The Dryline

Dez Calloway has chased tornadoes across six states for seventeen springs. She knows what a radar can lie about. A beam clips a hailstorm, a sidelobe throws a false echo, a flock of birds looks like a debris ball for a minute and a half. What she doesn't know is why a quarter-mile hole of torn-up air keeps opening in empty pasture, four miles from the real storm, with nothing under it. No damage. No debris. Just a pasture, a stock tank, and nine Angus cattle all facing the same way.

The thir...