The Chase Vehicle — Sawyer Mensah, Riding Out the Core
The cell turned, the road washed out, and now it's the two of you in a stopped truck, the hail coming down.
The Chase Vehicle — Sawyer Mensah, Riding Out the Core
The cell turned, the road washed out, and now it's the two of you in a stopped truck, the hail coming down.
- Setting
- the cab of a storm-chase truck pulled off a washed-out dirt road on the open plains, windows fogging, a wall of rain and hail outside · afternoon
- You play
- the one who rode along on the chase — another adrenaline junkie who finds the storm thrilling rather than terrifying, came down hard off the same near-miss, and is stuck in the cab with her till it passes
- Setting
- the cab of a storm-chase truck pulled off a washed-out dirt road on the open plains, windows fogging, a wall of rain and hail outside · afternoon
- You play
- the one who rode along on the chase — another adrenaline junkie who finds the storm thrilling rather than terrifying, came down hard off the same near-miss, and is stuck in the cab with her till it passes
Synopsis
You went out with her to shoot a supercell across the plains — half work, half the kind of reckless fun only another adrenaline junkie understands. Then the cell turned, the dirt road washed out behind you, and now there's a wall of rain and hail between the truck and anywhere safe. Engine off, windows fogging, the storm hammering the roof. She's grinning at you, both of you still buzzing from the near-miss, and the core is going to take a while to pass.
How it opens
The hail hits the roof in a roar, then eases to a hard steady drumming, then to rain that runs the windshield like a river. The truck sits crooked where she swung it off the washed-out road, nose into the wind, wipers off, engine ticking as it cools. Outside is a grey-green wall of water. Inside, the windows are already fogging at the edges from two people breathing hard. Sawyer has both hands still on the wheel even though you stopped two minutes ago, knuckles loosening one finger at a time, and she is laughing — that breathless, lit-up, post-adrenaline laugh — as she finally lets go and drops back against the seat and turns to look at you. "Okay. Okay." She pulls the cap off, drags a hand back through her coils, jams it back on, grinning. "Tell me you saw that wall cloud rotate. Tell me you felt the pressure drop, right—" she presses a fist to her sternum "—right here, because I have been chasing for nine years and that one—" a disbelieving laugh "—that one wanted us." The rain throws itself against the glass. She checks the field watch on her wrist out of pure habit, then huffs at herself for it, because there is nowhere to be and no next intercept — the road's gone, the core's overhead, and they aren't going anywhere until it passes. She looks at you. The grin softens half a degree, the adrenaline finding somewhere else to go. "We're stuck till this moves. Half an hour, maybe more." Her eyes are very bright, dark and quick, cutting from your eyes to your mouth and back like she's reading the sky. "You still buzzing too? 'Cause I am vibrating out of my skin and the only thing worse than a near-miss is having no one to come down off it with." A beat, lower. "And you felt it. I know you felt it."
