Enter into a sudden shift of light. The wind from the clouds has descended upon the earth. The dust kicks up, fine silt through the air, and it is almost impossible to see. A noise rises, and there is more to the surroundings than there seemed to be before.
The road is asphalt, not a crude path of crushed dolostone, and it is assaulted by sheets of rain. Above, the sky is like a rug turned over: too large, and impossible to comprehend. It is strange how such an intangible thing is destroying the landscape ahead. This is the edge of a town on the agricultural lowlands of Illinois. There are a few houses, new ones- houses with windows in odd places, young trees staked to the lawn. A childrens' playhouse, garish in red and yellow, now sits dimmed by the rain, tossed across the street.
A flashbang behind you from power lines, draped like lace from poles now leaning. The wind is steady and strong, and could match a tornado if it lasted long enough. To the side of the road, set apart by a low wire fence, sits an elementary school. It's made of brick, short and squat, with a large greenhouse poking up from the side. The gate is open. One of the front doors hangs open, and the occasional gust of wind slams it against the outer wall.