Page 12 of Desperate Creed

Forty-eight years later, his hair had turned gray, his voice had grown deeper and his waistline a bit thicker, but his excitement hadn’t diminished one bit. He had always been able to sense a storm coming. Obviously his ability to sense his wife’s discontent was not as sharp.

But this early spring storm had caught Willis off guard. He had expected volatile weather for the weekend, but this batch had sneaked up on everyone. A prelude, a sneak peek that even the National Weather Service office hadn’t forecasted. What had gathered in the dark hours of pre-dawn was now battering southern Alabama and the Florida Panhandle.

Willis barely noticed the personnel changes happening around him in the television studio. About two hours ago, storms started blooming on the radar so quickly it was difficult to keep up. The daily morning show anchors and crew pitched in assisting Willis and his staff. It was nothing less than a small army that worked around him. Another dozen or so crews were out on the roads helping to gather information directly from watching the sky. They risked their lives to be invaluable human warning systems.

Willis had taken off his suit jacket and tossed it aside. He’d heard long ago that viewers knew when the weather was seriously bad because Willis Dean not only took off his jacket, but he also rolled up his sleeves. The red suspenders were his latest signature trademark as were his Sperry deck shoes, though the latter were rarely shown on camera.

Now those cameras switched to the radar while Willis and his assistant, Mia Long exchanged places. She had gestured to him from the window of the weather desk. From what he could see, she was pointing to one of the iPads set up amongst the monitors and the video feeds. Willis simply nodded. He shut off his microphone as she turned hers on. Seamlessly, she took over, picking up where he left off, continuing to break down the weather alerts for viewers and listeners.

Willis bent over in front of the iPads. The screen was filled with black storm clouds. In the upper corner was a small box where he could barely make out the face of one of his storm chasers, Gary Fletcher.

Willis pushed his glasses up and moved in closer.

“Gary, it’s Willis. Where are you?”

When the audio flicked on, Willis immediately heard the rush of wind.

Gary’s gaze remained upward focusing on the sky as he shouted, “About eight miles west of Smith Crossings. This thing is huge. It was wrapped in rain up until a few seconds ago.”

Willis looked over to a radar map on one of the monitors, searching for the small town. There it was, smack-dab in the middle of the blooming sea of red. And sure enough, an angry comma was forming right before his eyes. Radar wasn’t able to confirm a tornado, but the radar beam bouncing off items formed what meteorologists called the debris ball. And Willis could see it taking shape, the dot punctuating the comma.

“Good job, Gary. Now go get somewhere safe.”

“We thought we were.” Gary’s voice rasped through the sound of a tunnel. “But we’re gonna move. I don’t trust this one.”

His storm chasers took great precaution to stay out of the path. That Gary was nervous made Willis nervous. In Alabama, getting out of the path wasn’t an easy task. Escape routes were few with too many winding backroads that spaghettied out in directions that could take you away only to turn and send you straight back into the storm.

Willis heard the metal pings before he saw the hail.

“Get out of there now, Gary,” he told the man as he watched him dive into the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver accelerated even while the doors were still slamming.

To his tech, Willis pointed to the radar map and said, “We have ground truth on this one. Call it in and get it to Mia.” He glanced back to the iPad, hoping to get a glimpse of the storm chasers, but the screen had already gone black.

“God help them,” he said to himself as he hurried back to the cameras. He had to believe the crew would get to safety, whatever it took. He’d never be able to do his job if he worried about them.

Willis understood all to well the adrenaline rush, the excitement. It was awe-inspiring to be that close to such an intense and powerful storm. He’d started out as a chaser. Still to this day he kept an iPad mounted to the console of his SUV. His wife hated it. If they went anywhere together she always insisted they take her car.

Maybe she had hoped and expected his fascination would diminish after this many years. Instead of diminishing, it had only grown stronger. It wasn’t just what he did for a living, it had become a part of who he was. He took the obligation and responsibility seriously. Almost too seriously. Because every spring, every storm, Willis Dean found himself cringing and wondering, how many would die this time? And although people respected and listened to him, Alabamans were used to hearing spring tornado sirens.

The National Weather Service insisted that sirens blast in the entire county even if only a small corner of that county was affected. Which sometimes resulted in too many false alarms for the rest of a large county. As a result, at the sound of a siren, many people were more likely to go outside and look up at the sky, rather than hurry and take shelter. So it was Willis’ job to convince them that the threat was serious. And right now residents of Smith Crossings were hearing their sirens.

Mia saw him headed back, and as was their routine, she started talking to him on air before he arrived in front of the cameras.

“Willis, we have a tornado warning issued for Smith Crossings and the surrounding area. What can you tell us?”

They made a good tag-team, but now, she stepped aside as he took his place in front of the green screen. She relinquished her spot to the voice of authority. He took that responsibility seriously. His wife told him he should enjoy the celebrity status. She laughed about him having more Twitter followers than some of her favorite Hollywood actors.

He thought that was one of the things she enjoyed about his job. The fact that they could get seated at a restaurant first when there was a line. That other local celebrities greeted them those rare times that they went to a concert or a play. But after last night, Willis realized it wasn’t enough. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he knew her anymore. To Willis, the so-called celebrity status often felt like a weight, a burden, especially when he saw the aftermath of a storm.

Several years ago, he’d asked a county coroner to share his autopsy reports on storm victims after a particularly brutal tornado had claimed fourteen lives. Willis hadn’t told anyone about the photos he’d seen: skin sandblasted off, bodies impaled by debris from their own home. Then there were those sucked up and spit out. Those images haunted him. And ever since, it drove him to get information out earlier even if it meant breaking protocol and announcing warnings seconds before the National Weather Service.

He’d done that just now. He switched on his microphone.

“That’s right. Our storm chasers confirmed a tornado on the ground.”

He pointed to the area on the radar. He had learned to keep his voice calm but intense and urgent. Yet, as he looked at the red and yellow spreading, he couldn’t believe how well defined the debris ball had grown in just a few seconds. This storm was starting to explode and widen.

“Right now, the tornado is five to six miles west of Smith Crossings in Butler County.” He clicked and enlarged the map. “Smith Crossings, you should be hearing your sirens going off. But even if you don’t hear them, you need to get to your safe place. If that’s not underground, go to the smallest room on the lowest floor. An interior closet, a bathroom in the center of your house. Get away from windows. It’s moving to the north, northeast. It’s getting ready to cross over Interstate 65. If you’re driving on the interstate anywhere south of Montgomery, Highway 10, US 31, get off. Get off immediately. Take the nearest exit. Head to a convenience store or a rest area. If you can, get inside. ”