Sins In Twisters

by Blonkess

When Lincoln was destined to never have success like his family, after surviving the Royal Woods' Tornado, his future takes him on the path of becoming a renowned storm chaser. But as years pass since that day, his family tries to hold together after freak disasters put a halt to the sisters' lives when Lisa discovers a past family secret that tells Lincoln's time is running out.

19. Eclipsing Skies

Sins In Twisters

Chapter 19: Eclipsing Skies

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A storm chaser can spend years dreaming, months waiting, days watching, and hours driving to find and be in a position to capture what could be their ultimate storm. Waiting for what feels like an eternity for an event that could last for hours for some, yet be mere seconds for others.

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1:17 p.m. CDT, Interstate 65 Southbound, 30 miles North of Nashville

While his initial restart had begun strong, Lincoln's current progress was going much slower than one would expect a chaser needing to put the pedal to the metal and get somewhere.

The reason for his slowed pace? Darkness.

Storm Shrieker might have a dozen plus LED lights everywhere and go down almost any road in any condition, but when the wind was 'rapidly' spiking, the rain and hail made it so difficult to see in front of you to the point it was hard to see the road just looking out your side window, you had to slow down. God knows that if you decided to go over even 50 you run the risk of plowing into a stopped vehicle that couldn't go any further until conditions lessened or was traveling far slower than the minimum highway speed.

As far as he knew, he was the only one on this stretch of highway. And in terms of what was happening, he was perfectly content with just that. He wouldn't deny that his eyes kept flicking to his mirrors, half expecting to see a car or semi coming down the road behind him going a bit stupidly fast.

Or if someone had jumped into his tank again… But with neither materializing, he focused on the area to his west in the wide area from his twelve to four o'clock position. He was in the true meat of what made this live up to the name of a severe thunderstorm. Not much lightning occurred around, but over the wind and hail against armor, he could hear the distance roll deep inside the darkness.

It was still the middle of the day; sunset would be another two hours away, but here, it felt like night had already taken over. What sparse sunlight that did penetrate through the clouds gave it all the barely visible yellowish-green haze all around him. Without that little sliver of light, it would be just as comparable to night chasing.

And like it was either night storms or HP storms, the rain in this area made it impossible to see at all what the storm was doing. Had he stayed back and then plunged down, he'd be going into the northern edge of the southern portion of the storm. It was times like these that the radar pods were paying for themselves. Even with the limited range, it still provided some form of live information. His laptop struggled to keep a solid signal the deeper he went, even with the vastness of all his equipment, and was reaching the point in time where chasers had to decide: do you stop and hunker down, or do you press forward?

One left you in the middle of all this. Limited to no signal and data meant you had no idea what was inside all this rain. Constant wind and the changing intensity of the hail and rain made it impossible for normal people to think if the storm was clearing up or getting worse. Pressing forward might mean you find shelter or greater danger.

But who was he from inching ever so closer to said danger? His headache flared up, boldly stating he wasn't. But his spirit didn't weaver.

It was just like being his closest back home during a fight protocol. Beyond the veil of his door, the second he opened it and kept his eyes closed till he was passed to open them again to see what was to before him.

Chaos. Hidden and yet in full display.

Going a steady 45mph towards another overpass with more vehicles trying to take shelter. Easing slowly, he pulled closer to the far left side, squeezing past a pickup and camper, and quickly sped forward. His odometer read he had covered just over four miles since the gas station, but the radar update he still got spoke that he was at this point under the leading edge of the old rotation in the storm.

He grabbed the turret controller and, with a little flick, spun it to face out west. Snapping the hatch open as rain blasted into the back, he paid little mind. It gave him a slightly better view without dealing with the windshield and wipers blocking the camera's view, but the trees were making it impossible to see if there was anything on the ground.

GPS said he was approaching the Cross Plains exit another four miles down the road. But looking out in that direction was like looking at a gray blob just touching the Earth. You could only see as clearly as the tree line that bordered the highway before it was all blurred. He couldn't see it, but his gut felt it. Something was in there, getting bigger and 'bigger' the closer he got. The more and more he closed in, the more it felt like the mass was over the road.

He was on a straightaway, with just a single gradual curve between him and the next exit. He was running perpendicular to where it was, but its mass was becoming darker and darker the faster he closed in-

The display to the radar blared out. Only whenever wind conditions suddenly changed would it sound off, like wind speeds reaching the critical points for when to stop, deploy, lockdown, or get the hell out of there? Wind speed was going in the low 30s to 40s, being pushed by the storm front and all the sinking cold air the rain produced.

Coming from the west, the wind direction had suddenly shifted from the south and increased closer to the high 50s to mid-60s. The rain and hail had vastly changed direction, now coming straight at him. The hail came directly at the windshield like mortars from an opposing army trying to desperately stop an enemy tank from reaching their battle line.

The gray mass, from what his radar told from how close he was now, was the leading edge of the rotation. Chances were that in any focused area of rotation, even if it was just a wall cloud that couldn't tighten up a funnel, the wind field the circulation was generating anywhere in the lower levels could still reach low enough to ground level to have tornadic winds. Strong enough to cause an area of concentrated high winds but not tornadic.

The gray mass could easily be just that. More like a gustnado than a full-on tornado, just in the wrong place. With the storm acting the way it was he felt there was the all the more likelihood it was a microburst. The possibly from the updraft collapsing and the downdraft suddenly becoming so dominate. It would explain the sudden increase in rain and wind from the south if it was directly in front of him and expanding out across the ground.

Cressing a hill, he came upon a 'Gallatin, Cross Plains, Springfield 1 Mile' exit sign half missing. The top half had been completely sheared away with the left side bending backward to where it was more 's Plains, gfield' than the full names. He slowed his speed down considerably as the tank rolled down. Keeping to the middle lane, he could barely make out the shape of the next overpass, with more headlights and brake lights parked underneath almost across the entire span of the highway.

But as fast as he descended, the storm consumed the entire road in front of him from the exit sign towards the overpass. Sheets of rain and wind ripped everywhere from as far as he could see to just behind him, flying to his west, making the nearby trees violently sway with some pieces flying across the road.

Easing on the gas to where he was moving just a hair above 25, Lincoln reached up towards the dashboard where one of the numerous cameras that populated the vehicle was mounted to the center of his windshield. While he'd usually have it be held by someone else, in his line of work, you could never have too many cameras in every direction.

Making sure it was still recording audio, he cleared his throat and spoke out loudly so his voice could be picked up over the truck and weather. "Time right now is 1:17 pm. Currently 25 miles north of the Nashville metro, traveling just over 20 miles down the I-65 southbound. Attempting to punch through the core of the northern half of a frankenstein supercell with radar-detected rotation."

He slowed down just a bit more, leaning to the right so he could look up the roof hatch window, "Currently a mile from the Cross Plains exit and sitting under a large mesocyclone. Unable to determine if decaying and becoming outflow dominate or-WOAH!SPIN-UP!" He yelled out and smashed the brakes down as in the blink of an eye, a tower of dust and rock blew up into the air to his right.

Dancing through the piles of gravel and dirt that populated some kind of mine or quarry to his west, Lincoln felt the rear of the truck slide for a few feet until he came to a complete stop lopsided across all three lanes. Sensing the sudden movement, the turret rolled to face forward as both man and camera watched a funnel materialize out of the dust and quickly disappear back into the void and mist.

"Tornadic spin-up just formed right next to me!" He shouted with some excitement and panic at the sudden appearance. Though he regretted shouting so loudly he felt his head throb in the helmet, he didn't look away. "I might be near- ANOTHER ONE!"

Quickly as he could, he grabbed the joystick and spun the turret to face back down the highway. Just before the overpass, the silhouette of a skinny, sporadic rope dashed across the between interchange. Hovering over the six lanes that it was barely as wide as it couldn't decide which side to move over to. For moments, it looked like it was stalled or coming straight at him, but the funnel zipped across the off-ramp, barreling into a patch of trees, ripping down several billboards and signs, sending debris scattering in the air before it fizzled away.

But the brief calm between their sudden appearance didn't last long. Another funnel materialized on the eastern side of the highway. A sudden power flash and more debris were tossed in the air. Trees began coming down and imploding. The vortex ripped across the road right in front of him. Maybe 300, possibly 400 yards away, but with such a fat funnel at the top, the base on the ground was only as broad as just the southbound lanes. Shrieker's radar blasted out an alert; wind speeds detected approaching 150.

As fast as he could, he reached across his right shoulder and grabbed onto the first strap of the seat's harness and quickly buckled it in. Tightening the straps to practically force himself deeper into the seat as his focus darted back and forth between trying to lock the next buckle to the vortice roping out. The vortices was the least of his concerns as the wind speed gauge dropped below 100 but didn't stop climbing again.

Locking the last of the harness, his hand immediately latched onto the shield controls. Glancing out his window to see the rain circling behind him as the wind started to rock the tank, but he didn't deploy right away. Without touching the gas and easing on the brake, Shrieker slowly rolled forward closer to the overpass as plumes of condensed water vapor started forming on top of him. He had to guess it was a half-mile, no, maybe a mile wide from how far away he was from the overpass as a point of reference

He had driven right into the outer circulation. The radar was detecting such a large, broad area of rotation not because of how close he was to the storm but because of the fact he was already inside the tornado.

'More like I just drove into the damn core!'

He didn't know if he was within range of the network or not, but he quickly reached for his radio calling out, "To anyone receiving this transmission, this is SkyKnights storm chaser Lincoln Loud, spotter LLL; I'm approximately three miles to the East of Cross Plains, 26 miles North of Nashville, Tennessee heading south on Interstate 65. I got a mile wide, I repeat, at least a mile wide rain-wrapped wedge tornado crossing the highway 200 yards directly in front of me!"

Before he could say any more, Lincoln felt several pops had rapid-fired into his skull through both ears. Feeling a strong gust impact his left side with a mess of things smacking the tank, Lincoln yanked down the lever. Both feet pressed hard on the brakes as the amber light turned red once more, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics reverberated from beneath his seat. For the first time in months, the underbelly shields around the undercarriage swung down much faster than they usually did before. Falling like they were just limp on their hinges till the hydraulics pressed far enough to stiffen the panels and allow the rubber skirts to plug up the gaps.

With a quick flip of the switch to arm the numerous brand-new spikes that were intended to lock the flaps in place further, he hesitated to pull the lever that would send eight ten-inch long rods into the pavement. While not as strong as what the main outriggers could do, it was enough that between the hydraulic arms and the spikes, it would be as close to impossible as it could be for wind to force the shields back and get underneath the vehicle.

But as he held the lever, watching the gauge flickering back over 115, Lincoln closed his eyes, leaning as far back into his seat as possible. Trying not to let himself feel like every little jolt that shook the tank could be the one step away from complete disaster.

He's intercepted several wedges before. So many times, he's referred to them as the actual 'monsters' of tornadoes, given their massive size, could swallow whole towns with room to spare. If one was particularly large and slow-moving, for a normal tornado, it could last for seconds. For these, it could last minutes to the point that it would never end. They were the kind of storms that so many stories from countless people would say they went through and remember experiencing a sudden calm before the backside came over them.

Being inside, even a small one, felt like you were standing in the middle of a portal to hell and heaven at the same time. Ground Zero, where the wind and rain didn't touch you at all. But all around you was a force nature used to commit mass destruction.

This wasn't Ground Zero. Those over by the overpass were probably far closer into the core than he was, and Shrieker was taking a pummeling from the outer edge. 115, gusting up 120, a high-end EF1, possibly low-end EF2. Strong enough to down trees, rip off the top floors of houses, and demolish a trailer park fairly efficiently, but to any intercept vehicle out there, it was the baseline of what they should be able to survive, at least to be deemed functional. Shrieker had taken far worse in its short career; this felt more like a true test of itself after everything that's been done.

It wasn't too dark to not see everything. Watch how the condensed wind spun around in the air with pieces of debris flying like a swarm of butterflies. Enough light allowed for every camera on the tank to record what would be deemed a nearly perfect intercept.

Lincoln didn't see it. He could hear it, the roar of the wind howling around him. He could feel the slight rocking from it and debris hitting his broadside as the flaps forced the wind to deflect over the vehicle. He could feel his lips become so dry it was like he had eaten a cup of salt. His hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly he could feel the cover starting to tear where his fingernails were desperately digging in to keep his arms straight, and forced himself deeper into the seat.

But he didn't look. Years and years of staring into the hell pits of volcanos, feeling his hands and feet become frozen like stone, burned by the blazing heat of wildfires, facing down possibly destruction from the eye of twisters and battling the better part of sixteen years of chaos, it all had their effects on him. Like anyone who would be fearful the first time facing down something beyond their abilities for rational, controlled thinking. Telling, yelling, demanding them to turn around and run. Runaway and hide. Never try to take one step closer and look at it again.

He did it years ago, and once he opened his eyes, he saw so much more in the world. Nine years on, he took that fear and forged his future with it. Are there times he was afraid? Of course, he's only a man. A speck so tiny on this planet in the greater universe. The situations he willingly places himself in were done by his own actions to accomplish what was needed for either himself or to let it grow beyond it.

But unlike what had happened back on that little twisting road surrounded by a forest, nearly being impacted by a monster, only to blindly come face to face and drive into one far bigger, he wanted to so much switch gears and floor it so. If it was to reverse back the way he came or plunge forward, he didn't know if he could answer. He didn't shout. Didn't cry. He kept his mouth shut, forcing his breathing to come in as steady as possible while his ears crackled.

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to imagine it. How so fast all those years had built up led to the one point that made him realize he was staring into the abyss and he was the one who blinked that day. Years of facing chaos and the moment he slipped could have ended it all in seconds.

Lincoln forced his body to refuse looking at it a third time. But if it was his soul or something else was battering at his defenses or it was the chunks of trees beating off his window, he felt the will weaken and his mind to voice its words that this wasn't what he thought it would be the moment he opened them again.

Like any child afraid of the dark, opening their eyes thinking the second they did, they would see the foulest monster ever conceived, he slowly began to open his to the sight of heavy rain pounding at his windshield.

It took him a long, hard second to realize that the winds had massively died down, with the wind gauge rapidly dropping from the mid-80s back into the 20s. His ears weren't popping anymore, but they still rang as he peeled off his helmet. Looking all around, he couldn't see any sign of the tornado. Leaning over to look out to his east, he didn't see any defining shape that would even depict what something that big would look like in the rain. He turned back to his computer as the radar refreshed. The rotation had practically collapsed above him. The temperature was rapidly changing, and the velocity showed the previously significant couplet become looser.

It was gone. Only to be known by those who had seen it today with their own eyes until he uploaded the video for the internet to see.

With the heavy rain now the only thing pelting the tank, Lincoln sucked in a deep breath, rubbing his eyes like he had just awakened from stepping into a bad dream. "Christ… what the hell was all that?" he asked himself, unsure of what he did.

Slowly, he started to unbuckle the extra straps to the harness. Loosening his belt enough that he could lean forward and properly breathe again. He really wanted this day to be over now. Let the weather just fall apart and hear all the news that it was just rain showers for the rest of the night.

But he asked himself why he would get that kind of luck. Between where he was, there hadn't even been a full ten minutes. The intercept took not even the better part of two minutes from when he saw the first spin-up and the whole thing dissipating. It was eating up the time he needed to get south. If a dying storm could still spawn a wedge that had been on the ground for who knows how long, he could only imagine what the healthier cell would put down.

"Yeah… this is turning out like Coby again…" He mused. He was feeling his inner storm chaser celebrating at getting his second tornado of the day and inching closer to that magic number 20. He felt it within him not to tell Clyde about this one. Arthur was just poor timing; this was just a lack of awareness on his part that he got inside.

He mentally belittled himself for that. Stating firmly that the situation could become far worse the closer to Nashville he got. Easing off the brakes, he felt the tank slowly roll forward and then the sound of metal scraping quickly made him stop again, "Oops."

Pushing up on the lever as the hissing sound returned from the shields being pulled back up, watching the pressure gauges till they emptied and listening as the hydraulics couldn't go any further. With the little mishap done with, he progressed onwards.

Looking around, despite being exposed to a 120-plus wind, the area around him didn't have that much damage that he could see. Chunks of trees were scattered everywhere, as expected, with some getting crushed under Shrieker's wheels. To the far right, he could see a church with some roof damage and several trees downed by the subvortice. To the left, as he got closer to a patch of trees bordering the northbound on-ramp, he could make out a building that made him thankful that the storm had decided to die before taking out a Fireworks Outlet. The most damage he saw was more to the roof and upper walls with the clown logo on the smashed inwards.

But his focus snapped to the group of cars still gathered around the overpass. He counted at least a dozen cars on his side, with another eight and two semis on the other, with several people coming out of their vehicles and wandering around. Bewildered at what they had just experienced, with looks of confusion and fear on their faces. Some taking notice of all the yellow lights coming towards them, they parted away, with some walking towards the approaching vehicle. Some were a bit surprised as they saw the hulking tank roll up and come to a stop just before the bridge.

Unbuckling from his seat, Lincoln unlocked the hatch and stood out of the roof, "Is anyone hurt?" he asked out loud, looking over the gathered group. Ready to duck back inside to grab the first aid kit. He could see how battered all the cars looked, with some having broken or blown out windows, but none looked any worse than surface damage; you never knew what could have happened.

"I think we're all fine!" A man yelled out from the back

"We're good!" Another shouted from the other lanes.

Looking at every person the best he could, out of every vehicle present, just about everyone there could be was there. None looked visibly hurt, but he could already see what the mental aftereffects of being through this would do to them. Some will have one hell of a story to tell to friends and family for years to come; others could have nightmares for the coming future akin to PTSD about the day they either stupidly or unknowingly drove into their possible imminent death.

It was things that took time for different people to reflect on. Some take it in stride, like it was a sign from God that they still had a purpose on this planet. Others would feel the fear within them grow to consume them, or for them to take it by the balls and yell in its face, 'I'm Not Afraid,' and march onwards.

It's all they could do. In his heart, Lincoln sent a quiet prayer to all around him and those far beyond his reach. Today was the kind of day where everyone had to hold together and help who they could, and part of him wished his team was here with him.

But he had to remind himself what else had to be done quickly. He was burning too much time, and nature wasn't going to wait for him to get there.

"Listen, there's another big storm to the south." He pointed down the highway, "I'd recommend everyone to get north. Head towards Portland just until the storms blow through. It's already a mess down south."

"Yeah, it's getting really nasty down by Nashville." one of the truckers remarked as he got back in his truck, "The whole north side is starting to become gridlocked."

Lincoln felt his throat run dry again as he thought back to Erin's words.

"Alright, people, try to find somewhere to hunker down for a bit. Call 911 if you see anything, and try to stay safe!" He shouted before worming his way back inside. Pulling the hatch closed behind him, he instantly went to his computer trying to see if he could get a live update on the storm.

The last several minutes' worth of scans started playing out. Everything showed him exactly what he couldn't see with where the storm was heading. The thought that the core he had just driven through was bad was nothing compared to what the southern cell was producing. But it was the fact that it had just a massive meaty hook wrapping around the southwesterner section so tightly it was pulling itself closer to the core of the storm.

He was in the worst position for this kind of storm to even try observing from a distance. The north and west sides would surround the entire circulation in such a thick bear's cage it would be like trying to drive through a hurricane with no eye. The eastern side would be even worse with it moving this fast. The south side would mean he might be able to see something, but that was out of the question of any hope of achieving even half an hour ago. But it was how that massive hook echo gradually marched its way across the hills and valleys, straight on top of Nashville itself.

It really was reminding him a lot about May 16th…

Glancing at the map highlighting the 30 miles that divided him from the city, he would gain a mile a minute if he went fast enough. But even with a quick blast of mental math, watching the future radar runs told him it would be too late. Had he not stopped for gas or got sidetracked by this twister he'd maybe be already six miles closer but not with much time to spare.

Pulling away from his laptop, Lincoln eyed the dashboard till he focused on a new switch panel that had been installed as part of the rebuild. He knew that the system worked perfectly in base testing, but for legitimate emergency use, it had never been used like this. It risked literally blowing up the motor at best and the whole truck at possibly the worst. But what was life without some risk? If it was something new and untested, sometimes the best test was to push it to till you knew the limits.

Quickly buckling himself back in and shifting out, a few cars and people moved away as the tank pulled through the bridge and started making its way back down the southbound. Gradually yet quickly picking up speed, Lincoln didn't care that he was breaking several speeding laws as he watched the needle climb to 60 and inch toward 70.

Practically flying around a curve, with roughly two miles straight road directly ahead of him, he braced himself.

"Alright, girl," He said soothingly like a jock addressing their steed, "Let's see what those upgrades can do."

To keep up with highway speeds and not being slow as hell, maintaining anything over 85 was nearly impossible despite the 880 horsepower being so devoted to just moving its 9-ton butt up hills or through the occasional flood. Why go as fast as a race car trying to weave through traffic when you had the lights and siren of an emergency vehicle to 'ask' people to clear a way through? But since that June day, what was deemed fast wasn't seen as fast enough anymore.

Once the tank maintained at least 65-70, Lincoln reached down towards the panel that had the ever so curiously looking nuclear switch perplexing Bobby and a figment of his insanity. Flicking it up like a cover revealed two toggle switches and another pair of pressure gauges. With a flick of one, a red light above the second began to flicker rapidly as the gauge to its immediate right started rising up. Reaching past a yellow line, the light began to pulse a steady yellow as Lincoln kept his finger poised at the second switch.

Call it a lack of foresight, or it just wasn't possible at the time, but by spending a pretty penny on a new engine, he had learned a lot more about how they could make the tank much stronger and faster. Just like how nitrous would help race cars, adding the right amount of propane shot into the engine's combustion chamber, tied with a rebuilt exhaust system to handle the strain, and a modified intake makes for one hell of a power difference. Watching the needle climb higher, and his road was starting to curve, Lincoln felt a bit of an itchy trigger finger until the yellow went dark and green presented itself.

Like a hunter or assassin waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger to secure their target, his finger nearly ripped the switch off the board.

It took a silent moment that would make anyone ask if it even did anything; his speed briefly dropped, but in the moments his shoe pressed down on the gas pedal, he watched as his rpm skyrocketed forward. His speedometer stopped by 62 and followed suit. Flying past 70, 80, pinching past the threshold of 90, Lincoln could hear and feel the engine roar like a newly born demon.

He was prepared for the sudden boost. But not that sudden.

"Whoa!" He cried out, tightening his grip on the wheel as the speed broke 92 as he went through another bend. Surprised at how fast his girl was taking to the boost, he couldn't help but smile at how much kick she was unleashing like the first time he drove her completed. He could feel the road flying beneath him. He plunged into the darkening land ahead of him as he raced towards his destination.

Around this time of year, sunlight began to decrease more and more with each passing day. Daylight savings did jack to rectify this problem, and many agreed it was useless.

But driving in the hail core, it was like night had already fallen. No stars or moon. Street lights at interchanges barely give direction, and the edges of the highway only vanish between the poles. The areas with buildings still with power gave the eerie appearance of creatures with glowing eyes hidden in the darkness, watching whoever would travel past.

Covering what would have taken him just over twenty minutes to cover the following 16 miles in just under ten minutes, in between the parts of the road that went back and forth between two to three lanes, Storm Shrieker powered through like an unstoppable freight train. Every single light on the vehicle was switched on to give as much view as the cameras and Lincoln could get. The pair of floodlights on the turret swiveled back as the camera watched behind the hatch window, trying to spot anything. The ambers doing their best to make anyone nearby heed caution at a large vehicle moving at high speed with the road reflectors guiding the path.

And then there in the cab, bathed in a red glow from three pilot lights stuck to the ceiling. The only other source from the dashboard and laptop, not doing Lincoln's eyes any justice from how bright he had to turn his computer up to watch the three radars and a GPS map to see exactly what he was looking at. The red light helped that he could still see everything and not have it glaring off the windows (something he picked up from talking to late-night truckers), but seeing his face lit up from the computer staring back at him from the windshield, it felt like he was staring at his own ghost.

Hair was matted in some places, eyes with thick bags, skin paler than it should and an unkept bread, it all made so much more hollow from his reflection. Just looking into the rearview painted a similar picture all in red, even when he tried to put on a stone face for no one.

He really did look like an old man beyond what his age really was. It's more like a borderline homeless bum than a 20-year-old living life to some of its highest. Maybe in some other timeline, had things gone differently, then maybe this was what he would have looked like for the rest of his years till death. If he wasn't driving right now, he probably would have just closed his eyes and accepted it.

But the beating rain and hail stole that line thought. When a stone he could only guess was close to the grapefruit size of the spectrum shattered against the windshield just to be pushed away by the wipers on max speed. Radar told him he was nearing the southern edge of the main core from a scan two minutes ago. With the motor burning hot, he had covered a good chunk of ground faster than expected but less than hoped. Hydroplaning at 80 mph while dealing with other cars, no matter how sparse they were in between, meant having to slow down to avoid another disaster.

Through a gradual S-curve, he could see more lights and buildings appearing out of the dark. The rain and wind were pulling hard towards the southwest the closer he got to the Goodlettsville community. Daylight far to his southeast painted a picture that anyone traveling southbound would imagine they were finally escaping the belly of the beast to look to their west and see an even darker zone within the storm.

He was entering the arena. The area inside violent supercells with hook echoes where the area of warm stable air is being pulled into the rotation to fuel the storm. For anyone, this was often where the calm before the storm came from. The point where, after all the hell the core unleashed, it was that brief moment of peace before the devil himself, in full light or darkness, came to tear apart lives and land.

It all was eerie how it felt like the last time he chased this close to Nashville. There were other storms in the last few years that hit the area, but most of the time, they were too out of season to make a play on, or they weren't in a position to chase them.

His most vivid memory was from almost three years ago in December. A potential end-of-the-year outbreak after a huge dry spell during the Fall. It was just himself and Clyde that day. They had gotten an intercept on the Clarksville EF3 when they were on Interstate 24 and followed it along Route 79 before Rex felt they might have another opportunity down south. They missed the chance to go after the tornado that hit the southern portions of Springfield and another EF2 that lifted just before it reached Nashville.

They were waiting in the Inglewood area for the storm to recycle when the new funnel finally dropped and started tracking it in the same kind of darkness he was driving in now. Only when they were within half a mile of the vortex did they witness the sky burn bright orange and a fireball consume the base of the tornado. The funnel vanished for a brief moment before it used the smoke to reform. It honestly was one of the most extreme moments he had ever witnessed in his life at the time. The fact that it actually happened at all made him feel the adrenaline flow through his veins and made him feel more confident in the coming year ahead.

But the destructive reality of what this storm was doing right in front of them made them instantly abandon their chase to go into search and rescue mode—spending the better part of the night combing through a three-mile stretch of damage trying to find if anyone was trapped or hurt.

With a quick glance, he looked back into the mirror towards the back of the cab. Eyeing the red and black tool box with a pray that he didn't have a repeat of that day but felt that a lot of people weren't about to get what they wished today either.

Lincoln took in a deep breath, focusing on keeping himself calm. If he remembered correctly, he was about to cross the old damage path from that storm. The stretch where a traffic camera showed the world the first video of what just an EF2 could do. Call it luck or what have you, but compared to what everything in front of him was pointing towards, it would be closer to the heart of the city, like the 2020 storm. Closer to the more high-density areas.

He hoped that most had taken heed of the warnings from the previous storms that had already come through. If a tornado touched down in the south and another almost entered the west side, everyone should have been aware that something was still coming the second the sky started getting dark again.

Slowly, he turned the volume up on the radio. Kept silent mostly to keep his head from getting hit by more noises as he drove. ["-a tornado warning remains in effect until 1:45 P.m. Central Daylight Time for North Nashville and East Nashville. Areas to be affected include Southern Talbot's Corner, Central Inglewood, and Central Music Valley into the Western portion of Neely's Bend into Heron Walk areas. At 1:20 P.m., trained weather spotters reported a tornado touching down 2 miles to the east of John C Tune Airport, moving at 30 to 40 miles per hour."]

Lincoln felt an uneasy tingle surge down his back to his fingertips. His little inner voice told him this was a stupid idea. Chasing alone in the dark in a major city with a tornado on the ground somewhere to his west. Not even counting the weather or his health, so many things surrounded him that if something went wrong, it could spark a chain reaction.

"Okay, Loud… show time." He whispered to himself as if trying to motivate. Part of him didn't want to do this, but what was the point if this is what he lived for?

Easing up on the pedals, the tank's speed quickly started dropping below 70 when he hit the control switch again. There's no point in wasting a boost if you're only going 50 with traffic in the city. That last part was something that wasn't helping any situation. The level of traffic he was starting to encounter was rapidly growing thicker and thicker. Five lanes of highway now, and the right two were barely crawling. The furthest was practically at a standstill with the other lane trying to merge to get to the Madison exit.

Even with all the caution lights running, some drivers were becoming distracted or panicked, trying to get ahead and pass another vehicle just to slam on their brakes to stop from rear-ending or swerving into the next lane. Semis charged past, kicking up so much mist anyone around the backside had to slow down so that they could have a moment to see where they were going.

Climbing at the incline towards the next interchange, traffic started to become even denser. Every lane was becoming more and more speed up and sudden stops. A truck right in front of him braked so fast Lincoln was pretty sure the push bar was inches away from the guy's tailgate, and his sudden stop only warranted an angry set of honks from a vehicle behind him. Part of him was daring some impatient dumbass to think their overpriced luxury sedan would have the power to move his monster.

But his focus was on the sky in front of him. With the sunlight to the east, he could see the cloud formations much more in detail. The leading edge of the wall cloud was clear to anyone. Several formations were lowering along the edge itself. Almost a literal swarm of tornadoes was threatening to swallow the city.

Scud was a deceiving thing in nature. From afar, so many would point and say that a twister was forming or, in cases where there were multiple formations, think an outbreak was right in front of him. A lot of false reports labeled them as funnels, but the real trick was the one question of 'Is it rotating?' They can move fast with the storm, but if there wasn't any spin to them, then it was just a scary-looking cloud.

The real meat was beyond the hills and roads that were blocking it.

Check the maps, it was useless staying on the road he was now. 65 was one of the major highways into downtown, and with all the red he was seeing, getting stuck in gridlock with a large facing moving storm was a balance of insanity and stupid decision-making.

With some force, he pushed the tank further and further into the right lanes. Earning more honks at the sudden change, he heeded none. Cresting the hill following the left lanes of the off-ramp to the bridge that towered above the highway and the Briley Parkway, dashing across to the right side to the shoulder near the highest point.

The rain was behind him, the wall cloud above him, rolling hills as far as the eye could see with the lights of neighborhoods between him and a giant black and gray mass off in the distance. Popping off his seat belt and spinning the turret to face southwest, he climbed back up and out of the roof hatch.

The view, the feeling of the warm wind through his hair, the light clashing with the darkness as a lightning bolt struck the ground somewhere in the distance. Mixing a distant boom with the continuous drum of traffic around him. If he weren't trying to stay mobile or had others with him, he'd break out the tripod and get some still images. Maybe run to the other side to get it all with Shrieker just off to the side, backlit by the sun. Standing like a captain high on the top of his warship, looking out across the sea, knowing that the enemy was right there. That countdown to battle was ticking.

Crouching back down awkwardly with his knees on the glovebox, he snatched his radio off the hook. Twisting the frequency knob to a slightly higher setting, he stood back up, resting an arm against the light bar.

"This is Storm Shrieker reporting to anyone using this frequency to NWS Nashville. Come in?" He held the mic up by his ear, waiting for a response through the waves of static if anyone did pick up.

There was a brief crackle before a voice, a bit out of sync, came through.["Lincoln, you live?"]

"Hey, Erin. I haven't heard from you in about twenty minutes." He replied, somewhat surprised that the system was actually working.

["What's your 20? The Nashville storm is getting hot as hell right now."]

"I'm in Nashville now." Lincoln replied, making air quotes, "I just got off of 65; I'm sitting on the on-ramp to the 31E looking south at something I hadn't seen since back in May. I just heard on the radio that the warning was extended."

["And you said you just got off 65?"]

"Yes."

["The tornado is already crossing 31E."]

"What." He looked at the radio like Erin had just announced the sky was polka dot, "That… shouldn't be." Lincoln quickly ducked back inside. Slithering into his seat, he zoomed the radar closer to where the tornado was last reported. "That's just four miles south from here. They just said it had just touched down by the airport."

["That warning went out right when it was crossing the Cumberland River. It's still on Nashville Tower Cam right now."]

Shaking his head in disbelief, he quickly opened a new tab and searched for the WKRN's tower camera. A dozen different links to videos and news reports around Tennessee, all screaming 'Violent Tornado In Downtown Nashville' with thumbnails of the local stations. Through the first link posted minutes ago, the lights from the edge of Nashville Skyline and the surrounding neighborhood looked like stars being swallowed by the abyss.

The sheer darkness inside the storm made it impossible to see the whole shape of the vortex. Each power flash gives a glimpse of its true nature, only for it to instantly hide where the distant sunlight couldn't reach.

How giant the vortex was, he couldn't say. From a distance, the thing looked almost like the 2013 El Reno from how thick the rain current was. But through the camera, with each flash, you could see a distinct form of a funnel deep inside the core. The actual tornado or sub-vortices was hard to tell without close-range radar. Through the shaking, soaked lens, you could see a multi-vortex structure with the base not entirely on the ground with a disproportionate funnel.

A concentrated area of low pressure near the core. Surrounded by an extremely low base wall cloud with intense downdraft pushing the winds found far higher in either the twister or mesocyclone closer to the ground. Rain being pulled in from the inflow, wrapping around the back side of the hook and accelerating around the edge of the wind field.

A demon hiding in its own shadow.

"Holy shit…" Lincoln uttered as he quickly buckled back in.

["You said you were on the ramp to 31E?"]

"Yes?"

["Just… just take the next loop and get on the parkway. You probably have minutes before it crosses the river again, and after that, you're screwed behind it."] Erin responded, sounding like she was unsure if the given time and direction were even enough of an accurate guess.

"Any rough guess of time?" He asked as he quickly put the gas pedal down and ripped back onto the road.

["..."]

"Erin?"

["... I honestly have no idea right now. Five minutes? Maybe ten if it's still moving around 30 or less?"]

Trying to work his multitasking magic, Lincoln held the wheel hard as he dropped the radio in his lap and reached for the computer. Moving the maps away from his original route and plotting it to the Donelson community. Without traffic, it said about five minutes. With current traffic, it was almost twenty at best.

If you drove with care.

"It's not enough time…" he said to himself, "It's not enough…" he picked up the radio, "Erin, keep me posted. I gotta go." Hooking the mic, he took one more glance at the map before slamming his foot in the gas.

Feeling the rush from earlier, Shrieker flew down the ramp like Mcqueen chasing after his trailer in a roaring cloud of water vapor. Nearly side-swiping a pickup merging into the extended lane for the off-ramp, Lincoln laid on the tank's air horn (an investment from the NYFD he was very happy with) full blast with a little chain dangling above his head with some fear that the result was about to be bad, but the truck jolted back into it previous lane some seconds before Shrieker flew past. Going nearly 60, he hit the brakes hard, entering the first loop, and he realized that it was both too hard and too fast.

Closer to the metroplex, so many more vehicles are traveling the same stretches of roads and leaking oils, grease, and fluids all over the road. On any normal day, it just leaves a stain, but when pushed up out of the cracks by rain, especially in the opening stages of a rain storm, the roads could become as slick as if they were patches of black ice. Any vehicle was susceptible to losing its road grip, and the tank was no different.

If anything, it was worse. Lincoln could feel the rear starting to pull away the more he put on the brake. The more it moved, the tighter he turned the steering wheel, trying to correct his spin and stop from either skidding into the grass or smashing into the guard rail.

He felt the whole truck jolt back to the right, almost over-correcting to keep it aligned but still in the turn. Chewing into the shoulder and grass to avoid a line of cars at the stop sign, the yield sign could have been invisible for all he cared. He flew under the tunnels like an underground racer, picking up speed as he entered the looping on-ramp.

Reaching for the knobs that controlled the EMS lights, one that simply read 'Sound-A' with 25 different points, he flicked the switch to set 16 and quickly grabbed his headset. Climbing the ramp from a pair of speakers set just behind the grill, a loud deafening sound like a scream out for everyone on the road to suddenly put on the brakes when it suddenly came right next to them.

The parkway was nearly as packed as the interstate when he jumped off. Nearly bumper to bumper in the rain, like everyone was fleeing east to get out ahead of the storm all around them. The siren and timely pull of the horn made some pick up the pace or have to break and cause a little jam up to make room for the tank. Something he wasn't happy about, but Lincoln knew that their getting into a little fender bender now was far better than going further east into the path of hell.

Passing a line of semis, he kept trying to look out his passenger window. Trying to see past all the cars, trees, houses, and especially the very annoying sound barrier that lined the highway, the further he got, the more and more he could see the leading edge of the rain curtain tower over him. Between the rain coming back down and the siren, he didn't even hear the radio blare out another warning until the beeping intro ended.

["A tornado emergency has been-"] The message was silenced when Lincoln slammed his knuckles into the radio dial.

"Yeah, I know! I know!" Lincoln shouted, gritting his teeth as he weaved over to the far right lane. Coming up the Duke Fuqua Memorial Bridge, traffic was becoming denser and slower from both directions, and no matter how long and flashy the tank was, if there was no room to move, even riding on the shoulder was useless was getting on his nerves.

He could imagine the fact that 65 and 31E were both probably shut down, and everyone was trying to use the road that bypassed downtown. The obliviousness that all these people were actively driving into the damage path was starting to make his blood boil if no one was paying attention and seeing what was happening.

And right before he got off the bridge, he could finally see it. Through all the thick rain from the leading edge smashing into the highway, the sun gave just enough contrast to the south beyond the rain to give him a clearer picture of the silhouette.

It was just as black as it was on the sky-cam. A girthy stove pipe cone with a shadow of debris flying around the outer vortex. It reminded him so much of the famous Dimmit tornado in appearance but much like the many storms he had seen where the funnel was losing its shape because of so much debris in the air.

For the briefest moment, he could have sworn he saw a second funnel orbit around the backside. Making it seem like the funnel had suddenly bulged out. He or his camera couldn't see anymore once the tank jolted from leaving the bridge span approaching a banking turn.

From the fleet that was in front of him to the town's worth of vehicles behind him, he saw a small opening and gunned for it. Almost itching to switch on the propane again, he twisted another dial on the controller and grabbed the mic again.

"Attention, attention! Tornado on the ground! I repeat, tornado on the ground approaching the highway!"

---

A Few Moments Later...

"TORNADO ON THE GROUND! STOP YOUR DAMN VEHICLES, FOR GODS SAKE! TORNADO ON THE GROUND!" Lincoln shouted into the microphone like he was trying to yell at someone from the far end of a field during the Super Bowl.

He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing each time the siren wailed out another piercing wave, blasting the air horn, nearly screaming at the top of his lungs, switching back and forth between trying to get through people who were starting to panic as they either recognized there was an 'emergency vehicle' trying to get through with a tornado siren blaring feet away from them or they finally realized there was a tornado bearing down on them.

He was trying to manage too many things at once and could feel any energy he had left rapidly being burned away. The main radar and GPS were useless at this point. The storm was right there crossing the river, the pods were measuring spotty winds between 140 to 160, he couldn't turn around and go after it again after this. Even if the storm slowed down, a concrete barrier blocked him from jumping over onto the opposite side and gunning back west to find a road that could loop him around to get back ahead of it. He was on the road that, in less than a mile and a half, would be the point of intercept. He was close enough that even if he stopped now, all the storm would have to do was undergo a left turn, and he would hit the EDS while everyone around him had to wait for the storm to pass over.

Even as he reduced speed coming around the curve, he couldn't go any further past the coming interchange. Anyone coming from the south could hear the siren getting louder, and if they couldn't see the tornado from the angle that gave it the most light, then sometimes it would be called natural selection if they decided to keep driving straight at it. Intercepting is where the money came from, but if he was in a position to help in any way, he had to take it.

In one day, he had already made up for some of his missed failures this year. Chasing down a third tornado in such a cinematic moment itself would help to boost future prospects. But trying to stop dozens, maybe hundreds of people from driving straight into death and getting the warning to others that the storm was closing in made sacrificing a good money shot worth it. If he were chasing with the full team, Shrieker would have been in the middle of the road, possibly with its outriggers fully extended out to try and act like barriers with the Knights flanking either side, moving slowly or completely stopped.

Traffic could get all pissed as much as they wanted. They would be happy later to be delayed going wherever they were instead of being picked up and tossed into the river.

But Lincoln didn't have that luck in this place; weaving side to side, trying to use the tank's pure size to try and block a few lanes like a police car trying to close down the highway, it only made drivers floor it past on the shoulder and lanes he couldn't cover enough or reach. Too many trying to floor, acting like a breach in a dam, ready to burst, with him trying to plug up as many holes as possible with more constantly forming. Many were gunning for the off-ramp itself, with cars not caring whose lane it was or the lights. The overpass looked like a major pile-up had already happened, with the amount of headlights flashing around-

There was a power flash and another massive blast of debris in the air. Entire chunks of roofing became airborne into the vortex, disintegrating as they wrapped around the funnel. A glance between the radar with a massive debris ball forming and his location on the map, if he had any guesses as to what was getting hit, it was the Gaylord Opryland Center near the heart of Music Valley currently getting decimated. So much debris was being lofted that some sub-vortices appeared from out of nowhere, acting like they were there already.

In its simple shape, the tornado looked more like an upside-down traffic cone made of billowing smoke, with its 'top' pressed down into the ground as an angry octopus that was beyond the definition of pissed off flayed about the ground throwing everything it touched. No two tornadoes are ever the exact same. Some could be called twins and sisters, some could be the same size and height and happen on the same day of the year years apart, but they all shared similar appearances that chasers would draw from past experiences to compare what they were witnessing.

Many people could lay claim that they had either witnessed or captured the infamous dead man walking. A multi-vortex tornado with a funnel at least halfway to the ground, two to four sub-vortices circulating around the base like a pair of legs marching across the ground. Appearing in everything from small cones to the famous wedge monsters of history during their life cycles. Signs of either an unstable low pressure incapable of maintaining the funnel's structure or a sign of intensification. The tornado had gone away from being the nearly quarter-mile stove pipe wedge when it started to a more stocky funnel. The outer edge of the old wedge was still partially condensed, and from there, several funnels spun up.

Lincoln was within the final seventh of a mile from the intercept point. Slowing down as more and more people came to a halt, watching power flashes from the other side of the highway burst out, showing how far its reach actually was. It was confusing him why it had yet to cross the highway. His reduced speed meant he'd be watching it move away by now, but it looked more like it was content with staying where it was chewing on the convention center.

Standing there like Goliath, watching as David approached with his weapon of choice for combat.

It was a perfect opportunity; the road ahead was mostly clear, and the tornado was moving slower to give more time for him to move forward and deploy. The lighting was nearly perfect for such heavy contrast with all the loads of debris and vortices, it'd feel like you were sitting on the edge of a portal to another world.

The foresight of today had told him enough that this was not something he wanted to go inside. Part of his more engineering mind said this was a perfect test; a strong tornado loaded with a variety of debris would be the best way to test the upgrades to the armor and flaps. Lincoln agreed but countered with the issue of being on a highway. Everything else but the right new spikes would be usable, given their design to go through compacted dirt and clay, not hardened concrete or asphalt like the outriggers. The Rpods display flickering into the 200s every time either scanned a vortices moving in front of the main funnel was enough of a red flag to keep his foot from hitting the accelerator above 40.

This could go from an EF4 down to an EF0, and by the time it was impacting him, it could blow up back to full-on EF5. A great stress test for the truck, but not one he was willing to risk today without proper details and data to say it was even remotely safe.

But this didn't feel right at all. This whole day didn't. So why did the storm in front of him make it feel like he wasn't just sitting in front of a usual tornado? It was a question he didn't think anyone had at the moment, and it was like the storm had taken notice. The main funnel was losing its shape, coiling around itself as vortices struggled to condense before withering away like ghosts to sunlight.

The vortex was starting to cross his side of the highway before, in seconds, the funnel had practically collapsed. Leaving in its place the swirling mass of debris and rain that was still caught in the lingering rotation. Some wisps tried forming, but to him and everyone, the more significant issue now was the copious amounts of objects raining down from the sky. A lot of it was getting dumped onto the highway, with some lighter and higher stuff reaching as far out as where he was, but nothing else was visible when he looked up to see where the funnel cloud had been. There was still a notch of spin but it looked so much more disorganized than it did minutes ago.

Lincoln held his breath for a moment, waiting intently for the storm to pull a fast one and recondense. The Rpods still detected a wind speed close to 60 mph, but it was gradually falling.

Carefully he moved his way across the highway towards the sidewall and off-ramps. Switching the siren off but leaving the lights on he hooked the microphone and pulled off his helmet. Dropping it on the seat as it rolled onto the floor, all he could focus on at the moment was to let himself sink into his chair like his bones and muscles had become mush. Taking in a deep sigh of relief brushed through his lips.

"Man, what a day…." He chuckled. Rubbing his sore eyes as he felt his headache gave him a moment of peace. Today hadn't turned out the way he hoped, but no one could say he didn't accomplish what he set out to do from the start.

If he wasn't on the highway, Lincoln was sure he'd pass out right then and there. Drop the outriggers just so he was sure he didn't roll or get towed anywhere to take a quick nap. Glancing to his right, he could see a Comfort Inn with its lights still on. Maybe that's where he could crash for the night before spending most of tomorrow driving back west. He knew today wasn't done yet; the storm might be dying, but the path of destruction was as fresh as an active battlefield. He couldn't sit here for long, he'd have to gear up and check for anyone possibly affected in the path. It'd take time to follow up on the other side of the river, but in this peninsula, he could start at the literal end of the path.

He wanted to laugh again, but the air that he was building up was taken away as he looked down at the wind gauge when it beeped.

'136' and increasing.

"What." He felt his mind go numb. Watching the gauge rapidly climb into the orange 160s and darken until a bright red 200 appeared and didn't stop.

As fast as he watched the numbers climb, he could feel the rain and wind utterly explode all around him. Cars trying to pass him, thinking the way was clear, suddenly being pushed away and smashing into each other. A semi just behind to his left blew its horn as its trailer was dragged across three lanes; the driver tried in vain to keep the rig upright and collided with another. More power flashes exploded beside him as power lines lifting debris falling back to earth were suddenly sling-shot into the cables, darkening any nearby building that still had its lights snuffed out.

"Shit! Goddamn recycle." he cursed, quickly trying to reach back down for his helmet as something smacked across the windshield, snapping back into his seat. The gauge climbed and fell between 190 to 230, pulsing like a heartbeat between red and hot pink. It was beeping like it was having its own heart attack, trying to keep up. A black wall far larger than the previous twister appeared from the swirling mess ahead of him. So much being ejected outward from the top edge of the debris cloud it was raining down more than it was pulling in.

Realizing what was happening, many cars that had moved around to pass, thinking the storm was done, found themselves almost being swallowed by the outer edge or sucked through the wind tunnel the overpass was creating. The debris and plums of rain being pulled through and expelled from the other side like a jet engine, only to morph into part of the recondensing funnel wall, a pile-up formed just on edge. Several cars tried to reverse or turn around, smashing into each other or the barriers. Traffic all behind him almost moved like a scared herd when it saw the few brave ones that went forward to see if the danger was gone, only to spring a trap.

Some cars still tried passing and came face to face with those retreating, nearly missing some head-on collisions by going wide and aiming for the off-ramp to get off the clusterfuck of a highway only to stop when more of the funnel condensed.

It was hard for Lincoln to estimate what was in front of him; no distinct funnel was above him anymore, but the debris cloud and lower half had a more wedge shape with the concentrated area ahead. Vortices maintained closer to the funnel than the sporadic mess it was minutes ago; more or less, the wall itself was numerous smaller funnels so packed together it looked more solid.

It was a glorious shot for all the cameras, but part of him was utterly screaming to back up. His lungs felt like they were burning, his throat became sore like he hadn't stopped at all for a long time, and he was ready to lose his voice any moment. He felt like he couldn't control anything. His hand kept twitching back and forth between the EDS lever or yanking down the shift and flooring it backward. He didn't know who was even screaming or crying for him to back up. He didn't know if he heard anyone else on the radio urging him or his co-pilot begging for him to get out of there. The lights of cars behind him disappear from either running away or becoming consumed by the outer wind field. Debris was being cast across the road, smacking into other cars as more and more buildings were ripped apart and bombarding the tank with match wood as larger unknown objects went through the air. Colliding into others to make even more destruction or disappear into the vortex. To be dumped somewhere else or carried far away, never to be found again.

But he couldn't move. Nothing moved. He didn't feel his heart beating or hear the wind roaring or the truck rocking. The feeling of his ears popping or damage hitting the armor did nothing to keep him from sitting still and just watching. Watching the vortex get bigger and bigger, inching closer towards him like a thousand-foot-tall tsunami was coming, but you couldn't stop watching it get higher and higher…

Until an old dark blue or black Honda CR-V came flying past his window, making a beeline for the off-ramp.

A lot of times chasing Lincoln witnessed where he just wanted to smack the drivers upside the head when it was obvious they were driving into or other chasers trying to get closer when it was even safe enough for a tank to advance towards it. A lot of it involved laying down the horn or yelling on the radio or speakers to tell them to stop. Sometimes, throw in a curse for the sake of getting the point across.

But if it was from a chaser being too suicidal or someone thinking they could try to beat the storm from taking out the bridge, it did enough to knock him back into gear and reach for the microphone again.

"Hey, hey, hey! Wait!" he shouted at the car as if it could hear him. He fumbled the mic before screaming through the speakers, "WAIT! WAIT! STOP YOUR VEHICLE! TORNADO ON THE-"

The car stopped. Brake lights glowed like beacons against the vortex as it reached the threshold of the overhead signs. But it didn't stop moving forward. Even skidding sideways from its reducing speed the momentum carried it further up the hill. And it just kept going. Like a jet being launched off a British aircraft carrier in heavy seas, the Honda didn't stop going and going until Lincoln couldn't see the lights anymore.

Many times in chasing, you'll see what a tornado can do to a car. There were so many different ways to tear apart and crumple up, from just dents and broken windows to being so stripped and twisted. The only way you could tell what it was was that it somehow still had a wheel attached. In some smaller tornadoes, you can easily watch how the tight winds can easily flip a car right where it was, or in something so strong it goes flying for miles. His greatest experience with something like that was when chasing the Rolling Fork event. Like so many that night they watched what everyone saw was a car orbiting around the twister with its headlights cutting through the darkness before it disappeared.

Slowly moving forward, he looked up out the top of the windshield, staring up the side of the funnel where most of the debris was being ejected out; against the darkness, he could see the movement of lights whipping around the front. Briefly staring down at the Earth before vanishing into the core.

Lincoln felt his mouth drop. Asking himself if he really did just see that happen before his own eyes right in front of him. That the better part of a dozen cameras on board and the possibly hundreds of eyes behind him witnessed someone go airborne. The sight of it looping around and getting higher acted like the perfect demonstration for people to realize they were too close to follow right behind. Against horns and clashing bumpers being drowned by the wind, the gap between them and Shrieker grew as the gap between the twister dropped.

Dropping the radio, his hand latched onto the shield levers and yanked them down. Feeling the tank tilting in the wind, this was as close as he could get with something this strong. The pods still had winds between 210 to 240, too strong for him to want to get any closer even with the added upgrades. The shields wouldn't do much against stopping him from being dragged across the highway, but anything was better than sitting here with an exposed underbelly to get picked up himself. He let go once they were out completely and reached for the EDS. While it could have done everything at once, he was too busy to realize that option and waited. He waited for the funnel to get close so he could plunge down the outriggers.

He tried not to blink and look anywhere else. Watching close to the ground where more power lines crumbled behind a hill, what he thought was an apartment complex disappeared. What was left of the building closest to the highway was his only real landmark left to gauge how close the funnel was.

The four-story building barely had half a floor left before the northern edge of the vortex started to move away. What was on top of the overpass quickly followed behind as it churned through another unfortunate neighborhood, showering more debris on the highway, but for everyone present, it was a moment to give a sigh of relief that the storm was finally passing.

But that peace was interrupted the second the rear wheels of Storm Shrieker did their best impression of a burn out on wet pavement. The shields had a few moments to get off the ground before the tank raced up the off-ramp. Every traffic pole and sign snapped or twisted with debris wrapped around it. And as far as he could see, Lincoln saw utter destruction. Mentally combing through so many past events, Oklahoma City easily came up first on how easily it lined up with high-end EF4 to EF5 level damage. Practically every tree that was visible was down, and beyond the banking turn, the remains of a Waffle House stood like ancient ruins.

But Lincoln didn't focus on that. Gunning through the intersection, plowing through strewn-about objects, and rather stupidly driving over a dozen downed power lines, he was following the roads marked by the GPS to get him through what was the spot where the core had passed over.

He didn't care what he was running over. Turning onto Pleasant Green Road, there wasn't a single house down the whole block that was left standing. Closer to EF4 damage, most of it was still there from the density of the surrounding trees keeping it all from becoming wind rowed. Turning onto Western Hills Drive, the damage was just slightly better, if you could even call it that. The houses on the opposite side of the street visibly had less damage than the ones behind him—the difference of how such a small distance could mean so much for people.

Lincoln knew before he got on this storm that the possibility of him becoming a first responder wherever he crossed the path was inevitable, but he wasn't expecting to come across something like this so soon. As much as he wanted to stop, he was focused on his current mission.

Turning onto Springhouse Lane and reducing speed as he felt broken branches snap under his tires, the pack of trees gave way to a sprawling golf course from the edge of the river up and out of view to his north—more debris scattered across like a war-style obstacle course. The road had fewer whole chunks of trees and more sticks covering it, letting him pick up some speed, but he prayed that what he was looking for wasn't somewhere on the other side of the tree line in the Cumberland River now.

With not much of a road covering the area, he grabbed control of the turret control and spun it to face his east. Acting as the higher vantage point to try and see over the little hills that dotted the course. Dashing between the screen and leaning against the windows to see if he could spot anything, he got up to a trio of trees standing next to their fallen fourth brother when he glanced back at the screen and saw the flashing upside-down tail lights sticking above the surface of the pond to his right.

Turning hard over, Storm Shrieker rocked as it went over the curb into the grass. Dipping down into the little path meant for golf carts, the entire truck violently bounced as it went down and up the rather deeper curbs of the path, sending loose objects flying through the cab and nearly making the man wack his head against the door.

The tank's ten wheels chewed through the wet grass as its engine roared to get up a small hill, enough that as it crested, it came to as much of an abrupt stop as it could, digging into the dirt as its headlights were shining upon the rear end of a sinking blue Honda.

Lincoln said nothing at the moment. He would have made a side comment if this were something else as he practically ripped his seatbelt out. That he was witnessing the aftermath of a rather ludicrous prank or stunt, he'd be laughing as he threw his door open so hard it bounced a good foot off the buffer as he scrambled out. Approaching the edge of where the pond met the hill, watching as the tail lights disappeared under the surface, he didn't try to call out and see if anyone would respond. He ripped his jack off, his shoes and socks followed closely behind, anything he could practically remove to keep himself from being weighed down and water-logged as he charged into the pond.

How deep it was, he had no idea. A lot of the times when he was with Lori at golf courses around the country when they traveled, he'd sometimes toss something in to see, but the fact a whole car was now underwater gave him some useless idea as he charged in. Going from ankle to knee to chest-deep water in just four steps as he felt his feet lose their grip on the mud. Holding onto the underside of the car still going down, he took sharp, deep breaths. He was trying to suck in as much air as he could before dunking himself into the clouded water.

Using the side of the car as a guide to feel how close he was to anything, he gripped the edge of the trim, using the rearview mirror to pull himself closer to the window. He could barely see any light inside; he tried knocking as hard as he could. Pounding on the blue metal to try and get anyone's attention while trying to force the door handle to open to no avail. He couldn't see if the windshield had broken or if the other side even still had its doors; for all he knew, the person that was inside this moments ago had been ripped out and sent somewhere completely different.

But through the murk, he could just barely see a hand floating lifelessly by the window.

Like a torpedo, he used the car to pull himself back to the surface. Drawing in fresh air as he crawled back to shore and ran for the truck. Latching onto the push bar and disengaging the winch release, he pulled as much cable as he could as he looked back towards the pond to make sure he still had some sight of the car. Getting a good 20 feet of cable, a bit more than probably needed, he dashed back into the water, feeling the cable weighing him down more as he approached the front of the car. Hooking the cable around as many front pieces as possible, it would be faster to get the heavier part of the car up and out first than for it to dig into the silt and weigh down the car more.

Hooking the end latch to the main line, he raced back again towards the tank. Climbing up into the cab far enough to reach for the small control board on the dash to start reeling in the cable. The unit whirled as the line began to take up the slack. Lifting off the ground till it was as stiff as rebar, the tank groaned from the mass it was suddenly pulling towards itself up a hill.

Lincoln waited for a moment till he saw the water bubbling. Headlights slowly rise out of the murk and reveal the crumbled remains of the Honda breaking the surface. While it was a dumb idea standing where he was with the risk of the cable possibly snapping and slicing him in half like a whip, he ran towards the car once it started digging its front into the embankment. The second he saw the driver's door appear, he stepped back into the water and tried the handle again. He tried the passenger door, and water began pouring out from the seams until he reeled his right arm back and punched the window in a fit of frustration.

He was sure it was from the dark water preventing him from seeing the cracks in the window. With the force of the water inside, it was just waiting for the right force to allow it to break through and spill out. Much to Lincoln's dismay, he could feel several shards of glass cut through the top of his hand in his bid to reach through.

"AH!" he screamed, clenching his hand close to his chest with the other covering it the best he could. "FUCK!" He gritted, trying to decide if holding it to his shirt to stop the bleeding or holding it in the air to keep things from digging any deeper was the lesser of the two.

His whole arm felt like it had the shakes now when he pulled it away to take a look. Four decent gashes from his knuckles gradually faded before getting too close to his wrist. Some parts had the skin broken, ready to bleed if it was just a few hairs deeper, but his main focus was on the two closest to his thumb and pointer. He tried turning his hand and felt it sting, but trying to keep it as a closed fist or flattened out only made him tense up. It didn't help to see how deep they went; his attempt to stop it only resulted in his other hand being smeared with blood and his shirt now sporting a dark crimson stain.

He ran a finger 'gently' over the top, trying to find if there were any shards stuck inside, but he found nothing through the cuts. He bent down, grabbing his socks and tightly wrapping them around. It was far from even a decent option to cover a hand wound with something that was on his feet for the better part of ten hours, but it was what was within immediate reach. He tied it as tight as the fabric would allow without tearing apart, but with the red spot already forming, it would have to last.

His attention snapped when he heard his winch groan and stop pulling the car up. Entirely out of the pond with water still pouring out of any crevices, he got down to his hands and knees looking into the car, where he could see a woman still buckled in her seat.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?" he nearly shouted. The woman moved her head slightly and tried moving her arm but mainly remained still.

It was enough for him to know she was still alive and risk going further. Reaching inside the door, he felt along the panel till his fingers found the handle and flicked the lock.

Launching back to his feet, he nearly ripped the door handle off, throwing it wide open even as it dug into the ground. The sight was a bit comical in the somewhat awkward position the lady was in with the seat belt suspending her and the steering column keeping her legs from dangling, but the sight of a stream of blood coming off her forehead made any humor null and void.

Lincoln knew he had to be extra careful when reaching in to unbuckle her. There were too many possibilities that the blood was from a cut or something worse done to her. The airbags weren't deployed, and the belt was tight, but you don't go 800 feet in the air and land in a pond upside down without getting something. She was responsive to his voice but almost entirely out of it. Movement was sluggish, and not at all did he see her move her other arm.

Almost entirely pushing himself inside, he wrapped an arm around to try and take her weight and stop her from hitting the roof when the belt let go. He stretched his legs out across the roof to act as some cushion and prevent any loose glass from cutting either of them. When the buckle clicked, he held on tightly, trying to reorient her on his lap and her untangled. When he felt her free, he pushed off the car, dragging her out. Pulling himself across the wet grass away from the vehicle and carefully getting out from under her, he got a clear view of what he was dealing with.

Early, maybe mid-20s dressed wholly soaked with a purple and black shirt with some kind of faded logo on the front, a short teal jacket that had an ugly red spot forming under the left arm, and slim jeans with enough holes to make Swiss cheese jealous. Pale but light skin with numerous streams of colors from possible makeup being washed away. Messy blonde hair stained by the cut bleeding down into a faded teal streak-

'Wait, teal streak?'

Rubbing his uninjured hand in the grass to try and get some of the blood off, he carefully peeled some loose hairs off her face and moved to the side to check on the arm. But not taking his eyes off it, he felt surprise rush through his mind like his headache when looking past the mess his memory connected the dots.

"Sam?"

---

(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 with this out, this officially marks the start and end of many things. For the end, it mainly goes to what will be the last of what happens in '2025' with Chapter 20/21 serving as a kind of Epilogue to this first half of the story. Originally I had hoped to have reached said epilogue before last year ended, but here we are.

During the process of writing this, in the idea of breaking it down into three parts, part of me got to thinking on cutting back chapter size for the foreseeable future to maintain things closer to 10k (with some occasions being the usual 15 plus). That way I feel I'm actually completing and moving forward instead of not being able to go further as time goes on. With a smaller word count, I hope to make more at a steady pace that doesn't take a whole month and a half to pump out just one. I don't intend to do Chapter with Parts 2,3, etc., and might just go back to 'letting them grow as it goes.'

As I started really getting into Lincoln's section of these chapters, the events of December 9th happened, and I honestly felt a little odd at how the day had become almost exactly like what I was thinking about in the lead-up to this. One of the previous towns I had thought of for the beginning was Clarksville, and low and behold, a tornado did touch down. Nashville itself had been on my mind since the near beginning, but the fact that this tornado that day practically almost took the EXACT same (to a degree) path I imagined this storm to do, with the same level of chaos as all the power flashes and the power facility exploding to the point the sky turned red and the tornado literally sucked up the fireball itself, the tornado itself in physical form, the way it acted, how the storm made everything so dark.

Another one might notice is the lack of dialogue by the time he gets close to the third tornado. This was mainly down to the fact of what is there to say? Alone in the face of chaos, who is there to speak to that would share your thoughts and feelings of what was happening? If you've experienced it before, you know there's no time to talk and that action must be taken immediately or there could be consequences.

Given that this story takes place (at the current time) in mid-November of 2025, this day/outbreak has already happened. And serves as one helluva example of how many real-world events occur in this story. This outbreak itself was predicted days in advance, at this point in time, Lincoln already has Storm Shrieker built up and rolling, and the rest of the SkyKnights are already part of the team. Witnessing a storm like this was bound to happen and goes to show that some of the crazier things in fiction can be outdone by nature itself.

For some visual examples in both these chapters, the 'Royal Storm' is based on Gaylord Michigan, May 20th 2022; Wadena, Minnesota June 18th 2010; and Kirkwood, Illinois July 16, 2015 tornado events. Lincoln's storms (in order) the smaller tornado of the Keota, Iowa March 31st, 2023 twins; the Cross Plains Wedge to Arlington, Texas, April 3rd 2012 (but bigger). Nashville itself was a combination of the Hattiesburg, Mississippi on February 10th, 2023 and Cullman, Alabama, April 27th, 2011, mixed in with parts of the Nashville December 9th event from last year.

With FFNet back up and functional, by the time this chapter gets out (hopefully on March 30st) Chapter 20 will hopefully be completed over the course of Feburary with Chapter 21 and 22 through the rest of that and into March itself. I do hope to go back to my original method of having 3 chapters in active work as to keep myself ahead and be ready.

Right now, my plan for release is in question. This chapter was posted on this day because: why not? It was originally called Tornado Highway but i figure with how a storm can turn day into night, a solar eclipse works just the same. Current focus with Chapters 20/21 are to be complete when the following between 22 to 25 are in production. 2 to 2s in paparticularly steady progress to finish the Royal Woods segment, I think that the order will end up being 'A chapter will be released when the chapter ahead is done' or a significant time has passed.

(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.)