Flood Plains by Mark Wheaton (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📕

guilty man. His sins had allowed his family’s future to be wiped away by the storm.

But now, he saw all of it for what it was. A storm. A bad one, sure, but as he sat there in the darkness, all those damning feelings of guilt finally began to lift. He was a man redeemed.

The sludge was only a few feet away now. He couldn’t wait any longer. He opened the top of the lighter, put his thumb on the thumbwheel, and was about to rake the flint when he heard Mia’s voice.

Tony is alive. Tony is safe.

The explosion was so great the entire pipeline buckled, threatening to burst. Fire raced across the pipe walls, igniting the pitch, and pumping out clouds of toxic smoke. The heat was tremendous, and the fuel seemingly endless. As it burned, the separation between the once inert oil and the “spirits” trapped within it began.

The fire would continue to burn for hours, scorching the metal to the point of weakness. Finally, it burst and sea water rushed in, dousing the last of the flames. But by then, the voices had been silenced, their anger finally sated.

Epilogue

Tony awoke, staring up into the clear night sky. He was freezing cold, and his clothes were still wet. In fact, it was his shivering that had woken him. His head throbbed, and as he got to his feet, he found it hard to balance. He took a moment and pulled his body into a seated position in order to gather himself.

The glow of the moon was enough to afford him a view of the immediate area, but he saw no one. He smelled something burning, but it was acrid and poisonous like a chemical fire rather than the inviting campfire scent of smoldering wood. It tasted like oil on his tongue.

The refinery was still flooded as he descended the wooden pallets and stepped into the waters. There was no rain, and even the clouds seemed to have moved away.

He walked down the pallets and stepped into the water. His low body temperature made the shock of the cold water more pointed. Nothing broke the surface of the water as he walked, but he knew deep down that it was over the moment he awoke.

He climbed up the ladder on the side of the pipe, but he did so carefully this time. He planted his feet and gripped each rung as he went. He got to the hatch, only to find it still locked tight. The wrench his father used to open it was still attached, and he yanked it around. It took some doing, but the hatch mechanism finally sprang free. Tony turned the wheel and lifted it.

Smoke billowed from the darkness. The stench of burning oil was so heavy he almost passed out. Still, he knew where he had to go.

Covering his mouth and nose with strips torn from his wet shirt, he climbed over the lip of the hatch and began descending the ladder. When he reached the bottom, he began to head down the pipe. His journey was lit only by the occasional smoldering ember, its tiny flickering firelight casting the scorched pipe in eerie orange and yellow.

Tony found Mia a quarter of a mile down the pipe, lying unconscious. She’d managed to climb up several hundred rungs of the ladder, only to succumb to the fumes and her own exhaustion. She was slicked with oil from head to toe, including in her mouth and nose, but she was alive.

“Come on, Mia,” Tony said, gently gathering her into his arms. “We’ve got a little ways to go.”

It wasn’t easy, carrying her up the ladders on his back, but Tony made it work. Mia was conscious enough to hold on, but the angle grade helped immensely. Tony leaned as far forward as he could and allowed the little girl to drape over his back and shoulders.

When they finally reached the ladder that led up to the hatch, Mia was awake.

“Go ahead of me and I’ll make sure you don’t fall,” Tony said.

Mia did what was asked of her. A few minutes later, they were on top of the pipeline. Mia breathed in the night air and stared up at the stars.

“It’s cold,” she said.

Tony nodded. He’d told himself he’d wait until they were out of the pipe to ask his question.

“My dad?”

Mia fell silent. Tony looked away, not wanting her to see his tears.

•  •  •

It wasn’t possible. This was the only thought that rang through Ken’s head as he stared out at the ruined Galveston Island Causeway from Old Highway 75/Virginia Point Road. The night had been madness. He and Gloria had never seen such destruction. They’d successfully circumnavigated the storm in order to become the first press to reach Galveston, but everything they found in the hurricane’s path had been destroyed. Buildings had been flattened, roads and bridges were washed out, telephones poles had come down on fences and homes, and vehicles that had been picked up by the floodwaters had subsequently been deposited in haphazard piles. The sides of highways looked like junkyards, there were so many cars and trucks dumped off to the side.

But what really terrified them was the complete absence of people. They had seen no one. Not a single human being. It was as lonely as being on the moon but worse because the signs of civilization were all still there, albeit ruined. Every town had its homes, street signs, churches, schools, town squares, trees, and sidewalks.

Just no people.

At a certain point, Gloria broke down and cried. Ken feared they’d have to turn back if it became too much for her. When they stopped to refill the gas tank, Gloria wouldn’t leave the van. It was dark by then, and the silence outside was terrifying.

But then they’d heard a dog barking somewhere in the middle of the night. It wasn’t a terrified bark, just some hound sounding off to cut the quiet. Gloria burst into