sip of her drink.

"Joplin," she answers. "But they're up in Sedalia. They can't make it to Oklahoma by tomorrow afternoon."

"Aw, they got the Sedalia storm?" Claudia groans. She shakes her head. "God, were we the only ones who missed that?"

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Myka tells her. "We took a chance."

"Hey, we saw that double rainbow," Pete adds. "That was nice, right?"

"Except that my footage of double rainbows isn't going to pay for our gas," Steve sighs.

"Okay, okay," Myka says. "We'll wake up early tomorrow and drop by the NWS office in Wichita. It'll be clearer where the supercells are forming by then."

"Well, if we have to go all the way to Wichita in the morning, let's get out of here." Claudia drains her drink and then grimaces and shakes her head. "Oh god, that was bad." She turns to Steve. "Are you going to finish yours?"

He shakes his head and slides his glass toward her, off the edge of the map. He blots at the wet ring where the condensation on the outside of the glass soaked into the paper with a napkin, and then folds it up.

Claudia knocks back the drink.

"Okay, let's go."

Myka is halfway out the door when she hears a soft voice behind her.

"Wait."

The woman from the bar is standing in the doorway, illuminated by the neon light of the "OPEN" sign in the window.

"May I have a word?"

Her voice makes Myka want to melt. It's low, the kind of rough that comes from drinking. She has a British accent that sounds slightly watered down, like she hasn't been back in a while.

She turns over her shoulder. Claudia and Steve are already halfway across the tiny parking lot to the 2005 Dodge Ram that the four of them practically live in six weeks out of the year. Pete has stopped though. He's watching her.

"I'll be right there," Myka calls. She turns back to the woman.

The woman holds out her hand.

"Helena."

Myka isn't really used to this kind of formality. She's hasn't shaken hands with someone since she applied for her job at the Channel Three News, but Helena's smiling at her with an unfazed confidence that Myka both envies and finds incredibly attractive, so she takes the offered hand.

"Myka."

"Myka," Helena repeats slowly, like she's tasting it. "You don't hear that very often."

"You don't hear Helena very often either," Myka answers.

Helena's smile widens. "Fair point. You're not from the area."

Myka crosses her arms. "How did you know?"

"Accent," she answers. "And I saw the map on your table earlier. Where are you staying?"

"Kiowa Motel on 4th Street," Myka says.

"Ha," she barks. "It just so happens that I am too."

"You must be in the one room we didn't book," Myka replies.

"The manager did seem quite surprised to be full when I checked in," Helena answers. "Would you like to accompany me back to my room?"

Myka raises her eyebrows. Usually women in this part of the country are not so forward with her outside of the isolated gay bars in the middle of nowhere where she occasionally has Pete drop her off. She hasn't been propositioned this openly since she left Denver.

Helena is looking at her expectantly. She turns to Pete, still standing in the middle of the parking lot, and he raises his eyebrows at her.

"You go ahead," she tells him.

He smiles and winks at her before turning around, jogging the four remaining steps to the truck, and climbing into the driver's seat.

"That's your wingman?"

Myka looks back at Helena as the truck pulls away.

"My best friend."

"Ah." Helena nods. She gestures to grey Toyota sedan parked just off the curb. "Shall we?"


Helena doesn't bother to turn on the light or offer Myka a drink once they reach her room. She presses her against the door before she even has time to kick her shoes off.

She's much more confident than almost any of the women Myka has slept with since she moved to South Dakota. Her hands don't shake as she undoes Myka's belt, and when Myka crawls onto the bed, she doesn't hesitate to join her. She laughs when Myka pushes on top.

Myka's used to sleeping with women who look like deer in headlights as they assure her that, yes, they want to be doing this. She's used to sleeping with women who keep the lights off because they're embarrassed by her and by themselves, rather than because they couldn't wait to get her into bed.

They have to be quiet because the room Pete and Steve are sharing is right on the other side of the wall, and Myka bruises her shin on the bedframe, but when they're sweaty and naked, lying on their backs beside each other with their legs still tangled in the sheets, it occurs to Myka how rarely she has fun during sex. It's almost a shame they're leaving tomorrow.

"Where are you off to in the morning?" Helena asks her as they catch their breath.

Myka sighs. "I don't know. Wichita, and then we'll figure it out from there. What about you? Are you staying?"

Helena chuckles. Myka can see her shake her head through the darkness. "In this charming town? If I didn't know better, I'd say the people here think I'm some sort of… of alien or something."

"The accent?" you ask.

"The accent," Helena agrees. "The clothes. I don't think this town can wait to be rid of me. None of them ever can."

Myka sits up and begins to root around for the underwear she knows are still in the bed somewhere.

"Where you born in England?"

"London," Helena answers. "We lived there until I was fifteen. There's not a greater city on earth. Leaving was the second hardest thing I've ever had to do."

"But you haven't gone back," you say.

"I haven't." Helena sighs. It's a deep sigh, and Myka can tell there's a story behind it. "When we first I arrived here, I was so certain I would return to Europe for university, but when the time came, I had a rather compelling reason not to. And then, by the time I didn't, I found that leaving no longer felt like an option."

"Oh," Myka pulls her shirt over her head. "Do you think you ever will?"

"I honestly couldn't say," Helena answers. "Do you think you'll ever go back to wherever you're from?"

"I already did."

Myka hitches her pants over her hips and gathers her phone and wallet. She has one hand on the doorknob, but she looks back at Helena, still sitting up in bed, the sheets pillowed around her waist.

"What was the hardest?"

"What?"

"You said leaving London was the second hardest thing you ever did," Myka says. "What was the hardest?"

Helena smiles bitterly and shakes her head.

"I'm afraid that's hardly a story for after sex."

"You smell like sex," Claudia groans as Myka locks the door of the room they're sharing behind her. Her face is still buried in the pillow.

"You can't smell me," Myka replies with a roll of her eyes.

She climbs into the bed nearest the door without undressing again and pulls the floral-print comforter over her head.


When they pull out of the motel parking lot at 7:00 AM the next morning, Helena's grey Toyota—a Carolla, now that Myka's seen it up close—is gone.

They catch an EF2 just outside Sentinel, Oklahoma. They don't get any good measurements because the remote control helicopter that their probe is bolted to gets tossed into a field a quarter mile away before it even gets into the tornado, but Steve takes some footage that he sells to a local news station for enough money to pay for a tank of gas.

It's been three weeks when Myka sees Helena again. It's late May, down to the last weeks of an unsuccessful season. They're staying at an America's Best Value Inn in Wichita Falls, Texas after striking out on a supercell near Byers. It's the first time this season they've spent the night in a city with over 100,000 people in it.

"You guys won't believe this," Pete tells them while they're sitting in a Denny's at 9:45 at night waiting for their scrambled eggs. "There's a bar doing a karaoke night tonight."

"I'm down," Claudia answers immediately. "It's been a while since we've actually had something to do."

It might be a jab at Myka's navigational skills, because it's been a week and a half since they've seen anything other than moderately heavy rain and a whole lot of wheat, but she's too tired to argue.

Steve agrees with a wordless nod.

Myka sighs. "You guys, go. I'm exhausted, and I haven't showered since we got rained on earlier."

"Come on, Mykes," Pete says. "Neither have any of us. Come have some fun."

"None of you have hair as curly as mine," Myka points out. "No, I just want to watch some TV in the room and go to bed early. But I'm serious. Go. Have fun."

Pete rolls his eyes, but forty-five minutes later, he drops her off on the curb in front of the motel with a stern, "Don't get into too much trouble."

She's fresh out of the shower, standing at the ice machine when she hears that voice again.

"Myka?"

When she looks up, the woman with the sleek dark hair that Myka can still feel between her fingers is standing before her, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape in surprise. She's wearing another airy button-up shirt and a pair of white pants that hug her legs no less than the ones she was wearing in Kiowa. She almost looks like a ghost, standing there on the sidewalk under the buzzing outdoor lights of the America's Best Value Inn. There's something about her that feels timeless, but Myka can't quite put her finger on what.

"Helena." She says, just as surprised as Helena looks. "You remembered my name."

"It's not every day I hear a name like that," Helena answers. "You remembered mine as well."

"Got me there." Myka narrows her eyes. "Are you following me?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Myka shrugs. "I'm just getting ice."

"And I was getting something out of my car." Helena jostles the battered leather briefcase in her right hand. "Would you like to come back to my room?"

"I shouldn't," Myka answers. "I already bailed on a night out because I wanted to go to bed early."

That, and she hasn't slept with anyone more than once since she broke up with her last and only girlfriend a year and a half ago.

"Ah, right, your friends." Helena nods. "They're well?"

"They're venting their frustration somewhere else," Myka says. "It's been a long couple of weeks."

"Yes, I have found that traveling for long periods of time with companions can breed resentment," Helena replies. "That's one of the reasons I prefer to travel alone. Well, I shall let you get back to your ice." She starts down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of Myka's room, but then she stops and looks back a Myka, her hair tumbling over her right shoulder. "I'm staying in Room 12. I'll be in for the rest of the night."

Myka goes back to her room and flips on the TV. The motel doesn't have cable, so her only choices are a talk show with some celebrity she doesn't recognize, a rerun of Law & Order, a children's show about dinosaurs, a rerun of a different episode of Law & Order, and Dateline. She flips between Dateline and Law & Order until the commercial break, and then she switches the TV off and flops backwards onto her back.

Helena smiles when she opens the door. Myka can hear the talk show playing inside the room.

"I hoped you might change your mind."

"There was nothing on TV," Myka offers in way of an explanation.

Helena steps back to let her in. "Well, I'm glad to hear that I'm at least a better draw than the nightly news."

"Law & Order, actually." Myka steps into the room.

Helena closes the door behind her. "Even better."

"It was an episode from the nineties." Her father used to watch Law & Order every Wednesday night when she was growing up. If she'd been a little more honest with herself at the age of thirteen, Claire Kincaid might have contributed to her sexual awakening.

"Is this you trying to flirt?" Helena asks, but Myka can tell without looking back at her that she's smiling.

Her mouth is on Myka's neck before she has time to answer.


When she first wakes up, she thinks she's in her room and that the shuffling noises coming from the table against the opposite wall are Claudia.

The sunlight peaking between the blinds onto the comforter is warm and bright, and definitely not what she expects at 6:30 in the morning, which is the time the alarm on her phone was supposed to wake her up.

"What time is it?" she murmurs.

"Nearly eight."

The voice that answers does not belong to Claudia.

She bolts upright.

"Helena?" she asks. "Oh my god, I fell asleep! I can't believe I fell asleep. I'm so sorry."

She crawls across the bed and reaches for her jeans, lying in a pile on the floor near the chair where Helena is sitting.

"No need to apologize," Helena answers. "You did say you planned to turn in early. You seemed to need the rest."

"God, I hope Claudia's not looking for me," she mutters, groping around under the bed for her shirt."

"She probably assumes you're with another woman," Helena answers with a shrug. "They didn't seem terribly surprised when you decided to accompany me back to my room last time." She looks up at you. "How often do you accompany strange women to their motel rooms."

She's looking at Myka with a sly smile and a playful glint in her eye.

"Just one since last time," Myka answers. "In Parsons, Kansas."

"You were in Parsons?" Helena asks. "I was there too. Complete disappointment. I should have gone up to Fort Scott." She scowls and shakes her head.

"Wait a second." Myka looks slowly up at her. "Where you chasing?"

She pulls her shirt over her head and stands up to look at the papers Helena is shuffling around over her shoulder.

"You've got meteorological data."

"Is that why you're here?" Helena asks.

"Yeah," Myka answers. "We're trying to take measurements from inside a tornado to develop a better advance warning system. I'm a meteorologist."

"So that's what your team does." Helena sets down her papers. "I'd assumed you were merely on a road trip tour of the Midwest. Although it did seem strange that you wouldn't have gotten farther by now."

"And that anyone would intentionally take a road trip around Kansas and Oklahoma," Myka replies. "So what are you doing out here? You're not some thrill seeker, are you?"

Helena chuckles. "No, I'm afraid not. I'm trying to…" she pauses thoughtfully, "understand. A tornado is like… a hand of god, if you will. It comes out of the sky to decimate lives in one house and leaves the next-door neighbors untouched. In many ways, it feels more like a sentient creature than a natural phenomenon. I need to know why." She shrugs. "My more practical aspiration is similar to yours. The advanced warning system."

"Where's your team?" Myka asks. "Who do you work with?"

Helena turns back to her papers. "As I told you last night, I travel alone."

"You chase alone," Myka repeats.

"I'm a meteorologist," Helena answers. "I know how to read and interpret my data. I know how to drive. I don't need a team."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Myka asks.

"I'm acutely aware of the dangers a tornado poses," Helena answers sharply. "But I take calculated risks, and none of the teams I've worked with have been willing to keep up."

"Chase with us."

It's out of Myka's mouth before she's even thought about it.

Helena shakes her head again. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Come on, we can be a convoy," Myka pushes. "Lots of teams do it. And having a second vehicle would make the truck less crowded. Steve barely has room for his camera equipment."

"Myka…"

"Just try it once," she insists. "If you don't like it, I'll never ask you again."

Helena smirks. "Is that what you say to all the girls?"

Myka smiles at her. "I'll meet you in the parking lot in half an hour."

She turns toward the door, but then she stops. "Oh, and can you bring my bra if you find it? You know how expensive they are, and I only packed two."

Helena raises an eyebrow at her. "Aren't you also missing your underwear?"

"Those weren't expensive."

Myka winks at her as she steps out of the room and closes the door behind her.


"So let me get this straight." Claudia is leaning against the back of the pickup truck, her arms crossed. "Not only did you invite some stranger to chase with us, but you want one of us to get in the car with her."

"Not one of you," Myka answers. "Steve. You've been telling us you don't have room in the backseat to maneuver your camera. I know it's tight back there."

"We have no idea what her chase style's like," Claudia argues. "What if she's some… what if she doesn't know what she's doing?"

"She's a meteorologist," Myka answers. "She knows how tornados work. And she's not really a stranger. I've spent time with her."

Claudia raises her eyebrows. "And how much of that time did you spend talking about storms?"

Myka shoves her hands in her pocket and glances down at the pavement. "Some."

Pete's hand falls on her shoulder. "Mykes, look, you know I usually trust your judgment—I'd have to, to come out here with you—but I'm not sure about this. We don't know her."

"Okay, then I'll tell you guys the same thing I told her," Myka says. "Just try it once. If it doesn't work out, that's it. We'll move on, and I'll never bring it up again."

"Good morning!" a familiar accented voice calls from behind her.

Helena is approaching the truck. The briefcase she was carring last night dangles over her shoulder.

"I'm told we're chasing together today."

Steve sighs. "Okay, okay, I'll do it. But you're never holding gay-lesbian solidarity over my head again."

"What was that?" Helena asks.

"Steve's going to ride with you," Myka answers quickly. "He's our videographer. I hope you don't mind your passenger-side window being down most of the chase."

"I do love the feeling of eighty mile per hour winds in my hair," she replies easily.

"Great." Myka pulls her notes out of her back pocket. "There's a string of supercells over Highway 56. I'm focusing on one approaching Larned, Kansas that looks particularly promising." She looks up at Helena. "Do you agree?"

"I do," Helena answers.

"Okay, this could be the one that makes the whole season worth it," she continues. "It's about six hours, so if we don't stop, we can be there by…" she checks her watch, "3:30. That should give us time to gas up and figure out our game plan."

Steve turns to Pete. "You still got those walkie talkies in the glove compartment?"

"Yep." He reaches opens the driver's side door and stretches across the seats. He fishes around for a minute, and then he straightens up and tosses Helena a yellow plastic walkie talkie.

"We'll call you when we get there and figure out where to meet," he says. "If it's not obvious, I guess."


It turns out to be obvious.

Myka's first thought when they pull into the parking lot of the Kwik Shop where storm chasers are parked nearly bumper to bumper is that they might be doubling the population of this town.

They've parked the Ram between a Weather Channel van and a satellite truck and run into the convenience store for a couple of pops and a bag of Funyuns by the time Helena pulls in. Myka's sitting in the passenger seat, where her laptop is mounted to the right of the radio. The door is open and Claudia is standing just outside holding a map and looking at the screen over her shoulder.

"It looks like it's over 110th, just north of the airport," she's saying. "So we should position on, what, South and 90th?"

"That way we can hop on 56 if things go bad." Myka nods. "40th goes over the river. Seems like a good spot."

"Do we have a plan?"

Myka looks up at the sound of Helena's voice.

"Yeah, we're going to wait here." she points to a spot halfway between 90th and Both Avenue, "We can position ourselves once it touches down, and then we'll drop the probes and get clear."

"We were trying to fly them directly into the storm," Claudia explains, "but they kept getting tossed before they could transmit any data, so Leena and I—Leena's our physicist—we went back to the drawing board."

She walks around to the bed of the truck and pulls a tarp aside. The apparatus is shaped like a cone with a base that extends out from under it in a square shape.

"It's called Elphaba," Claudia says. "Myka wanted to call it Dorothy, but we needed something a little more this century, right? Plus, look at what it's shaped like. How could you not? So check it out." She points down at the base. "We nail it into the ground with stakes. The whole body is full of probes, and when we release them remotely, it lets them out one at a time so they're dispersed all through the tornado." She turns to Myka. "It's going to be awesome."

"How long did it take you to build this?" Helena asks.

Claudia shrugs. "About a week. The hardest thing was finding the parts we needed to—"

"Hey! Myka!"

Two men approaching from across the parking lot. The one of the left is wearing a black t-shirt with a gold image of a buffalo on it, and the other, a plain blue polo and a backwards baseball cap.

"Claudia, Helena," Myka says, sucking in a deep breath as they come to a stop in front of her. "Zach and Jim."

"Oh, the guys you used to chase with," Claudia holds out her hand. "Claudia Donovan. Engineer extraordinaire."

"Hey, congrats on getting back in," Zach says as he shakes Claudia's hand. "You still working with Leena?"

Myka nods and chews on her bottom lip. "It's our third season back together."

"Wow, has it really been that long?" Zach crosses his arms. "I can't believe we haven't run into each other before now."

"This year it's because all my calls have been bad," Myka answers, shaking her head. "I heard you guys were in Sedalia."

"Yeah, it was pretty wild," Jim answers. "EF4."

"Wow, I haven't seen an EF4 since—" Myka cuts herself off, and Zach grimaces. "Since I was chasing with you guys."

"You heard that was downgraded to an EF3, right?" Zach asks, his voice low.

"You don't believe it was an EF3, do you?" Myka asks as Jim mutters, "Bullshit scale."

Zach sighs. "I don't know how anyone who was there could. Look, Myka—"

"Stop." She holds up a hand. "I don't want to hear it."

"I just wanted to say—"

"No," she says firmly. "I can't deal with that right now. Find me afterwards. I can't think about it going into a chase."

Zach nods. "Fair enough." He claps her on the shoulder and gives her a shake. He's still wearing that awful underwater watch that Sam got him for his twenty-fourth birthday. It must be a decade old by now. "Glad to have you back."

Jim's favors his right side as they pick their way back across the parking lot. She wonders if he ever actually did the physical therapy for his knee. He was always stubborn like that. She feels bad about leaving the way she did, never checking in on them, never ascertaining that they were really okay.

Helena turns to her, eye wide, as she watches them walk away. "Were you in El Reno?"

"What did she just say?" Claudia hisses.

Myka only shrugs. "Wasn't everyone in El Reno?" She turns to Helena. "Stay within range of the walkies once we get into it, okay? Cell service might be down."

"Aye aye, captain." Helena presses her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute.


By 5:30, the sky is the telltale black and green of an oncoming storm and they can see a heavy charcoal-colored wall cloud rotating low in the sky to the south of them as Pete pulls over on South Road.

Claudia slaps Myka on the arm. "I think this is going to be the one."

Helena pulls over behind them, and Steve climbs out of the passenger seat. He pulls his camera out of the backseat and balances it on his shoulder. Pete helps Claudia and Myka lift Elphaba out of the bed of the truck and into the field.

"We should wait to nail it down," Myka says as Claudia reaches for the stakes in the back seat. "We might have to adjust."

They probably should have left it in the bed of the truck until they were sure, but Myka is just so excited to try it out and she's feeling optimistic about today.

"Look," Claudia nods southwest, toward the wall cloud. "It's spinning up."

Myka snaps her head to the south. A wide, dark funnel is folding out from under the low-hanging clouds not a mile away, hovering just off the ground.

"Perfect," she murmurs. "Look at that cone." She glances at Claudia. "Get the stakes ready. We're going to have to do this fast."

"Uh, guys?" Pete says. "I don't think so."

Myka looks back at the tornado and watches it for a moment, but instead of getting larger against the dark teal sky like she expects it to, it's moving to the left. If anything, it's shrinking in size.

"It's headed southeast," Helena murmurs as she watches the horizon.

"Okay, okay, it was a bad call," Myka says. "Help me get it back in the truck."

Claudia, Pete, and Helena each lift a corner of the apparatus and heave it back into the bed of the truck while Steve pulls his tripod out of the backseat of the truck and stows it in the back of Helena's Corolla.

"Everyone, back in the truck!" Myka calls. "Helena, have your walkie talkie ready. We can still get in front of it."

She jumps into the passenger seat slams her door shut as Steve is ducking into Helena's car, his camera cradled against his chest.

"East," she mutters to Pete as he speeds down South Road.

"Get on 156!" Claudia calls as they reach the interstate.

"No, it runs southwest!" Myka answers. "By the time we're far enough south, we'll be behind it. Turn right, here!"

The tornado is still headed to their left, gaining size. It looks more like a stovepipe now, and it's suddenly larger on the horizon than was when it touched down. When Myka blinks, she can see a bigger tornado, a closer one, and she can hear screams of, Left! Left! and, No! if you turn left we die!

"R Road?" Pete calls as they approach another intersection.

"No," Myka answers. She looks down at the map in her lap. "We're going to have to cross the river. Okay, left on Q!"

The back wheels of the truck slide as Pete wrenches the wheel left.

"Helena, you still behind us?" Myka asks into the walkie talkie.

"Yes," a robotic version of Helena's voice answers. "What's the plan?"

"We need to go south on 60th," Myka answers. "We're coming to the river, and the nearest bridge is on O."

"Hey, Mykes?" Pete says.

"Do you copy?" Myka asks into the walkie talkie.

"Myka!" Pete exclaims as Helena answers, "Copy."

When she looks up, the tornado is no longer moving east as quickly as it was before. In fact, they seem to be catching up to it, but it spans nearly twice the length of the horizon as it did. It's close enough that Myka can see the debris field. Chunks of wood, sheet metal, large pieces of pipe all tossing around violently at the base of the funnel.

"Jesus Christ," Claudia gasps from the back seat. "It's growing. I think it's going to be a wedge."

"It changed directions," Myka whispers. She is frozen, staring at the violent grey cloud for a second—God, it's right on our tail! I think we're inside it!—before her mind whirs back to life.

"Left on O!" she yells. She ducks back toward the walkie talkie. "Helena, we're pulling the plug. We've got to get out of here."

"So we're deploying your sensors?" she asks.

"No, we don't have time," Myka answers. "We did too good a job catching up to it. If we stop now, we won't have time to get clear. O's going to dead-end here in a second. Turn left."

There is a second's pause, and then Helena answers, "No."

"What?" Myka asks.

"No," she repeats. "You haven't successfully deployed all season. This is our only chance."

"It's fine!" Myka insists. "We can wait another year."

"And how many will die in the meantime?" Helena asks. Under other circumstances, Myka would admire the conviction in her voice, but in this situation, it's terrifying.

In the rearview mirror, she sees the Corolla turn south on 60th Avenue.

"What is she doing?" Pete demands over the howling winds that are just starting to reach them.

"Steve's in there!" Claudia yells as a steel trailer cartwheels through the field about two hundred yards away.

"I know!" Myka answers. "Just let me… get my thoughts—"

"Mykes, we don't have time for that."

Pete veers into a wheat field, does a U-turn so sharp it throws Myka and Claudia against the passenger side doors, and speeds in the other direction.

"That was illegal!" Myka cries as she rights herself and carefully rotates her shoulder.

"I'll pay for the damage," Pete grunts, his focus intently on the road.

Pete turns back onto 60th, and then onto O Road. The hail pelting the roof of the truck sounds like baseballs hitting an aluminum fence. A mailbox blows out of the ground and across the road in front of them.

"Are we inside the tornadic wind field?" Claudia asks breathlessly. I think we're inside it!

"Helena?" Myka yells into the walkie talkie. "Can you hear me? You need to drive as fast as you can. It's is bearing down on you. We're already in it."

There's no response.

"Can you see her taillights?" Myka asks Pete, squinting ahead. The windshield is too flooded to make out anything on the other side of it. She feels dizzy.

"Oh my god!" Claudia exclaims from the back seat. "Did you see that? That barn in that field over there just blew apart."

Watch it! Watch that sheet metal! Did that barn just blow away?

"We can still get ahead of it," Pete says, but he sounds like he's underwater. His knuckles are white around the wheel. He's straining to keep the truck on the road. "We've got miles of open road ahead of us. We can drive back out of it and get clear."

"What about Steve?" Claudia demands.

"I don't know where he is," Pete answers. "There's not much we can do for him now."

"Helena!" Myka calls into the walkie talkie again. "God damnit! Steve!"

"Forget it, Myka," Pete says. "She's not answering."

Myka hurls the walkie talkie up against the windshield. The cover of the battery compartment breaks off with a clatter. The walkie talkie slides along the dashboard as she drops her head in her hands. She can't breathe. She feels like she's drowning.

"Deep breaths," Pete calls to her. His hand is on her shoulder for a second before he removes it to return to the wheel. The engine growls as he accelerates.

Myka can feel the wheels lift off the ground, front first and then the back. The sounds of three grown men screaming almost disappear under the deafening roar of the storm. She hears thick glass break, and then she feels a sharp pain in her left arm near her shoulder. Something cuts across her face. For a second, there's a scratching, rustling sound coming from the seat beside her, like an animal being dragged out of a cage against its will, and then it stop and one of the voices disappears into the wind.

She's going to die here. She can feel it.

When she manages to make it back to the surface, all four of the truck's tires are still planted firmly on the ground. The windows are all intact. The pain in her arm is gone, as is the wet trickle of blood down her cheek. She takes a long, shaky breath.

"See? The rain's lightening up," Pete is saying. "I think we're out of it. I'm going to turn south up here. We can get out of the way before it catches us again."

He signals to turn onto 40th Avenue, but Myka stops him with a hand on his arm.

"What's that?"

There's something battered and silver lying twenty yards into a field ahead of them.

"Oh, god," Claudia gasps. "Do you think that's—"

"I don't know," Myka answers, even though she does.

Pete pulls off the road and Myka stumbles out of the car and staggers toward the ruined Corolla. There's still hail, but it's smaller now. She ducks her face and shields her head with her arms, and she tries not to trip over the debris scattered through the field but she does twice.

The car is upside down. When she gets close enough to see through the rain, Steve is kneeling on the ground helping Helena climb out through the broken driver's side window. They're still holding onto each other's arms as they rise slowly and shakily to their feet.

"Thank god!"

Claudia flies past her and throws herself into Steve's arms. He stumbles backwards until his shoulder collides with one of the upturned wheels.

Myka turn towards Helena, scans her for damage. She is covered in mud and there's a cut above her right eye. She's cradling her right arm in her left.

"What were you thinking!" she explodes. "You could have gotten Steve killed! You could have been killed!"

"I misjudged," Helena answers without looking at her. "I thought we could still get ahead of it if we were fast enough."

"Helena, you can't make calls like that!" Myka yells. "Not when you do what we do! That's how people die!"

"I know how people die in tornados!" Helena roars. "I've seen it happen! I thought—" she breaks off and takes a breath. When she speaks again, her voice is level. "I thought that, perhaps, if we could get some viable data, something that could save lives, it would be worth it."

"We'd have to make it out alive first," Myka points out. "And if we died and our knowledge died with us, we wouldn't be able to save anyone."

Helena looks down at the grass by her feet. "I know," she answers.


Helena's car is totaled, so they drive her to the Greyhound stop in Hays. She can take the bus to Wichita and from there she can board a plane or a train or a bus back to… wherever she lives. Myka never asked.

"I am sorry," she says before she climbs out of the truck. She's squeezed into the back with Claudia and Steve. "I'm glad everyone's okay."

Pete nods silently from the driver's seat. Myka can feel the barely contained rage radiating off of Claudia.

"Myka…" she feels a hand on her shoulder. "I understand if you don't want to talk to me again, but I want you to know that I genuinely enjoyed the time we spent together."

And then her hand is gone. Myka watches her pull the belongings they were able to salvage out of the bed of the truck and back away, toward the Greyhound sign. She offers a wave, but Myka doesn't wave back.