Sins In Twisters
Chapter 31: A Mind Full Of Ashes
A Few Days Later….
'Winter is coming' would be outdated information for anyone you told as they slowly navigated their way out of Nashville traffic. Hearing the slush splattering under the wheels, the droning back and forth as the wipers flicked away the melting snowflakes on the windshield, the background noise of the radio on low volume with the heater blowing just warm enough not to let the cabin become either an ice box or oven.
It was a slow and chaotic time after Lincoln started his day.
Once the cold front from Tuesday had settled over the region, the rain quickly transitioned to snowfall. Starting with the little flakes of ice in the afternoon on the day before the next morning, it was a steady stream coating everything in a light dusting. But take into account that so much warm tropical air had been dragged so deeply inland by a hurricane a week ago and not being strong enough to trigger storms; it was just that slightly warm enough near the ground for snow to start melting early.
If it were warmer higher up, then it'd still be raining. Above freezing kept ice from forming, but it was still cold enough for flakes to clump together easily. Great for those making snowballs and building hordes of snowmen, terrible for a crippled city still trying to clean up swaths of damage and get back to a routine of normality.
Waking up and borrowing a broom to wipe down a vehicle meant for twisters is a strange event. Especially when compared to driving through something like five-inch deep flood waters, you can keep momentum going. With wet, packed snow, the sheer weight and size help keep it forced down and maintain traction, but forcing it under means you become bogged down trying to keep momentum.
Glancing out his window to his dirty mirror, he could see the mass of flashing ambers coming up the left side as a plow truck zipped by spraying salt.
Had he known it would snow like this, Lincoln probably would have left the night before when there was still dusting and not almost a foot of an early white Christmas. It'd be fine if he were already out of the city when the heavy stuff started falling and just blasting his way through it like a hailcore, but getting stuck on the Interstate with people suddenly having to get used to driving in snow…
He'd prefer inexperienced amateur chasers over this…
Looking beyond the edge of the Interstate, the looming towers of light from downtown cast an eerie glow and shadow in the storm.
And then there were the prominent dark spots—scars left by the monster that had solidified its place in history.
In the time he lingered around Nashville, he had seen more of what the storms had done prior to it being hidden by the snow. Touring some areas that had been relatively cleaned up without power lines everywhere. Piles of rubble dotted the city, still awaiting cleanup, and neighborhoods full of life before were now part ghost towns.
During his time here, he made several of his promises come true. He was pleased to hear the Foundation was already north and spreading out, a bit slowed by the snow, but who wasn't, and large-scale efforts were underway. Some from the southern hit areas had trickled into the area; he met up with some active crews to check on the situation. He made sure to see about getting Sam…
Sam…
Good lord… he didn't know what he thought that situation would have become. He made true to his promise, staying through Wednesday so that she was in a better state of mind the second night. It's ironic, especially coming from him. He had expected what had happened during the rest of the day, made some semblance of breakfast, went back to the hospital to check up on things, and helped start the process of getting her a new vehicle.
He did not expect to be the first person up that morning, only to discover he had, in his sleep, become the big spoon with Sam literally held in his arms as close to his chest as possible. Legs literally weaved together. It took a lot of effort for him to process the fact that she and both of them slept in the same bed without any pants. It took him what felt like an eternity to try to untangle himself without waking her up and distracting himself with making a good breakfast. When she woke up and came out to eat, he had hoped she didn't realize what happened.
To his dismay, she did.
To both of their credit, they were embarrassed by the situation, and he apologized more like a broken record. They chalked it up to their minds, not being in the right setting, and it just… happened. It wouldn't be the first time either of them had a similar occurrence with someone else, and like they said, sometimes it just happens.
Wednesday came and went, and he was still here.
The next day, he remembered people standing around to the strange sight of him loading 400 dollars worth of groceries into the tank. Another was him assembling a shoulder rig for his camera to walk around parts of the damaged path. The day after, it felt like a lazy day, and then that night turned into them having a rock-out session. Hearing some old music, he remembered helping work with the young band on some newer pieces Sam herself was in the process of building; they ended that day with bright smiles, laughing along the way.
Once she got her new car and was adjusted enough to do a lot of things with a bummed arm, he figured it was time for him to get rolling for home. Especially given that every time he called Clyde in the morning and said, "Probably one more day," he was ready to yell for him to call when he actually was on his way. He packed up the day before so he had everything accounted for and prepared in the truck, and the two spent the rest of the day hanging out like it was the old times when he visited them on tour. It was the kind of old fun he hadn't lived in a while, and he felt like he had shaved off a year of gloom.
And then last night…
He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and adjusted the heater as he followed the road to take him on I-40 westbound.
Looking back on it all, the last few days had been a whirlwind. The whole week had been crazy from start to finish, and no one knew if the next would do the same.
It was a nice change of pace. He felt a bit more alive now than this time last week, aside from other negative attributes, but it felt so much like the old days. Running around doing the simple daily grind of cleaning up the house or having a private rock concert, Sam had the energy that felt like he was standing next to Luna simultaneously. He guessed they had rubbed off on each other after all these years.
It felt like home…
Maybe the change in scenery helped, too. Unlike so many other places he'd frequented, El Reno was a sea of rolling fields, while Sam's little neck of the woods felt more like Royal Woods when he was in his early teens.
Sam realized it, too, and even offered him an open door if he was ever around these parts again and needed a place to stay. And he did the same; if she ever wanted a change from city life, Oklahoma was pretty disconnected from even suburban life.
Though he felt it wasn't to the best of tastes when Spring would come thundering in…
They shared a laugh, a hug, and… something. It was hard to describe something you've felt before when you've felt it so intensely yet can't put words to it. He had felt this on a few occasions, so much with Ronnie when they reunited. Even in their childhood, it flared up at times, but not unlike that moment she joined him on his adventure with this little tank.
It was there even before and after it. There were others at times, but they didn't ignite that same kind of spark within. Sam was the closest he had had that feeling in a long time, and it confused him. It was like he had felt earlier; he saw Sam as who she was, yet he saw so much of Luna within her. Whenever that feeling flared up, it wasn't whenever he thought of just one of them.
He didn't understand.
Well, he kind of did, but it was what he felt were the effects of living in a mostly female household. So many experiences, interactions, and everything on the spectrum were based on some that he could remember. Lincoln didn't want to speak offense to his sister, but he did believe that if you somehow swapped Luna and Sam, you'd somehow get the same result he saw now.
All those times he visited the band, Luna really had been the only family he interacted with since leaving home. She was in touch with them more than his own network, and to them, she was probably the only direct link they had to him. He could still remember the first time they met back up. It was tense and awkward before slowly opening up, trying to avoid the topic of home.
But from that day, he felt like something had changed long ago that he didn't realize until he started to put a greater distance between himself and Luna. The last thing he wanted was for her to one day come out on a dangerous chase and… end up like Ronnie…
It was for her own good. He had to be tight-lipped about talking about his new home around her, and so often, it meant ignoring her to the point where he just acknowledged her presence as far as anything else.
It… it made him sick to do it.
The more he kept pushing away, the bigger the gap he made, and the more it kept hurting and hurting until it reached the point where he was just too numb to feel it anymore.
But with Sam, it felt like that connection was suddenly blasted open like a blocked-off tunnel.
Sam had her own traits that any guy would be high-tier lucky to be with. Being friends for years probably helped that immensely in his department. They bounced off each other like a pair of old friends, reconnecting and making up for some lost time. But in that time, he was reminded of what he had before…
He… needed to clear his mind. He needed to go somewhere where he could park and sit for a while and leave this world to where it was just his thoughts and himself.
Following the interstate westward, Lincoln watched as the sprawling masses of Nashville disappeared in a haze in his mirrors. He left the city behind, along with what felt like another chapter of this year, and closed with it.
He turned the radio up just a bit louder so it wasn't complete mind-numbing silence for almost two hours. Just enough to keep his mind steered toward the snowy lanes and other things until he had a good place to stop. Though he was trying to maintain a steady speed without sliding, he glanced over to his computer, and the map display showed that he still had over eight hours of driving to do. Ten at the current speed and if there were no significant slowdowns.
Yet for someone pushing hard to get home, pulling off Exit 116 in the middle of nowhere didn't seem part of the road trip.
Coming up to the intersection, his headlights illuminated some signs for camping grounds and recreation areas for Natchez Trace State Park just to his south, along with signs pointing opposite to Browns Lake or Maples Lake. The computer showed him how much more there was to see. There were even less defined backgrounds to the north, and from his count, almost a dozen cemeteries were hidden in the forests.
He weighed his options briefly before turning north and tracing the thin road that led him toward Maple Creek Lake.
If the roads were as bad as they were throughout the city when crews were actively trying to keep the city moving, then any sane person would say that since the snow began, no one had been down this road. Some tire tracks went a little ahead before turning away, and a single track did go on between the trees, but they had been mostly filled in by the time Shrieker slowly carved out its own.
Was this a stupid idea? Yeah, probably. Built for many road conditions, thick, heavy, wet snow wasn't on that list. It was up there with total mud as something the tank couldn't travel unless it were an absolute last resort. If it got stuck, its sheer weight would make it nearly impossible to get out with a tractor or wrecker.
So he kept it at a slow 15 to 20 miles, giving it a little more while weaving over small hills and dips. Focused on keeping the truck stable for the next three miles until the main road ended at another intersection along with the tracks. Pressing forward onto Hester Trail, Lincoln had to admit he was a bit disappointed he didn't have any of his smaller cameras active. The weaving trail ahead of him with the light snow falling into the light from the trees gave off that otherworldly feeling the further along you went. Put on some soothing music for the next two hours; you'd get something you could sit back and imagine yourself journeying to somewhere unknown but mystical.
The rumbling gray mass of diesel might not be as soothing as others, but turning the radio off and listening to the beast prowl through the forest while flakes flew over the windshield was gentle enough for Lincoln to take a moment to lean back and enjoy the peace.
Snaking his way towards the final leg, he came around the bend, greeted by a small gravel lot off to his left that led nowhere into the forest. The tree canopy above, having not shed enough of its foliage to let the snow obscure it entirely, he slowly pulled the truck just past and spun around so the back was as far into the treeline as possible. He straightened up to where he could turn slightly right to return the way he came, and the engine slowly eased quiet as the driver door popped open.
Dropping ankle-deep into the snow and feeling the rocks under his shoes, the wind wasn't blowing, but the sudden shift made Lincoln zip up his orange jacket halfway. Not prepared to deal with snow and ice, he wore double layers that felt good enough to keep any wind from biting through.
Taking in a deep breath of the air as he watched his breath escape through his lips, he patted his pockets down, dumping everything from phone and wallet to loose change. Tossing it all onto his front seat as he reached and closed the door. Keeping the handle open enough, he stuck his key ring on the side, making sure it stayed put, and he was left with nothing but the clothes on his back. He knew the lake wasn't far, just around the trees ahead. No one knew where he was; any sane person would take this road and come across his 'abandoned' tank.
The world felt quiet and empty now without the sound of the engine running. The snow packing under each step barely made a sound louder than his breathing until he started climbing through the brush. Opting to just cut his path instead of taking the roof, he could smell the water getting closer and closer until he came upon what looked like a little cove that funneled into the forest with some flattened land around the edges like you'd want for fishing.
Past the edge of where the main treeline stopped, he was greeted with a beautiful view of most of the western half of the lake. Seeing part of the road that traveled along the edge towards one of those recreational areas with a boat launch and dock that opened up into the broader reaches. Without any trees blocking the light, the waters were a rich, deep blue the further out it went. The falling snow did a great job hiding anything close to shore, helping it blend with the landscape.
He was starting to regret not bringing a camera with him.
With no traffic close by to muddle the sounds of the waves splashing on the shore, a steady fall that didn't block his vision, and plenty of light to capture even the haze details, if the buildings on the other side had their lights on and it was closer to either sunrise or sunset and add a deer or rabbit close to the foreground, it'd be a truly beautiful sight to capture as a winter piece.
But today, it was all for him.
Brushing off a fallen tree to sit down, he let his mind soak in the world around him.
It was so much more peaceful than storms. Sure, the cold is sometimes the killer you must watch out for. Stay out too long in the rain; you risk getting sick. The cold might not bother you out here, but slowly, it starts working its way into your core. You might not feel it until you start moving, and maybe you don't want to by then. You'll want to sit in this spot and let the world blow by as you slowly close your eyes…
"Best no, ma son." A voice cut through the silence like a sword, "As ye say, ye micht catch a very unpleasant illness."
Lifting his eyes, Lincoln was met by a sight that sent flashes of childhood memory racing across his eyes like lightning striking too close for comfort. Standing from his seat, he became eye level with another pair of deep blue eyes standing just on the edge of the shoreline where all that was needed to be in the water was one step back.
It was like seeing double. But the difference of what 400 years can do was in full display.
From how Lincoln was dressed in what was a casual bright orange jacket and jeans with extra layers underneath with a face that was borderline grizzled with his beard making a comeback and long hair flicking in the breeze, the man before him was something you'd find in museums, historical paintings, maybe the closest as reenactors for plays.
From a ruffled linen collar that reached halfway to the shoulders, trailing down to tight sleeves to flared wrists with matching cuffs. A double-slashed doublet was held tightly in place by a faded brown leather jerkin lined with blue missing cut portions, and it was held around the waist by a black belt and buckle. Baggy dark blue breeches flared around the thighs but became tightened by a pair of black and gray boots. To top it all off, locked by two shoulder points, a faded orange cape, almost becoming a mix of red and black, reached just past his waist where an extra set of belts held onto the scrabble with the handle of a two-handed claymore presenting itself.
You think it was a very simple and detailed costume meant to reflect bits of fashion from the 1600s, but his face mirrored his own age, aside from a mole on the side and more pulled-back hair.
But in those eyes, they spoke volumes more than Lincoln would imagine someone like him could compare to.
This was the reality that was old history. The experiences of what pains his past was built from that created Lincoln's present and gave a few of the future.
"Ye've been busy, ma son." he spoke in Old English, befitting from his time, "Despite what history shows in changes, you've accomplished quite much in the short time from when I had fallen." he weakly chuckled to himself.
Lincoln kept quiet as his ancestor had his little moment. On a rare occasion when he did show himself, as the handful of times they did actually see face to face, it was often after something horrible had happened. Part of him had expected the ghost to appear in the mirror back at the hospital, but given what 'horrible situation' was still ongoing, he could admit he was too busy to stop and chat with his ancestor.
In all their conversations, it took him a long time to figure out his ancestor's real name, Lindon Loud. Something a little refreshing after calling him 'The Duke' for four years. How he got a name like that was a long story to listen to, and he explained a good reason why 'Lynn' was such a common name in his family. It took him a bit longer to realize the connection to his name through history—interesting information but mundane for anything important.
Though his appearance was one Lincoln had come to understand, the supernatural had some level of freedom in what they looked like when among the living. Factoring in many other side details, since they finally met face to face during his time at Loch Loud, it was surprising to see how a ghost could age. He could appear at will as he did when he was 15, 19, or 6 years old, but never further than the day they died.
Slowly, his chuckling died off. The glimmer in his eyes faded as he looked down at his mute descendant with a mournful smile, "Ye have much tae speak aboot; many questions, A'm sure. Sae let the trees an wind be our only witnesses."
Walking like every step was taking five while still floating off the ground, not even to disturb the snow, the former duke found a spot to 'rest' as he awaited Lincoln to speak his mind.
Lincoln did have a lot to say. At any time the second Lindon finished his little greeting, he would have exploded up from his seat into a hundred and one questions like a broken water main. Instead, even as he had one or two at the ready, wetting his dry lips to speak, his mouth bobbed open and closed a few times before he looked back down to the snow.
He knew what to ask but didn't know where to start. The very last time he had the chance to speak with the Loud ghost was the night before his birthday. It set a heavy tone for what he was expecting that day to become, to prepare himself for the fight ahead. He imagined it was like a veteran father speaking to his son the day before he was shipped off to bloody war.
The Eve of Judgement Day, they had called it.
While that day was anything but facing down destiny, he knew Kingman had come to be that day. Surviving that even barely must have made his ancestors proud, if not disappointed that he willingly put himself in danger and risked 400 years of history repeating itself.
"That storm back there… Both of them were for me, weren't they." He said as a fact.
Lindon slowly nodded, "The dark magic follows after whom it seeks to end. From when it affects our world to when to strike, it is a force I believe only God may hold the answer to. Try as we may, it'll seek after those we hold close to draw us in."
Lincoln nodded, unfortunately confirming earlier thoughts, "Even if I went back… it wouldn't have changed anything. It would have given it a reason to be worse.
"Sadly, you are correct…" he said, dropping his old English for something more modern.
"Then what about my family?" He asked sharply as flashes of Lily's image appeared. The death toll was still at zero, but he couldn't imagine how broken she possibly was.
"Why were they hit? I know there's some counterbalance, but why the fuck did that happen to them? If visiting them but seeing them wasn't going to change the fact that a storm was coming, but if it was meant for me, why did it do it? What I did was for their future, not mine." Lincoln's voice grew as he spoke. Pent-up frustration for not knowing which way was right finally found its outlet. Lindon knew Lincoln meant nothing to his maliciousness but understood very well the last five months had taken a heavy toll.
"As I've spoken, it seeks to cause us pain that we can't ignore. No matter how great the distance or our actions, unrelated or not. Yet, given our similarities, you've done so much more for your blood than I could ever have hoped to achieve. Because of you, despite all this discourse, you've made your family thrive and many others from your noble actions. Even after God or Hell had stripped away everything one had on this earth, you've given them the hope and reason to live."
"He's right." Another voice called out from behind, accompanied by clanging metal from heavy footsteps.
Twisting around, Lindon offered a greeting smile to the new arrival while Lincoln only looked over his shoulder to see the battered sight of what his great great great great great grandfather was.
He looked more like the two of them in traits. Unlike their long hair, his was cut short and spiky like you'd do with a knife by yourself. It only stayed like that from how grim it was laced with, which gave his face a far more silvery look. Their eyes sunken in from with scars and wrinkles littering his face.
If Lincoln's earlier thought about Lindon acting like a war veteran held firm, then the man before them had the distinct honor of having actually seen the battlefield.
Though he was a bit cleaner than he had been from his brief visit nights ago, his uniform had changed. Not torn to pieces, it was more like a modified officer's uniform that had seen the grind of battle from how much the colors had faded from being mixed with dirt. A black waistcoat took up most of his torso with a light blue vest over the top with two sets of straps crossing over the middle where two holsters for vacant flintlocks. His white baggy shirt was rolled up just past his elbows, but what was surprising was how there were bits of armor, either full-on metal plating over his shoulders with pieces of thick leather tied to his forearms with a kind of collar around the back of his neck.
Around his waist were even more belts, another pouch for a pistol and the supplies to reload, and a sheathed dagger opposite an empty sword scabbard. His pants matched the uniform type down to the black boots, but more leather populated over his shins just below the knee.
Lincoln often got The Patriot vibes whenever his extra-grandfather appeared like this. To where the Duke had his own version of a full suit of armor, this was more befitting for someone trying to get every little bit of extra protection without compromising agility. When asked why he was wearing armor when it was utterly useless against guns, he responded with that bit of extra redundancy against things he wouldn't normally expect during a fight.
Had they been alive, it'd be a strange sight for anyone to stumble upon in this forest. Only twice did Lincoln remember all three of them being in one place together. The accumulation of what stood as the benchmark for 20 generations of one family bloodline was face-to-face. The sole sons of three families of 13 and the ones that have been the crux of their families' destinies for centuries.
The Duke, the one who started it all because of a few cruel hearts, wished ill upon his family and people for their own selfish desires. Someone who valued the hearts and ideas of the people around him, willing to make changes to ensure a peaceful and happy life. Someone who, despite his position of power, wasn't at all afraid to help someone down so low.
The Soldier, someone who saw to follow in his forefathers' footsteps. Born and raised in a time when the aftermath had been cleared, and a new world was on the horizon. The actions of his lineage forged him to become someone prepared for when the inevitable came but not to sit idly around waiting for destiny. Against raining fire and lead, he'd charge into battle first to keep the enemy at a distance so that those behind him wouldn't have to suffer the volleys and would have time to either escape or follow the path he cut.
And what was Lincoln compared to them?
The three had come to debate this idea, but the two ghosts had come to view him as The Chaser. Not for his job, how was being a storm chaser close to being comparable to a soldier or actual royalty?
No, it was from his commitment. Despite living a far easier life than the other two had in their childhood, he had always had a place to call home when the others were forced out and had to fight for theirs. Even through the daily chaos his family put him through, he was there for them all. True that any man has limits until the desire for personal peace takes over at a high cost, he made enormous strides in forgiveness.
He had every chance and reason to cut the wire from them, yet he still regularly gave them part of the fruits of his labor. While having others is something they wished he didn't do, it kept him in the loop enough to give them the aid they needed while keeping his distance.
Lincoln wasn't a complete one for either of them, aside from physical appearance throughout their age with a bit of spotty variation. Still, his mindset was practically built with Lindon's foundation of heart and soul while raised in part to the Soldier's grit and determination. He cared heavily for those around him and was ready to go to war to protect them.
They understood his plan better than anyone else on this earth.
But part of that plan heavily worried them. He had taken steps to survive longer than any of them so far, and they prayed for his luck and safety that Lincoln would have lived a long, fulfilling life when the time came for them to meet face to face in another life. Full of adventure and love…
At least for some of the actual time…
"You've been through hell that would have discouraged many and dissuaded more. You've had the times to let the more unflattering attributes others have been exposed, yet you outdo yourself at times without notice. Your family knows part of your actions are to keep their peace at your cost, and I wouldn't doubt they'd speak the tales of your actions to their children and their kin."
"Heh. Lucky for me, I guess… I tried to build a future without thinking it could end so soon." Lincoln darkly chuckled, thinking that the odds were that would be the only way anyone remembered him. Maybe it's a good thing I haven't had any kids yet. I wouldn't want to leave them in the world without someone to be there…"
Though he wouldn't see it, the two ghosts shared a worried glance. Communicating in ways only they knew about the reality of their descendant's words.
They were but two of the many who were happy Lincoln was on track to actually seeing Christmas as a 20-and-a-half-year-old. Something he could proudly say is a new milestone for the family. It gave many hope that he would achieve what they couldn't.
But the steps he was taking worried them greatly. No matter what disaster or minor change occurred, the bloodline had always been traced through them. Though siblings and kin may never find the ones to branch the family, it was through the middle son that Lindon could reach the Soldier and from him straight down to Lincoln himself.
If he perished before having even a single child from his own blood, the curse would finally be broken from the reality their bloodline ended with him. They have done what they can throughout the time to aid him, but there is only so much an old spirit can do.
"Do not think such thoughts, my son." The soldier said, surprising Lincoln by suddenly being beside him and placing a hand on his cold shoulder. Before you reached past our time, we had sired many in a short time and had witnessed them grow strong in their compassion and bravery. We gave full faith that you could do the same." He patted his shoulder, letting out a bellowed laugh and slapping Lincoln's shoulder.
"The infamous Loud Family sex drive…" Lincoln muttered, remembering when they brought it up, "You still haven't told me why you guys did that. Or how you could have 11 kids so fast." He still couldn't fathom how, in a family of 13, they'd be responsible for practically doubling it in a few short years. Sure, practices back then were 'different,' but as far as he knew, it couldn't have been from just one of his great-grandmothers who aided those numbers.
"And you'd be right that times were different for us." Lindon piped in, making Lincoln think the ghost was reading his thoughts. Another thing that he hadn't gotten a solid answer for was whether they actually could see his thoughts. "But even for you, now there is still time to find a path for your heart."
"..."
"Something else troubles you?" Lindon asked, feeling Lincoln's renewed silence wasn't from his usual demeanor.
"...This conversation isn't how I expected it to go. I was hoping for answers, yet I'm getting pushed into having kids while I'm possibly going to die within the next seven months."
The two spirits looked at each other for a second and nodded, sharing the understanding that this wasn't the time to dwell on such topics. Their descendant already had much on his mind in the last ten days; he didn't need more.
It wasn't to say they didn't know what he wanted to know or ask for answers he already had himself. Lincoln was a smart man, just like them. Not to the same as their extravagant second younger sisters' minds in the sciences, rarely could they find anyone to keep up with her, but given he had chances in life, they didn't; he needed some pushes here and there but went to his destination. There were many bad times, yet the innumerable happy ones outshined them, a sign of joy-filled life so early on, even after times of chaos.
His adventures days ago were from a committed plan, one that he didn't know the outcomes of his actions. The broader-reaching effects he didn't realize had made many see the day and prepare to protect their lives and those around them in the face of destruction. They watched his actions in every waking moment that day, protecting everyone to their final moments.
Though without speaking it, within the facts of privacy, they knew what he exactly felt about the Sharp girl. At first, out of the kindness, but they saw it rapidly grow like one of his many twisters. The joy in the smiles and laughs he gave had been silenced for months. And their little 'reunion' convinced them there was still hope.
Even if Lincoln was a bit blind to see it. And he did need to see it.
There were many secrets that couldn't be spoken. Some he would uncover himself in time, and others he should leave behind in the past, where their bodies lay.
"You are right, my son. That is something not befitting to speak about in the current time." Lindon admitted, "But you know as well as either of us that there is only so much we can say about what can be done after our actions. I am limited to what I've observed in my time to allow my descendants to prepare the best they could."
"And even in those times as I prepared, I knew there were some things I couldn't achieve no matter how much I tried to run away or fight it." the soldier added, "You have it in you, both heart and mind, to see the past where we had ended…"
Hearing his voice trail off, Lincoln expected that the spirit had moved to another spot or had seen that his time here was no longer needed. He felt his hand leave his shoulder, thinking of the former, but looking up, he saw both of them gone.
He shook his head, sighing at how none of that really helped him in the grand scheme of things. Words of advice and encouragement were the best they could offer when he was down. Only when something massively happened did they see it being the time they needed to give him the answers to questions he didn't know to ask.
His trips back to Scotland had given little about what happened to his royal ancestor after leaving for America. The story he told was they had migrated far out west from the colonies to possibly start a new dukedom where they could grow their family anew and settle where Royal Woods would one day be. The only thing he remembered Lindon dreading to speak was how they were forced from this new home and how, decades later, his extra great-grandson would fight to reclaim it.
Scratching the back of his head, he thought about how great all that was, but it didn't help him figure out what to do. His only two options were to hope and pray that he doesn't die from the most superficial minor inconvenience or to accept that if history did it twice, it could easily do it again…
Shaking his hair like he was trying to scratch an abomination of an itch, he saw flakes fall past his eyes, slowly falling to the ground and… melting through the snow. It flared slightly from the contact but was quickly washed out by the melt.
Confused, he felt like his head was almost burning. Swiping away increasingly as gray fell past, he took a handful and yelped when he felt it burn his palm.
This wasn't snow…
Taking a smaller scope right as it reached the ground, he saw how it was charred and sizzled.
Ash. So fresh it still had the edges glowing the tiniest fragments of fire before he tipped his hand over and let it dump out.
He looked around, confused, trying to figure out how fresh ash was falling on him like this. It was the middle of the day, and it was snowing. No normal person would need a fire right about now that was pumping so much smoke up its chimney that it was taking chunks of unburnt material up in the air with it.
And… it wasn't snowing like it was earlier.
The fall wasn't just a slow sprinkle; it had become a constant stream so much that the ground turned white to dark gray. The air had a strange scent of a sweet and metallic hint, but he could smell the smoke like he was standing directly in the path of a bonfire. The air itself was getting thicker, and all around the trees was becoming hazier to the point he couldn't see out between like he did. His path was becoming obscured, the lake was disappearing beyond its shoreline, and the air was getting hotter.
Even without all the layers, he would have been sweating like a pig because of how rapidly it got so hot. He could still feel the snow under his shoes and the faint traces of ice on a tree as he moved to look around, but all this? It was impossible. It was like the entire state forest was just completely…
Burning.
Towering above him from the trees to his south, the wind pierced through the haze it generated, making it look like the gates of hell had opened and were approaching him. The force of the wind, which he could estimate was blowing southerly at maybe 60 mph, was forcing him to keep an arm up to shield his face from the choking air and blinding light coming towards him.
He didn't know how this could be. He had documented several wildfires in the last few years, notably the big ones that spanned across Texas and California when the early 2020 droughts were triggering constant firestorms. He knew very well to keep his distance from these monsters. It was impossible not to see a wall of fire moving over hills and fields, consuming everything in a wave of hell that could keep the night as bright as day.
Except the day wasn't bright with the sun like it was before. And a monster had managed to sneak up on him so quickly, which was something he'd have to think about later when he got out of it. Lincoln didn't know how close that wall was; he could only guess that the blaze had already consumed Storm Shrieker and was now maybe a minute away from consuming him.
He did the only thing he could do: turn and run. Heading straight for the lake to open the distance as best he could. Going from ankle deep to dest and quickly having to throw his arms forward harder than ever, feeling all his clothes becoming waterlogged, threatening to drag him down.
Lincoln fought on, feeling the heat growing behind him as, with every glance to the otherside that was barely visible from over the splashing and spiraling smoke high above. He looked back briefly to see how far he had gotten, but…
He was… out of the water?
Lincoln fell onto his hands and knees when his mind registered that fact to stop trying to swim and catch himself in time to feel how he was still bone dry as he was before taking a step into the drink.
He was on shore, but… there was nothing. The buildings and docks he had seen earlier were gone entirely. A small grass patch that lined the beach before being consumed by more forest blocked his view, and darkness overtook any sunlight.
Then… he heard screams. Dozens yelling and crying out.
He spun around, staggered back, and saw how the lake had vastly changed. The side road on the edge was gone, and the lake opened up to even more water flowing like a large river. From where he stood, he was maybe 300 feet from the shore, but his vision felt like he was just feet away.
Up and down the shore were the gates of hell consuming everything in sight. Every tree becomes its crying demon, forced by the winds to reach across the river but not daring to go further.
Dead ahead, where he knew he was standing before, a clearing was barely visible through the smoke. Just a bit further back, a large wooden house was rapidly collapsing into itself. The roof bellowed smoke out of every crack it could escape through as the front walls began to give away. Around it were maybe 30 people all over the place. A dozen or two fled towards shore as something came flying into the house and causing something to burst inside the roof, exploding so violently it sent everyone to the ground.
Through his odd view, he could see several men around the edges, brandishing rifles and trying to look at something through the flames, quickly taking aim and firing with puffs of smoke bursting from the sides when Lincoln could barely see what looked like actual figures running in the fire utterly unaffected by the smoke or heat.
He couldn't hear what one man shouted before three arrows connected to his back and one to his chest. The person he was trying to yell to, on his knees, crouched down trying to reload his gun, didn't get to turn in time before an arrow found its way through the side of his head and sent him to the ground. There were shouts of cries in the larger group; some he could see were women trying to keep themselves covered in cloaks, having to hold a few of their own back as others pushed a group of kids closer.
From the reflection of the waters, the little cove he had been sitting at had a small ramp with a sand berm and a boat sitting beached. The kids and some adults were quickly herded inside as others began trying to cast off. Flaming arrows came flying out from the trees, embedding into the sides and sending several of them to the ground for cover. Some reacted quickly to use sand to put out the flames, but as another rifle shot rang out, another man went down.
Chunks of trees began falling into the river as the gap narrowed closer. The house was barely visible anymore as Lincoln felt the wind shifting across the water. It was blowing towards his back and forcing the heat to fan the flames away. It was so strong that whole trees were being knocked down.
The last man standing among those trying to defend the area dropped his rifle and ran for the boat, yelling for the others to get in the overcrowded raff as he practically screamed out his lungs. He dug his feet into the sand as another wave of arrows came flying from the side. Some went too close to the group; some found marks in the boat itself and two that he was surprised at bounced off the man's back in two brief streaks of sparks.
He was… wearing armor?
It was so dirty and missing parts he couldn't see how much he had or what kind it was. There was somewhat of a chest plate and thigh guards reflected in the light, but some of the arms and shoulders down the sides of the torso looked more like either chainmail or a fabric. Whatever it was, it did little to stop the man from putting every muscle to work moving a boat so heavy Lincoln could only imagine it was like trying to push a fully loaded cargo van.
And it was moving. Slowly, its aft fell into the cove, gradually coming afloat on its own, but the man didn't stop pushing.
More arrows flung out, one impacting the back plate, but two found their marks penetrating his left side and another spearing into his thigh. He screamed, gripping the boat so tightly that his fingers dug into the woodwork. He slumped to the side, holding on to keep himself upright as blood began to stain the sand, but he didn't stop.
Pushing the boat further out until he was waist deep, another arrow came from the opposite side, closer to the back of his armpit.
But he didn't stop.
Almost chest deep, the riverbed seemed flat enough that he could keep this height the closer they got to the current. Several of those on board towards the front tried to grab onto him. Try to bring him close to the side and pull him aboard, but he didn't stop.
They had to be a few yards away from the beach before the wind shifted again, and Lincoln felt himself get down as if he was about to be blown over.
He could see the ash and smoke being flung across the river. Rising higher, the flames close to the homestead were focused above where the house once stood and became entwined with each other, twisting above the remains, higher than the trees vanishing into the smoke above.
The group panicked, but the man didn't look back. He kept his head low and kept pushing forward as he was slumped over. The firewhirl grew in size, consuming the clearing and bodies of the fallen, getting closer. They all ducked down, and in one final act of strength, he forced the boat back as hard as he could. The current grabbed hold, and a few that had grabbed ores quickly turned the boat to get away from the hell-storm that consumed their home.
But they rowed backward, trying to fight the flow as they all and Lincoln looked back to the man, still standing there like a statue frozen in time with the inferno all around him and streaks of crimson flowing into the river.
He gave them all one last look, a sad, assuring smile that assured them everything was going to be okay.
He turned, and Lincoln was met with Lindon's blue eyes.
The storm blew outwards, the pressure of the heat boiling over as parts of the river were lifted into the vortex in a massive cloud of forming steam. The winds shifted back, blowing the heat at Lincoln as he used both hands to shield his face. Watching the firewhirl move over the beach and river, shrouded in steam, Lindon closed his eyes, bowed his head, and disappeared below the water.
Before a word could escape his lips, the vortex raced across the river, driven by whatever motion it was being chained to. The intense flames became dowsed in the water as steam and smoke expanded outwards like the whirl had become a rotating fogbank of ash. It came so fast that Lincoln stumbled backward, tripping over his steps as he fell and watched the swirling mass above him cross the divided, and his world became a blur…
In seconds, he felt his world suddenly flash forward. When he expected the intense heat that vortex still had, his face was blasted by an instant freeze that felt just as much as if he was being touched by fire.
Pushing off the ground, he saw his hands buried in the snow with a decent imprint of his face in the middle. Pulling them free and seeing how the cold reddened them, he flicked away what snow and water were on them as he looked around to see that everything was as it was. There was the lake, the otherside, the road, and the steady snowfall that was half what it was when he arrived. The sky was a bit brighter, with clouds breaking apart enough to let sunlight through, but he could feel the wind make the cold sting on his face feel even worse than it was.
Leaning back to rest on his knees, he felt a layer of snow fall off his back, and the cold penetrated his pants. Wondering just how long he had been there, he didn't know if he had just had a blackout for mere seconds or if he had passed out and fallen. The impact of the chill wasn't enough to immediately wake him up, yet it felt like everything went from increasingly hot to freezing over.
He didn't know what to make of what he had just seen, but he knew what it meant to show.
Looking back to where he had last seen him, Lincoln could see Lindon's spirit standing in the small cove with his back turned. He lacked that weird glow he usually had around him. Instead, he looked much more solid, like someone was physically there, even as he turned around without disturbing the water.
In a blink, he was standing just ten steps away.
Lincoln felt like he was seeing a zombie more than a ghost. A massive contrast from his clean outfit, it didn't take him any guess to know that this was the furthest Lindon had gotten and the similarities to what photos he saw of himself after Kingman spoke a lot of how in two times and events, seconds and inches were two of the three differences that divided them.
For anyone with the damage, he could see where he had been physically ground down to flesh and bone by the wind, and what parts there weren't covered by the heavier armor were burned black. You'd imagine TwoFace from the Batman movie almost 20 years ago, to how his burns revealed so much bone and tissue that was destroyed so thoroughly, how he could even move parts that barely existed anymore.
Lindon stood with barely half his left leg between the shin guard and chest plate. His left thigh and knee were torn, with parts of arrow stubs still sticking out. His chest plate was blown out around the side, going up to his shoulder. He held on by the sheer number of belts struggling by their threads. White hair burnt away with charred skin, but the look in his blue eyes was the same as they were before.
Only now, they looked tired. Like a man who couldn't rest no matter how many times he wished to sleep. In the last decade of his life, he was a very busy former duke until… that. For the previous 400 years, Lincoln could only imagine what any spirit still stuck in this world would feel, how a ghost could be so battered, so tired and broken that he looked ready to fall over and die all over again.
"As I've said, there are things we cannot speak, but we can show. There is still so much more that has yet to be seen by all those involved." Lindon said as his form slowly shifted back into his earlier state. Pulling the claymore from its domain and placing the tip into the snow with both hands over the hilt.
"I understood your frustration—I truly do. I understand fully that this is something you hope will go away with time. I know the road you are on; I've walked it before, and your methods will bear fruit one day. But you must remember, even the two of us had others who knew of the darkness that followed no matter our protest or danger."
"That's who those were, weren't they?" Lincoln asked, gesturing to the nonexistent clearing where the homestead was. "Those were my ancestors—your sisters. Our family is in the middle of it, running for their lives. You were the last man standing out of what I could only guess were those who did follow you. But an odd question was who the kids were."
Lindon sighed, and Lincoln knew this was another one of those unanswerable questions he'd get.
"They are the kin of our sisters and beloved. Some from your blood, the others from those they had found in love that could not divide the family and followed."
"So because you both refused to separate despite the reality, their loved ones fell while they were left to their children alone with a future without their fathers, possibly grandfather, and only uncle they knew?" Lincoln stated, wondering how his ancestor, whom he had practically embedded years ago, even in his adult life, considered that no matter what happened, he'd do anything to protect his family, even if it meant forcing a divide between them.
"You are forgetting the number of hardships the family had before any of this was truly seen." Lindon almost shouted, frustration building in his eyes. "We were forced from our home so abruptly we had nothing but ourselves to our name. In the new world, we were all we had left and did everything to find solace over the years we rebuilt. The 'reality' would only come to us when my spirit was able to connect with our homeland and discover that an unholy plague had infected our blood. Only when the next of kin was born was I able to attempt to rectify that mistake."
"Why him then?!" Lincoln shouted, feeling the spirit wasn't following the same track, "If you knew earlier, why didn't you speak of it to your child or grandchildren? Those closer would find some way to stop it before history repeats itself. Hell, even after he died, why didn't both of you try to convince my great-great grandfather, his son, or even my own dad before it reached this point? Everything I've seen so far ends up the same for everyone..."
He looked around, trying to find something to simmer down his boiling anger, which felt strong enough to melt the snow. Walking a little distance to the first tree his mind picked, he leaned his forehead against his arm to look down at the snow.
"... with us being dead."
"Lincoln," Lindon lifted the sword from the snow and returned it in one fluid motion, "The outcome is of two choices, ones that actions before, now, and soon will be what is chosen in that final hour. You have gotten further than any of us at self-imposed risk and have achieved in preparing for the future if you are to pass. There isn't a battle for you to fight like ours. Living your life in peace would be the biggest achievement of it all. And your family knows just where to start."
Looking over at him confused, Lindon remained silent with a rather cheeky sparkle in his eyes that didn't give him a clue as to what he…
Oh no…
"The farm…" Lincoln muttered, feeling how he had willingly opened a can of worms he had hoped would be opened for another year at minimum.
His sisters were a crafty bunch; the chances they'd discover what those papers were and what they contained was a high gamble in the long run, but having a disaster like that Monday meant parts of it were already going into effect sooner. The chances of his earlier idea about Lisa sneaking away were more alive than ever. Still, he wouldn't put it past Lynn bulldozing her way across six states or maybe someone like Lori having 'extra company' tag along when she was coming alone.
Spinning to find the spot he had been in last, he plopped down on the fresh snow coating the log, running his hands over his eyes. " God, don't let them do that…"
"It is their choice now. You may turn away or accept their company if they come. If one or all decides to make the journey, you yourself return to them. Us Louds are a very sociable type. Family is one of our strongest attributes no matter what comes in between, to those of blood or not."
"... are they okay?" he whispered, knowing the ghost would hear him regardless. "All of them?"
Lindon took a moment, but he nodded, "They... could very well be in better shape. However, some have experienced such a fate before and pulled through because of their sibling's aid, I have little doubt in my mind, and I know you as much, that they all will pull through."
"..."
"Do not degrade yourself for what had happened. I understand young Lily has become more like a daughter than a sister to you in recent years, and understand there was someone there to make sure that such a fate didn't result in another life lost. The curse won't cause such fate upon your family directly and limits us to how we can protect them, but know that there are others watching over them."
Lincoln sighed like a massive weight hadn't been removed but shifted to another side. He couldn't be there for everyone; even with the network, it was so 'disconnected' that he wasn't surprised anymore by how long it took him to find out about Royal Woods. In that situation, they had their own lives to worry about, and he didn't blame them. It helped so immensely knowing that even when no one was around to watch over them all the time and try to keep them safe even if they couldn't be with him, it meant they always had someone there by their side without him...
Maybe… they won't come to Oklahoma. He was ready to argue with Lindon about how he let his family follow him into the unknown while he himself had willingly given them a map of where to find him.
Perhaps they'll see reason and not think in that hive-mind mentality where one triggers a cascade effect. If… the damage is actual and what happened with Lily… maybe they'll be too preoccupied to come in the immediate future. It'd give him time to try to come up with some plan if that inevitably happens. Maybe keeping himself occupied might work in being on the road so much no one can really lock him down to one spot. There was that one in 50 chance they could catch him by the farm. A wild goose chase wasn't anything new for them, but he'd have to keep his distance.
"I know the fate of death is something no one wishes to face alone." Lindon appeared by Lincoln's side, sitting on the log with a hand around his back, "Some would prefer it be in the company of loved ones, others to be alone so as not to let those very loved ones see what the end looks like. Many lives in this world don't get that first option for several reasons. You have the choice to be either one. And remember, don't think you will ever be alone. Even if you fall, many are ready to welcome you."
That… was something a bit reassuring yet disturbing to him. It's not that comforting to know that those of the deceased were already waiting for you. In the grand scheme of life, knowing that those you remember are ready to meet you again, like the first time you met them before, was very warm. However, Lincoln wondered why he kept seeing only his direct ancestors so often. Sure, there was the time he saw all the royal family back in Lock Loud, but he wasn't sure what part they had to play in all this.
He could picture his great-grandma Harriet as the one who actually knew something about curses. But that was yet to manifest into anything he could work with. Maybe with Lucy, given their connection, but who knew…
Speaking of manifestation… "Who were they?" he asked, looking back over the waters.
Lindon became puzzled. Assuming he was referring to those among the boat, "As you said, they were my-"
"No, not those ones." He cut him off, "The others… they… what were their names… They weren't real. I know that. One can't just disappear when I'm sitting two feet away from them in the corner of my eye, and the other doesn't just vanish walking through something that no one would have been able to miss anyone coming through." That was something he wanted to know badly. Many things in the last ten years have been consistent, but having two strange events like that within the same period, something new was in play.
He couldn't remember their names out of the sea he was in during the day from the start of the chase and throughout the week, but he could remember somewhat of their voices, but their faces, those eyes…
The mind doesn't just make things up. It takes what patterns it's seen before and uses them as a template to combine with or build off to make something new. It's why made-up things in dreams always had that sense of familiarity no matter how whack they got.
But those eyes… he didn't know the face but felt like he fully knew who was behind them.
Lindon sat silent for a moment, pondering this revelation. The spirits of old knew they were limited to what they could do, but he had seen the 'newest additions' far less than Lincoln had experienced. He knew they were not alone; at least two more had made their presence known to date, and a third abandoned their time before Lincoln's first.
Oh, he knew precisely who they were and why they chose the times they did to speak with his great-son and family. He had little doubt about seeing them again in the future in whatever odd ways they wished to say; only he wondered how long it would be until Lincoln connected the dots.
"I… cannot say for a curtain." He spoke, hiding his lie through a mask of similar confusion, "You've gotten further than us; the world may be showing you what we couldn't see."
"I remember them… it was like I was looking into my sisters' eyes… The detail and innocence was… was like I was looking right at them..."
"Perhaps," Lindon mused, "It is your heart longing for them. You were but a minute away from seeing them again yet hesitated to turn away."
"There were things that had to be done…"
"Yes… Many things followed that brought safety and peace to the many lives you saved that day. Once again, sacrificing your time with your family is like the main times before. But that doesn't change what the soul seeks. Even after such disasters, it seeks the comfort of the ones it loves the most, no matter how far they are separated or how much we tell our minds not to. And within time... I believe you will find what you do not want but needs and desires…"
Lincoln's face scrunched up, confused by how his 'heart's desire' could link to his family. The way Lindon said that last word wasn't just offhandedly; there was context he knew but refused to elaborate.
"What? That the thing my heart's always wanted was-" he turned, and the spot the ghost was sitting in was vacant. He didn't feel that weird lingering tension in the air anymore. Becoming used to feeling it gradually makes itself known until it pops, and you wonder what caused it.
Knowing this was the end of their little 'session,' Lincoln stood back up. Moving from pinching his nose to rubbing both sides as he tried not to get a headache.
Was this whole thing valuable? Somewhat, but it made him still wonder about a lot of things. That little show didn't help him understand what he was supposed to do. It was literally what he had done all these years: push them away from the danger as he took the hits. It mostly worked, but he understood that there was never a guarantee.
He went to look at the time, staring around his bare wrist, remembering he hadn't cleaned his watch yet, and looked to the sky, thinking he could try to estimate, but in a second of realizing he couldn't see the sun through the clouds, he gave up trying.
"Need to get rolling…" he muttered. Slowly starting his way back towards the truck. Trudging through the path, he stomped into the snow, weaving around some bushes and trees for a slightly better footing until he was back in the clearing.
Shrieker sat where he had left it, with a new coat of snow covering the top. He looked around for where he left them, brushing the snow off the door with his sleeve until he heard the keys dislodge and fall, and then his knee slammed into the metal, stopping them. Pulling the door open with a flurry flying around, the inside was darker than earlier, and every window was blanketed, save for some of the turret. Any warmth from the earlier drive was gone; just touching the steering wheel and feeling the fabric under his grip was like stepping back inside after she had been sitting for the whole winter.
Just starting the ignition, she immediately roared to life like she had been waiting.
It brought a smile to him. Shutting the door and pushing in the lock, the tank shook off some of the snow enough to let cracks of light burst into the cab. Turning the heat up a bit higher to get the cab and himself warmed up, the fresh snow crackled under the wheels as the tank turned out from the clearing back onto the road.
Feeling a little bit more confident yet forcing the swarm of thoughts stirred up from the chat, Lincoln focused more on getting back to the highway sooner. Picking up speed even as he rounded corners, the wheels on axle three sent waves of snow and slush flying all around like he was barreling down a muddy trail.
Faster than his way coming in, the overpass came into view. Slowing down enough to not fly off the on-ramp and back onto I-40.
From some scratching of memory, he knew this stretch was mostly a straight line until Memphis. Barely any traffic was seen in his reviews, even with the plume of snow flying off the truck. The light out west was getting brighter, and the snow was but a few flakes here and there.
Once more, alone on an open road. Snow plowed away, and no cars were going his way for as far as the eye could see…
And there in the distance was a storm…
Breaking away from the trailing edges of whatever snowstorm was behind him, it stood tall and proud above the horizon, with rich white clouds bubbling higher into the air into an anvil shape, spreading further.
A textbook supercell structure with the body of the main updraft twisting its central column, forming a bulbous but smooth mothership-styled mesocyclone.
He could see through to the other side; it was a high base storm as far as he could tell, with a concentrated rainshaft to the northwest of the highway, making it such a fantastic contrast in colors from the deep greens backlit by distant sunlight with a near pure-white structure spreading over blue skies with the horizon broken by the ever-morphing tree line.
Such a storm was impossible right now, and he knew that.
You might get cold core supercells when they are suitable for cloud bearings and low-level shear or when there's good vorticity to the cold side of a boundary. Sometimes, the combination of both is what really drives their formation. He hadn't really gone into a heavy assessment of the weather today aside from if he would end up driving in back-to-back snow squalls.
The air was still warm enough for snow to fall without completely freezing, yet he didn't expect that even in daytime heating before what he found wasn't even noon. Even if there wasn't an updraft, a storm like this shouldn't have been able to develop into something this organized. The laptop was in the bag, sitting on the passenger seat, leaving him without access to the satellite or the pod's data to see what this thing was doing right in front of him.
He relayed the words his ancestors had spoken in his brain repeatedly. He didn't need to keep fighting the way he had been and could just… stop and live a peaceful life…
Slowly, his speed increased. He pushed the needle just past 70 and held it as he flew under an overpass, climbing the rolling hills.
The last few years have been like riding a roller coaster in the dark. There are so many twists and turns that you brace for the next one, not realizing you're climbing up another hill until the next drop sends you down a corkscrew. It gets to you, making your head unable to find which direction to look for when going in another faster than you can realize you're already somewhere else.
Start from a home you've known for so long, picturing the vast world out there. You were becoming amazed and awe-struck at what the world holds in beauty and dangers. But when those combine into a force that would terrify so many, after so long away from what you felt of home, you either become homesick to return or once you do, you think that it doesn't hold the same anymore. In time, you begin to feel where you've been has become home, and where you remember is just another place you visited for a long time.
Out here, constantly being tested by nature, every mile you drive is just one tiny step closer to familiar grounds or new territory. And that just beyond that horizon could be something beyond your wild dreams, but if you fail to remember that trouble never comes alone, nature will tear you apart.
No matter what road you take, how much armor you surround yourself or how deep you dig in, if fate wishes it to be, then in those moments, all you can do is hang on for one helluva ride…
He'd been on that ride before, and it failed to stop him.
Reaching up to the switchboard, he flicked on every switch to the exterior lights, making the rolling bound of dirty gray metal light against the snow as the clouds began to overtake the sun and darken lands once more.
Taping on the radio display, he swiped to the app screen, popping open a playlist labeled 'On the Road Boredom' and scrolled through some 300 different tracks. Some of it was your typical road music, a little bit of everyone's personal favorites mixed in with the classics, ones you could play full blast on the long trips between target areas. Something he was sure would have helped distract him earlier, but he felt it was too much for his tired mind to handle.
Flicking his focus between the road and the screen, he scrolled just a little into the earlier tracks, finding one that he felt was the best to set the mood. Seeing the title, he turned the volume short of full blast and selected the song. Since only two speakers were left from the original Ford truck, he had decided to keep just for this function in a mass of steel; as the opening guitar came to life, the inside of the cab felt like an echo chamber as it reverbed against the inner metal.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Lincoln relaxed into his seat for what felt like the first time in months…
He let himself take in what was in front of him. If it was real or not, he didn't know. Maybe until the first drops of rain hit the windshield, or it was just his mind over-imagining an ordinary little storm to be one of the colossi he had become immune within the danger dance. There was a bolt of lightning that, for a brief second, connected the lower base to the ground. Hit the ground twice and split up for like a three-way split tree before vanishing.
Lincoln took a deep breath, holding it for a second more as he focused on what was ahead. Not just the storm but what lay beyond it. There are more roads to travel and more storms to experience—another year where he'd get to see what chaos Tornado Alley would produce for him.
Is it a risk? It was one for him to stand before that twister years ago. It was another to fight against a mind-controlled dragon and stay in that rocket with no way out. He decided to find a place among the plains where so much could happen and few people could see. It was a gamble to go back home, but even if the universe somehow got him, he could go out knowing that his family and friends had a future beyond him.
He knew that day would come. Which day between now and then, he didn't know, but he knew for sure: no matter what hell throws his way, you can't keep down a Loud.
["I keep chasing that same old devil down that same old dead end highway! Riding that storm running through my veins like a shot down tail spun airplane!…."]
"Scared of nothing, and I'm scared to death. I can't breathe, but I catch my breath… so I keep chasing that same old devil down that old dead end highway…."