Sins In Twisters

Chapter 25: A Knight's Fall

House after house, he went down Pyron Drive, calling out for anyone who could hear him. Climbing over fallen trees, he hacked away with a mini hatchet, dashing through the backyards to reach the other homes beyond the street.

He was working on autopilot at this point. Every call that was met with a response, another hello, or cries of desperation, he went straight for it—clamoring over the debris until he was on top of where that person was. Every swing of the crowbar, every slice of the axe, and every little piece tossed away got him deeper and deeper and his target closer to freedom. The sight of a face illuminated in his headlamp light, reaching to grab his hand as he either pulled them out or promised them they would get out any minute. The second they were free from their homes, joy, and gratitude was expressed on each face he saw.

But in those moments, that joy would be quickly snuffed out.

Confusion over what had just happened. The shock brought some to their knees at seeing the hell hole they had escaped from alive. The horror that everywhere they looked, nothing was recognizable to them anymore. The homes they had remembered for years, the memories built with them, were forever gone. For those who came out to witness the aftermath with their own eyes, those with them were there to give solace.

Yet, for every couple, every family pulled out; reality fell upon those who realized not all was right. Through the radio, Lincoln could hear other rescuers in other areas digging through and calling out numbers and status. In the background of either the transmission or their voices, you could listen to the growing despair—the cries of a family knowing that another one was gone.

Lincoln hoped that no one was home in the homes he searched. The reason no one could answer was that no one was there to reply. It didn't stop him from looking, trying to find an opening that he could navigate into to see if somewhere there was someone unconscious. If he could dig them out, he would. If there was too much, he'd call in for reinforcements, and a dozen people would be all over a single house trying to get to that one person.

In the moments when he did discover someone, he reported it, got himself out, and moved on to the next home.

Out of the dozens of towns he had come across chasing in the last five years, he had seen more than anyone would wish to. The damage here was comparable to the OKC event, a bit more concentrated, but the body count was rising.

Ambulances, any still-operating cars, doors, and even blankets or drapes found lying about were used to get people out of there. He hadn't known that Sun Crest was a hospital campus just over a mile from the path. The fears of what could have happened had the track gone further northward came and went with the thankfulness it hadn't, but it gave Lincoln the incentive to get into higher gear.

Not being alone, he borrowed a shredded tarp and bed sheet, laying them across the back with all the doors open so he could load in some three to nine people at one time, filling Storm Shrieker to capacity before he'd gun it back up the road. Going solo with no one or being the lead in the line of a literal convoy rolling up to the hospital.

He lost track of how many times he did this.

How many times did he call out, digging through splinters and shards, carrying out full-grown adults cradle style to tend to their wounds and get them loaded up? All the hopping in and out of his tank as many times in one chase day within the hour.

He tried to ignore himself. The sting of his aching muscles, the burning in the back of his throat that felt like fire every time he coughed. What little water he could get his hands on disappeared too fast to sedate the fire long enough before it flared up again. Even after what he could remember was possibly his fourth trip to the hospital, he nearly collapsed getting out of the driver seat and having two doctors check up on him.

Was it being a bit stupid and selfish to deny help? He'd agree to yes, but when you had people coming in with body parts missing, a tired man was a low priority in this situation.

He didn't mind; he had a mission to focus on.

Each time he rolled through the intersection, looking back to where the cut-open van was devoid of anyone, he reminded himself to take another look at the picture. He had no idea where Gary had been taken, but he hoped that within time, he could be reunited with his family.

But it didn't help that every time he looked back in the mirror, he saw his own photo still wedged in the frame. Staring at it for eternity, the urge begged him to grab it and look it over again. To keep his mind focused on what was important now instead of later.

Losing track of time didn't help him focus. He was on Grants Pass now, one of the few streets in the area where every house was leveled to the foundation. The pavement told the familiar story he had seen twice so far.

Right where he sat, just by the intersection of Pawnee Trail, the asphalt was missing beneath his tires. A swath of nearly 500 feet was ripped off the ground, along with chunks of the sidewalks where the core had crossed over. Where he now, had he been intercepting here, he could open his door and be in the epicenter. Ground zero, where he had little doubt that the wind speeds that occurred in this spot would have been far beyond what was needed to either rip Shrieker right off the ground or outright tear it apart.

But nature showed precisely how to defy logic in the smallest moments.

For the homes dead ahead and to his left were gone, the house 95 feet to his right was still standing. In the best of shape? Far from it. It would have to get demolished to start over, but the fact that you could still go through the front door, minus a few walls, boggled everyone's minds as they passed it.

With so many combing in the area, Lincoln took this moment to log damage reports while waiting for another load. He wasn't officially able to rate it, but sending out the descriptions and locations with video and photos was a small step in beginning the next part of documenting the twister's life.

But in the growing darkness, he kept looking over his shoulder and looking through the roof hatch at the black sky that felt too close.

Storm reports and warnings were being updated by the minute. Official statements from the city asked everyone who wasn't in the immediately affected areas to evacuate the metropolitan area and get to shelter as fast as possible, while those close to the paths were to stay and shelter in place.

Though the EMS kept moving forward, every little flash high above, crack of distant thunder, and a touch of growing rain told them to stay focused on their job. They'll need to soon take cover themselves, but with people trapped, they wouldn't stop until everyone was safe.

Watching the radar loop, Lincoln could see clear as day through the night from his pods to the Nashville Doppler showed a blob that didn't resemble an organization storm complex. Directly above were more like scattered spots that popped out from nowhere, grew, and either broke apart like cells or were dragged into the massive cluster descending upon the city.

Just beyond the outskirts, the two cells he had been watching had merged, and a new line was rapidly forming ahead of it like someone taking a knife to the joined storms and taking a massive chunk of heavy rain that was becoming more like the bands in a hurricane.

It was already making its presence known with the winds picking up.

But as loud as an alarm clock, yet more demanding than thunder, an audible beeping echoed from his laptop. From cellphones to radios and computers, activity around the place stopped. Heads swiveling, confused at the cause of the sound.

Watching it on the laptop, the newly posted warning box was plastered across the screen. Grabbing the radio to the PA system, he turned the volume on both to the max and held it close to the speakers. People looked at the tank confused until the beeping boomed so loud that some had to cover their ears from standing so close.

["The National Weather Service in Nashville has issued a tornado warning for northeastern Nashville, northern Nashville, and southwestern Hendersonville until 6:30 pm Central Daylight Time. At 5:46 pm, National Weather Service Doppler radar detected a severe thunderstorm severe thunderstorm moving east by northeast at 40 miles per hour. Strong wind gusts over 80 miles per hour are expected with this storm-"]

He cut the microphone before the rest of the message could be heard, yet it echoed from the cabin loud enough for those nearby to listen to the rest. Detailing the chances of supercells hidden within the dark capable of spawning tornadoes across the city's northern parts.

'Like this place needs a third or fourth hit…' Lincoln shook his head before tabbing out the radar back to maps. Snapping the screen over to the southern parts of Hendersonville and its peninsula and comparing it to the reflect and velocity tracks gave little hope as the debris ball persisted.

From Google alone, he could see hundreds of homes in the immediate path or overtaken by the outer wind field. It was hard to guess the returns were from the fact there was so much debris bouncing the radar beams back to the station, or by the time it got out of Old Hickory; it had already wedged out. In either case, he glanced at the dashboard's clock. Running the numbers, he shook his head.

The storm would be here in no less than 10 minutes, 15 tops. Between that and a half-hour drive, he wouldn't make it...

He was running past the point of fumes. Scraping the sides of the tank for the residue was more like it. All the back and forth was putting even Shrieker low enough that he'd have to stop again or risk running the engine dry and getting stranded.

But he had to think to himself, 'When has that ever-'

His thought was instantly stopped when he felt his stomach practically explode. Eyes bulging out as he tries to keep his mouth shut, feeling the burning sensation rocket up his throat. He felt the gas try to escape but instead went through his nose like a held sneeze; the burn only made it harder to hold on as he scrambled out of his seat.

His feet reached the ground in time, but he only got across the sidewalk before losing the battle. Falling to his knees as he felt the burn become a fire, his eyes clenched tightly as all that could possibly be in his system was expelled out onto the lawn. There wasn't much to begin with, but each cough that followed only made it feel like a machine was twisting his stomach. If one didn't make him arch his back further, it would force up whatever it could.

He pressed a hand to his gut, trying to hold on without feeling the need to punch it to make it stop. One hand anchored him to the grass, keeping him from falling over and curling up. His body felt like it was hit with a power surge that slowly began to reboot once everything was down.

Lincoln pushed himself off the grass. Almost off the curb until his back rested against the front outrigger. Reaching over to hold onto the cold spikes to keep himself from slipping, he leaned back, facing skyward, trying to recover his breath.

It didn't immediately register to him when he felt his head tilted forward and a light shone on his face. It took a second more for his brain to tell him that someone was holding his face and shoulder instead of the burning in his throat and the acidic taste on his lips. Slowly opening his eyes as the light moved away, his eyes felt sore when all the combined flashing lights around him made it difficult to focus ahead.

Seeing some four to five people gathered around him, with two paramedics in front of him and a cop and two firemen flanking. His ears were still stuffed from his crash, barely making out exactly what they were saying as one opened his vest to get a stethoscope closer to his chest. The more his senses returned, the more he could hear the conversation in detail.

He heard them repeating something repeatedly, and when he could make a weak 'what?' they spoke again: "Are you okay?" the medic in front of him repeated.

Holding a wet hand to his forehead, Lincoln shook his head. "Yeah…" he weakly said. "I'm just… running on fumes… or was…" he muttered last bit. Slowly pushing himself off the ground, the cop and a fireman went to either side, wrapping a hand around his arms to help support him.

Standing, or more or less leaning against the truck, he wiped his lips with his sleeve, trying to get rid of the unholy flavor as he turned around to climb back inside, "I'm just… gonna call it a day…"

Though the opposite of his hasty escape, trying to climb back inside felt like he was trying to carry the weight of a boulder on his back. Losing his grip briefly, he felt several hands reach and catch him. Holding him from falling backward until he could get back into the seat. Letting himself sink into the semi-cooled and wet fabric, he felt the truck shake multiple times as he heard the doors all around him being shut.

"It would be best if we take you to the hospital. You're experiencing extreme fatigue and need to rest your body."

"It's only a mile…" Lincoln noted, mentally picturing where the hospital was. I can make it," he assured them.

Before anyone could protest, the tank started moving forward. It rode the curb until its wheels rolled through the grass and slipped back onto the street as it turned left onto Pawnee. Picking up speed, it weaved around debris and vehicles until its amber lights disappeared from view.

Snaking his way up Freeman Lane until he was on Cheyenne Boulevard, a flash of light in the distance made him stop halfway through the intersection. A rumble of thunder brought his attention to his west, staring out into the dark sky that had lost all its sunlight with the flashes of internal lightning sparking off all up and down the storm front. He could feel the wind-driven rain getting closer. The wind was picking up rapidly, with the rain increasing at an increasing angle.

Pulling himself back out just enough to look over the edge of the door to the sky, feeling the rain hit his face would have been refreshing on a long day like this. Finding a good spot to film all the lightning until the front passed would be a nice way to end it.

It didn't give him that joy or relief. Even if tornado warnings were used for wind events, this day would have been classified as a huge success already, with the chance to get even more into the night. The chance of dealing with nocturnal twisters was somewhere close, but the biggest danger was already halfway through the city.

That little fall had eaten too much time. He didn't have much left, and he was ready to pound the closest object to vent all the frustration that today had brought. But he told himself again it wasn't done yet.

Snatching his phone out, he pulled Erin's speed dial backup. It only got one beep through before the call clicked, "Speak." He heard her drained voice.

"Erin, I need an update on this front," he asked, looking back west as he slowly started inching forward again.

"Linc-" her voice cut out. There is no static or interference; it was just gone.

Puzzled, he looked down at his phone, which was notified of low battery before the screen flashed goodbye and then to black.

Feeling another of his few remaining nerves disappear within the flash, he slammed his phone back into the holder, "Freaking fantastic…" he hissed before snatching the radio. Checking to see if it was still on the correct frequency, he called, "Erin, do you read me?"

Static greeted him. Adjusting the knobs, he tried to latch onto a channel that was close enough to receive. With the storm and all the activity, the radio had to be utterly overloaded by this point. Even some obscure channels or a hive of voices he couldn't get through were out.

"Erin, for the love of god, answer." He pleaded/demanded, going full circle to the last channels with only static dominating.

Feeling one of his last three nerves bursting like a fissure splitting a mountain, Lincoln saw more red than just the cab lights.

"FUCKING DAMMIT!" He tossed the microphone at the windshield. Pieces of plastic flew off as it bounced off the glass across the cab as the reel pulled it back into place.

With his last two nerves fighting over what to do, he buried his face in his hands, feeling the volcano of a headache ready to blow. The wind and rain pounding him from the side were only fueling that impending explosion. One screamed out ideas of what to do until the other caught on to one idea that felt the best of them all.

Turn on the siren and floor it.

In a haze, he tightened his seatbelt, switched on the injectors, and slammed his foot on the pedal. In a rare display of Shrieker burning rubber not from braking too hard, the rear duallies screamed in unison against the pavement until the tank slowly yet rapidly started picking up speed up the boulevard.

Every light, high beam, flood, and amber came to life like he had at the center of an entire convoy. The siren blaring into the dark drowned out the roaring engine and squealing wheels each time he drifted through curves. A sharp curve on Sandhurst Drive made him twist the wheel hard over before the wet road could send him flying into hell as the rear bumper ground against the guardrail.

The tank roared down Old Hickory to Randy Road. Racing through the intersection back across 45 to Myatt Drive. Flooring it 30 plus above the speed limit, he wasn't stupid to just run every red light in his path, but if he saw even just yellow flickering over, he'd push it harder. The mile gap from his next turn brought something he couldn't escape from.

Not caring for the door, his entire left side was getting as soaked as he was from jumping into the pond. Instead of just the rainwater being kicked up and flung into the cab, the pods started screaming out wind speeds, rapidly climbing over 60. Like being in the ocean as a wave forms carrying you and anything afloat, anything that the last storm hadn't blown away found itself under total assault with the rain coming down at a nearly 30 to 20-degree angle with hail acting like shotgun pellets to anything facing west.

Even as he turned onto Gallatin Pike eastbound with his rear pointed into the path, the road ahead rapidly vanished. The rain swallowed up his view to the point that buildings that still had the lights on were hard to distinguish from running cars.

Pushing it just over 70, even with the storm moving only 50, it wasn't slowed down by the land like he was. The wind pushing the rain further out ahead with an expanding storm complex meant every mile he gained in the same direction was set two miles back.

Soon, signs of Hendersonville itself started appearing but became shredded. Right as he turned onto Imperial Boulevard, getting some respite with the wind impacting the closed-up side, from the corner of his eye, he saw the canopy of a gas station get ripped apart. Flying across the road right before him into a bank with chunks smacking into his side.

The tank barely acknowledged it. Lincoln didn't even realize he had taken hits as he kept going. He ripped his helmet away and vigorously rubbed his eyes to keep focused. His speed dropped briefly as he turned onto Walton Ferry Road and floored it again.

The maps had him on a direct course to the damage path. No splitting intersection or curve to block or deviate his way. Had he gotten here sooner, this would have been the perfect road to achieve continuous tracking into intercepting shots. But in all the darkness, all the blinding rain and winds, the distant shapes of buildings to the horizon, and debris flying in the air like demons in search of victims. Only given color or fear as the truck's lights shined on them briefly before flying away.

Block after block approached and disappeared behind him with no sign of a random car heading away or in his direction. A tree branch from somewhere flew out onto the hood, but it was knocked away before he could react. A mile vanished, and more of what was scattered from a wide wind field just dumping everything where it wanted. Clumps of insulation, chunks of whole roof structures, and an array of household items grew thicker and thicker the further he went in.

Rolling through parts that were thin, primarily in housing, he slowed down a little to avoid a large tree that was half uprooted and half holding itself on the powerlines from completely blocking the road until he saw movement in the light.

He had a second to realize what it was, and a second later slammed on the brake. But the truck didn't stop as fast; the slickened roads and his momentum carried the tank further than he had hoped as he had tried and failed to keep it from fishtailing. Coming only to a stop once he blocked the entire road, he leaped from his seat. Stumbling more like a drunken fool after bar-hopping, with at best the flashing ambers illuminating the area to the side, he approached what he could guess was a child slowly walking in the opposite direction.

The commotion of his little stop did plenty to get the boy's attention, but seeing the driver running at him, swaying like he was about to collapse, made him take a few steps back to open the distance.

"Are you okay?!" he repeated, for god knows how many times today, as he got down on one knee to be eye level.

The child looked in his early teens, possibly younger; it was hard to tell with the amount of mud sprayed all over his face and clothes. He could see a scattered shot of bleeding cuts but nothing that looked deep, more of just scrapes than actual slices. His clothes, however, were utterly shredded. A yellow and black t-shirt was barely recognizable under a red jacket, its left side missing, and the hood draped over the shoulder. His shorts, legs, and shoes looked like he had been crawling in mud for some time, with it caked on and almost dried despite the heavy rain.

He moved around to stand opposite his truck, trying to use most of his body to block the heavy winds bombarding them. But as he started to look over and think of what he could need to grab for supplies, staring into his eyes, where confusion and uncertainty dominated, Lincoln felt himself lock up as an image flashed forward.

"Wait… kid, what's your name?"

"L-Lucas." the boy stuttered.

"Lucas," he said again to confirm. Though the boy nodded hesitantly, Lincoln quickly padded his pockets until his hand felt the paper. Lucas, look, is this you and your siblings?" Lincoln pleaded, holding the paper to the side so the floodlights would let the boy see clearly.

The confusion in his eyes shifted. Though it lingered, the discomfort eased away as he took the photo. Running his thumb over the image as recognition bloomed, overseeing something Lincoln could tell he saw as familiar.

"How did you…"

"Your grandfather Gary asked me to find you," Lincoln said, instantly grabbing the boy's attention. He asked me to look for you and your sisters."

"Is my grandpa okay?" Lucas asked in earnest. Looking up at Lincoln with worry, that made the man's heart feel like it was ready to give up control today.

"Let's focus on finding your siblings first," he redirected, standing back up and bringing the boy to the tank. Do you know where your parents and home are?"

"My mom and dad were in the city when the storm hit," Lucas answered as Lincoln helped him up the ledge. Crawling over the center controls until he plopped in the passenger seat as Lincoln quickly followed behind. "My house is down that way." he pointed ahead of them.

Taking a second to get himself together again, he tried thinking of things to get the blood pumping again. Something motivative. Something he'd imagine Lynn screaming at him when he was falling behind doing something taxing during one of their spars. There were some, even taking in some deep breaths to try to get going, but the memories he knew were becoming hazy, and each breath felt like he was gasping for air more.

A left turn brought him onto another main street that made its way up another hill. Damage was everywhere to some degree, but the further he went, the more and more it went from tree branches and shingles to full-on destruction. He wasn't even at the top of the hill before passing what looked like some house was a crumbled fire station with a debris field from a church complex next door.

He slowed his speed, stopping just ahead of the station to look out of Lucas' window for any sign of anyone present.

"No one's there," Lucas said downheartedly. Only glancing out the window, "I tried going there for help, but they were already gone…"

Lincoln didn't question him and slowly went on.

He had to give the kid some points; walking in this weather for half a mile was something even people in the military would find horrible to be out in. In the dark, with no light source and surrounded by debris with thunder accompanying him. But it hurt knowing that someone like him had probably lived through a worst-nightmare scenario and no one was around.

And that got him thinking: Where the hell was everyone? Destroyed or not, a fire station this close to the path would have been the first place anyone would immediately try to go for help. He was mentally readying to get out and possibly have to rescue the rescuers, but if no one was home, where were they? In fact, where was anyone on this street? Between the statement to stay sheltered until the storm blew over or people being evacuated, there would still be roamers looking for survivors.

A place like this would be utterly swarmed by people.

He didn't like it. It felt too off, too wrong. Two hours after the twister, this place still should have signs. Debris was cleared on the road, but buildings lacked signs of searches being conducted. He couldn't figure out if someone was here but already gone or there was no one. Why was a kid wandering around with no one as far as the neighbors on the other block coming by to look?

It felt just like the situation at Neelys Bend was repeating itself. He understood that with a disaster on this scale, it takes time for everyone to click into gear, but that should have been in motion during the first storm-

"HERE!" Lucas shouted, pressing up against the window. Hitting the brakes again, with hindsight to go at best 30 max, the tank came to a more gradual halt than last time.

With what light Shrieker gave and the untimely lightning strike, the scene, as far as the eye could see, lived up to a nocturnal disaster. Nothing stood as tall as any trees bigger than life struggled to stay rooted, stripped of limbs and bark. There were no homes, just piles of debris and slabs with burst pipes and sparking wires.

Lincoln fell back in the seat again, taking it all in. His mind felt like an army had finally found a moment of peace after marching and fighting nonstop, only to realize they were at the gates of the enemy camp ahead. Why should they stop when the end was so close?

But the longer he sat, the more he had to take in. He had hoped this kid was going to stop him further back. At least then, there was still identifiable housing. Beyond the hill, it was nothing. How this kid got out of this alive and still walked a mile earned him more respect points but made the chaser's worry go higher. There should have been more, even if people had to crawl out alone.

"Where is-"

"Right there!" Lucas pounded on the door, trying to get it opened.

Leaning over to see the hill still rising to their right through the ambers, he could barely make out a structure that felt too close to the road. Backing up some and then shifting forward, he rolled the tank off the road up the hill to point every forward-facing light he had towards it. There stood a moderately standing but severely damaged two-story white brick home.

Only it wasn't a two-story anymore. He could see the remains of the second floor, where the roof was supposed to be down to the floor, being visible. But from there, it was just scattered bricks. There was no first floor at all.

Pulling himself out to use the roll cage to slide down, Lucas wasted no time moving back through and almost falling out of the truck.

"Riley!" Locus yelled out with a voice louder than the truck or storm. Before Lincoln could stop him, the boy ran at full speed towards the house. Moving towards the left side, Lincoln saw movement come around and stop from all the light.

With a better view of the high beams, he fished out the photo again. Looking between the now second child to the trio, it looked to be his older sister. From what he heard, Riley was blinded by the tank but made a beeline for Lucas. Though both were covered in mud, the two locked arms around in an embrace. Lucas burying his head into her stomach, the height difference letting the girl rest her chin on his hair, gently rocking him.

Her attention was only diverted when she saw Lincoln approaching, but his focus was on the mess that he realized the two of them had escaped with minimal injury.

The house wasn't shifted; it was in the entirely wrong place. Picked up nearly whole and sent further than a building could travel until smashing itself into another. Whoever built it should be proud of how intact it stayed in its journey, but a new problem instantly arose: what the hell happened to the bottom, or what was originally underneath, to begin with? Had it been twisted off and picked up by dropping, or was it a case of one thing pancaking another?

The closer he got with his shadow casting on the wall, the more cracks and dislodged supports buckled or barely held onto anything. The place was ready to go any minute, and he moved to get the kids to Shieker to get them out of the rain.

As he cleared his throat to speak, the walls spoke first.

He moved fast, grabbing them both in a full-body carry but struggling to get away fast enough. Pulling them to the front of the truck, he looked back to see parts of the upper walls cave in, taking what remained of the roof with it as the whole house shifted forward.

His exhaustion made it hard for him to keep the two in place to stop them from running for the house, but it didn't stop their struggle in his arms as he shielded their eyes. Watching their home crumble further to the dirt with every glance they fought to get, the two screamed out as one.

"LILY!"

Lincoln felt everything stop. Vains froze, gears locked, belts slipped, and any thoughts he had went out of his mind faster than a rocket through the atmosphere.

Confusion sketched onto his face, and he turned towards them both. "W-What did you say?"

"My little sister is still in there!" Riley shouted, pulling away from his grasp and running back up the hill from where she came. Locus effortlessly wiggled out of his lock and chased after her. Even in all the light, the two quickly disappeared into the black and out of sight.

Leaving Lincoln standing there trying to get his mind working again. Exhaustion at the controls or not, the mention of that name was like a shockwave echoing from a deep tunnel and telling everything within him that something was wrong.

"Lily…" he whispered, uncertain if his ears heard the name right. He started back up the hill, but the more he thought of 'Lily,' the more his stagger morphed into a sprint. Falling on his knees halfway up, he grabbed fistfuls of grass to pull him forward.

Coming to the home's east side, part of his fears were confirmed. The house was twisted off its foundation, but it didn't fly.

The house smashed right behind it; however, it was no longer a house. It was a horrific abomination of soaked wood pushed so far that the two buildings were practically merged into one. Unlike the brick section, the other was completely parallel with the ground; one wall he didn't know which side to paint to the sky, with the roof and upper works embedded into the brick, plunging into whatever basement was down there.

Part of him screamed EF5 indicators. You don't get a house double the size of what was left slammed into another primarily intact with a wind load from your average tornado. The sheer wind force and uplift needing to work together in perfect harmony to pick up anything like this made it hard to imagine that wind could achieve this.

But part of him was trying to figure out what to do. His flashlight gave him a view from an angle the truck couldn't reach, looking down at the makeshift rabbit hole carved into the grass from where part of the foundation had been broken off, looking inside to see how close the mess was he couldn't fathom how these two got out.

"How deep in is she?" He asked.

"We got to the basement before it," Riley answered. We tried flipping over the couch to hide inside, but the roof came down on us. It crushed half the sofa she was under." Lincoln nodded along but winced at the last part.

Not wanting to think about what had happened with Gary, he stuck his head into the hole and said, "Hello!? Can you hear me?!"

"Lucas?" They all heard a quiet voice reply.

"Lily, we got help!" Riley shouted by Lincoln's side. "Just hold on! We're going to get you out!"

'But how?' Echoed in Lincoln's mind. The usual method was to dig, cut, and pull away all the debris on top to lighten the load and create more access points. In this fine mess, it couldn't be done. One home was ready to collapse and acted as the only thing keeping the other from falling apart. It would have to be more of an extraction than an excavation.

Lincoln got back to his feet, brewing over ideas. He ran back to the tank, with the kids following in behind, wanting to know a place.

"Question," he asked Riley, "How old are you?"

"14."

"Know how to drive yet?" she looked at him puzzled, thinking it over as she made a so-so gesture.

Feeling unsure, he went straight to his next plan. Pulling himself back, he ensured the injectors were still on, and the all-wheel drive was in the lowest gear.

"Get back!" He waved to them to get to the far right side. Reviving the motor to send the message as they dashed out of the way.

Turning the wheel hard over, he eased the tank halfway back onto the road and then turned it hard the other way. He almost floored the gas as the nine tons of metal lurked up the hill with all ten wheels chewing the grass up like it was at a mud rally. The tank got halfway up before it started to slide back, but he kept it turned inward. The rpm gauge cried as he inched it further and further up until his passenger headlight was facing the hole.

Reaching down, he pulled the controls to the rear wind flap, running its complete cycle until hitting the spike switch. With how he was parked on the hill, even the brake wouldn't be able to hold its position for long, given how steep it was angled. Something to keep him from sliding backward was a necessity.

Stripping out of his vest and padding to grab only the headlamp, he got rid of everything his person could get caught on rough edges. Stepping back into the wind, he didn't realize how much he had been sweating from the cold chill it sent through his clothes. So bare bones now, the kids wondered between each other what his plan was.

"Riley,"

"Yeah?" He gestured for both to come.

"Okay, listen; you two will stay here until help comes. The black, somewhat broken radio is connected to other services. I need you to repeat a message about where we are and what's happening. If you get an answer, tell them you need help right here, okay? I'll get your sister out of there." The sisters took a moment to listen and nodded.

Back around, he hoisted Lucas back up as he climbed back over into the seat. Riley needed some help but managed it well by herself. The moment the two were more comfortable, they took a second to look at the absolute control center in front of them.

"Just use that radio and see if you can get an answer from anyone." He pointed to somewhere on the floor until Locus reached down and pulled it up. "And don't touch anything else." when both nodded, he turned towards his next task.

Approaching the hole like waiting for a monster to pop out, he got down enough to be chest against the grass and stuck his head as far in as possible. Light from the truck streamed through whatever path it could, but the story he saw for himself felt like he wasn't getting through this one without some scars.

Without even seeing the floor, he pushed his way through. The hole was tight, but the mud gave him enough slick to twist and turn further. Reaching out anything solid enough to pull himself deeper, he had to turn downwards, facing the basement wall to slip his legs through.

Laying there in a difficult position to where he could barely move his legs and had to crawl on his hands, it felt like the moment he couldn't crawl through the house vents anymore after he turned thirteen. Twisting around to face the collapse, he inched onward.

"Lily?" he called out. Holding his breath in as long as he could to keep the sound as low as possible. "Lily, if you can hear me, make as much noise as possible."

Though a harsh cough cut through the sound, pausing his efforts to hold his chest like someone was trying to punch through, he didn't even get three feet in before he stopped again. Hearing the faint sounds of his truck and the rain mixed in ahead was what sounded like metal being banged and dragged against concrete.

It wasn't like something had broken; it only made the sound for a second; it was consistent—a brief pause and then a strike. Scraping, pause, and repeat in short intervals like someone with limited space could move a large object.

"Lily?" the noise ceased, giving him the answer she could hear him, "Okay, that's good, Lily. Keep that up. Keep doing that, and don't let up, okay? I'm working my way to you now," he announced, and slowly, the sound began again.

Using it as a beacon to focus on, he felt so much like a mouse as he pushed away every loose object. His legs pushed off the wall, and at the same time, he had to twist his torso into a pretzel and move up over a mound of bricks to get down the other side. With every inch forward, he felt his clothes get instantly snagged and start tearing holes here and there. With every little move to lift his head high enough for the light to see, he felt something jabbing into his hair, ready to go through his skull.

He saw how getting out of this mess was easier for even Riley when she was half his size. Her making a tunnel big enough to fit was more than enough for Lucas to follow, but the idea that the same tunnel would be used by someone bigger trying to get in was utterly unthought of. Turns would have been a bit smoother as they pushed debris away, but every little splinter he snagged on only pulled it back and forced it the opposite way.

He groaned, hissed, seethed, and gritted his teeth at the urge to curse at every stab he felt on his skin. Crawling under what he could only guess was the backside of a refrigerator or chest freezer being propped up by a cinder block on one side and a piece of pipe on the other. He wiggle-tested both, seeing which one he could move further to fit through. Even with the ground being soaked in the carpet, it was a cap sucking his gut in wouldn't pass.

The brick barely moved, but the pipe had some to it. Twisting around, he felt behind him anything sturdy and loose to grab. Feeling something metal, he pulled up what looked like a chair leg just a bit longer than the pipe. A nod of approval at his choice, trying to get the leg wedged into place, was a challenge doing it flat in his stomach one-handed. He got it further from where the pipe held on until it couldn't get closer.

For the next step, he prayed for the gods of friction and counterbalance to be with him in the next ten seconds. Turning his body to be mostly on his right side, he pounded and smacked at the pipe to dislodge it. Six tries gave him nothing; the seventh got it bent at an angle, and he tested the chair leg to see if it was holding.

In one last hit, he knocked the pipe away and watched in a flash as the chair leg instantly warped in half. He had half the time to turn to lay flat when he felt the machine come down on him like a boot on top of a roach with the force of a house on top of it.

"GAHHH! FUCK!" He screamed out with all the air in his lungs, but it was nothing compared to the roar of the shifting houses above. Without the constant sound of winds, it would have been like a tornado was on top of him. The rumble was deafening. With so many things moving and breaking simultaneously, it was hard to focus on where one thing came from, expecting something to drop straight onto his head.

The rumble and sounds slowly ceased, but the echoes of straining material rang in his ears. The whole house structure was ready to collapse atop them any second. How much just moving that pipe had shifted everything he didn't want to know. What got his attention was the lack of noise.

"Lily? Lily, are you still there?" he called out, distraught. He was growing more antsy as he heard no reply.

Desperation was kicking in, but it was hard even to breathe. One arm was pinned behind his back while the other had some freedom of movement; he couldn't get it far enough to get leverage even to try pulling himself forward.

When he heard more movement, he froze, bracing himself for anything.

When he heard more things shifting above, looking forward, his view was a bit upside but the headlamp revealed pieces of a tiled wall being pushed from the backside. With every hit, it moved closer and closer until a little bloody hand grabbed the side and shoved it away in a puff of dust. Looking away to keep from breathing in the cloud, he slowly looked up to see something big approaching. He could pick out a hot pink jacket with yellow branding and black sweatpants in the light. Soaked, matted brown hair covered her face with dust, and wet streaks from her eyes reflected.

But those eyes… they were too much like the ones he knew…

"Lily?" He whispered like he was speaking to his own flesh and blood. She had to be no more than maybe seven or eight years old. Older than when he last saw her before leaving but, in his mind, too young to be what he imagined her now.

But he had to remind himself that this wasn't Lily. This wasn't his Lily. The face, the hair, everything said the same thing he knew. But those eyes felt too much like staring into his reflection he used to see her with admiration and love. Here was someone who had been crying. Trapped in a situation alone for some time without her parents, her only siblings found escape and tried to do all they could to free her. She was shaking in a place like an endless tremor was in control. Fresh tears still flowed down her cheeks, washing away the dust as she got within arm's length away from him, leaving bloody handprints every step of the way.

She stopped about a foot away from him, crouched low so that without having to strain his head, his lamp was bright enough to give enough light for both of them to clearly see each other. Though he struggled, seeing her tears and how shaken he could see her soul trying to hold together, he shifted out of rescuer mode into big brother mode.

"It's okay, Lily," he said despite being half crushed. We're gonna get out of here, okay?" he soothed, trying to calm himself so he could focus on the first problem before he could get to the next. When Lily nodded vigorously, he was grateful that he hadn't lost his touch with the young ones.

He resisted the urge to wince as he tried to move again. "Good, now listen; I need something strong and sturdy to prop this up. Can you find something?"

She nodded again, understanding. Spinning around, she grabbed anything that looked solid enough to complete her little mission. Trying to pull out anything that wasn't trapped, broken, or bent, Lincoln gave her the light to search in before she brought out what looked like the basket you put in a dishwasher.

It was far from what he considered practical, but what else could he do? Nodding at her choice, she hurried back over, handing it to him. Pulling it through the gap with his semi-free hand, he got hit beside his right leg and, simultaneously, tried twisting it widthwise and forcing it forward. Digging into part of the cooling system that dug into his shoulder, his teeth gritted as he put all the force he could into pressing it further. Feeling his body twisting even more, his fear was the object snapping when he was turned too much and entirely pinned on his back.

The second he felt pressure partially relieved, he pulled himself forward as fast as he could. Lily grabbed his arm to help pull him out, and he quickly took up a significant amount of the space the little hole had left for them. But without him acting as a block, the opposite end of the freeze started groaning and bent as he huddled over her, keeping her low as he acted like a turtle shell in case anything else came down.

When nothing came from it, he swallowed in a deep breath. Feeling the pain from the pressure slowly fading away, he looked down to his charge. She looked up to him with the lamp like a crude halo that reflected off his hair and beard in a silvery glow.

He gave a weak chuckle and smiled, showing her it was all right. Though the gesture was meant to be comforting, the look of fear dominated.

More shifting, dust, and rainwater were falling on top of them. He returned to form as she curled up close. But to Lincoln, something didn't feel right about this. What he heard didn't sound like timber breaking under stress; it sounded like things were being thrown. Even as somewhere in this mess did collapse into the basement, more was getting picked away all around them with the sounds of trucks' reverse beeping and fading sirens.

"Hello!?" a voice shouted above as they walked over the debris.

"WE'RE DOWN HERE!" Lincoln shouted at the top of his lungs, "I'm fine, but I have a little girl here that needs medical attention!"

"We got two down there!" they shouted as the sounds of shifting rumble became increasingly loud. He guessed more people were trying to find a point to dig them out.

"Time to go," he muttered, reaching down to hoist the girl into his arms. "Hold on tight now," he lulled. Lily reached up as he pulled her close, locking her arms around his neck and burying her head into his right shoulder. Though the space was limited for him to stand up fully, he kept his left hand wrapped around to keep her up as he felt around, trying to find some part to move around to get his bearings in which direction to go.

"If you see a yellow light, go towards it!" another voice shouted from another end of the lot as something utterly massive shifted and crashed somewhere above.

Pushing away anything he could, he made the little chamber wider as a tunnel started forming. Clawing his way around part of the other house's roof that had penetrated the floor, it created a void in the space he could mostly stand up in and be at eye level with part of the upper floor. But past all that, toward what he thought was closer to the front of the house, he could see a light shining through the gaps, moving slowly along the outside.

"Hey! I can see it!" he shouted, walking inside the roof until dropping into another small pit. Ducking under a support beam, he came face to face with part of the foundation wall itself again with a barely intact wall directly above.

His voice acted like a beacon as the light froze over where he was. The sounds of people scrambling and tools beating against the structure made him take a cautious step back. Parts were ripped away, and some of the wall came crashing through. Turning to shield Lily from the dust, Lincoln slowly stepped forward, walking over the remains until he felt raindrops hitting his face. Looking up, he saw the dark sky once again with the red glow and several flashlights beaming down at them.

With relief, Lincoln felt his mind finally come to peace as the firefighters reached a hand down. "We got 'em!" he shouted, grabbing Lincoln by the forearm. Though it was a tall wall with only one hand to use, the firefighters were immediately joined by eight others, all reaching down to grab onto his arm and more with each inch he got higher.

Almost being bodily thrown from the nightmare pit of a basement, Lincoln stood back on the wet ground, feeling his eyes bombarded by the dozens of red and blue lights lining the street. Shrieker's high beams were blocked by the crowd gathering around the house, revealing just how much the whole house had shifted.

Moving away from his shoulder, Lily looked over her shoulder to see the remains of her home still falling apart. Shock exploded from her eyes, but soon, more tears began to fall, seeing that her home had been destroyed. Lincoln slowly turned her head away from the mess. Holding her away from the corpse of a house as he felt her bury back into his shoulder and a new wet spot forming.

"Shhh, it's okay. You're okay now," he whispered, rocking her gently as he turned to the man, "How'd you get here so fast?"

"Between the call on the radio, we basically followed you. Bit hard to miss with something like a tank with all those lights on."

Lincoln chuckled at the answer, seeing that it was understandable that someone might perceive his little action as tending to urgent matters.

"If that's the case, why isn't there-"

"LILY!" Before he could brace himself, Lincoln found himself falling to the ground hard. Groaning from the lousy position his back had landed with a spiking pain surging from the lower ends, he could feel two more bodies held close to him. Arms wrapped around his back and heads buried deep on his chest with the others wrapped around the smallest among them.

He could hear their cries. All three of them huddled together on top of him, consuming their little sister in their arms as what he could guess were the emotions of today finally spilled out. Hiccups and tears let loose as no words were spoken between them—just the voiceless comfort of having their sibling safe and sound.

Though he wasn't one to break up such a reunion, he felt something was wrong. Something that he had been feeling too much today that he wanted to shout out if anything felt right at all; this felt so much like the wave that had been hitting him several times today. This wasn't a surging headache or his stomach ready to blow; it felt like it was everywhere. Like feeling the static buildup in the air before a lightning strike was to happen.

Harsher than he would have felt at all, he quickly shoved the kids off him. Pushed to the side, he tried to roll over. Trying to return to his feet, it felt like his bones were already concrete. Grabbing a piece of 2by4 to prop himself, it snapped under his weight, sending him back down.

Hearing his staggered groan, the moment of confusion and anger at being so violently interrupted, the three kids looked at their savoir, puzzled and fearful. The people around all paused to watch the white-hair chaser crawl forward like a zombie fighting in no man's land.

A medic quickly switched his focus from the kids to him, "Sir, wait-" he was forced back by a hand shoving him.

"Take them…" he pointed a shaking finger towards the trio, "just… just take them. Keep them safe..." he said with his voice nearly dead.

Transferring every gram of power he had left to speak to move, he stood on shaking legs. Grabbing onto the brush guards to get around the side of his tank. Latching both arms onto the roll cage, he felt himself fall to his knees before he could get a foot up inside.

He heard more people running up to the tank as he tossed himself onto the door. Grabbing the lock bar with his whole arms, Lincoln's strained voice howled in the darkness as he rolled himself into the cab before anyone could reach him. Shoving the bar into place as his hands flew to the shifter and hydraulics. Yanking both up and in reverse, he focused on the sound of the lines slowly retracting the back flap as several men tried pounding on his door to force it open.

When it felt it was high enough, he let off the brake. Letting gravity take over, a dozen had to move away from the truck as it rolled backward onto the street behind. Feeling the truck level out, it rocked back and forth as he slammed the brakes. Not a second more did the tank lurch forward. Rapidly accelerating, it took the turn too tightly and fell into a drainage ditch. Sending mud flying, it wobbled back onto the pavement, weaving between the convoy of vehicles before rocketing back down the hills the way he came.

Lincoln 'tried' to focus, but every moment he did, it felt like the darkness around the edges of his mind and eyes was getting closer and closer. He just kept driving. How far he went and how long he couldn't know. Every light he saw only got blurred and blended. Seeing trees dead ahead, he took a right turn too hard, hitting the curb hard enough to feel and hear something smack into his turret and fall apart behind him.

What was ahead? He tried to keep one eye peeled to make sure he stayed on the road, trying to keep those mental breakers in as desperately as those poor fools in the engine room of Titanic each time he blew through a stop sign, smacked into the curb, or rolled into the dirt. Whipping from one lane to another, he nearly collided directly into a police or fire vehicle, which sent enough of a jolt to last another 30 seconds at best.

The few remaining lights of Hendersonville greeted him like a swarm of reapers lining his path to the end. All watch his every move, not attempting to alter or deviate from his path. Focusing on one too long, no matter how short, was enough to send him all over the road and scramble to keep going. The further he got, the more light came by, and the more he kept feeling the darkness growing.

Nearly snapping the wheels, he took a hard right into a shopping plaza. Flying past the storefronts and hydroplaning into the parking lot, where he finally stopped, he took up six spaces with a wheel on something and a tree right in front of him. Almost breaking the key, he ripped it out of the ignition. Dropping them to the floor like he had touched fire, all the lights and sounds in Storm Shrieker quickly faded away like a giant falling after taking one last step.

Falling back into his seat like chains had finally pulled him down, Lincoln couldn't focus on anything in front of him. Everything blurred too much for his hand to reach out to see if it touched or not. With but the rain and distant cars as the melody to the night, he tried to crawl over the glovebox to get into the back. To curl up in the middle of the floor and cover himself with whatever he had. Trying to pull himself around, his eyes locked on the one odd assortment of colors that contrasted all the gray in the cab.

He saw the picture of his family. That one constant for the better part of the last eight years acted as the beacon for him to keep going. He tried reaching for it just to hold it close.

It was the last thing he saw as his arm tried reaching up to grab it, fingers clipping the edge, but fell limp to his lap as he felt the darkness had finally won.

(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 you might ask "Whats the point of this chapter?" compared to what the focus is.

This story is one-third about tornadoes and nature disasters, the effects of what the aftermath does is engrained in what its about. And does lead into what the original idea and the next chapter will show along with something in the immediate future. This story is one-third about tornadoes and nature disasters, the effects of what the aftermath does is engrained in what its about. And does lead into what the original idea and the next chapter will show along with something in the immediate future.

For the chapter itself, as this was originally a direct continuation from the last two chapters that grew bigger than expected, original the scene with Gary was part of this but it was moved to the previous chapter so it could get out. The hope was to mainly get this chapter completed by May 31st (failed), as by some estimates it takes me roughly 25 days to write a 12k plus chapter casually without any major burn outs.

Though this "25 day gap" is mainly based on how much work is still needed between when a chapter is immediately published to how much the follow up (or usually the one before that) is along or already sitting on finished chapters. As the next chapter has been sitting at nearly 7k words for over two weeks time, and this chapter was being finished up the night after Chapter 24 was posted.

But for how this came to be in how it ended, I thought about the idea of how some heroes, fictional and real, without powers, without vast skills or equipment, and without the people they know by their side, will try and do all they can in times of confusion and desperation. With whatever they have on hand and even with the aid of strangers, an ordinary person as a human being wouldn't be able to stand around and watch others suffering when they could make a difference and help.

In a bit of 'disaster inspiration,' I found the video BOATLIFT, where one of the witnesses said, "Even if I save one person or rescue just one person, that's one person less that will suffer and die." and that spoke a good bit about how storm chasing can go from boring, exciting, to tragic in such a short amount of time and all you could do is watch not knowing what is going on near where that funnel is touching the ground. In a way, reflecting a bit of the history that exists before the beginning of this story. Initially, I intended to have maybe 5 more rescue events, but inspirational drive and the lack that such a lengthy addition wasn't really needed fell, and the idea to condense it down won out.

Currently, the goal is to get Chapter 26 and 27 out by the time the movie Twisters is released on July 19th, as the moment I can buy a copy and dissect it, it'll introduce some fresh elements to pull or inspire around.

(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.)