Norman Partridge - Dark Harvest

That road does not meander. Like a planned path of escape, it cleaves a sea of blazing quarter sections, and so does the Caddy. The black car races through fields where scores of dead boys lie buried under cornstalk pyres, its big engine fighting for ground as fire climbs a rough-hewn crossbar heavy with rusty nails and tumbles on in the night.

Spark and ash spatter the windshield, but ahead there’s hard clean darkness.

Pete charges toward it. Racing the fire, racing the night.

A quick glance in the rearview, and he says, “Look behind you, Dad.”

“No,” his father says. “Not anymore. Not ever.”

Jeff McCormick’s eyes are trained on that hard yellow line ahead. He won’t look back. But Pete looks, and longer this time. Kim’s in the backseat — his little sister is burrowed in Kelly’s arms. And behind them the sky is as red as the devil’s own furnace, banked tight against a scorched penny of a moon.

The Caddy travels on as that penny melts in the night.

The flames travel, too.

But they can’t catch Pete McCormick.

He’s much too fast.

He’s already gone….