A pale streak of lightning slapped at the clouds in the sky. A tapestry of stars hung overhead, shrouded by the storm. Icy rain began to beat at the hood of my truck as I flew down a deserted black ribbon of asphalt. The '9 was a big road.
"Fuckin' great." I growled between gritted teeth. I had planned to do a little night flying to pick up some fast food. Now I had to do everything on foot or risk being jolted by a thunderbolt.
The radio wasn't tuning properly, I soon learned. My clawed hand rocketed through the glass and I felt a sharp crack as something broke. It felt good. But what I really needed was something to chase down.
In agitation I slammed on the accelerator and sent the truck into second gear. Another great bellow of thunder rattled the windows. I winced, then opened my mouth and wailed along with the storm. I tore at my hat, opened my window, and began screaming into the driving rain.
From experience, let me tell you that it is the most livening feeling to out-screech the wind.