Winds of Ares: An Apocalypse Thriller by Druga, Jacqueline (most recommended books TXT) 📕

to travel as far as we could for as long as we could. Shooting for five hundred miles. We were doing well; two hundred miles were already under our belt and it was conceivable we could travel even more if we didn’t hit anything.

So far, we were ahead of it or it was over. That’s what we thought.

As we prepared to roll the convoy, a car pulled into the truck stop. It had California plates. The car pulled right up to the front of the diner and a man got out.

“Hold on, Lane,” I said.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“He’s from California, he may have answers to what’s out west.”

I opened the passenger door and stepped from the RV.

Apparently, Martin was one step ahead of me. He had left his truck to walk toward the car.

The man was wearing a suit. It wasn’t tidy and he didn’t have on a tie. He frantically pulled at the diner door, over and over as if he believed it was stuck.

“It’s closed,” I said.

He turned to us with an exasperated exhale. “Anything open? I haven’t eaten in a day.”

“You haven’t eaten?” I asked. “I can give you some food and water.”

“Could you? Oh my God, please.”

“Where are you from, son?” Martin asked.

“Los Angeles,” he replied.

“Are you headed east?” Martin asked.

The man shook his head. “West. Back home. Trying to get in touch with my wife and kids. I haven’t been able to. Do you guys know anything about what’s going on in LA?”

I shook my head. “We’re coming from Texas. And you’re going home from?”

“A business trip. I was in DC when a hurricane it. It was bad. It took nearly a day to evacuate. Everything is flooded. I’ve been taking back roads and changing directions to avoid anything.”

“By that you mean?” Martin asked.

“Storms. Rain. Hail. You name it. There was a massive storm around Louisville. I had to keep going south to get away from it. I swear it was following me. I have never seen rain like that. It was like buckets poured from the sky.”

Louisville was northeast of us.

I asked, “Anything since?”

“This is the first clear sky I have seen,” he replied. “It’s actually kind of freaky. Where are you folks headed?”

“East,” Martin answered.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Nothing is there,” he said. “Nothing. It seemed like everywhere was hit with something. I ran into so much. This is my third car.”

“You’re very fortunate,” Martin told him. “Very.”

I wanted to tell him he was headed into the same thing going west, but I didn’t. I thanked him for his information then excused myself to get him a care package of food.

A few minutes earlier he could have followed Alice.

I suppose while I was gone, Martin filled him in. At least I hoped he did.

That would be unfair to send him west without telling him what we did see.

It was a strange exchange when we said goodbye to the man. We wished him luck and fed him. He had the same apprehension toward us as we had toward him. It was an even exchange of glances, both looking at each other as if to say, ‘you’re headed into a hopeless situation.’

East. West. North. South.

Despite the respite of the sunny sky in Sikeston, it didn’t matter what direction we took, I wondered if everything was hopeless.

FIFTEEN – SLIDE

The woman’s scream.

A deep, gurgling scream for help.

“Oh, God, help!” she cried out.

It only grew worse, just when I thought Walter’s smashed car and the arm sticking out would scar me, I was swept up in the tailwind of a funnel. When that topped the car crash for my PTSD, I saw Dooley’s mother’s body.

That would be part of a long list of mental traumas that would beat at me, stay with me and make me second guess why I was still alive.

The scream.

One of many.

It was uneventful for a hundred and fifty miles. A bright sky gave me hope. A sky that bred a radio conversation about Alice’s choice.

Then it started to rain.

Not bad, nothing like the man at the truck stop described, but a steady rain with gray skies.

Gone was the sun, it was a blip of hope and was obliterated.

Were we headed into the worst, leaving the worst or did it even matter?

Lane was driving and he slowed down. He leaned closer to the steering wheel trying to see through the windshield. Even at the fastest speed, those old fashion windshield wipers didn’t clear fast enough.

“What is this,” he said slowing down even more. “Get on the radio. Tell everyone, I don’t know where the road went.”

I was certain there was a better way to put it and that my husband was exaggerating.

“Where did it go?” asked Carlie from the back. “I can’t see it.”

Reese quizzed. “Did we veer off?”

What were they talking about? I didn’t even look at the road, I assumed it was a rain thing, until all I saw was brown ahead of us.

The paved road was covered with thick mud, I could feel the tires spinning.

I wondered if indeed, during the rain, Lane didn’t see a bend in the road and went off the shoulder.

But it was brown and muddy, left to right, for as far as the eye could see.

Before I could call into the radio, Skip called out. He wasn’t driving, like me he was the navigator.

“Hey, everyone, do you think we should stop?” he asked.

Martin replied. “Six of one, half dozen of the other. We can stop, but it might get worse, we also could be headed into the worst of it.”

Lane reached for the radio and took it. “I saw a sign a few miles back. There’s an exit ahead. Can’t be any more than five miles. I say we keep going and get off at the exit.”

Quickly I scanned the map. “That will take us on the interstate.”

“We can’t stay here,” Lane told me.

“Take the exit,” Skip said. “Let’s see if we can get out of this