Read Online Take the Long Way Home by Brian Keene - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian Keene
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at the bottom of the hill and slowly came towards us. An ambulance. When the driver turned on the siren my spirits soared.
But they plummeted again when we saw what happened next.
The crowd surged towards the ambulance, swarming it from all sides. They clawed at the doors, crying out for help, begging for medical assistance. The driver laid on the horn and the siren wailed, but the mob kept coming. The ambulance slowed to a crawl, and continued rolling forward, tires crunching a discarded soda can. When it became clear that the paramedics had no intention of stopping, the throng grew angry and then violent. They stood in front of the vehicle, blocking the lanes and preventing it from moving forward. Some people pounded on the windows and several jumped onto the hood, hammering at the windshield with their fists. Another guy climbed up on the roof and jumped up and down. Inside, the eyes of the driver and passenger grew wide. They laid on the horn again as the ambulance rocked back and forth.
“I don’t believe this shit,” Frank said. “They’re gonna tip it over.”
“They can’t,” Charlie said. “They wouldn’t.”
And then they did. A few unlucky people were crushed beneath the ambulance as the rest of the mob pushed it over onto its side, their shrieks lost beneath the roar of the crowd. One man clambered onto the still-rocking vehicle’s side and danced. Enraged rioters smashed the driver’s window and pulled the screaming paramedic from his seat. Blood streamed from a gash on his forehead. Struggling, he called out for help, and then disappeared in a swarm of clubs and fists. Flesh struck flesh. The sound of the blows was sickening.
I watched, unable to tear my eyes away. It was horrifying but I had to see.
“We should do something,” Charlie whispered. “That poor man.”
Frank shook his head. “You kidding? I ain’t going down there. Fucking suicide.”
The second paramedic was pulled from the vehicle and thrown onto the road. The rioters began kicking him. I heard his bones snap and, despite my shock, was surprised how loud the noise of breaking ribs actually was. He coughed blood, tried to cry out, and then a boot connected with his mouth, shredding his lips. His teeth flew from his mouth like popcorn from an open popper. The injured man raised his arms to cover his head, and the crowd fell on him.
Another rioter dashed forward with a bottle in his hand. A burning rag was stuffed into the neck, and I smelled gasoline.
“Get the fuck back,” Frank warned us.
We retreated a few steps. There was a whoosh, and then the ambulance burst into flames. The rioters cheered. Then, looking for a new source on which to focus their rage, the crowd turned on each other. It looked like the world’s biggest mosh pit. People fell, pushed or punched, and were then stomped on by those still standing, or weaving around and over and under the parked cars. Windshields and teeth shattered. Tires and stomachs ruptured. Oil and blood flowed. A gunshot rang out, followed by another.
Then, as one, the rioters surged towards us, a single entity composed of fists and angry faces and makeshift weapons.
“Let’s go.” I grabbed Charlie’s arm.
He stumbled forward, his gaze locked on the crowd. “This can’t be happening. Society doesn’t behave like this.”
“What planet you been living on?” Frank snorted, breaking into a trot. “This is exactly how society behaves. Always has.”
The violence drew closer.
“Always will,” Frank continued. “Especially now. You said it yourself. It wasn’t the skinheads that hung that child molester. It was everyday people—people like this.”
“Come on,” I urged them both.
Exhausted, we ran.
7
An unmoving, naked woman was sprawled out on her back in the middle of the highway at Exit 25. There were twigs and leaves in her hair and gravel embedded in her face. I assumed she had been raped. She was definitely dead. I’d never seen so much blood. Her
But they plummeted again when we saw what happened next.
The crowd surged towards the ambulance, swarming it from all sides. They clawed at the doors, crying out for help, begging for medical assistance. The driver laid on the horn and the siren wailed, but the mob kept coming. The ambulance slowed to a crawl, and continued rolling forward, tires crunching a discarded soda can. When it became clear that the paramedics had no intention of stopping, the throng grew angry and then violent. They stood in front of the vehicle, blocking the lanes and preventing it from moving forward. Some people pounded on the windows and several jumped onto the hood, hammering at the windshield with their fists. Another guy climbed up on the roof and jumped up and down. Inside, the eyes of the driver and passenger grew wide. They laid on the horn again as the ambulance rocked back and forth.
“I don’t believe this shit,” Frank said. “They’re gonna tip it over.”
“They can’t,” Charlie said. “They wouldn’t.”
And then they did. A few unlucky people were crushed beneath the ambulance as the rest of the mob pushed it over onto its side, their shrieks lost beneath the roar of the crowd. One man clambered onto the still-rocking vehicle’s side and danced. Enraged rioters smashed the driver’s window and pulled the screaming paramedic from his seat. Blood streamed from a gash on his forehead. Struggling, he called out for help, and then disappeared in a swarm of clubs and fists. Flesh struck flesh. The sound of the blows was sickening.
I watched, unable to tear my eyes away. It was horrifying but I had to see.
“We should do something,” Charlie whispered. “That poor man.”
Frank shook his head. “You kidding? I ain’t going down there. Fucking suicide.”
The second paramedic was pulled from the vehicle and thrown onto the road. The rioters began kicking him. I heard his bones snap and, despite my shock, was surprised how loud the noise of breaking ribs actually was. He coughed blood, tried to cry out, and then a boot connected with his mouth, shredding his lips. His teeth flew from his mouth like popcorn from an open popper. The injured man raised his arms to cover his head, and the crowd fell on him.
Another rioter dashed forward with a bottle in his hand. A burning rag was stuffed into the neck, and I smelled gasoline.
“Get the fuck back,” Frank warned us.
We retreated a few steps. There was a whoosh, and then the ambulance burst into flames. The rioters cheered. Then, looking for a new source on which to focus their rage, the crowd turned on each other. It looked like the world’s biggest mosh pit. People fell, pushed or punched, and were then stomped on by those still standing, or weaving around and over and under the parked cars. Windshields and teeth shattered. Tires and stomachs ruptured. Oil and blood flowed. A gunshot rang out, followed by another.
Then, as one, the rioters surged towards us, a single entity composed of fists and angry faces and makeshift weapons.
“Let’s go.” I grabbed Charlie’s arm.
He stumbled forward, his gaze locked on the crowd. “This can’t be happening. Society doesn’t behave like this.”
“What planet you been living on?” Frank snorted, breaking into a trot. “This is exactly how society behaves. Always has.”
The violence drew closer.
“Always will,” Frank continued. “Especially now. You said it yourself. It wasn’t the skinheads that hung that child molester. It was everyday people—people like this.”
“Come on,” I urged them both.
Exhausted, we ran.
7
An unmoving, naked woman was sprawled out on her back in the middle of the highway at Exit 25. There were twigs and leaves in her hair and gravel embedded in her face. I assumed she had been raped. She was definitely dead. I’d never seen so much blood. Her
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