Read Online Thrust by Tom Piccirilli - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Piccirilli
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
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vehicles. His driver's door had buckled inward and the pressure against his knee made him groan and gnash his teeth.
He looked out the window and saw a child's frightened eyes, cheeks tear-streaked and nubby fingers pressed into the hollow of her throat.
"Christ!"
Beyond her the driver of the truck glared at Chase with his top lip curled over his teeth, mouth dropping open into a howl of fury.
They had run off the parkway and were cutting back towards the Falls. Chase looked away and tried to turn the wheel farther but the column had locked.
The Oldies tunes continued to play and he sang along for two words, "…here…we…" before hitting the stone wall that surrounded the south side of the hospital grounds.
There was a final tearing of steel and rattling blast of breaking glass, the crumbling of rock and a fitful wheeze of steam, before the vehicles separated slightly and then converged once more to crash.
A crescendo of insane silence burst around Chase and became, forever, a part of him.
A minute later: the child's moaning for her Daddy, that guy shushing her and promising murder, the sloshing of gasoline and other liquids pouring over the brutally hard earth, and then nothing at all to remind him that he might be alive.
Shake was staring hard at him, chewing 30, 31, 32, and said, "Where've you been?"
"Back where it started."
"That's a long way to go, man."
Chase nodded. There was a half eaten omelet on the plate in front of him. The waitress brought the check. Written on it with a hasty scrawl were the words
not my fault
He paid the bill and left.
7
E venwithout all the shrieking sirens and the cops shouting, Chase knew he'd wandered into calamity just by looking into the father's bloodthirsty eyes.
In his drunken haze, Chase kept missing out on what the police were telling him, watching the EMT's taking the little girl away. She was dead and they had her in a body bag but the zipper had stuck about halfway up. One hand remained poised at her chin, and her mouth was drawn into a thoughtful smile. Lots of pink barrettes clipping her blonde hair into little stained clumps sticking up all over.
Her front teeth had a small space between them and her tongue, drying now, had stuck there. She was perhaps six years old. A small splash of blood had turned to rust just over her right ear. Her eyes, still half-open, were large and blue, and her dead gaze speared Chase where he stood.
They drew her away and the tiny hand flapped as if waving goodbye.
The pickup had flipped twice, lying on its side with most of the mangled hood torn off. The passenger side window bloomed with a spider-web crack just above the door handle, where her head had snapped into it.
Chase leaned forward but a beefy cop kept him in place with a large hand pressing hard against his chest. Chase's shoulders, neck and legs were bruised and swelling. The whiplash was killing him. You see people in the funny neck braces with their chins pushed up and you want to laugh, but man, it fuckin ' hurts. He'd chipped both shins against the bottom of the dash. When he came back to himself he was in horrible pain, but he only felt it in boiling waves as his lucidity came and went.
Joe Singleton.
Chase kept hearing the name and finally glanced at the father, who was in handcuffs, being braced by the police.
He was shirtless and covered in blood. A lit cigarette dangled from his bottom lip although his wrists were shackled behind him. One cheek had been smashed so badly that bits of bone stabbed out through the awful rips in his face. The bloated, broken nose had been mashed upwards into a piggy snout. He must've been in agony but didn't appear to notice. He chatted easily with the cops and even grinned from time to time.
Okay, so: Joe Singleton, the fuckin ' maniac.
His torn shirt lay at his feet, red and wet from where he'd tried to
He looked out the window and saw a child's frightened eyes, cheeks tear-streaked and nubby fingers pressed into the hollow of her throat.
"Christ!"
Beyond her the driver of the truck glared at Chase with his top lip curled over his teeth, mouth dropping open into a howl of fury.
They had run off the parkway and were cutting back towards the Falls. Chase looked away and tried to turn the wheel farther but the column had locked.
The Oldies tunes continued to play and he sang along for two words, "…here…we…" before hitting the stone wall that surrounded the south side of the hospital grounds.
There was a final tearing of steel and rattling blast of breaking glass, the crumbling of rock and a fitful wheeze of steam, before the vehicles separated slightly and then converged once more to crash.
A crescendo of insane silence burst around Chase and became, forever, a part of him.
A minute later: the child's moaning for her Daddy, that guy shushing her and promising murder, the sloshing of gasoline and other liquids pouring over the brutally hard earth, and then nothing at all to remind him that he might be alive.
Shake was staring hard at him, chewing 30, 31, 32, and said, "Where've you been?"
"Back where it started."
"That's a long way to go, man."
Chase nodded. There was a half eaten omelet on the plate in front of him. The waitress brought the check. Written on it with a hasty scrawl were the words
not my fault
He paid the bill and left.
7
E venwithout all the shrieking sirens and the cops shouting, Chase knew he'd wandered into calamity just by looking into the father's bloodthirsty eyes.
In his drunken haze, Chase kept missing out on what the police were telling him, watching the EMT's taking the little girl away. She was dead and they had her in a body bag but the zipper had stuck about halfway up. One hand remained poised at her chin, and her mouth was drawn into a thoughtful smile. Lots of pink barrettes clipping her blonde hair into little stained clumps sticking up all over.
Her front teeth had a small space between them and her tongue, drying now, had stuck there. She was perhaps six years old. A small splash of blood had turned to rust just over her right ear. Her eyes, still half-open, were large and blue, and her dead gaze speared Chase where he stood.
They drew her away and the tiny hand flapped as if waving goodbye.
The pickup had flipped twice, lying on its side with most of the mangled hood torn off. The passenger side window bloomed with a spider-web crack just above the door handle, where her head had snapped into it.
Chase leaned forward but a beefy cop kept him in place with a large hand pressing hard against his chest. Chase's shoulders, neck and legs were bruised and swelling. The whiplash was killing him. You see people in the funny neck braces with their chins pushed up and you want to laugh, but man, it fuckin ' hurts. He'd chipped both shins against the bottom of the dash. When he came back to himself he was in horrible pain, but he only felt it in boiling waves as his lucidity came and went.
Joe Singleton.
Chase kept hearing the name and finally glanced at the father, who was in handcuffs, being braced by the police.
He was shirtless and covered in blood. A lit cigarette dangled from his bottom lip although his wrists were shackled behind him. One cheek had been smashed so badly that bits of bone stabbed out through the awful rips in his face. The bloated, broken nose had been mashed upwards into a piggy snout. He must've been in agony but didn't appear to notice. He chatted easily with the cops and even grinned from time to time.
Okay, so: Joe Singleton, the fuckin ' maniac.
His torn shirt lay at his feet, red and wet from where he'd tried to
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