Read Online From the Fire V by Kent David Kelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kent David Kelly
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concentration. How old were
these haphazard piles of reinforcement? People had survived here, long enough
to build a makeshift guard post looking out over the interstate. Or rather,
survivors from elsewhere had gathered here, a truck stop being a logical place
of pilgrimage for anyone hoping for food, gas or shelter. But how long could
anyone have survived after the firestorm, so close to the Loveland impact
crater? How many days?
Some might still be alive.
She didn’t know. She wanted to ask Silas, but when she looked
back into the rearview, he had changed. A grizzled soldier was poised in her
back seat. He was vigilant, alert, trembling and silent. A trickle of fluid
was running down from an open sore in his neck, down to his shivering hand and
he did not seem to notice. He was fingering the Luger pistol’s trigger,
licking his parched lips.
Get the fuel and get out of here.
For the first time, Sophie turned off the H4’s headlights. The
enveloping cloud of isolate and claustrophobic blackness choked in and took her
breath away. She thought for a moment of Patrice’s favorite movie, that
horrifying movie she loved as a child because it scared her, of Dorothy
in the farmhouse as it lifted up in the tornado, chaos and wreckage whirling by
in a living nightmare out the window.
And here we are. This isn’t Kansas ...
There were deep gouges of parallel scrape marks in the blacktop,
where truck wrecks had been dragged, towed, reorganized. A tow truck with
shattered windows loomed nearby, its secured chains rattling in the wind.
Behind it was the ruin of a makeshift temporary building which had blown over,
its dilapidated frontage still clearly reading: “CDL PHYSICALS, WALK-INS
WELCOME.”
Welcome, indeed.
“Sophie, that truck. Did you see?”
“I saw.” She looked down at her gun instead of nodding. “I
know.”
“There damn well might be people.”
“We don’t have a choice. Get both of your guns ready, Silas,”
said Sophie. “We’re going to try this.”
They turned into a paved and devastated enclosure framed by
shattered concrete walls, its entrance bracketed by guardrails that had been
turned into vertical curlicues, as if they had been the rejected toys of some
furious, monstrous child.
Sophie did not blink as the wind wove clearer and the darkness
streamed into almost-light. She waited, then was forced to turn the headlights
on again. She peered out into an inky stew of smog and cartwheeling fragments,
looking for the restaurant, the showers, the stores, the fuel bays, Anything .
But she could not see the buildings of Pearson’s Corner. There were too many
bus and semi wrecks, pulled together to make walls and aisles of alternating
trash and sand. Further on, trucks were parked in concentric rings, a maze of
ways leading into a deeper, more tranquil darkness.
The winds howled overhead. There was no one to be seen.
“Silas,” asked Sophie, “here we go. Are you with me?”
“Course I am.” He popped out the pistol’s clip, checked his round
and reloaded it. “Just be quick, all right? Get us gassed and out of here,
quick as you can.”
“I plan to.”
Sophie put her foot on the brake, tied a water-moistened rag just
below her face. The helmet would decrease her visibility too much outside, her
awareness. She glanced down at the HK UMP40 Universale submachine gun,
pocketed in her suit on its utility cord. She was suited, both she and Silas
were well-armed. If anyone was still alive out there, she almost wished they
would confront her.
Just try to get between me and Kersey, between me and my Lacie, she thought. She slowly lifted the gun from its pocket, hefted
it. The clip was full. Just try.
Yes, a sibilant voice
whispered inside her, the waking scrape of dead leaves rising upon a coil of
the wind. Yes, try. Somewhere deep inside, the beast which had once
been Sophie’s sister purred in the heart,
these haphazard piles of reinforcement? People had survived here, long enough
to build a makeshift guard post looking out over the interstate. Or rather,
survivors from elsewhere had gathered here, a truck stop being a logical place
of pilgrimage for anyone hoping for food, gas or shelter. But how long could
anyone have survived after the firestorm, so close to the Loveland impact
crater? How many days?
Some might still be alive.
She didn’t know. She wanted to ask Silas, but when she looked
back into the rearview, he had changed. A grizzled soldier was poised in her
back seat. He was vigilant, alert, trembling and silent. A trickle of fluid
was running down from an open sore in his neck, down to his shivering hand and
he did not seem to notice. He was fingering the Luger pistol’s trigger,
licking his parched lips.
Get the fuel and get out of here.
For the first time, Sophie turned off the H4’s headlights. The
enveloping cloud of isolate and claustrophobic blackness choked in and took her
breath away. She thought for a moment of Patrice’s favorite movie, that
horrifying movie she loved as a child because it scared her, of Dorothy
in the farmhouse as it lifted up in the tornado, chaos and wreckage whirling by
in a living nightmare out the window.
And here we are. This isn’t Kansas ...
There were deep gouges of parallel scrape marks in the blacktop,
where truck wrecks had been dragged, towed, reorganized. A tow truck with
shattered windows loomed nearby, its secured chains rattling in the wind.
Behind it was the ruin of a makeshift temporary building which had blown over,
its dilapidated frontage still clearly reading: “CDL PHYSICALS, WALK-INS
WELCOME.”
Welcome, indeed.
“Sophie, that truck. Did you see?”
“I saw.” She looked down at her gun instead of nodding. “I
know.”
“There damn well might be people.”
“We don’t have a choice. Get both of your guns ready, Silas,”
said Sophie. “We’re going to try this.”
They turned into a paved and devastated enclosure framed by
shattered concrete walls, its entrance bracketed by guardrails that had been
turned into vertical curlicues, as if they had been the rejected toys of some
furious, monstrous child.
Sophie did not blink as the wind wove clearer and the darkness
streamed into almost-light. She waited, then was forced to turn the headlights
on again. She peered out into an inky stew of smog and cartwheeling fragments,
looking for the restaurant, the showers, the stores, the fuel bays, Anything .
But she could not see the buildings of Pearson’s Corner. There were too many
bus and semi wrecks, pulled together to make walls and aisles of alternating
trash and sand. Further on, trucks were parked in concentric rings, a maze of
ways leading into a deeper, more tranquil darkness.
The winds howled overhead. There was no one to be seen.
“Silas,” asked Sophie, “here we go. Are you with me?”
“Course I am.” He popped out the pistol’s clip, checked his round
and reloaded it. “Just be quick, all right? Get us gassed and out of here,
quick as you can.”
“I plan to.”
Sophie put her foot on the brake, tied a water-moistened rag just
below her face. The helmet would decrease her visibility too much outside, her
awareness. She glanced down at the HK UMP40 Universale submachine gun,
pocketed in her suit on its utility cord. She was suited, both she and Silas
were well-armed. If anyone was still alive out there, she almost wished they
would confront her.
Just try to get between me and Kersey, between me and my Lacie, she thought. She slowly lifted the gun from its pocket, hefted
it. The clip was full. Just try.
Yes, a sibilant voice
whispered inside her, the waking scrape of dead leaves rising upon a coil of
the wind. Yes, try. Somewhere deep inside, the beast which had once
been Sophie’s sister purred in the heart,
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