Read Online From the Fire V by Kent David Kelly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kent David Kelly
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trembling with shivers of
expectation.
The wind slowed
again, re-gathering. Sophie could hear the rhythm of something broken into
disparate echoes, beats, a pulse beneath the gale that sounded almost
mechanical. What is that? She dared to crack the window half an
inch. The roiling stench of smoke, burnt grease and molten rubber swirled in
as an almost tangible, blurring fume.
There was the echo
again. Was that an engine she was hearing? How can there be —
“Generator,” Silas
murmured. Sophie looked down at the gas gauge needle, afraid to look up into
the whirling clouds enveloping the H4 and its light streams. What if she saw
someone standing out there?
She closed the
window and the sound melted away.
“You hear anything
else?” Silas tried to sit up a little straighter. He peered out one of the
view slits in the duct-taped lead curtains, his eyelids trembling as he
narrowed his eyes. He let in a shaking breath. “Soph?”
“Yes, Silas?”
“Give me that other
magazine.”
Not good. But the fuel, the
need to keep moving, was paramount. Paradox, we can’t stop we have to keep
moving, we have to stop so we can keep moving, we can’t —
Her hands twitched
over the seven-round extended pistol magazine, testing the heft of the bullets
inside. In the rearview, Silas shook his head at her.
“No,” he said.
“The rifle one I cleaned. The long seven-sixty.”
She lifted the bulky
assault rifle magazine with grim distaste, fishing it gingerly out from its
paper nest in the open glove compartment. She palmed it and passed it back to
him. He took it with shaky fingers. Sophie heard the ominous click-chuck as Silas changed the assault rifle’s ammo feed and readjusted the forward lip.
What did he think
he saw? She pressed her foot down on the brake, harder than before. If
there wasn’t anyone, do you think he would be readying both weapons?
“I’m scared,
Silas,” she whispered.
“Me too.” He
coughed softly against his shoulder, a wet and lingering sigh. “You listen, if
you please. You my private, right? We get our fuel and gone, you hear me?
And if the pump ain’t working no more? We get the Hell out of here. Then we …
yeah. We figure something out. We soldier this.”
She nodded, trying
not to dwell on the insinuations beneath his words. This was the most
forceful, the most alert she had ever seen him.
“There we are. Ready
as I’ll ever be,” he said. “Go in now. Coast as much as you can.”
She eased her foot
off the brake again. The H4 crept forward.
Moving at a crawl,
wishing she could silence the damaged engine, Soph guided the H4 between the
lines of trucks and paint-blistered RVs. Gouts of shattered glass showed where
an impact had occurred after some of the trucks had been parked in place. And
what does that mean?
She gripped the
wheel tighter, holding her breath, eyes wide, afraid to blink. The shadowy
monoliths of wreckage crawled by to either side, dark metallic waves, the
iron-sheeted walls of Hell’s in-spiral city.
And down. And
down.
She tapped the
brake to stay under five miles an hour.
Where are these
fuel bays? She leaned in toward the windshield, her gaze struggling to look
for human shapes in the twisting and tumbling garbage on the wind.
“Where?” asked
Silas, and she jumped a little. She hadn’t realized that she had murmured the
question aloud. “With this many trucks, these walls of flatbeds and tankers
and all, I just don’t know. There’s a fork in the ways up there. God, it’s
like tunnels made of wrecks. Go right, I think.”
She turned. A
darker, more garish and somehow wider vista met the H4’s lights. The wind was
quieter in the spiral deep. A few plastic bags with still-identifiable store
names emblazoned on the sides were blowing and lilting endlessly like the
ghosts of gulls.
Here, here solace
we will find. In the eye of the
expectation.
The wind slowed
again, re-gathering. Sophie could hear the rhythm of something broken into
disparate echoes, beats, a pulse beneath the gale that sounded almost
mechanical. What is that? She dared to crack the window half an
inch. The roiling stench of smoke, burnt grease and molten rubber swirled in
as an almost tangible, blurring fume.
There was the echo
again. Was that an engine she was hearing? How can there be —
“Generator,” Silas
murmured. Sophie looked down at the gas gauge needle, afraid to look up into
the whirling clouds enveloping the H4 and its light streams. What if she saw
someone standing out there?
She closed the
window and the sound melted away.
“You hear anything
else?” Silas tried to sit up a little straighter. He peered out one of the
view slits in the duct-taped lead curtains, his eyelids trembling as he
narrowed his eyes. He let in a shaking breath. “Soph?”
“Yes, Silas?”
“Give me that other
magazine.”
Not good. But the fuel, the
need to keep moving, was paramount. Paradox, we can’t stop we have to keep
moving, we have to stop so we can keep moving, we can’t —
Her hands twitched
over the seven-round extended pistol magazine, testing the heft of the bullets
inside. In the rearview, Silas shook his head at her.
“No,” he said.
“The rifle one I cleaned. The long seven-sixty.”
She lifted the bulky
assault rifle magazine with grim distaste, fishing it gingerly out from its
paper nest in the open glove compartment. She palmed it and passed it back to
him. He took it with shaky fingers. Sophie heard the ominous click-chuck as Silas changed the assault rifle’s ammo feed and readjusted the forward lip.
What did he think
he saw? She pressed her foot down on the brake, harder than before. If
there wasn’t anyone, do you think he would be readying both weapons?
“I’m scared,
Silas,” she whispered.
“Me too.” He
coughed softly against his shoulder, a wet and lingering sigh. “You listen, if
you please. You my private, right? We get our fuel and gone, you hear me?
And if the pump ain’t working no more? We get the Hell out of here. Then we …
yeah. We figure something out. We soldier this.”
She nodded, trying
not to dwell on the insinuations beneath his words. This was the most
forceful, the most alert she had ever seen him.
“There we are. Ready
as I’ll ever be,” he said. “Go in now. Coast as much as you can.”
She eased her foot
off the brake again. The H4 crept forward.
Moving at a crawl,
wishing she could silence the damaged engine, Soph guided the H4 between the
lines of trucks and paint-blistered RVs. Gouts of shattered glass showed where
an impact had occurred after some of the trucks had been parked in place. And
what does that mean?
She gripped the
wheel tighter, holding her breath, eyes wide, afraid to blink. The shadowy
monoliths of wreckage crawled by to either side, dark metallic waves, the
iron-sheeted walls of Hell’s in-spiral city.
And down. And
down.
She tapped the
brake to stay under five miles an hour.
Where are these
fuel bays? She leaned in toward the windshield, her gaze struggling to look
for human shapes in the twisting and tumbling garbage on the wind.
“Where?” asked
Silas, and she jumped a little. She hadn’t realized that she had murmured the
question aloud. “With this many trucks, these walls of flatbeds and tankers
and all, I just don’t know. There’s a fork in the ways up there. God, it’s
like tunnels made of wrecks. Go right, I think.”
She turned. A
darker, more garish and somehow wider vista met the H4’s lights. The wind was
quieter in the spiral deep. A few plastic bags with still-identifiable store
names emblazoned on the sides were blowing and lilting endlessly like the
ghosts of gulls.
Here, here solace
we will find. In the eye of the
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