Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

“Yes,” the man answered. “Come to the light.”

Fear trailed a cold finger down his spine and he stumbled. Pebbles bit into his palms and knees. When he landed, trembling muscles begged him to stay down. That’s what those new age freaks said happened when you died. He was too important to die. He coughed tasting soot and grit.

“Did you hear me?”

Trent swallowed the clot in his throat. If this was his Maker, he wasn’t about to meet Him prostrate. He pushed to his feet, swaying. “Y-yes.”

A man stepped from the swirling ash. A cone of yellow light surrounded the smooth silhouette of his head and highlighted the rifle in his arms.

Trent blinked. Not his Maker after all. “You’re a soldier!”

About time they showed up. He thought all the bastards had gone to cower in their bases.

“Not a soldier, a Marine.” Stepping forward, the Marine latched onto Trent’s arm and tugged him to the left.

Gripping the bible, Trent stumbled along. “Stop pushing.”

At least the soldiers would understand money. How many Benjamins would he need to get a ride home? He sure as hell wouldn’t be walking. Too many losers clogged the streets to say nothing of the rats.

Glowing yellowish eyes burned through the gray haze.

The Marine stopped as the eyes brightened. “We’re hearing tales of rats.”

Trent heard the rumble of an idling truck engine right before the light sharpened into headlamps. A truck. They had a truck. He should definitely be able to get a ride.

“Sir!” The Marine shook Trent’s arm. “How far back are the rats?”

He snapped back to the present. What had the man asked? The sound of a squeak punctuated the haze. “Rats. They’re a couple of blocks back.”

The Marine shoved him toward the truck. “Get in the back.”

Trent stumbled forward. With his free hand, he traced the side of the truck until he reached the back. The truck rolled forward. He chased after it.

In the strong beams of Halogen headlamps, uniformed arms reached out. Strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. “We’ll need both hands to pull you up, Sir.”

Tucking the Bible under his chin, Trent reached his newly freed hand up.

Another soldier grabbed hold of his wrist.

Soon his feet left the ground. His thighs slammed into the bumper then scraped against it. Son of a bitch! Were they trying to skin him alive? He clamped his jaw shut. A heartbeat later, he’d cleared the gate.

“Can you stand?” The soldier on his right asked.

“Yes. I think so.” Clasping the Bible, he panted and locked his knees as they released him.

The truck rolled forward, hit a bump and pitched the bed to the side.

Trent lurched against another soldier. The bible with his money fell out of his hands and dropped to the floor.

The soldier grunted and pushed him away. “You’ll have to sit on the floor. We’re pretty full.”

Floor! Trent straightened and brushed at his clothes. Ash smeared into the fabric lightening the colors of his flannel shirt. Only then did he look around. In the faint light, he made out the gray faces staring back at him—young, old, men, women and children.

Flakes of white swirled under the canvas covered ribs of the truck.

Maybe it was the ash, but they all seemed to be in a trance of sorts. Only the sobbing woman in the corner displayed any emotion.

Great, he’d have to sit next to her! Women. Why did the soldiers have to pick up the useless ones? And that one. He eyed the fat blob taking up two seats on the bench. He wouldn’t want to screw her even after consuming two bottles of tequila. This made her pretty worthless as far as he was concerned. Should have left her to the rats.

“Sir” the soldier barked.

Trent braced his hand near Fatty’s thigh, before turning to face the man. “Yes?”

“I think this belongs to you.” The soldier held out the Bible to Trent.

He eyed the three feet separating them. Why couldn’t the soldier bring it to him? The lazy bastard just wanted to get fat off the public dole. Sighing, he retraced his steps and grabbed the Bible. The soldier didn’t let go. What the fuck was wrong with him now? Had he seen the money? Anger coiled low in his belly.

“Are you a preacher?”

Trent blinked. Preacher? He stared down at the book. The white cross gleamed in the faint light. The preacher down at the Mission had garnered respect. Sure, it was from a bunch of losers, but this lot was only one step above. Besides, no one liked, let alone respected insurance salesmen. “Sure. I’m a preacher.”

Maybe it would get him dropped off first. Preachers had to be busy men, didn’t they?

The soldier nodded and released the Bible. “Maybe you could say a few words of comfort.” He jerked his head to the sobbing woman in the corner.

Fuck! Trent hugged the book to his chest. He’d rather offer the bitch a smack across the face and give her something to cry about. That wouldn’t work. The soldier probably thought women should be protected. They were too stupid to know of female treachery. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Of course, if he comforted the blubbering woman, he might not have to pay for the ride. He cleared his throat while picking a path through the legs and feet of the other passengers. None acknowledged him or offered him their seat. Bastards.

He reached the sobbing woman’s side.

“Hey.” Feeling the soldier’s eyes on him, he cleared the swear words from his throat. Twisting about, he slid down the side of the truck until his ass hit wood. Great, he’d probably get a splinter while the worthless bitch cried on her comfy bench. “I’m a preacher. You have something you want to confess?”

She rocked back and forth and continued to sob.

Trent shrugged. He’d tried. Drawing his legs up against his body, he thumbed through the bible. The hundred was still there. So was another. And another. Practically one for every Apostle and Saint. He counted ten fifties in the mix. Not a bad haul.

“We got incoming!” The shout pierced the canvas. The truck lurched to the side and metal groaned as if someone jumped on the running boards. Soon after, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire sounded.

Squeals responded. Bile applied a coat to his tongue. He drew his knees tight against his chest sandwiching the book. He’d be safe here. It was the soldier’s job to ensure it.

“Faster! They’re climbing up!”

The truck picked up speed as the firing continued. The truck jumped with a bone crunching slush.

The people in the bed collapsed against each other and the sobbing started in stereo.

Christ! Wasn’t he safe up here? He was high enough. Didn’t the soldiers know their job?

The two Marines at the back of the truck opened up their weapons. The light from the muzzles painted their masked faces in a golden glow. “Preacher!” yelled one. A ball of light hurtled toward him. The headlamp landed a foot away and skidded to stop against the sole of his boot. “Now is the time to read from the good book!”

Read. Now? Screams punctuated the squeaking. Numb fingers closed around the light. Why not? It would drown out the other sounds. Trent flipped open the pages. This was that damn Marine’s fault egging him into saying he was a preacher. Clearing his throat, he began to read. “In the beginning…”

Day Five

Staring out the window, Mavis spun the cap off the water bottle. Dawn’s pink light competed with the glow of the fires, illuminating the roiling blackness. The only thing missing from the images of Hell outside her window were demons and pitchforks. Phoenix was burning. Whole neighborhoods had been razed to provide a firebreak. Unfortunately, the wind carried the cinders to the fresh tinder beyond and ignited new blazes.