Sins in Twisters
Chapter 23: Twisted Lives
Norman, Oklahoma
It was a bit ironic how the weather worked in winter. It did what it wanted to do.
It could be sunny but below zero, cloudy but blazing hot. Yet, on the reverse, an exposed sun meant its light could warm the world while clouds blocked that warmth from developing. A simple rain storm in the morning could shift into a white out of snow until night, but all traces would be dried and gone the next day.
Sitting on one of the poles that lined the front of the weather center, Clyde did his best to keep himself propped up enough not to slide off or fall back. Hunched over, tapping his phone on his leg and trying to look anywhere, the sidewalk, the truck, his pants, or the parking lot would give him some distraction.
Flicking his phone up, the time flashed on the screen. Barely five minutes had passed since he made his phone call to his friend, it was short, to the point and left little room for question if what was happening was true. He regretted checking social media to see what dozen some tornadoes had or were destroying. The beast back home was indeed a monster worth chasing, but where it felt too much like it was the kind of punch in the face nature throws at you when you're not sure to go or sure it wouldn't be there.
Many chasers have had at least one close experience with a storm getting too close to home. Even out here, if there were a chance that their house would be in the firing line, they'd pack up everything for safety and wait and see. What could you even do if no one was home with a storm bearing down? Nothing. No matter how much you moved, pleaded, and begged, if the storm has already chosen its path, all you can do is follow.
He could feel his imagination wondering. Thinking what would have happened had Lincoln still been up there. Would he be actively chasing or just trying to get everyone ready? Would he try to intercept or stay out of range like they did for OKC? Would he evacuate, or would he (or in reverse) have his family follow closely to keep them away? Clyde was lucky that his family wasn't around Royal Woods much anymore, but so many friends and people he knew were still there it was impossible not to think where they were, and they got the warning to get somewhere safe.
Yet the bubbling feeling like hot tar in his gut made him feel ready to throw his phone out in frustration to think nothing of it. To call Lincoln about the storm or not. The second he heard any report or video about it being even within proximity to town, he wouldn't put it past his brother, who would whip it around and gun it. Regardless of what laws were broken or if the truck broke down, he'd walk the rest of the way if he had to get back there.
He forced himself off the pillar, grabbing his hair in frustration and closing his eyes to clear away the thoughts, kicking the rear tires, suppressing the urge to seeth. Berating himself for not once, but god knows how many times, failing to be there as a voice or reason or support. He hated himself for stepping into that radar truck that day from-
"Clyde?" he suddenly whipped out of his seat and turned around. Shay stood there with a confused look, her hand outstretched, as if she were about to grab him.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, his embarrassment skyrocketing to the point that his cheeks had a brief red tint.
"Since you stood back up looking like you were ready to scream," she answered. Both hands came up, trying to hide his shame as he groaned, leaning back against the truck.
"Anything from him?
"We've lost contact after he entered Nashville. Interference is messing up anything trying to get through. Erin's trying to reach him through the network, and Rex is seeing if anyone he knows is nearby."
"Close by…." Clyde repeated, huffed, "A thousand miles away, and we're stuck here while Link is facing down twister after twister like he's going for a Sunday drive…."
"I don't know how often I've said it, but I'll say it again: It wasn't your fault." He looked up briefly to her, knowing where this topic was going. "I know next year will be a bit chaotic, but you won't have to worry about the radar like last time."
Right… next year, they were going bigger. Details were still being worked out, but from what Erin had told them, their team would be part of something much bigger next year. This year, they were more as 'we are out there and sometimes join forces' as they did from Nebraska to Kingman, but next year had so much shaping up for them. It made Clyde look over his shoulder to the parking lot behind him. It wasn't packed in any meaningful way, but in a few months, it'd be very different come March.
A lot was riding on so many things. A slip-up now could mean there was no next season. He was sure Lincoln knew that to the point he carved it in stone, but today, he was testing those thoughts.
"Still-"
"But nothing." She cut him off, hints of her frustration laced within. "You, me, him, and everyone within radar range of that storm know it. You can't keep beating yourself up over that. It's over and done with. While I disagree with his current situation, we can't say it hasn't stopped Lincoln from getting back on his feet."
Clyde removed his glasses, pinching his nose to clear the fog in his thoughts, "I love him as a brother. In 15 years, we've had our moments of bonds and fights, but who wouldn't after all that? All the crazy stuff we've done. Being there for one another in good or bad times, I wouldn't trade any of it. It's just… with all this, so much risk. Sure, it's a high risk, high reward. Who wouldn't be tempted if there was a chance."
He looked around at the building, the truck, and the logo proudly displayed on the door. "I thought it was just a summer thing the first few times we did this. I got to explore the country and meet new people and places. I have always dreamed of this stuff like I was going to go out into the world after college. I didn't think right after high school I'd still be down here…"
He looked up to Shay with a bemused look, crossing her arms. Clyde took a second to realize his actions were becoming less of him being vocal and quickly becoming more dramatic, "Sorry, I'm just ranting at this point…"
"No, it's understandable," she said, coming up and leaning against the truck beside him. It's good to get things off your chest. It takes a certain kind of people to keep up with others like this. I can see why Erin and Rex can keep up with Lincoln so much, given that they all work on the same level."
He sighed, leaning back again, "I just don't wanna be somewhere doing something that I want to do without the fear that he's going to go and do something to get himself killed. What kind of friend would I be for not being there?"
"A friend who knows his friend would understand." She answered without question, "I've seen how you two are, and Lincoln would be there to help you just like you've done for him all these years. He's pretty much found his calling and helped it grow with you by his side. I wouldn't doubt he wouldn't do the same for you if you wanted to."
He thought hard about it, and she was right. He knew she was right before any of this and before anyone told him. He would admit he had been thinking of breaking it off with Lincoln for a while. Not out of jealousy or frustration, but after it was clear where Lincoln was heading in life, he was less of someone helping ot navigate and more like another passenger. He wanted to get out in the world and spread his own wings.
College online might not be the same as attending in person, but he felt it wasn't within him to go out like that. At least with a few months until the start of the next season, and hopefully, after this outbreak, things would quiet down again, and he could search for something. At least with some backing from Erin, he could get recommended for schools somewhere. Tending the university here was tempting; he'd have a place in El Reno to stay for basically free or maybe bunk with Shay closer by, yet there were still so many directions to choose from.
Teaching was still something he had the idea of going into. He remembered the idea of opening a restaurant in his childhood, though his cooking experience wasn't that extravagant for such an adventure yet. Writing maybe? All of his journals could be a source of inspiration for something in the future. There are plenty of things in the last few years to really write about that are bound to check someone's attention.
However, what suddenly got his attention was feeling Shay resting her head against his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around his back, he could feel the warmth from her spread over him. It didn't help that his cheeks warmed up again, too, but he could tolerate it enough just to enjoy the feeling.
"I'm sure you'll figure something out. I know you got it in you."
Feeling more flabbergasted than he had all day, Lincoln sat there kneeling by his sister's friend, whom he hadn't seen in almost six years. Many times in his travels, when his sister was still touring with the Moon Goats, he'd swing by if there was a chance he'd cross paths or be close to a concert. It helped that he had some excellent pocket change to afford the crazier seats so he could be closer, rarely tempted into getting a VIP pass.
But each time he went, he was a bit more incognito; at a rock concert, white hair really didn't stick out. Driving a regular truck instead of a tank in the middle of a parking lot wouldn't make anyone notice who else was there. Out of some seven concerts he remembered visiting, he only went 'backstage' twice early on to meet with Luna to check up on things. Sometimes, that involved spending a night with her and Sam, just having a fun reunion before parting ways until the next time they met again.
But even that was years ago. Probably the last time he saw either of them in person, let alone in the same room or city as Sam, was back in 2024, before the late April outbreak that had taken so much of his attention when getting his team and tank built up to speed after a lackluster year. After all that, he got really busy with the Foundation, crisscrossed the world, and was just in a completely different place from where they would be. There wasn't ever another chance like that before the band officially broke up.
Hearing some word about how Luna lost her hearing and just got it back this year, he thought they'd somehow reconnect. But that was just wishful thinking—thoughts from how things in the past had similar situations like this that led to a happy ending.
The sight in front of him was not what would come from a happy ending.
She got the better bargain by taking a tumble in a twister between the two of them. But to what extent wasn't clear. The bleeding mess on her forehead and the red spot under her shirt were enough to tell anyone she had taken a beating.
Leaping up and running over with his feet kicking up wet grass, he nearly slipped when he latched onto the rear passenger door and flung it open. Slipping on the wet outrigger to bodily pull himself inside, he yanked the seat down far enough to reach in and grab the medkit. Tumbling out, he dashed back over, nearly tripping as he got back on his knees, ripping the case open to reveal what a low-grade first responder could do.
He wasn't a medic like Peter, nor was he really trained to the level of being declared a first responder. Still, in all their time chasing, they had to learn how to treat an array of injuries from open wounds to splinting to stitches and, in some cases, having to attempt to patch up or, in the rare but gruesome times, retrieve and try to save severed body parts the best they could. It got messy when there were so many to tend to. Having several people at once who could help was a significant boon.
The first thing he snatched out was a foam head splint, meant to immobilize someone with a possible head injury, mostly but not truly enough to compare to a neck brace. Reaching around, he carefully split the back panel behind Sam's head, brushing away any tangled hair to help elevate it. Locking one strap, his attention turned towards the cut.
They were both drenched head to toe with the rain, making it hard to dry anything thoroughly. With a cloth, he carefully patted away the blood that was pooling on top, revealing a roughly two-inch-long abrasion. He did sigh in relief that it wasn't something that could require stitches, just mainly surface damage that got a couple of more profound points that resulted in so much flow. Wiping as much as he could, he snatched a large bandage, tearing off the back, and, as gently as possible, placed it over the center.
It'd stop the bleeding in time, but how she got that, he didn't know. Airbags weren't deployed from what he saw, yet being upside down could have meant she banged her head off something. Another reason to keep the brace is in case she had something worse done to that skull and brain of hers.
His attention turned to the dark red spot on her left arm. He didn't want to risk causing more damage to a possibly broken arm; part of him hoped she was out of it enough that the pain didn't register. Grabbing a pair of scissors, he carefully slipped them into the cuff of her sleeve and cut as far as he could to the spot. Peeling back the top, a disgusting bruise was already sitting that spanned from her wrist to before the elbow. A gash was the evident case of the blood soak, but the sheer size of the bruise made him alarmed that something more damaging had been done.
Grabbing another cloth and a bandage roll, he set to work, trying to be as gingerly as possible. Yet his earlier wish was left ungranted. As he tried to get some of the blood closest to the wound itself and touched something in a twitch, he heard Sam hiss out and wince.
Hopeful that she still had enough within her, he spoke softly, "Sam, can you hear me?" he leaned in closer to ensure she heard his voice over the elements. Sam seemed to respond, nodding, but it was like trying to talk to someone fighting a deep sleep. She heard him; he felt that much he knew, but it was like trying to start a dead car battery with a five-volt.
"Come on, stay with me here," he said, trying to calm himself despite the warnings. His body was rapidly flaring up again now that his adrenaline wore off again. He didn't want to sound pleading, but when she seemed to react more to his voice, it gave him more hope.
Slowly, her eyes opened to the world. Blue stared up into the murky shroud of storm clouds above, feeling the droplets of rain down her act as little taps of encouragement to make her focus on where she was.
Her memories were more hazy than the sky itself. Why was she staring up at the sky? She was in her car trying to get home through a bad storm. Yet why was she completely soaked? She was lying on the ground, feeling like she had experienced something worse than a hangover. Her whole body felt wrecked, the front of her head throbbing, and she couldn't feel anything in her left arm. Pain surged whenever she tried to move, but the feeling of someone close by made her turn her focus enough to lift her head.
Seeing a wholly drenched man kneeling beside her who looked like a hobo trying to do something terrible, she felt a sharp surge of panic through her body. Trying to move away but with little success from the pain, making her stay put. Her eyes filled with growing fear, looking down far enough to see…bloody hands.
Why was… her arm covered in bandages? The one she couldn't feel yet sent the most sporadic jolts. Lifting her head just enough, she saw an open toolbox and a stack of bloody wipes. Looking up at the man's bearded face, she wanted to ask what happened and who he was.
But those eyes…
The second she had finally locked onto them, trying to get a sense of the stranger being someone from around she'd know or someone unknown, all of that went flying out the window. Like opening a box of old memories being discovered in storage, her brain felt like a train trying to run on two tracks as she flicked back and forth from the eyes to the white hair. Sure, some people dyed their hair, but in all her life, she remembered the match of that shining silver to those blue orbs.
"Lincoln?" she said with a voice so hoarse it was like she had drowned in the sand.
For the first time all day since his meeting with Bobby, he felt a genuine smile spreading, "Long time no see, Sam. How are you feeling?"
"Like hell…"
"I bet." He said, looking her over, feeling a phantom flare up on his back and memory before banishing it away. Focusing, with Sam awake, made trying to determine things a bit easier. Reaching over, he slid his hand into her left. "Can you squeeze my hand?"
Taking a second to feel him in her grip, Sam responded by curling in her fingers as much as she could. It wasn't a complete death grip but far looser than either of them would think. Clenching his hand to hers, he retracted and carefully slid just a few fingers between her other hand. "And the other?"
Repeating this, Sam felt like her hand was trapped in concrete, with barely enough room to wiggle. She had to focus and force herself to move just her pointer finger to bend the first joint, but it felt like she was trying to push it through the concrete. But the more she tried, the more it felt like that stone trap was getting hotter and hotter. Her face twisted into growing agony as she tried to move any of her left hand.
"Hey, hey, hey," Lincoln slipped his hand away and placed it higher by her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't force yourself, okay?" he tenderly said, not wanting her to cause more unwanted pain.
Yet, for the former rocker, it felt like something had entered her mind at how smoothly his voice had said that. His tone was more suggestive but had a firmness that was paired with such concern and gentleness that if she wasn't so out of it, she was sure she'd blushed a little. Thoughts of all the times she had hung out and interacted with her ex's little brother, between when they first met to last, he always had that aura of being there for anyone. She owed it to him for all the steps he did to help them achieve the dream of going big, yet never in her life did she imagine being in this position, prone on the ground, hurt and bleeding, with him by her side, tending to her wounds.
If it wasn't for the beard and soaked clothes, she could only imagine what he would have looked like past all that.
But something didn't look right.
Even with the things she could see, his eyes spoke so much at once that it was like an overflowing dam. She could see the bright spark that she had always seen Lincoln have, even in the down days they interacted, but it was so far away now. The caring side that made so many around feel safe and warm was there, but around it was something heavier—pupils of loving blue, surrounded by a blood-shot storm screaming to unleash.
"Lincoln… What happened?"
"Would you believe me if I said you almost went and visited the land of Oz?" he cracked. Trying to resist the urge of a goofy smile as he felt a part of his inner Luan try to make light of the situation as he went to finish his task.
Sam somewhat laughed. A bit happy to see that familiar side popping out for a second but a bit too out of it to laugh at the joke. She closed her eyes again and leaned back, trying to focus on regaining some strength as Lincoln tied off the end of the wrap. Making it as stiff as possible from her wrist to above her elbow.
He carefully raised her arm, checking the placement and ensuring it wasn't moving. Then, he gently placed it across her stomach, a move that made Sam groan and lurch up.
"Easy." He slowly pushed her back down, "Gotta get you to a hospital before that arm gets worse."
"There's a TriStar Summit by Hermitage. It's like 20 minutes away…"
Mentally locking in that name, Lincoln quickly jumped to his feet. Flicking away as much grim as he could before slipping on his shoes and dumping all the supplies back into the box.
He turned to Sam's car, thoroughly dragged up the hill enough that the back window was caved into the ground with parts of the roof buried. It wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, so he reached over and disconnected the winch hook. Keeping as much distance as he could in case the cable's tension sent it flying
Once the cable clumped to the ground as it let go, he quickly snatched it from the grass, tossing it as close to the truck as possible before snatching the medical box. Dashing to the tank, he threw the kit into the back seat. Yanking the door closed before moving to pull open the front passenger.
Yet, in his haste, he looked away from the door to the direction the storm was still marching. The silhouette of the tornado was like a ghost in the rain, shrouded in an endlessly moving haze that warped its form. Power flashes erupt around the base, distant sirens wailing until they were silenced as thunder rolled in its place. Lincoln didn't feel his hand lose its grip and slip away from the handle. Eyes locked onto what could be borderline a predator after having drawn blood from prey, not bothering to turn back around and see what it's done.
His thoughts drifted back to the highway, how close he was to something that, if the pods were accurate, he would have probably gone airborne had he been just some thousand feet forward. With how fast those winds broke the 200 mark, he doubted that the EDS would have had enough time to pressurize and swing the outriggers out. If he didn't go flying, then at best, he would hold onto the brake and hope his weight was enough.
He closed his eyes tight, turning away to banish those thoughts as he ripped the door open with more force than needed. He climbed inside over the seat, pulled his laptop around, and closed out the radar to see only the maps. Searching for the hospital, it was close by, and thankfully, from what he saw, he was completely clear of the damage path. The most he'd have to worry about was traffic and any street blocked off by downed trees or powerlines.
Pushing the computer back, he tossed everything he could on the front seat to the one directly behind his own. Wiping away as much as he could before running back and snatching his drenched coat off the ground. He whipped it free of water a few times before draping it over Sam like a blanket.
"Ever ridden in a tank before?"
She looked up to him, puzzled, "No…?"
"Well," He bent back down on her left side, "today's a first for many things." Without a word, he reached out underneath her. Pulling her into his arms, Sam couldn't stop the blush from forming as she used her good hand to clutch the orange jacket as he stood up.
In his years, Lincoln grew up a lot. Being in his arms like this for the first time, as he said, Sam was a bit surprised at how easily, yet somewhat shakingly, he could pick her up. Being carried bridle style wasn't exactly something she had done by any man before. Maybe surfing the crowd on an inflatable mattress would be the closest, but like this being carried to what Lincoln had called a tank, she didn't know if to be surprised or embarrassed.
Stepping up to the tank, Lincoln realized a design flaw. With the outriggers folded in, there was a sizeable gap between the edge and getting into the cab, despite how big the door was. Anyone getting in and out must step on the rig and into the truck. It was a bit of a task for anyone, but easy enough to grab onto something for support.
With the whole truck soaked and carrying a person in both arms, trying to reach high enough to load them in was literally stretching it. He stepped as close to the arms as possible, leaning over until his knees rested on top, trying to slide Sam into the seat. The rocker didn't just sit idle; she reached in, grabbed onto the chair to pull herself further in, and swung her legs in, hissing as she felt her arm shift and scooted further.
Once she was as centered as can be, Sam couldn't help but lean back in the chair and have something soft and comfortable to sit back on. Stepping up closer to reach over her to lock in the seat belt, the closeness in of itself a bit more than when he carried her, but his mind was too far away from those ideas to really care except not accidentally to touch. He pulled down the opposite strap to lock her in the harness; he knew his driving was about to get chaotic again and didn't want to risk having her be jolted all around.
With the straps tightened, he stepped out and grabbed the inner lock, closing the door. "Careful," he warned, making Sam lean a bit further back as he turned to be on the outside and let the door slam shut. Hearing the lock engage before, he ran as fast as he could around the front, bundling up the winch and tying it around as much as he could around the bullbar like a splattered spiderweb.
He took one more look at the twister, fading further and further into the rain as the RFD began to wrap around the backside and obscure his view. Any light in the area started to dim as the storm let loose its torrent of wind-driven rain on the scarred and hurting land.
Practically leaping into the cab, his door pulled shut close behind him with enough force to rock the truck; Lincoln set about strapping himself in before he caught sight of Sam looking around the place in marvel. Once again, he couldn't help but let out a small smile at how his creation fascinated someone new.
Even as Lincoln swapped the display feed from the turret to one of the rear-facing cameras to see what was behind, Sam kept darting her eyes at various gauges and switches everywhere. It reminded her a bit of her sound studio back at home, yet it had a strange smell mixed with the rain and grim. She felt cold from being so wet, yet the orange coat and feeling of the heaters on a level above low made it feel so much sharper.
The truck groaned as it slowly rolled back. The rear duallies fell down the curb before the engine revved harder to get them back up the opposite side. Jolting its passengers side to side, Lincoln raised a hand to hold Sam back from moving so much like delicate cargo. Back on the street, he retraced his steps, but part of him was reluctant to take Sam back into the heart of the damage path. It was one thing to survive a storm physically; it was mentally something different seeing what could have been.
He would know on both accounts…
He's dealt with thousands of people in the past five years from all sorts of disasters besides tornadoes. But that tornado wasn't normal. He had seen plenty of violent 3s and 4s and, to date, only two 5s, yet in the hundreds that he had seen since day one, but that just wasn't comparable. Kingman was the only thing he could imagine having that kind of explosive wind structure without the sudden drop. That was consistent, like an angry bull building up and not stopping its charge; this was like that bull had just tripped over itself and got back up, wondering what happened before resuming its run with even more rage than before.
The wind field was tight yet broad. The Rpods might have scanned above 230 at the funnel, yet from personal taste, he might have only been getting hit by 160s at its closest to him. The debris cloud hid the size and proportions, yet the debris field was too irregular from what he had seen.
He'd have to get up high and needed a drone or aircraft to confirm any theory of what the path looked like, but that was far from necessary priorities—just another mystery to the list of why tornadoes work the way they do.
Coming to a stop at the edge of the Springhouse, Brownwood, and Western Hills intersection, he didn't notice he was driving over scattered bricks of some decorative wall to the golf course till he looked over to his left to see the remains of a car smashed into the otherside.
To his south, the damage was extensive but not total. Over the crest of the hill, a lot were one-story homes missing their roofs and garages. A party boat was sitting where he could only assume it was someone's living room with a tree on top of it. To the west and north… He knew there would be scars here for years to come. Some will heal, some won't ever. What memory anyone had before today was what shall remain of the old until-
*BANG, BANG*
Lincoln and Sam jumped from their seats when they heard pounding on the door with a woman screaming out. Being on the passenger side, Sam was the unfortunate one who got a better look at the stranger practically latched onto the door. A bloody handprint smeared where she had pounded on the window with a large streak going down the left of her face like war paint with hair and clothes bathed in mud.
"Please… Help…" she said with all her strength to be heard through the glass. An utterly exhausted look haunted her eyes like all her energy wasn't even left from the adrenaline she had probably been pumping through her veins.
Without a word, Lincoln shoved the tank into park and ripped off his belt again. Reaching back for the medkit and shoving his door open, he didn't see the horrified look on Sam's face, staring at the bloody handprint as the woman started to sway. She stepped back away from the truck, dragged her hand, and smeared the crimson from the glass to armor, trying to grab the door or support handles but slipping away.
She nearly fell back had Lincoln not appeared around from the front. He dropped the box quickly to catch her before she collapsed to the ground. He gently brought her down, slowly turning her around to lean against the front wheel. Reaching up, he turned his mirror over to angle its flood light down upon the woman, revealing someone who looked like they had just gotten off work with a business suit style attire with any semblance of clean and neat being torn apart.
He got on his knees in front of her, having to keep a hand up by her shoulder to keep her from slumping forward, "Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?" He reached over and dragged the kit over. Popping open one of the top boxes and procuring a small flashlight as he waved it over her eyes, trying to get some response.
"Mi…" she muttered, fighting to stay awake. She tried to look up but dropped down like her head was weighed down.
"It's okay. You're safe now." He waved away some of her hair, searching for the source of the blood to see an ugly-looking blob mixed with a patch of mud, "Just breathe…"
Taking one of the heavier-duty rags meant for some of the more severe messes, Lincoln slowly wiped away some of the mud around the wound. Blood quickly mixed in, making it a shining, rich brown color that starkly contrasted her brown hair.
"Mi… el…" she muttered again, wincing every time Lincoln had to apply more force to clean the wound. Once it was cleared enough, he went straight for the dressings. Keeping the rag pressed to stop the bleeding, he quickly bit off a corner and unrolled it off his finger.
Tossing the cloth away, he quickly placed a large swath of dressing. Moving as fast as he could as the bleeding quickly started to seep around, he worked the gauze around.
"Mich… ael…"
Lincoln paused, looking down at her. "Michael? Who's Michael?" he asked. Thoughts immediately flashed to who it could be: husband, father, son, brother, cousin, dog, all of the above, or one who, if she had wandered out from all this debris, would still be someone else.
The woman didn't vocally answer. Just slowly lifting her head enough that Lincoln's eyes met hers briefly before they flashed over to his right. Looking over his shoulder, he tried to follow her gaze and seemed to land between one of the two houses just across the road from where they were.
Both were without roofs. One had its garage completely peeled back like an opened can across the remains of the house, and a tree in the front yard collapsing into the front falls. The other house looked almost as bad: a two-story brick split-level with the entire roof and upper floor missing. A brush or small tree was firmly planted halfway through where the front door would be, with the corner closest to them looking ready to bulge out and collapse.
If he had to guess, roughly EF3 for the further house, yet that did very little to the fact that anything could cause a plethora of situations that could be trouble.
"Do you… do you know which one?" He looked back, feeling something bubbling in his gut that he swallowed to keep down. "One or two?" He pointed to the house closest to them as one and the furthest as Two. The woman raised her left arm like it was almost stiff as stone. Fingers flexed as she tried to curl or point, but slowly, he saw her struggle to present a single digit.
Lincoln lingered a second, ensuring the woman was sure before her hand slumped to the side. Her entire body seemingly gave up the strength to stay rigid enough before she started to fall. He held a finger to her neck to feel for a pulse, steady, but it was noticeably dropping.
He moved fast. He pulled her forward enough that she wouldn't fall over any more than she did as he ran to the back. Throwing the rear door open and nearly hit him, bouncing back as he stepped up inside. Shoving as many of the bags, boxes, and supplies that could open up an ample open space big enough that two or three people could lie down. He didn't have time to fold the seats down, and as bad as it was loading in Sam, this would be worse in trying to get someone now unconscious up just the rear bumper.
But he did it without pause, without a second thought. He jumped off the back and went by the woman's side, hoisting her up in a cradle carry so that her head was against his shoulder. To the back, he had to jump up to get himself seated on the bed and hurry himself through the door sideways.
Mindful to avoid bumping her head into anything like his camera mount, he laid her on the passenger side so that he could look over his shoulder to check on her while driving. Securing her in some of the belts used to hold cargo or as extra seat belts, he glanced through the side door back at the house. If she was right, someone could still be in that house. If it were where she came from, the mud might have been because she was thrown out. He didn't know. He knew that he had two people who needed a hospital soon, yet there was still someone who could be dying just 50 feet away.
Crawling back out, he felt a tightness swell up in his chest for a split second before bursting into a coughing fit. Pounding his chest and holding onto the handle, he felt like he was suddenly trying to cough up a lung. It lasted for just seconds, yet it was enough that once he stood back straight, he felt himself wobbling as he returned to the driver's door.
"Sam?" he called out, looking up at the figure covered in red light. Sam groaned like someone ill had their sleep disturbed. Barely turning her head to face him with eyes just cracked open. He pulled himself over his seat to get closer, letting her see his face become bathed in the same light like they were in some horror movie, "I'll be right back. Okay?"
She groaned, unsure if it was acknowledgment or a question about his words, as he ripped the glove box open. He shuffled through the mess until he pulled out a flashlight club compared to his little pencil. Sam barely let out another groan before Lincoln scrambled back out. He went back around the truck to close the kit before making a beeline towards the house.
He ran as fast as he could—as fast as he did for Sam, as fast as he did for Ronnie, and as fast as he did for the many others with whom he had crossed paths in these events.
But something didn't feel right.
Something felt very, very wrong.
He got maybe halfway into the yard before he felt like he had just run into a thick fog that consumed him to the bones. The toolbox slipped through his fingers, flashlight clattering to the grass as he staggered forward. He fell to his knees as he tried to balance between trying to stay standing up and clenching his stomach like a void had suddenly formed.
Any average person would have fallen entirely to their knees, probably having their forehead pressed into the dirt with their arms clenching their stomach as tight as possible. Seething, maybe screaming out at the sudden pain that felt like he had his inners stomped on. But Lincoln, kneeling, pounded a fist into the ground to keep himself from falling further. His left arm clutched his gut; his eyes pinched tight as he gritted his teeth, trying to resist the urge to yell out in frustration or fear that the second he moved too fast, he'd vomit whatever was still there.
"Not now…" he said through his teeth, trying to stay still as he prevented himself from moving too much.
For months, he had been swinging from utterly wired to entirely defunct. What the next day would bring him, he didn't know. Every day, he had it within him to get something done, and he did it like tomorrow didn't exist. The day he woke up after his second surgery, and Rex told him what happened, it felt like it was God knocking his legs out from under him after Kingman.
After a while, it would become practically depressing for anyone. Yet every time he got it, it felt like he was stoking the coals of a boiler that had yet to achieve the perfect balance to pump the steam. It felt more like a sign to keep his ass moving than to sit and waste away. People will say to take it easy and rest, but you can't stop a Loud. He wouldn't wait for the universe to let the time be known. He would keep going. He wouldn't stop. He might slow down, barely moving, but don't stop.
Don't stop.
"Don't stop…" he gritted, head slowly rising as he felt the haze in his eyes fade to the wayside. "Don't stop…" He reached out, grabbing the toolbox to his side and snatching the flashlight from the grass as he pushed himself off the ground, staggering forward before letting his momentum carry him forward.
Though most of the front of the house wasn't as severely damaged, with the roof over the porch gone and every window shattered, it was impossible to tell what the inside or back could be. With the garage on the roof, he had to be careful. Reaching for the handle, the second he applied enough force to twist it out of the lock and swing open, the door fell backward into the home with its hinges and part of the door frame with it.
His flashlight raised barely enough to see the back of the house shoved forward like a toddler had crushed a sand castle between their hands. The roof flared up or collapsed in the floor, and walls were blown out to the point he could see straight through the backyard and land beyond it.
His mouth dropped, and he felt a sense of shock come and go as he stepped inside. "HELLO!?" he called out, feeling how dry his throat was becoming. "IS ANYONE IN HERE?!"
He held his breath, being as silent as possible to listen for any reply. He slowly stepped on the door, feeling the wood groaning under his feet. Swapping his tools, he held the box against the wall, trying to keep himself stable. He approached what looked like the 'hallway' linked to the garage and other rooms.
Completely pushed in and collapsed. What was the part of the roof itself punching through, embedded between the walls like a ram had tried and failed to make its way entirely through the house.
Shining his flashlight up into the rafters, close enough to reach up and touch, Lincoln knew he couldn't go any further. Even if he snatched his hard hat from the truck, the possibility of how compromised the house was that any significant enough force could ultimately send it coming down would dissuade anyone from going further.
"Geez…" he shone his light over the crumpled doorways. Praying that whoever Michael was wasn't in that part of the building. He looked to his right, towards the opposite half of the house, which was still standing. Even with the hole in the wall, the hallway leading into the other side was fully intact by the threshold, and no sign of chaos inches away existed.
Looking for where he stepped further, Lincoln moved as close to the front wall as possible to pass through the living room. Coming up to the shattered window to look back over to check Storm Shrieker, to look up the road to see a man dressed in a minced dark green long shirt and jeans stumbling down the road like he didn't know where he was or going.
Lincoln spun on his heel and ran out the door. He stumbled down the little steps and slid on the grass, slowing his speed when he felt his lungs start to burn before he came up to the man's side. Even with the flashlight aimed at him and someone running towards him, the man didn't notice Lincoln at all until the 20-year-old was right beside him and stopped him.
"Sir, are you okay?" he put his hand on the man's arm, slowing him down.
When Lincoln made contact, it was like a spring-loaded trigger. He could only describe the man's gaze as utterly haunting. It was almost like the thousand-yard stare hadn't fully set in for him as his eyes rolled toward him. He was maybe just a bit older than Lincoln, but that sunken look made it seem he had decades in seconds.
"I…. I don't know…"
"Are you hurt anywhere?" Lincoln asked, scanning over his clothes for any signs of bleeding.
"I… don't… " He stuttered his repeated answer, unsure if he believed in it.
"What's your name?
"Drake…"
"Drake?" Lincoln repeated like a question, and the man nodded to confirm. Alright, Drake, come with me. I will get you and a few others to the hospital, okay?" Drake nodded slowly, taking in the idea that he couldn't mentally feel any reason against such an idea when he had no idea about anything.
Lincoln slowly moved his way back to the truck, hand behind Drake's back to guide him, looking back to make sure the man was still following and be ready in case anything happened. Getting him into the tank was less of an issue than it was with the others. Popping open the passenger door behind Sam's, he shoved everything into the passenger seat behind his and stepped up to the side. Being a much smaller door meant the person had to climb up the armor and little steps to be eye level with the turret, stepping down onto the set before worming their way in.
It wasn't exactly the most fantastic design choice he had in mind for the revamp. Cutting out what was once just a reinforced window into a door not even half the size of the original, between the flares for the duallies, the outrigger towers, and the fact you couldn't open them whenever the front doors were open, they served a roll more like the roof hatch as a means for emergency escape while providing a means to get in and out of the vehicle without going through the front.
When it's usually just you in the back or a crew of two always in the front, the idea of it serving for passenger access wasn't exactly high on the list. At least with someone like Drake being conscious enough, he could more easily slot himself through and plop onto the seat.
Yet, as he helped to harness the man, he heard Sam moan something up front as if she was trying to say his name.
"Sam?" he paused. What's wrong?" She didn't reply, only using her good arm to point out the window.
Turning back to face the streets, he felt his nerves become numb.
At least a dozen, maybe 20, maybe 30 people were walking towards him. He was drawn to the tank's flashing lights like moths from over the hill and around the bend, where he saw Drake stumbling from. Some huddled in groups. Trying to stay close or support one another or taking up the weight on their shoulders. Some stumbled like they were a zombie, others upon seeing Shrieker sitting there in all its wet metal and flashing glory.
Moving away from Drake, the Loud felt a new surge up his spine, making him go straight for his pockets. The phone nearly flew from his grasp as he quickly dialed into the emergency call function. Tossing his flashlight inside and climbing down with the door being pulled shut, Lincoln had not even 30 seconds to click the call button before the first five people suddenly came up to him asking for help.
Trying to keep the phone by his ear, he held the toolbox by his knee against the armor. Fumbling for whatever unused supply he had left, he waited for the call to go through. Taking his attention first to a woman with a bloody shoulder with a large cut trailing from the top across the back side of her neck. Wiping away as much blood with a gauze sponge before it became useless with the next.
Then, the voice of another woman came over the phone, "911, what's your-"
"My name is Lincoln Loud; I'm at the intersection of Brownwood and Western Hills," he quickly stated in a rehearsed tone. Yet, having to pause to rip open a new pack of bandage padding as he pressed it against the woman's wound, "Keep pressure on that, and don't let go." He gently pushed her aside as an older man stepped forward, holding the side of his exposed chest with blood seeping between his fingers.
"I've got an utter mess here. I got several dozens of injured here, and more are coming. I need immediate EMS, mobile trauma units, and search and rescue from here to the Pennington Villas area." He held another sponge against the wound, grabbed one of the last rags to hold overtop, and placed the man's hand back against it. "I need two people who aren't injured right here!" he shouted as nearly five stepped forward.
Grabbing two rolls of bandage, he handed them to one of them before directing them to the side, "Get his shirt off and wrap that as tightly as you can!" He ordered, and the pair with another quickly stepped to the side. He grabbed even more sponges and a much wider roll and gave them to another, "Try and get as much as you can, but don't let up the pressure. Wrapped across the chest and under the arm, and don't let her move it too much."
"Emergency rescue has already been notified and is going to the affected areas. Were you near the storm's path?"
"Yeah…" he eyed the damage before focusing on his next patient, "What's the soonest time estimate?"
"The nearest medical personnel is ten minutes from your given location."
'Ten minutes?' Lincoln's voice whispered in his mind like an empty house. Echoing off the walls to his ears like it was asking him the question.
He took his phone away in that brief silence and looked over the gathered crowd. Often, the only time he had these, like earlier at the truck stop, was usually filled with smiles and questions about things or just fun banter. Before him, the cries and moans of the hurt. The haunted, confused, and scared looks in their eyes. All were trying to help each other or reach out to him, asking for aid.
He had helped three people by himself, which was a bit more than some can say outside a specific line of jobs. A lot of the time, you hope that you don't have to save someone. Not to be the bad guy and not help, but to hope that everyone around you makes it with maybe some cuts and bruises, not fighting for their lives with you by their side trying to prevent them from slipping too far.
The medkit was kept on hand for this situation. If they came across during a chase or someone in their team was hurt, at least until they could get them to a hospital or an ambulance arrived—enough supplies to help maybe ten people before it was just an empty box.
But just glancing down at what was left, supplies were already running low after just Sam and the woman. With just the two more he had gotten the ball rolling in shoring up their wounds, he had a roll of gauzing left, some essential disinfectants, and an emergency stitch kit, but the injuries that were standing in front of him he might have just been using mud and newspaper.
Looking up at Sam, he saw her reflection in the side mirror. He could see how utterly drained she was becoming through the rain-streaked glass. In the mixed light, he could see how pale she was becoming, trying to keep her head up. He could see Drake slipping past that line, and the woman was still motionless.
These were injuries on a level that even if his whole team were here, even Peter, with his entire truck full of supplies, would be stretched thin as the numbers in front of him were too much. Lincoln wasn't the kind of person to walk away when he still could make a difference to help. But what help could he give now?
He didn't have enough supplies. He didn't have enough time.
He had three wounded already wounded just sitting here. With what room was left, he could squeeze in three or four people, take the woman and older man, and have someone keep an eye on them during the trip, but he couldn't take any more.
"I don't have ten minutes…" he whispered, unsure if to tell the operator or himself.
He thought hard, trying to devise a plan to serve everyone's needs. He could feel it bubbling inside with whatever ick was forcing him to try not to crumble into a coughing fit again, but it was like seeing two ropes being pulled away at once. He had the chance to snatch one to save what was at the end quickly, but he was doomed to let the other slip away.
"Alright, but please tell them to hurry!" he said, ending the call before moving himself to stand on the outrigger to be higher up. "PEOPLE LISTEN! Emergency services are on the way and will be here any minute now! I can take three more people with me and leave what supply I have left, but I can't take everyone!"
As fast as the crowd had gone quiet from his announcement, it suddenly became louder than thunder. The voices of dozens calling out, begging to be among those that got taken. Those who were as fine as could be stepped back, some understanding they couldn't just leave and others looking around for any other option.
Lincoln handed the medkit to one of the men, who was already tearing pieces of clothing to create makeshift bandages and checking others over. Was it stupid? Absolutely. But he didn't have time. Looking inside at what was left, the man looked at Lincoln, questioning whether this was real. In a sad nod, the man almost immediately took the kit to the side, yelling for people to bring those he could tend with.
That left some 12 to 14 people gathered around the tank, hounding him to get in. "I'm sorry, I can't take anymore!" he cried out, reaching behind to help load the two. A small collection of those who heard or figured out what was happening had already gotten to work hoisting the man inside and, with the power of four people, brought the woman up to slide her in with one guy sitting between the two.
"Hold on tight," he said, quickly shutting the door.
The little mob followed him around, trying to hold onto whatever surface they could try to climb on. A few followed him to the front when he had to grab his door and slam it shut swiftly. Quickly engaging all the door locks, he didn't bother with his seatbelt. Shifting into drive, the crowd had to back away as the tank inched forward. Some tried to open the doors yet stepped away once it turned to face down the road, picking up speed. Passing over the crest of the hill, the road went upon before plunging down and out of sight.
Once the truck got to the intersection of McGavock, its brakes squealed, bringing the tank to a stop, and Lincoln took a moment to rest his forehead against the steering wheel. He was trying to calm his burning nerves like an overworked engine running red. He turned to put his mouth against his forearm to muffle another coughing fit strong enough to make him jump in his seat. The call of sleep was less whispered and more like shouting and pounding on the door. He could have just put the hazard and parking brake on and fallen into darkness.
Then, a voice like his yelled at it to stop. That it wasn't in the mood to answer, it was enough of a kick to make him lift back up. Taking in a deep breath as the truck continued. Not noticing, the concerned glance sent his way from the co-pilot's seat.
The tank raced down the abandoned streets with the siren blaring to life and weaving around fallen tree limbs or scattered loose damage. Smashing through a small flood across the road that bathed it in more dirt that didn't do anything to slow its pace.
Heading into the community of Donelson, even as the storm retreated further northeast, the town was mostly untouched by the utter destruction that had unfolded just four miles away. With no light anywhere from stores or homes, the droning flashes of traffic signals flashing yellow, the streets were desolate save for a few vehicles trying to reach their destinations. Approaching the turn to Lebanon Pike, he saw a small convoy of ambulances and fire engines escorted by many police cruisers flying past him.
A fleeting warmth made his nerves ease up some. Knowing that, he hoped, those left behind would be cared for.
But the empty feeling within felt like it was only growing.
Five miles to go, the signs of what scars the storms had left were barely noticeable. Most likely, a strong wind had just blown through and knocked out the power. A glance to check his computer's given route had the GPS showing a growing orange and red spider web of roads. Backups from the westbound Interstate 40 began spilling over into the side streets. Reports of blocked roads or flash flooding. It took him a second to bring up the reports, updated every ten seconds, saying the whole north side was dark and both airports were completely shut down.
The most lethal effects of the storm were in a narrow path, yet its broad-reaching effects would hurt those far outside its limits. The further they went, the less and less you could see of a city and more of hills and fields. There were fewer skyscrapers and packed rows of housing, and it was more widespread, as if he would think he was already back in Oklahoma.
Through the rolling hills and past the trees, wheels screeching as Lincoln took a hard left turn and gunned it through a red light, the hospital stood like a glowing monolith against the dark clouds above it. He took the next left, picking up speed and moving around the west side through packed parking lots.
He blew on the air horn, increased the siren volume, flashed the headlights—anything to make the truck visible to anyone as he accelerated up to the ambulance and emergency entrances. The tank nearly collided with an ambulance trying to offload, along with five others crowded under the drive-thru. The wheels smacked into the curb, and the rear wheel fender scraped against a column.
Zig-zagging through the break between, Lincoln's shoes slammed on the brakes the second they were under the roof. Tires leaving a scorched trail echoed throughout the area, and people ran out, thinking a crash had just happened outside their door.
With the bullbar just a foot away from touching the backside of another ambulance that darted forward, trying to avoid such fate, Lincoln shut off the siren and disengaged the locks. He threw his door open as fast as he could and jumped out, heading for the backside before ripping it open. The sight of a tank with enough lights to be confused for a fire engine and the bear crash, mixed in with bloody handprints and a white-haired man trying to get something out the back, was enough of a sign to get some of the hospital staff to come outside.
The first out was the older woman, crying out loud as she tried to hold onto the utterly soaked bandage to her body as it started to fall apart. Someone shouted to get the gurney as he and the passenger with three assistants carefully lowered her off the back. The calls for more beds and hands went out when the man with the bleeding chest came out next. The moment the lady was on hers and sent through the door, two more came rolling out. The doctors told him not to move. He lay down the best he could and was pulled onto the bed and pressed against the rear bumper.
Once he was out, the passenger followed him inside. Lincoln didn't know or care about who exactly he was to that man. As a nurse jumped inside, he immediately climbed inside to help the woman lying on the floor. Surprised to find two more people sitting up front and yelling for more beds and a board, he looked over the woman's head wound.
Lincoln shuffled around them to crawl back out. Standing aside as they brought a yellow spine board out, he fed it inside. Looping around the front to the passenger side, he ripped Drake's door open to reveal a confused man looking around, unsure where he was. "Come on, Drake. Let's get you out."
Stepping up, he nearly lost his footing, slipping on the spike rod. A few people behind him rushed forward to catch him if needed, but he kept himself held in place on the frame. Pulling up just enough to reach in and unbuckle Drake, slowly pulling the man up to be awkwardly standing on the seat and out the door. Lincoln and two others carefully helped ease him from the tank to an awaiting wheelchair. A quick check from a doctor pointed out the lack of visible wounds, but with his disorientation, he ordered him to be sent to have his head looked over.
As Drake was wheeled through with the women close behind with some seven people around her, more gurneys followed as he turned his attention to the inevitable he got to first.
The second he pulled her door open, Sam, a bit more alert after the crazy driving and all the loud sounds around her, was still trying to stay awake so she could see anything clearly once she saw the familiar white hair standing before her.
"Lincoln?" she moaned, trying to sit up.
"Easy, Sam. You're safe now," he said, reaching over to disconnect the harness. Pulling them to the side, he reached underneath her, picking her up the way she got in. Moving a bit slower to avoid agitating anything more than it already had, he turned around to place her on a bed parallel to the tank, with the nurses helping to steady her.
"Linc…" Her voice filled with confusion as she tried to reach for him with her free hand. Being quickly pushed away out of reach, she tried to turn her head to look back, but a doctor swiftly asked her not to move.
"It'll be alright, Sam," Lincoln called out. Unsure if she could hear him under the crowd's collective voice before she disappeared inside.
"It'll be alright…" he repeated. Feeling each word losing energy, he backed up enough to sit in the door frame. Holding himself up by the forward spike, resting his head against the dashboard, he heaved heavily. Feeling exhaustion was now utterly pounding at the door with a hundred fists.
Yet, looking around, he was a bit taken aback by the fact that there was still a gurney out here waiting along with a few other doctors. Puzzled, he looked around to see who else they were waiting for, but he was surprised when one of the male nurses approached him.
"Sir, are you alright?" he crouched before the Loud doing a check-over.
"What?" Lincoln asked, unsure.
"There's blood all over your hands and clothes."
Confused, Lincoln looked at his hands and for another mark on the list of things to surprise him today; the amount of red on his hands in some other worldview would have been a great joke in thought, but not from what led him to this.
They weren't just stained like you didn't wash it all away; they were just as crimson as what lay under all those bandages he had tended to. Like he had just gotten done murdering someone with his hands as the instruments of death in every life he tried to save today. It crawled up some of his arms, his watch thoroughly dosed in it to the point that he could not see the screen anymore. Just looking down more made him realize just how much blood was on his clothes. The red shirt did little justice to hide all the swipes he subconsciously had done to wipe them clean, even more so on his pant legs.
It was the blood of four people he had met today. Someone he knew and three strangers to him but maybe had a connection between themselves. On his hands on a day that he doubted he'd be the only one.
If he weren't already feeling half sick, he would have vomited at just the thoughts. But looking back to what he had experienced in Kansas, it was a lot more tame.
"It's… not mine." He admitted, resisting the urge to come through his hair or wipe his hands on more of his clothes, "I tried to help the four of them with whatever first aid I had supplied with. It wasn't much, but focused on keeping them from bleeding out."
"You're pale," the nurse said, bringing his hand to Lincoln's forehead. And running hot."
"I'm fine. I just…" he pulled himself back up, "Need to go park somewhere better. I'll… I'll be in a bit." While anyone would tell him he needed medical attention, he knew what was wrong. He didn't need another hospital to tell him the things he had known since August. He might have been a bloody mess, but he wasn't hurt like the others, and the doctors and nurses really couldn't say otherwise. He denied treatment and was right to take up vital parking space.
The attraction of another ambulance pulling in behind the tank further pointed to other important things to tend to. The man took one last look at the Loud before ordering his co-workers to the new arrivals.
Using what little clean spot he could find on his arm, Lincoln tried holding back another cough and getting their attention. But with them all preoccupied, he reached over, pulling the door shut. Resting against it, he took deep breaths before glancing at his reflection in the window. Between the lights above and his ambers, it was like simultaneously staring at yourself and your ghost. A glimpse flickering back and forth with the red light in the cab being the only consistent that shined back into his eyes.
He closed his, letting a sigh escape his lips. But the second he opened them again, he noticed what had become of his truck.
From where the lady had pounded on the window, his handprints left behind stretched from opening and closing the door to the smears from others mixed in with mud and grim over gray paint or exposed stainless steel teel. All across the passenger side and doors, roll cage to fenders. Walking around the backside to the rear door, it was smacked with more prints.
It looked so much roomier yet empty inside his truck, with everything shoved away. But the emptiness revealed the mess it was: trails and smears of mud and blood, discarded cloth, and torn gauzing. It was like his truck was used for part of an operation. Swiftly, he shut that back door, shaking his head at the mental task of having to clean that out before he left here.
Returning to the driver's seat, he reached to pull himself up inside the door before stopping to see just how coveted the inner panel and lock had become. Red, worn away from constant use and slipping hands, matched only by how the steering wheel shined an even darker shade under the light.
It was already a mess, so it made no sense to try to avoid it when you were right there with it.
Switching off the exterior lights, he slowly edged the truck out of the bay. Rolling back under the clouds as rain began to fall again steadily, he went up to the side where a row of waiting vehicles sat parked. Coming up within just enough space to fit, he cut the engine. The tank moaned as it relished some much-needed rest after marching across the last 1600-plus miles with hot pops from under the hood. He just grabbed the keys, slid back out, and closed his door with some more sluggish strength from doing it so much today.
The brief time from the walk back to the entrance was accompanied by increasing rain. Clouds above were beginning to darken as they blocked out more and more of the sun as the curtains closed after the main show.
It felt too befitting for today. In all the chaos nature could throw at the world so many times, it had all the power it needed to wash it away.
But stepping through the hospital's doors, it was its own chaos.
He didn't watch medical dramas, didn't read into what happens during huge events, or spent much time in hospitals in general aside from his misfortune and the occasional visit for fundraisers or to see those he's interacted with before and wish to meet him again. There was no reason for him to be here even now. The storm has passed, and he got injured here. He was no doctor or had any meaningful level of such knowledge to ask where he could help. All he could do was stand out of the way.
He had to quickly do so when a pair of gurneys came rushing through the door on their way out, and one came right back in with someone ordering an OR to be prepared immediately. He could barely see precisely what the patient looked like through the mob surrounding him, but it wasn't hard seeing what looked like part of a tree branch sticking up from somewhere.
As fast as they came in, they merged into the crowd. Voices were once defined as becoming another drop in the ocean of activity.
Mass Casualty Incident mode. He had seen it twice, been part of it once. Being out in the field wasn't something you usually see yourself in. Pulling survivors or locating the dead was just part of it, being in a place like this where dozens to hundreds try all they can to keep that unfortunate count low.
He stayed close to the wall, moving deeper in. He didn't want to go far; anyone else would still try to stop him with his appearance or ask why he was trying to sneak around. There were too many different signs that could go where he didn't want to.
Lincoln got maybe a left turn down the hall where activity had lessened. Some did look his way, trying to stop and ask, but he kept following the signs and entering part of the building that was less than the actual medical rooms and closer to the visitors and reception center. At the first sign of his destination recognized, he sped up his walk until shouldering the door open.
Inside the restroom, the utter brightness of the white tile and fluorescent lights made Lincoln feel sunspots suddenly burn into his eyes. He tried looking away. He should not use his bloody fingers to wipe away his eyes and make more of a mess.
Straight to the sink, hands locked onto the sides of the basin, hunched over like he was ready to hurl or spit out teeth. He didn't look up, just smashing both hands against two of the soap dispensers and twisting the knob to hot. No matter what the burning reached, he didn't stop scrubbing. Nails to skin, digging as deep as possible to remove all the stains. He grabbed a fist full of paper towels and ripped over his ruined watch, scrubbing hard until the skin became red from the sheer roughness.
He didn't know how long he had been at it. His only real sense of time was watching the blood-soaked soap be ground into his skin before being washed away in the whirlpool down the drain. The sink, resembling more of a butcher's, had just finished a long day of work, and he was seeing his filth be transferred to something that was spotless moments ago.
More soap, more paper towels, and more scrubbing. Don't stop until it is done.
When he could see that, at best, there was just a faint trace of the leftovers minged around his nails, something to fade away later, he tossed away his mess, wiping away whatever he had left of the crime he had just committed to the trash. Yanking the handle to the opposite side, the clouds of mist that had fogged the mirror in front of him vanished as he dunked his hands under cold water.
Taking hand fulls to splash his face, trying to scrub off whatever grim that had been built up to be washed away. Three tries later, he shut the water off. Returning to his hunched position, his head was low, and he felt the water droplets fall off his face like rain. He reached up, wiping away some of the mist off the mirror before slowly returning to his reflection for what felt like the sixth time today.
What could he use to describe himself that hasn't been said before? He really didn't see himself anymore.
How much just a year, how much just a single 'day' could change a man is a question that felt more befitting to ask God or whoever ran the universe. His clothes looked like he had killed, and his face looked like he was dying of age. His white hair had lost its shine with gray, and his eyes felt familiar yet foreign.
He wasn't looking at a reflection; he was looking at a different person. He could see himself standing right there in the mirror, in his signature orange polo, hair combed neatly, skin all cleaned up with a sparkle, and plan in his eyes, ready to see what the day would throw at him or what adventure he'd find.
It was gone.
When he had lost it, he could say it didn't happen at once. About seven times, he could imagine it withering away. Kingman literally taking a chunk out of him. The struggle to keep moving. What the world had become around him could all be traced to one day or another.
It made him miss how things were. Years ago, it was all about his life in his town and living with a big family and friends around the corner. Now, those times are memories created in the past, and his actions make the future.
He remembered a lot about how superheroes went through something like this. After a while of business as usual, the ultimate big bad comes and takes them down after realizing this wasn't your typical villain. It takes time to get back to where you once were. Sometimes, it is more potent than ever before, and sometimes, it never reaches the level ever again. In those times, their story could go the way of redemption or take the seat and realize that there was no way of going back.
He could really use a seat right now… To sit down and lean back, staring at emptiness or whatever odd piece of art was on the wall. At least he knew if he did pass out, he was in the right place for someone to discover and check up on him.
Cleaning up whatever mess that remained, he took a few steps back to get a better view of his overall condition. His clothes were practically a loss. So much blood smeared and stained within just his shirt it would be a waste of effort to save it. He didn't know if his jacket was any good; hopefully, Sam had better use of it for today. He had spares in the truck, so it wasn't that big of an issue…
… the bloody mess that was his truck was one. A simple car wash would fix the outside problem, but it'd be an effort to wipe away everything inside. Maybe rip off the floor mat and just power wash it too….
Another thing to toss on the growing list of today….
When he stepped out, the day felt like it had just tossed him something else.
The clock on the wall said it had only been minutes, yet the air felt like he had just jumped hours ahead. The hallway felt stiffer like the pressure had completely tanked. The lights weren't as bright as before, like a shadow now bathed over everything, and the sounds around the building felt very different. He could hear the distant sounds of activity, but it was now so quiet that he could hear the faint squeak caused by his shoes in each slow step he took.
Something didn't feel right. Something didn't feel like it was…crying? There was barely anyone in sight, yet it sounded so…
It sounded like it was coming from another hallway that branched off from a pair of elevators that divided the bathroom from the doors to the ward. He didn't remember seeing anyone there on his first pass, but then again, he didn't exactly have the idea to look.
It felt like he was in one of his supernatural movies, the lone protagonist in a luminal space with something unknown drawing his attention. But this didn't feel like he was approaching something evil or dangerous. It was more like it had a sense of familiarity to it. Like all the times he would come home and hear one of his sisters crying in such a way that he begged to be alone, but his heart couldn't stand to let that sound be heard anymore.
And this was feeling far too familiar to be from some random stranger…
Once he rounded the corner, Lincoln had to brace himself, like he was a second away from realizing he was in the wrong spot in a storm. Grabbing onto the plastic buffer rails that lined the walls, the feeling of getting impacted by force, physical or mental, so hard you had to hang on or be on the floor trying to comprehend what just happened struck him. He felt a surge of memories flash by trying to remember when it was like this.
If his shock hadn't silenced him, he would have said Luan's name out loud.
But in his effort to calm himself, he quickly took in the details that both felt too much like he had seen them before yet were their person.
The autumn-colored hair was noticeable but problematic to defy in the dim light, almost making it look like a brunette soiled with matted dirt. The arms were covered in scratches and bandages, some revealing the red tenderness that was exposed until a half-torn white sleeveless shirt was covered in more mud and blood splotches. Yet connected around the collar was an orange and white poke-dot tie that looked like it had been torn in half, with a line of crimson bled in the bottom half. A skirt of a somewhat lighter shade of orange but with a large tear on the side that came up to the mid-thigh and red rain boots up to the knees.
It was hard for him to guess the age, maybe 14-15? She looked so much like some alternate version of his comedic sister when she was younger that if you said it was her trying a new look and got bullied for it, he'd be half inclined to agree. Call it a stranger danger, a bloodied man looking upon a battered teen in the hospital alone and crying, but Lincoln felt that something wasn't exactly 'stranger' about this.
And that made him feel very uneasy.
His thoughts instantly snapped to his encounter back in Michigan with that… whatever 'Lemy' was. In that situation, he could see how his mind was more at ease yet focused on so many other things following the halfway point of his adventure. This time, he could feel something triggering his senses and nerves in ways he thought were just his overreaction from before.
At least he wasn't driving this time…
Yet it was like the reverse of how Lemy had snuck up on him. Taking a step around the corner to where he was in full view, he could hear his shoe squeal so loud he might as well yell out hello so that everyone in the vicinity could hear him. His eyes snapped shut, cringing at how his stealth had been destroyed. It took him a second to realize the crying had stopped.
Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the girl had stopped sobbing, yet the red puffiness in her eyes spoke of someone who had been at it for quite some time now, with her cheeks twinkling in streaks.
But those eyes.
The very second he saw them staring into his, Lincoln felt that force from early on suddenly appear before him, like a wall that was an inch from his face, ready to collapse onto him. There wasn't just some random pair with a uniqueness everyone shared; no, they were ones he had seen before. So often, he would wake up in the morning to have a joke told or look into the mirror. It was like seeing two sides had been perfectly merged to the point it was its own, but if you knew from where you had seen it, you could see who it was made in part of.
In his moment of stupor of standing there frozen, the girl took a moment to try to wipe away some of her lingering tears before slowly raising a hand and waving, "Hi." she said with a strained voice from the crying. Yet, it didn't feel like it was from awkwardness or nervousness.
And Lincoln caught that on. Surprised how that one word seemed far too comfortable for someone, let alone this teen, to say to some random guy in a hospital.
"Hello…" he replied with a little wave of his own. Unsure of exactly where this was to go, he immediately devised a plan to try to save face and avoid making the situation more uncomfortable. "I'm… sorry for disturbing you." He quickly spun around, heading for the doors to get back to his truck.
"No, wait!" she called out pleadingly before he could entirely turn away. He could see those eyes become filled with just that pleading from the corner of his eye, but there was more behind it. That look of familiarity mixed in with the sense of recognition that refused to connect. It was making his nerves tremble at how it was even possible.
Seeing that he didn't just outright run away, the girl took a second to compose herself to her best degree, "It's fine. I… I just needed a moment to vent out some things. I guess I kinda got carried away."
He nodded in understanding. Knowing that a place like this can be the home of tragedy and miracles at the same time, having some alone time to grieve was what even the strongest among people would need. Just to let it out, there is no blocking or trying to stop the flow. Let it flow out so it doesn't fester inside into something worse.
From her battered shape, he could imagine that she had been one of the unlucky to have experienced what misfortune had been descending upon today.
"You have family here?" It was more of a question asking why she was alone here. Someone as young as she wouldn't have ended up in a place like this if it hadn't been from someone close by being in a worse condition than she was if all she got was some bandage work and clean up before coming out here.
"Right now, just my aunt and sister… My aunt got hurt in the storm trying to protect me." she gestured to her arms. "She had to be taken into emergency surgery…. I… I couldn't watch her being in so much pain like that…" her breath hicked, tears beginning to fall again as she tried wiping them away with more coming.
As so often he would be one to comfort anyone in such a state, something felt so much stronger now than he had felt in years. It wasn't just his humanity aching at seeing someone so young be in pain and hurt, but the feeling from earlier that felt so much more instinctual now. He couldn't explain why it was…
With caution that didn't feel like it belonged, Lincoln slowly approached the bench. The teen scooted to the far side, patting the opened space between like a child wanting their parent to join them on the couch for a show. Feeling it creak from his weight, there was maybe a foot and a half gap between the two, yet the scene of anyone passing by would make them think a grandfather was sitting with their child.
A very bloody grandfather and a torn-up child.
Staring off at the wall, Lincoln didn't know how to approach this dilemma. In a way, he can relate to both being on the receiving end of insane injuries and being there to comfort another. He could sadly remember with great detail the devastation in Bobby's eyes. It was worse to imagine what scenarios could play out had someone not been there to support him.
But this wasn't exactly on that level of 'suffering' if it could be called that anymore. That feeling seemingly melted into some awkwardness that only circled the man like all of it had been taken away from the teen and gravitated to him. They didn't look at each other, but he could feel her taking glances like she was expecting something to happen. He was too, but just what exactly?"
"So…" he started, looking around the hall for a distraction, "Got a name?"
She giggled a little at how Lincoln's attempt at making small talk wasn't the greatest. "Elizabeth. It's on my birth certificate, but everyone from my friends, family, even strangers use my shorter name. When we can get around to it, we're going to change it permanently."
"To?"
She turned towards him and, with her teeth full of braces, smiled, "Liby."
(Note: These AN notes are written before, during, and afterhand to convey my thinking. Not based on what's changed, reviews, etc., and is borderline me ranting out loud my way of thinking.)
So this note got started up right when chapter 20 was about 3/5th complete with the sister trio coming upon the damage path, but my ideas and thoughts started lingering onto the next chapters and so here we are (at 1:38 am on 2/21).
So this chapter marks the 'Lincoln Tornado Trilogy' that was started in Chapter 19 like how the Louds had the last 3 chapters with Chapter 18 being the starting point of that. And like the last 3 chapters technically being one broken up, I debated on having this combined and laced together to form a sorta of '30 Minutes Part 3' but didn't want to add what would possibly be another 10 to 20k words on those chapters. However, as the last chapter got bigger, I started to see how this chapter would possibly shape up and debated on calling it 'Aftermath' but that was against it (and that was after struggling to really lock down a good name). In some more context, the original Chapter 21 was supposed to be the first storm chase. So it gives an idea of how much bigger this story gets every step of the way.
For this chapter, it became a game of hot potato on where it would be. Depending on how far chapter 20 reached, it split into 21 with MORE still included. I thought about reordering them to where 21 was in place of 20, and this as 22 would then finish it. But then 20 became a three-parter, and 23 was needed, so I eventually decided 'screw it' and made what was originally slated as 22 to now be 23. Which to some degree helped, in that the fact I had hit a burnout spot from writing so much of chapter 20, I had moved progress on finishing its trio and this chapter into something for later into April after I finish up some more real-world stuff.
This chapter (and the one after it) was technically ALL that would have been combined into chapter 19, but again, size got in the way of not being so walled up. And in short, kinda opened up the overlap that at the start, it was a combined chapter, then 3 at the Louds and 3 with Lincoln. Though this has made me consider further dropping chapter word count closer to 5 to 7k each, though increasing chapter numbers, would help in having even more spread out and the story to be frequently updated, as I could easily write those kinds of numbers in a single day (sometimes just a few hours) when motivated.
By around May 14th, after another brief burnout phase and some IRL chaos, pumped out nearly ⅗ of this chapter within the span of 3 to 4 days, and come the time of the hospital scene realized that it was approaching the original halfway point of this chapter so once more this chapter has been cut into 2 parts letting me keep the size a bit tame and to both not have another burnout and to have a decent stop and start for this and the reorganized Chapter 24.
(Note: These AN notes are written before, during, and afterhand to convey my thinking. Not based on what's changed, reviews, etc., and is borderline me ranting out loud my way of thinking.)
