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

“The Ten High bottle broke. But can you believe this …” He climbed out of the RV holding that expensive bottle of bourbon I gave back to Martin. “It survived.”

“Did Martin have it wrapped?” I asked.

Lane shook his head. “Nope.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s so expensive. It’s made with unbreakable glass.”

“At least we have this, right? You said no news will be good news. Well, any booze is better than no booze. It’ll keep us warm.” He handed me the bottle and grabbed bags, coughing as he did.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” He handed me a couple bags. “I don’t want to load us down. It’s a long walk. Maybe we’ll find something in Crow.”

“That’s still thirty miles away.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Nearly five.”

“We have about two more hours then we’ll stop and make camp. Get a fresh start in the morning. Hopefully, no bad weather.” He reached for the final bag.

When he did that, I looked at the RV. It was on its side and I stared at the underbelly of it. That’s when I noticed it. The rectangular, large object. “Lane, is that the gas tank?”

“Yeah, it is. Kinda rusty.”

“It is.” I walked to it. I knocked on the higher part and heard the hollow sound, then knocked on the bottom, looked at Lane and smiled. “There’s gas in here.”

“Yeah, but a lot of good that will do us. We can’t flip the RV.”

“I’m not talking about the RV. Your pickup truck is about twelve miles back. We only need a couple gallons for it. I saw one of our empty gas canisters on the road up there. One of the ones we had on the roof. I mean we’d have to lug it with supplies.”

“You know how hard it will be to siphon the gas?” Lane asked.

“We don’t need to siphon it. There’s a screwdriver in the glove compartment,” I said. “It’s already rusty. Position the can, poke a hole in it and try to catch the gas in the canister.”

“Jana,” Lane said with awe. “That might work.”

I nodded. “It’s not gonna hurt to try.”

“That’s really good thinking. Man, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be too impressed, I saw it on a Discovery Channel survival show. Why don’t you find that screwdriver and I’ll run and get that gas can.”

“You got it.” Lane set down the bags and headed back to the RV.

I walked back up the road at a quick pace to where I thought I remembered seeing it. I was optimistic and a little enthused. I really wanted the plan to work. I wasn’t sure if the latest storm was part of the big bad Ares or if Ares was still yet to come. We couldn’t chance it. We were in the middle of a highway with nowhere to go.

No shelter.

Our best bet was to get the gas, get to the truck and drive to safety.

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It was an exhausting day. Both emotionally and physically traumatizing. It had a different effect on me. Where I should have been exhausted, I was hyper and nervous. Lane was wiped out.

Judging by the mile markers we made it seven miles, two miles after we saw where the water had stopped. There was very little debris on the road and since the rain had stopped and the temperature wasn’t as cold, the ground started to dry.

We made camp in the median strip between the four lanes. While the actual highway would have been best, I didn’t want to take a chance of a vehicle plowing down the highway in the middle of the night. Not that it was probable.

I was able to gather enough wood to make a fire. It was damp, but we managed to get it going. That was another reason I didn’t want to sleep, I just wanted to keep the fire alive. Help dry our clothes.

We only salvaged one sleeping bag. I let Lane have it, I didn’t plan on sleeping much. Plus, I propped myself against the supplies and used a mylar blanket.

Our supper was a can of soup and some Meals Ready to Eat peanut butter and crackers. We saved the Chicken Teriyaki meal from the kit for another time.

Lane wasn’t hungry, in fact, he was exhausted beyond belief and I figured being tossed around, digging in the RV and all that coughing just beat him down.

We shared a little of the bourbon, then Lane was done. He kissed me goodnight, tucked into his sleeping bag and was fast asleep.

He finally stopped coughing and that made me happy. He was getting rest.

I leaned back, my head on the duffle bag, thinking about our journey. Thinking about where we were, what we endured and embracing the silence of the night.

Silence.

All but the crackling of the fire.

No thunder, no wind.

Quiet.

That was when I looked up to the sky and saw them.

Stars.

My mouth dropped open looking at the wide open sky, stars filling it to capacity, shining and blinking. Not a single cloud was there.

It was the first time in days the sky was clear.

Did Ares not come? Or maybe the counter Jupiter attack worked.

Either way, the clear sky to me was a sure sign it was over.

I reached over to Lane.

“Lane, honey. Lane, I know you’re sleeping, but you have to see the sky.”

He groaned and rolled over, fidgeting some.

I reached for him again and my hand stayed on his arm for a few seconds, I thought everything was fine and that it was all over.

But it wasn’t.

Lane’s breathing was harsh. A soft crackling, gurgling sound emanated from his chest and his skin was like fire to the touch.

He was burning up.

Something was wrong with my husband.

TWENTY-TWO – LAST LEG

“Martin, please, come in. Please. Do you hear me?” I called out. “Lane is sick. Something is wrong.”

I made the radio plea. It turned on, but somewhere in that plea, the little green power light went out.

The radio was dead.

Lane responded to my calls, but he wouldn’t stay awake. He would stir, mumble something, then pass