Guthrie’s hand in his was the only thing keeping Luke on his feet. They sprinted down the muddy bank and along the fence line toward a group of three farmhouses. The wind hit them in the face, slowing them down. It took Luke a second to realize it was updraft. He peeked over his shoulder, expecting to see the tornado on his tail, but it wasn’t as close as he feared. Just huge. They skidded onto the gravel lane. The first house didn’t have a vehicle out front or a garage. Guthrie hauled Luke to the side of the house and into the backyard like he was searching for something.
Whatever it was, he didn’t find it because they kept right on sprinting. The second and third houses were directly across the street from each other. There was an old man standing on the porch of one, watching them.
“Do you have a storm shelter?” Guthrie yelled.
The man shook his head and pointed across the street. “The Jenkins house does out back. It’s a foreclosure.”
Guthrie started to tug Luke that direction, but Luke stopped him. “You alone?” he called to the man.
“Nah. Missus is inside bitching that Wheel of Fortune was preempted.”
“You need to take shelter right now,” Guthrie shouted over the wind and rain. “Come with us.”
The old man waved his hand in dismissal. “We’ll go to the bathtub like we always do.”
“Please!” Luke yelled.
“It’s not safe above ground. You need to be below ground,” Guthrie said.
The man shook his head again and went inside, the screen door slamming behind him.
“Oh fuck,” Guthrie said. “We’ve got to move.” He was trembling.
Luke nodded. Guthrie dragged him toward the foreclosed house. An image of the house as a pile of rubble flashed through his mind. He slammed a door on that thought. There was an in-ground storm shelter in the back garden, built into a small mound overgrown with weeds. The old man hadn’t been wrong.
The old man. Another thing Luke couldn’t let penetrate his mind, or he’d panic.
Guthrie threw the storm shelter door open. It was so dark, steps leading into a hole in the ground. Guthrie yanked Luke down the stairs and slammed the door shut above them, then turned the lever handle to lock them in.
Suffocating darkness enveloped them, and Luke automatically said, “Hello?” as if there might be someone else in there with them. Which was the creepiest thought in the whole fucking world.
Guthrie’s breath was like a cry each time he inhaled and exhaled. “Need light,” he gasped out.
Luke fumbled with his phone and flipped the flashlight on.
The shelter was empty and surprisingly clean. A few dusty corners, but no skeletons or wild animals, thank God. The walls were cement and the room couldn’t have been larger than six by eight feet. Guthrie dug a tiny lantern out of his bag. It cast a wider light through the shelter.
The man really was prepared for everything.
Luke turned his phone light off and checked to see if he had service. He didn’t.
Guthrie reached up to touch his ears. “I lost the headset.” His voice was thin and terrified.
“Yeah.”
“Phone service?”
“No.”
Guthrie clenched his eyes shut and breathed loudly through his nose for several seconds. Then he started chanting, “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”
Luke sidled closer and wrapped Guthrie in his arms. “It’s okay. We’re safe.”
Guthrie clenched his hands in Luke’s rain jacket. Then they were kissing, Guthrie’s mouth on his so harsh and hard it made him dizzy.
“Slow down, sweetheart. Guthrie, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
“No. Not okay. Please. Just—I need. Keep kissing.”
So Luke did. Because Guthrie needed the distraction. Because Luke’s ears had popped with a pressure change. Because it felt like they were waiting to get punched, the anticipation almost worse than the reality. They grappled and touched and kissed, Guthrie’s hands a cyclone on Luke’s body. Luke pushed closer and closer until Guthrie was cushioned against the wall.
Guthrie ripped his mouth away on a cry. But it wasn’t a good cry. It was terrified. “The wall’s vibrating.”
Luke put his hand on the wall. He could feel it too. He flipped them around so his back was against the cement and Guthrie was in front of him.
The move seemed to galvanize Guthrie because he pressed their groins together. Luke could practically hear the panicked siren ringing in Guthrie’s brain, and he would do anything to make it stop.
He almost asked what Guthrie needed, but instead of asking, Luke let Guthrie take. He let Guthrie grind their cocks together, the adrenaline and fear and heat between them making them both hard. He let Guthrie tremble and pant and fuck against him. And Luke kissed Guthrie like he loved him because he was pretty sure he did. He’d give Guthrie anything. He’d do anything to protect him. Even dry hump in a storm shelter to keep him from freaking out.
The roar of the tornado was muted. People said that tornadoes sounded like a waterfall over your head, or a freight train, or a jet engine. But this one was a low rumble, drowned out by Guthrie’s cries against his lips.
Suddenly, Guthrie stiffened and gasped. His mouth went slack against Luke’s. It was surreal and precious to feel Guthrie come in his arms, a tornado raging above them, rending the world apart.
Luke held Guthrie as he shivered, and Guthrie buried his face in Luke’s neck. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry.”
Luke kissed his neck sweetly, cuddling him. Keeping him still and safe and whole. Adrenaline could screw with your body. Confuse it. Luke hadn’t been far from coming himself, not with Hurricane Guthrie rushing in, but Luke needed this more. The closeness. The hugging. “It’s okay. I liked it.”
The rumble outside got louder, the door rattling on its hinges. Guthrie tensed.
“Where do you want me to take you on our first date?” Luke said into his ear.
“I—what?” Guthrie turned his head to stare at the door.
“No. Keep your head right here.” Luke held Guthrie against his shoulder. “Listen to me. The date.”
“I don’t know.” Guthrie’s voice was strained.
“Rock climbing, then?”
“No way. Choose something I’d actually enjoy.”
“What, then?” Luke wrapped an arm tighter around Guthrie’s back and threaded the other into his tangled hair. Guthrie’s tremors slowed, his breath leveling out. Which was exactly what Luke wanted. He wanted Guthrie distracted until this was over. “A hike?”
“I like hiking. Or camping.”
“Oh, an overnight date. I love the sound of that. Where should we go camping? You know the area better.”
“My favorite is Green Leaf State Park, but it’ll be miserably hot by the time tornado season is over.”
“Then we won’t wait,” Luke said. Almost dying in a tornado could rearrange your priorities a bit.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Luke smoothed a hand up and down Guthrie’s back. Guthrie’s breathing was mostly normal. Luke’s ears popped again, and sound rushed back in. “I think it’s over.”
Guthrie shook his head. “I can still hear it.”
Luke could too, but it was distant, not directly over them. He held Guthrie in his arms, rocking him slowly, kissing him often, until they were sure the world was safe outside.
Guthrie didn’t want to go outside. He wanted to stay in this dank, damp shelter with Luke forever. But he couldn’t. The tornado had passed.
His body didn’t understand that the danger was over. His heart was a trip-hammer in his chest, his ears ringing, his breath shattering. His brain felt like it was burning. He couldn’t focus. There was a screaming in his head, and he needed to lock it down before he walked out into a disaster zone.
Self-preservation was key. He pulled himself out of Luke’s arms. His jeans were slightly wet in the crotch, and his cheeks flamed. He toed his shoes and pants off before slipping out of his ruined boxer briefs. He wadded them up and shoved them into the bottom of his backpack before pulling the jeans back on. Luke watched the whole pants dance without expression. Guthrie’s untucked shirt covered the damp spot on his jeans. He’d normally be mortified, but there wasn’t space in his brain.
“Ready to go?” Guthrie asked.
“If you are.” Luke’s voice was cautious and placating.
Guthrie couldn’t handle that emotion. He strode up the stairs, unlocked the door, and shoved it open. He wasn’t prepared, but he needed to push through this. Ride it out. Soon he could go home and freak out on his own.
Guthrie braced himself and crawled out of the safety of their hole in the ground. The foreclosure had lost its roof and most of the second story. A massive oak tree had been uprooted and dropped on the west side of the house, caving it in.
The house across the street was still standing. Mostly. All the windows had been blown out and the doors sucked off their hinges. It had lost a lot of its siding. Guthrie stared at it. He had been sure it’d be a pile of rubble, that the old man and his wife would be in dire trouble with only Luke and Guthrie there as first responders.
Luke jogged across the street to the house, but Guthrie stood rooted to the spot. His stomach hurt suddenly, a rush of relief making him dizzy. Bile twisted up his throat, and he lost the contents of his stomach all over the side of the driveway. Luke must have heard him because he called out from the porch of the house.
Guthrie waved him off. “Check on them!” he yelled. He needed a moment.
The first house on the street was completely destroyed. When Guthrie could stand up without puking, he made his way toward it. He’d assumed no one was home earlier because there had been no cars, but that didn’t mean it was empty. He picked his way through the debris.
“Hello?” he called, his voice hoarse. He stepped over what was left of an entertainment center. “Anyone here?”
No answer.
“Everyone okay? Anyone need help?”
Wet pink insulation clung to everything. He climbed toward the back of the house, yelling.
“Guthrie. It’s all right.”
Guthrie glanced over his shoulder at Luke. He hadn’t heard him approach. “What?”
“The elderly couple is okay. They said the owners of this house drove south to get out of the way of the storm.”
“Oh. Okay.”
It was strange to be scaling over what was left of someone’s possessions, so Guthrie was happy to find he could stop.
They made their way back to the road. Their truck was a mangled ball of metal. The tornado had knocked it onto its side and spun it, so the belly of the vehicle greeted them. The windshield was gone, as was the hood. The contents were covered in glass, mud, and water. A fence post was lodged in the driver’s seat. It’d gone clean through the door.
“There goes our ride home,” Guthrie said. His voice sounded flat. He needed out of here. What would have happened if they hadn’t run? If they’d tried to shelter in a ditch? It wasn’t an absurd scenario. If there hadn’t been houses nearby, that would have been their only option. His gorge rose again, but he managed to breathe through it. “I’m going to call the station.”
His phone had service, which meant the nearby cell towers hadn’t gone down. He was patched through immediately to Sarah. “Oh thank God, Guthrie. We’ve all been freaking out. Are y’all okay?”
“We’re fine.”
She waited. Was she waiting for him to elaborate? He couldn’t think what to say.
“Do you or Luke need any medical attention?”
“No, we’re fine,” he repeated.
“Good. That’s good. You should head back to the station.”
“Our truck is trashed. Can’t get home.” He could call his mom, perhaps? Or maybe there was a storm chaser with a different outfit nearby.
“We can send Delilah Sanchez out to get you.”
“In the chopper?” Guthrie asked.
“Yeah. She can be there soon. Is there somewhere she can land?”
“A field.”
“Okay, I’ll double-check your location to be sure. What’s the damage like around there?”
“All three houses here have damage. One older couple was in their house when it hit. The others were empty.”
“Any injuries?”
“No.”
“Can you interview the couple?”
“No.”
“Delilah will have a camera and equipment with her.”
“No.”
Guthrie wasn’t doing this anymore.
He heard muffled talking on the other end of the line. Then Seth Nguyen’s voice was in his ear, gentle and familiar. It made something shake in his chest. Guthrie was not dealing with that right now.
“Guthrie, son, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.”
Another pause. “Can I talk to Luke?”
Guthrie thrust the phone at Luke, then walked off.
In less than thirty minutes, Delilah had landed the chopper in an adjacent field. Luke was hovering near Guthrie, but Guthrie didn’t want anything to do with that. He couldn’t do his job. He had come stains on his jeans. He’d puked. He just wanted to be alone.
Luke and Delilah spoke for a few minutes, and Guthrie faced the opposite direction, staring off toward the dark sky to the northeast. Evidently, the tornado had weakened and died a few miles to the east without hitting any other major areas.
A movement behind Guthrie drew his attention. Delilah was handing Luke an ENG camera, tripod, and mic. Luke held the mic out to Guthrie. Guthrie shook his head and walked toward the chopper. Delilah followed Guthrie and helped him into the bird. Luke walked the opposite direction, toward the destroyed homes and heartache. He could do the interview on his own. He was capable. He didn’t need Guthrie.
Everything happened in flashes after that. He stirred when Luke and Delilah both got back into the chopper. Guthrie had never been in one before. He closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. Luke was flushed and wide-eyed. He’d interviewed the elderly couple, and it had evidently been colorful and perfect.
When they landed back at the station, it was to a hero’s welcome. Hugs and tears. The cut in their feed had freaked everyone out, but the intensity of their relief couldn’t quite penetrate Guthrie’s fog. Luke kept trying to sidle closer to him but got pulled away each time.
Debbie Debarr caught Guthrie’s eye and hugged him despite the stay-away vibe he was trying to project.
Once he was free, he asked to talk in her office. She whisked him off. He didn’t look back at Luke. He couldn’t.
Debbie closed her office door behind her and started to open her mouth.
Guthrie cut her off. “I quit. Effective immediately, please.”