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The door crashed into the opposite wall so violently that it shook dust from the ceiling. The lights actually flickered for a moment although admittedly it was unclear as to whether this was a result of Gordon’s overdramatic entrance or the storm raging outside.
Virgil paused in his efforts to barricade the one tiny window with a queen-sized mattress and raised a brow at his brother.
“Tornadoes,” Gordon announced, with a grand sweep of his arms for good measure, “Suck.”
There was a brief pause.
“What?” Virgil asked flatly.
“Tornadoes suck,” Gordon repeated, sidestepping the pooled blankets on the floor to help push the mattress flat against the window-frame. He grimaced as something suspiciously roof-tile-shaped slammed into the glass outside, spiralling away into the dark skies like a ghost. “See? I mean, c’mon, we’re not even in tornado alley. And we’re off duty. We’re not supposed to be dealing with this.”
“Right,” Virgil agreed slowly. He released his white-knuckle grip on the mattress and took a step back to examine his work. The mattress was as secure as it was going to get. Besides, its only job was to protect them from being showered in broken glass if the window fully shattered, which, given the amount of debris flying around outside, was beginning to look more likely than it had done several hours earlier when they’d arrived to find clear skies and a distinct lack of storm warnings.
Gordon rocked back on his heels. “I mean, I get that there’s no actual defined tornado alley or anything and this place is kinda out of the way of average storm paths anyway, but this is still dumb. Who builds a house without a cellar?” He didn’t give Virgil chance to answer. “Your friends are idiots for buying this place. Like, yeah, the yard is cute and there is literally a white-picket fence outside, but that’s gonna get swept away in a few minutes anyway, so what the hell? Don’t invest in properties that don’t have appropriate storm shelters, that’s what I always say.”
“When have you ever said that in your life?”
“Just a second ago,” Gordon shot back, looking oddly pleased with himself. He swept up the blankets and dumped them into the bathtub. “This is a terrible vacation. I’m planning our next trip and you’re not allowed an opinion. I’m thinking Greece. Museums for you and beaches for me. See? I’m a goddamn genius, Virg, and no one ever appreciates that fact.”
Sometimes – more often than was probably healthy for his sanity – Virgil was struck with the desire to smack his head against a brick wall. Exasperation was a physical experience, like a mini adrenaline rush on top of the anxiety he was already battling. He busied himself with checking the charge percentages on the flashlights.
“This isn’t a vacation. This was my trip to see my friends that you hijacked.”
“Your friends aren’t even here,” Gordon pointed out. He sank to sit criss-cross with his back to the side of the ‘tub. “And if you didn’t want me here, why didn’t you tell me to stay behind?”
Okay. Truth time – Virgil had secretly been glad when Gordon had offered to come with him to this little reunion. He hadn’t spoken to his college buddies in a good three years and had been expected the friendships to follow the pattern of most – slowly fading back into strangers who still harboured unshakeable knowledge of one another’s sense of selves, as proven by the way Louis had immediately remembered how Virgil took his coffee despite not having spoken in ages. Yet the invitation had winged its way via email into his life and for some unknown reason – presumably nostalgia – he had agreed to meet up with his old friends. It had then dawned on him that it would probably be an incredibly awkward experience and so he had spent the next seventy-two hours stressing about it until Gordon pried the details out of him.
And now they were here, in Louis’ and Kate’s house, alone, because the others had volunteered to go pick up some pizzas in town only now they were stuck there while Virgil and Gordon were trapped here because a goddamn tornado warning had come out of the blue, telling everybody to batten down the hatches and not dare to peek outside until the danger had vanished over the horizon.
Ordinarily, Virgil did not have an issue with tornadoes. Then again, ordinarily he was safely tucked away within Thunderbird Two, not barricading himself in a bathroom because it had the smallest window, and this house didn’t have a basement. Truth be told, he was glad of Gordon’s presence, because the idea of facing down an EF-2 grade tornado (possibly now upgraded to an EF-3, but he hadn’t had chance to check his phone yet) alone did not appeal.
It dawned on him that he wasn’t the only person feeling nervous, a realisation which took an embarrassingly long time to come to, because really, he knew Gordon better than this. You couldn’t live and work with a person and not understand their tells, especially when you were family. Virgil knew the difference between Gordon’s usual chatter and his anxious rambles and right now definitely fell into the latter. It was a subtle distinction but now he had noticed it he couldn’t help but pick up on all the other signs too, like the way Gordon wouldn’t stop fiddling – from picking at strands of the bathmat to tapping against the linoleum or rotating one of his rope bracelets around his wrist.
Virgil made the executive decision to throw a blanket over his brother’s head. In the time it took Gordon to wriggle free, he had already locked the door and stuffed a spare t-shirt in the gap at the base.
Gordon yanked the blanket away from his head, hair ruffled and on end like a lightning-strike victim. He shot Virgil a wounded expression.
“What was that for?”
“I needed a laugh,” Virgil lied, noting the way Gordon had finally stopped tapping. He clambered into the bathtub and nearly knocked his head on the camping lantern they had hooked over the shower for when they inevitably lost power. “Come on, get in.”
Gordon nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste. Virgil caught him before he could smack his head against the wall and give himself a concussion – which was the last thing they needed on top of a tornado bearing down on them.
All things considered, they could have been worse off. Virgil wasn’t sure how exactly, but you know, there was always a way. Maybe they could have been caught out in a broken-down car or something. He tried not to focus on the sound of the wind. It was howling and the crunch as tiles were torn from the roof to shatter below did nothing to ease his nerves. He was very conscious of how vulnerable they were. What would he give to be in a secure basement right now? Hell, what would he give to be in Two right now?
Gordon shivered. “This is cosy.”
They had filled the bathtub with blankets and spare towels. It was dry and warm, even if it was a tight squeeze. If Scott or John had been with him, Virgil wasn’t sure what they would have done, but Gordon was able to bend his knees while Virgil flattened himself against the side of the tub and they made it work. Their shoulders were pressed together and they ended up tangling their legs, but it wasn’t the most uncomfortable place they’d ever been trapped in – that title went to a rockfall in the Andes.
Another violent gust of wind smashed into the side of the house. Everything shuddered. The lights plunged into darkness so inky that Virgil had to blink frantically in order to glimpse his hand in front of his face. Gordon flinched closer, breathing picking up, fumbling for one of the flashlights.
Virgil caught his wrist. “You okay?”
“I told you,” Gordon muttered, voice tight with nerves, “Tornadoes frickin’ suck.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“Hell yeah.” Gordon tipped his head back to glimpse the pale blue glow of the camping lantern slowly coming to life. “We should make it a slogan. Paint it on Two or something. International Rescue: we think tornadoes suck and recommend you should steer clear of them.”
“Great advice.”
“Thanks, it took me ages to think of it.”
Virgil couldn’t help himself – he laughed. Sort of hysterically. He could almost sense Gordon’s incredulous stare.
“Are you okay?”
“Nope,” Virgil gasped out, trying to stifle chuckles. “Never.”
Gordon slid down the tub slightly, hooking a blanket around his foot and flipping it into the air so that he could catch it and drape it over their heads.
Virgil didn’t question him, which was usually the smartest choice when it came to a Gordon Scheme.
“It’s like a tent,” Gordon declared gleefully, switching on a flashlight. The blanket hung low and they had to tip their heads close together to keep it from collapsing between them, but there was a strange childish sense of safety about having a cover, as if the tornado couldn’t find them in the same way a kid hid from a monster under a duvet.
Virgil tore open the packet of cookies. “Clearly this reunion isn’t happening tonight, so I say we eat the snacks.”
Gordon stole a cookie and began plucking the chocolate chips off it to eat them separately. “I second that.” He caught Virgil’s incredulous stare. “What?”
Virgil gestured to the pile of chocolate. “You’re a weirdo.”
“I prefer the term unique.”
“Weirdo,” Virgil repeated, grinning as Gordon mock-glared at him. “Hey, you know what else sucks?”
Gordon had a visible struggle not to react. “I want you to consider the many, many opportunities for dirty jokes that I am passing up right now and be very proud of me.”
“Your sacrifice is duly noted.”
Gordon gave an undignified snort. “Gee, thanks.” He tipped the chocolate chips into his hand and took them like a shot. “Right, hit me. What else, uh, sucks? Oh, jeez.”
“You’re really having a struggle, huh?”
“Nope. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Great, in fact. Freaking peachy- Oh, holy shit!”
The entire house rocked. It was as if a lightning bolt had shaken the foundations; an earthquake formed purely of gale-force winds. There was a colossal crash from downstairs. A suspicious groan reverberated through the walls. Gordon was ramrod straight at Virgil’s side – Virgil swore his brother was actually holding his breath – fumbling to catch his hand amid the darkness.
“Are we alive?” Gordon stage whispered, still half flattened against the base of the tub where he had instinctively ducked. He sat back up slowly, but it was hard to navigate in the dark and he accidentally smacked his head into Virgil’s chin. “Ow.”
“Really?” Virgil sighed. “Jeez, just quit moving. Ow.”
“What was that?”
“My ribs, dumbass.”
“What? No. I meant that high-pitched- Nope, never-mind, just the wind again.”
“This is so uncomfortable. Please stop elbowing me.”
“I’m not doing it intentionally!”
“Oh my god, Gordon. What did I just say about moving?”
“I’m trying to sit up! Is that illegal?”
“If you bruise my organs in the process, then yes.”
“Oh for- Lie down flat.”
“What?”
“Just lie on your back.”
“Why?”
“Because then we can both fit without slowly turning into pretzels.”
Virgil slid down the tub with dawning sense of fond resignation. Gordon proceeded to flop down practically on top of him like some sort of cat. It was, admittedly, more comfortable.
“So,” Gordon said, reaching for the cookies. “You were saying?”
Virgil glowered at the ceiling. “This reunion sucks.”
“Honestly? Yeah. Your friends aren’t even here to enjoy Tornado Lockdown with us.”
“Tornado what now?”
Gordon waved a hand. “It’s a work in progress. Anyway.” He tilted the packet. “Cookie?”
“Don’t get crumbs on the blankets.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Gordon.”
“Chill, Mom, I won’t.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I’m a delight. Everyone loves me.”
“They’d better.”
“Aw, you do care.”
“…Literally when was that ever in question?”
“Valid point.” Gordon polished off the final cookie and wiped his fingers on a corner of a towel. He remained propped on his elbows for a moment, listening intently to the tornado, and Virgil could pick out the faint gleam of nerves in his eyes.
“Hey,” he murmured. “We’re okay.”
“The worst is yet to come,” Gordon quipped. He relented with a sigh, tucking his head beneath Virgil’s chin in a move that was either affectionate or meant to make Virgil sneeze given the way he was now at risk of inhaling his brother’s hair. “So.”
“So.”
“This isn’t how I planned to spend my Saturday night.”
Virgil tried not to laugh. “No kidding.”
“I thought I’d get to hang out with that cute brunette you were friends with.”
“Wait. Is that the real reason why you volunteered to come with me?”
“No,” Gordon replied too quickly. “I agreed because I’m a supportive brother like that… but if Rebecca had happened to start a conversation with me, I wouldn’t have turned her down.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Virg. Be real. You absolutely can believe this.”
“Rebecca has a boyfriend.”
“Is he cute?”
“Why is that relevant?”
“Well, hot people tend to gravitate towards other hot people. I need to know who to add on Instagram after they inevitably break up.”
“Please stop flirting with all of my friends.”
“It’s an occupational hazard when you look as good as I do.”
“I’m going to disown you.”
“Can you even do that?”
“I’m going to get Scott to disown you then.”
“He wouldn’t. He loves me too much.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Shh, I’m fabulous.”
“Gordon.”
“Virgil.”
In the not-so-far distance, tortured metal screamed. The tornado was growing closer. Virgil wrapped an arm around Gordon’s back to keep him close.
“We should have flown here in Two,” Gordon whispered.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… you’re right.”
“Wait, wait, wait.”
“What? Gordon, what?”
“Let me hit record on my watch… Okay, now repeat what you just said.”
“Oh for- No. Just no.”
The house was trembling again.
“Hey, uh, Virg?”
Gordon sounded sorta small. Virgil hugged him fiercely, as if daring the universe to try to steal him away.
“Yeah?”
“This is okay, right? Like, the tornado? We’re gonna be alright?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
“Relax. I won’t let anything bad happen.”
“Gonna fight a tornado, Vee?”
“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe? Sure.”
“Shut up,” Gordon muttered fondly. “Don’t make it sappy.”