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Pink and Ruger: About New Orleans-Visual 1

By SAMI

"We ended up in Nevada, New Mexico following a lead we received from Dr. Hans Lothner over at NOAA (the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) regarding a potential incident in that area.

"'There was a dark wind blowing East,' was how he put it.

"Since we were no longer needed in Los Angeles, we requisitioned a vehicle and began heading East.

Pink stared out of the unmarked white van as Ruger drove down the empty highway, to the east.

The road, or interstate, in this case, was less traveled than endured, stretching off into the dusty yellow infinity as they drove on. The sky was as empty as the road, a single cloud hanging seemingly motionless in the air as the odometer counted miles like an insomniac counts sheep- to no apparent effect.

"So, you think that Dr. Lothner's lead is going to pan out?" Ruger asked me.

"Eh."

I was thinking more about how Dr. Lothner's tongue felt with my corkscrew dick wrapped around it, the bookish human squirming as I pinned him up against the water closet, than I was thinking about the whitey's reliability.

I shrugged. "A lead's a lead," I said aloud. "It's not for us to hew and cry, just for us to go and try."

Ruger seemed to be chewing this over.

"Hmm."

I went back to looking up at the sky. That's when I first saw her.

The cloud that had been idly tagging along with us abruptly compressed along one axis, then divided like a microbe into two halves. While this was not too unusual for a cloud, it was certainly interesting enough compared to the empty road that I kept watching.

The clouds continued to slowly change shape, twisting slowly together into a helix that approached the highway ahead of us. There was a bright shimmer of light in the helix that must have caught the sun at just the right angle. It was hard to tell, but it looked sort of like a paraglider.

Just about the same way that the transforming cloud had started looking like a tornado.

"Ruger..." I kept staring up at the sky; the rapidly retreating glider, and the rapidly approaching vortex.

"Ruger...!" I repeated, more urgently. I tried to estimate the cloud's rate of growth. Whether (and when) its path would intercept ours.

"What," Ruger yawned.

"Does that cloud look like a tornado to you?"

There was a brief lull in the conversation, leaving only the sounds of engine noise and the whistling of the wind outside the van.

"Yes," Ruger said, nodding. "Do we ditch, or...?"

It definitely looked like it was going to touch down right on top of us.

"Yes," I nodded.

Ruger instantly yanked the steering wheel over to the side. The van's tires squealed like that pork rind I'd railed back on the Mexican border in '69, then gave out as his aggressive maneuver, combined with the increasing wind, flipped the van, sending it airborne.

I would have screamed, but as I watched my life flashing before my eyes like a cheesy porno I abruptly realized that my lack of interest in music made it a cheesy porno with no coherent soundtrack, and became distracted.

"WoooooooooYEAH!" Ruger was cheering as pieces of the panel ceiling ripped off above us and the van slid off the road into the ditch.

It was quiet for a moment, then the wildly howling wind drowned out everything with its passage and I found myself temporarily insensible.

I came to leaning against what was left of the truck. The side and top had been shredded, and it looked like the undercarriage, which was now facing the sky as the van lay there on its back, tires spinning, like Godzilla had cast it aside, a fucked-out husk of a beached whale, had been completely shredded.

"There you are," Ruger was crouching in front of me with a concerned look, with nothing on except his boxers. They did little to conceal his state.

My partner had an action fetish.

"I'm still alive?" I pretended not to notice my partner's lack of professional attire, still a little too shaken up to think about sex.

"Thanks to my driving, yes," Ruger gestured over his shoulder as I took an account of myself. Though I'd been shaken up a bit, I seemed ok. No thanks to my partner's driving.

"Eh." I shrugged noncomitally and looked past Ruger as the swirling dust began to clear.

And I gradually realized that I couldn't see the road.

Not because of the dust. Not because I was sitting in a ditch with an obviously randy Husky crouched in front of me like I was the first course at a fancy dinner, but because there was no road.

There was still the occasional vertical pole left, signs stripped, which still stood, but there wasn't any sign of the asphalt at all.

"What happened?"

"Apparently that tornado you spotted completely tore apart the highway. There's nothing left. Nothing at all."

"Damn."

I glanced at the van. One of its ripped and torn tires spun slowly to a stop. Then I dragged myself to my feet.

"Any of our stuff salvagable?"

Ruger shrugged. "Most of the gear's wrecked, except for our personal items. The radios looked ok, but I haven't tested them yet." He grinned toothily.

I grinned back, brushing some of the dirt off of my slightly torn suit.

"Why don't we get me out of this uniform so we can make sure you didn't secretly kill me five minutes ago."

Ruger laughed.