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?’