The Survivor Chronicles: Book 1, The Upheaval (9 page)

Bobby nodded but didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah.”

Xander turned away, frustrated by the whole hideous situation. The sun was still blocked and he was beginning to think it would never be clear again. He maneuvered through the crowd, keeping his gaze averted so that he wasn’t looking directly at the sun, but watching it from the corner of his eye. He finally found an open patch of unmarred lawn and paused to try and get his bearings in a world that suddenly made no sense.

“If it wasn’t for the destruction, terror and death, it would almost be a beautiful show,” Riley said beside him.

He hadn’t heard her approach, but she was standing by his side, her head tilted at the same odd angle as his as they tried not to look at the sun. “It would,” he agreed.

“They’re talking about putting people up in the apartments in the old state hospital.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think we should stay here?”

He was astonished she was asking his opinion; she must have been more frightened than he realized. “Where else would we go?”

She frowned at him as she shrugged. “Our parents…?”

“I think it would be best if we stayed somewhere that they could more easily find us. It might not even be possible to get into Boston, and we don’t even know where to start looking for them. I’m assuming GPS won’t work now either.”

Her frustration was nearly palpable as she shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “I always hated the state hospital. It’s creepy.”

He nodded his agreement. A growing murmur amongst the crowd drew his attention away from her. Following the lead of everyone else, his head tilted back as a green flare shot high into the sky. It burned vividly before falling from view. Nearly a minute passed before a vivid red flame shot into view.

“Flares,” Riley whispered.

“They’re coming from the stadium.”

“They must be gathering people there also,” she said. “We should go. They may know more about what’s going on over there.”

“Riley…”

“I know it’s unlikely. I do. But if there’s even a small chance, don’t you think we should take it?”

He thought it was a horrible idea. They’d found somewhere at least somewhat safe and they were around emergency workers. He was certain that eventually answers would come, but judging by the look in Riley’s eyes she was determined to go. “Why don’t we wait till tomorrow at least,” he suggested.

He thought she would fight him on it, just for the sake of disagreeing with him, but instead she simply nodded. “You’re right." Xander was pretty sure Hell had just frozen over and he almost looked at his feet to see if it had. "I’m exhausted, and it’s not even eight in the morning. At least, I don’t think it is. Hopefully there’s some food around here somewhere.”

“I’m sure there is.”

She turned away from him but didn’t make it one step before the ground began to shake again. Xander seized her arm and pulled her back as the earth began to fracture around them.

CHAPTER 7

John

Cape Cod, Mass.

John had one foot braced against the dashboard and his hand wrapped around the handle above his head. He didn’t really know why he bothered, if the bridge collapsed beneath them there was nothing one braced leg, and an ‘oh shit’ handle were going to do for him. In fact, he was fairly certain all he would accomplish was breaking his leg before he died, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to release the handle or drop his foot as Carl edged the truck onto the bridge.

John’s teeth were locked so tight that his jaw ached. He silently pleaded for Carl to just hit the gas and race over the bridge; at the same time he prayed he wouldn’t. They were going to die, he was certain of it.

“You don’t have to do this with me,” Carl muttered around the cigarette he was chewing on, literally chewing on instead of smoking as it had stopped burning.

John knew that he could have stayed on the safe side; he could have kept his feet firmly planted on the land that he’d been born and raised on, but he couldn’t shake the feeling Carl was right. That leaving was the best thing they could do right now. It was strange to realize that his home no longer felt safe. He could stay behind, but he felt it was the wrong decision to make, and he wanted to see his parents, to make sure they were safe.

“I know I don’t,” he said. Carl’s knuckles had turned white from his death grip on the steering wheel. “But I’m going with you.”

“Then could you please stop with the ‘Jesus’’ and ‘what the hell’s’?” John blinked at him in confusion. “It’s all you’ve been saying for the past half an hour.”

John fell silent as he thought over Carl’s words. He shifted uncomfortably as he realized that it was all he had been saying. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered.

“Seriously, it’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh, and this whole mess is keeping you sane?”

Carl snorted. He seemed to finally realize that he was massacring the filter of his cigarette and tossed it out the window. “Hardly.”

John’s hand clenched around the handle, he was ashamed by the small tremor working through his arm. He hated this.

In the large mirrors, on the side of the truck, he could see the people gathered at the edge of the bridge behind them. They were all staring, all motionless, all breathlessly waiting to see if they would survive. If he would die. “Jesus,” he muttered. His face reddened as Carl glared at him. “Sorry, but I feel like we’re the lambs for the slaughter; like they’re just waiting for us to die.”

Carl’s hands twisted on the steering wheel. “They are, sort of.”

“Why did you agree to go over first, again?”

“Would you prefer to be the fifth car over? After even more weight has been added to this possibly damaged structure?”

“I suppose not.” John didn’t want to be the first either though. “I just wish they wouldn’t stare like that. I can’t tell if they’re rooting for us to make it or not.”

Carl barely glanced in the driver’s side mirror. “I’d like to think they’re rooting for us to make it.”

“Me too.”

But John wasn’t so sure, he supposed most of the people hoped they would survive, but he was sure there were a few in the crowd expecting some big implosion. A few that would like to see the bridge collapse into a twisted heap of metal that sucked them right along with it into the canal. He shuddered at the thought. “Is it better on the other side?”

“No.”

Carl’s clipped tone and instant response were demoralizing. John sank lower in the seat; his foot was beginning to indent the dash as his hand twisted on the handle. Silently, he began to pray, though he wasn’t entirely certain what he was praying for. To make it to the other side sure, but if it was worse then why was he sitting here to begin with? What was he hoping for?

To find his parents. He was hoping to find his parents.

He focused on that goal as the truck moved gradually forward, dead smack in the middle of the four-lane bridge. It’s in good repair, he told himself repeatedly. They’re always doing work on the bridges, shutting down lanes and backing up traffic for miles. It was a nightmare every time bridgework was announced, but John was grateful for that nightmare now. The bridge had withstood the quake; it would withstand the weight of one lone truck.

He refused to look down, refused to see the churning waters of the canal. On the horizon he could see tendrils of smoke, curling ever higher into the air. In the distance he heard a siren, it sounded forlorn as its lonesome wail echoed through the streets it traversed. There was no way to know where it was going, John was certain there were thousands, if not millions, in need of assistance.

They made it to the crest of the bridge and broke over the top. John’s foot fell to the floor, his mouth dropped as he leaned forward in his seat, temporarily forgetting his own peril as he gaped at the dismal scene before him. So much had already happened today, he should have been prepared for the spectacle before him. He wasn’t.

His heart lumbered, a cold chill crept up his back as he forced his mouth closed. Beside him Carl’s breath hissed out of him. He had already seen it, yet John could tell that Carl still hadn’t fully comprehended the devastation that had been waged on the other side of the bridge.

“Maybe we should go back,” John managed to choke out. “It’s not as bad on the Cape, we might be safer there.”

“We’re not safe anywhere right now, but we’re damn sure not safe over there.”

“Why are you so sure of that?”

“I just am.”

It wasn’t a very reassuring answer. He glanced in the mirror again, but he could only see the tops of a few heads now. They were standing on their cars, straining to see the dwindling vehicle. Not like they wouldn’t know if the bridge collapsed. John was pretty sure it would be blatantly obvious.

And then they were making the descent. John’s heart hammered, excitement pummeled through him. They were almost there. They were going to make it. He no longer cared about the destruction on the other side; all he wanted was to plant his feet on solid ground again.

Twenty more feet…. Fifteen…

He became certain in the last ten feet that they were going to fall, that they would never make it. That fate was just teasing them with hope before destroying them. He almost threw open the door and raced across to solid ground. He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to fall to his knees and kiss the filthy road repeatedly. It would be worth every single bit of dirt and germs he’d get on him.

Eight feet…

As they neared the final five, his hand fell to the door handle. He braced himself. If it fell apart now, perhaps he could somehow plunge out of the truck and manage to jump to safety before being crushed by thousands of tons of steel. He’d take the chance, that was for sure.

And then the sound of the pavement changed beneath the trucks tires as the wheels hit solid ground. They rolled forward a few more feet before Carl stopped the tuck. Carl’s breath exploded out of him as his head bent in relief. He worked his hands, clenching and unclenching them as he finally released his death grip on the wheel.

John slid limply out of the truck. Falling to the ground, he bent his head and placed a solid kiss smack dab in the middle of what looked like an old oil, or gas leak spot, and he didn’t care one bit. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the ground as relief and joy pulsed through him. He jumped but didn’t lift his head as Carl pressed forcefully on the horn for three long seconds, giving the sign that they had made it and the others could follow.

“Hey kid.”

John ignored Carl. He hated being called ‘kid,’ but that wasn’t the reason he didn’t look up at Carl. He simply couldn’t bring his boneless body to move right now. “Hey kid come on, I have to move the truck.”

“Go ahead, I’m fine.”

“Look, not everyone’s going to take the bridge as slowly as we did, now that the coast’s clear. Do you really want to have made it all the way over here to be smushed by some frightened idiot?”

Carl had a point. He braced his hands beneath him and managed to shove himself off of the pavement just as a small Honda crested the bridge and raced toward them. He leapt into the truck, barely escaping the red car that barreled past as it sped down the highway.

To his credit Carl didn’t say ‘I told you so' as he quickly shifted the truck into drive. He released another long beep as he moved about twenty feet away and turned the truck to face the bridge. Carl released a small curse. John leaned forward. His mouth dropped in disbelief as the sun began to disappear into an inky blackness.