I was driving on a highway in nasty-looking weather. Clouds were darkening, thickening. I knew it was important to hurry. In my rear-view mirror, I spotted twin funnel clouds racing above and along with the traffic behind me, trying to set down, pondering their next victim at a rapid, crazy pace.
In the lead, I was ahead of a pack of cars far behind, the twisters separating us. The funnel clouds were writhing, breathing, dark grey-black masses, racing along with the traffic such that they appeared stationary, twisting and making heavy, raspy, asthmatic sounds. Driving on the highway, I was unsure what to do, not wanting to get in the way of the funnel clouds, yet not able to speed ahead either. I wanted to wish away the clouds so they would be out of the way. I had to urge on ahead.
Finally, a car from the pack of traffic lurking behind the funnel clouds came racing out and tried to dart around the clouds to get ahead of the traffic. The driver was a man, and he was alone in the car. I observed him through my rear-view mirror. He seemed impatient, crazy with fear, daring and adrenaline.
The clouds immediately sucked themselves inward, narrowed and focused, and burst out in an attack on the man in the car. The automobile was vacuumed into the clouds and spewed out miles away.
Prisoner to the funnel clouds in the flowing traffic, I was overcome with shock. The twin tornadoes spoke to me, “Don’t try to outwit us. We’ll get you every time.”