Status: Updates are sporadic and may occur at whim, but I do try to add chapters regularly.
Silent Nights
Time to Leave
I guess taking my time to pack isn’t going to happen. The situation has gone from workable to impossible in less than ten minutes. I grabbed most of the extra ammo and that case of water from the study, but there are a lot of supplies we’ll have to leave behind. What a waste.
Another nail groans as it’s forced out of the doorframe. I don’t bother checking on it as I pass; I know it won’t hold much longer. I turn left down the hall- the others right behind me- and push open the door to the downstairs bedroom. In less than four steps I’m standing before the only uncovered window on this floor. The big black pickup is right on the other side. It’s a monstrous Ford something-or-other with a cap on the bed that we “borrowed” from the used car lot downtown.
I open the window and scan the back of the house. It looks clear. I drop the duffle and sling one leg over the ledge. It’s a six-foot drop, but the truck’s close enough that I can reach the step under the passenger side door. I pick up my bag and slip around to the back. Once there I lift the cap’s back window and toss the duffle bag in with the supplies that were already there. The others come around and throw their backpacks in, but mine’s staying with me.
“Keys?” the oldest one- Drew- asks. He barely spares me a glance as he sweeps the area for movement.
“Ignition,” I answer quickly. We split up, the younger boy and the girl going to the passenger side and Drew and I head for the driver’s side. He holds the door open for me, and I take that as my cue that he’s driving. I don’t bother fighting him on this. I pull off my backpack and just climb into the cab. There’s no back seat, so I end up getting squished between Drew and the girl with my bag on my lap. Drew slams the door shut and the truck engine roars to life.
I put the safety on my gun and holster it just as he shifts into gear. He turns the wheel to the right and lurches into yard of the house behind ours, in the opposite direction of the gathering hoard. We bump over the curb and I throw out a hand to keep my seat. Drew turns left, following the street east. I prop one foot on the dash and unzip the front pocket of my bag to grab my map.
“Take a right up here,” I instruct. I see his left hand twitch for the turn signal, but he doesn’t actually touch it. He turns the wheel sharply, going faster than strictly necessary, and I feel like we’re on one of those stupid spinning carnival rides. We all shift in the seat and my head slams into Drew’s shoulder.
“Hey, Evel Knievel, exactly how fast do you think they can move?” I growl. He glances at the side mirror and just barely eases up on the gas. “Left on Belleview,” I add.
Another nail groans as it’s forced out of the doorframe. I don’t bother checking on it as I pass; I know it won’t hold much longer. I turn left down the hall- the others right behind me- and push open the door to the downstairs bedroom. In less than four steps I’m standing before the only uncovered window on this floor. The big black pickup is right on the other side. It’s a monstrous Ford something-or-other with a cap on the bed that we “borrowed” from the used car lot downtown.
I open the window and scan the back of the house. It looks clear. I drop the duffle and sling one leg over the ledge. It’s a six-foot drop, but the truck’s close enough that I can reach the step under the passenger side door. I pick up my bag and slip around to the back. Once there I lift the cap’s back window and toss the duffle bag in with the supplies that were already there. The others come around and throw their backpacks in, but mine’s staying with me.
“Keys?” the oldest one- Drew- asks. He barely spares me a glance as he sweeps the area for movement.
“Ignition,” I answer quickly. We split up, the younger boy and the girl going to the passenger side and Drew and I head for the driver’s side. He holds the door open for me, and I take that as my cue that he’s driving. I don’t bother fighting him on this. I pull off my backpack and just climb into the cab. There’s no back seat, so I end up getting squished between Drew and the girl with my bag on my lap. Drew slams the door shut and the truck engine roars to life.
I put the safety on my gun and holster it just as he shifts into gear. He turns the wheel to the right and lurches into yard of the house behind ours, in the opposite direction of the gathering hoard. We bump over the curb and I throw out a hand to keep my seat. Drew turns left, following the street east. I prop one foot on the dash and unzip the front pocket of my bag to grab my map.
“Take a right up here,” I instruct. I see his left hand twitch for the turn signal, but he doesn’t actually touch it. He turns the wheel sharply, going faster than strictly necessary, and I feel like we’re on one of those stupid spinning carnival rides. We all shift in the seat and my head slams into Drew’s shoulder.
“Hey, Evel Knievel, exactly how fast do you think they can move?” I growl. He glances at the side mirror and just barely eases up on the gas. “Left on Belleview,” I add.