Fuck.
The signal is very familiar. It’s a weather alert. And I’m pretty sure I know what it’s going to say before I even read the words.
Sure enough—Tornado Warning.
There’s been a tornado sighted in the area.
“Come on,” I call over my shoulder. “We need to move.”
“Can’t I just call someone with your phone?” she asks.
I turn back and stomp toward her. I’m not getting a pizza now if there’s a fucking tornado warning. Derek and everyone else at the bar are going to be taking shelter—at least they better fucking be—and now I’m remembering this woman saying she’s starving. When did she last eat? How long has she been out here? Does she like pizza? Okay, everyone likes pizza. What kind of pizza does she like though?
Who fucking cares?
“No. You can get your ass in my truck and let me drive us both to safety. A tornado touched down six miles away. And it’s about to?—”
The rain starts all at once.
Not a few drops as a warning. Not even a light sprinkle to warm up.
It’s dry one minute and the next it’s like I’m standing underneath my showerhead.
Except this is cold.
“Dammit!” I bend, throw her over my shoulder, and stalk back to my truck.
“Hey!”
“You had your chance,” I grit out. I wrench open the passenger door and pause. “You could have gotten in before you were all wet,” I point out. Then I plop her onto the dry seat of my new truck.
“But I—” she splutters.
I slam the door. I go to her car, duck inside, grab the bag that’s resting on the passenger seat, glance around for keys, realize it doesn’t matter if we lock it up, slam the door extra hard, and stomp back to my truck. I get in, toss the bag into her lap, and throw the truck into gear.
I check my phone as we bump over the ground toward the access road.
She’s got one hand braced on the ceiling and one on the dash.
Yeah, the ride is a little rough. Too bad.
“Fuck,” I mutter as the notifications show the tornado still on the ground and coming this way.
Of course, it is. Why would it not be?
The rain makes seeing out the windshield a challenge. But there's nothing out here to run into. I just head generally west. We bump, dip, and jerk along until we hit the access road and I make a quick decision. I turn right instead of left.
The road is smoother than the field and she decides to speak. “Where are we going?”
“Are you worried about me kidnapping you now?”
“Uh…now that you mention it,” she says. “At what point in the kidnapping does the kidnapper tell the victim she’s being kidnapped?”
I glance over at her. “You don’t think it’s kind of obvious right away?”
“Sure, if the guy comes up behind you and grabs you and stuffs you in a van or the trunk of a car or something. But what if he—or she, let’s not be sexist—offers you candy or cookies first? Or like flirts and dances with you. Or?—”
“Rescues you from a tornado?”
