Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“That’s Picnic—he’s my president,” Gage said. “And he’s right—go get in the truck.”
He jerked his head toward the semi.
“Okay,” I said, not about to argue. I turned to shout. “Everyone out of the car! We’re going in the semi.”
“Start warming it up,” Picnic said to Gage, then looked to me. “We’ll leave as soon as we know you’ve got a working vehicle. The fire’s headed for town fast. Fast. We had to ride through it to get here. There’s no fucking time left to waste.”
Dad, Mrs. Webbly, and the girls climbed out of the Mustang like clowns pouring out of a circus car. Nobody laughed, though. BB helped Mrs. Webbly across the lawn. I guided everyone around to the passenger side of the big truck. The door swung open and the girls leapt up like young gazelles. Poor Mrs. Webbly couldn’t even get her foot up to the step. BB lifted her, all but tossing her into the cab. She crashed into the seat, and for an instant I thought she’d gotten hurt. Then the girls were grabbing her arms, pulling her into the back. My dad followed, and I was up after him, watching as BB ran back to his bike.
That’s when I realized the truck hadn’t actually started yet.
“Why isn’t it working?” I asked Gage.
“Takes a minute for the plugs to heat up,” he said. “No worries.”
Sure enough, the truck roared to life as he turned the key to the run position. I reached for my seat belt, then he pulled the semi forward and out of the driveway. Picnic, BB, and the others rode off ahead of us, and we were on our way.
• • •
The next four hours were unspeakably awful.
According to the radio and the cell alerts we kept getting, the safest evacuation route meant driving east through Loup Loup Pass, which meant everyone would be stuck together on the same two-lane highway, inching slowly away from the fires for the next sixty miles. If another fire broke out blocking the way, we’d be fucked.
“You think this is a good idea?” I asked Gage in a low voice. “I know the road south is closed, but—”
“The road running north is on fire,” he said grimly. “And the fires are even worse to the west, so this is the best we’ve got. Who are the girls?”
I gave a startled laugh. “Sorry, I forgot the introductions. That’s Rebecca and Anna, they’re Carrie’s kids. She’s out of town. Shit, girls—have you talked to her?”
“I texted her while we were waiting in your car,” Rebecca said. “And again when we started driving. She didn’t answer. I’m worried about my dad.”
“I’ll call her,” I said, reaching for my phone. A robotic voice told me it couldn’t complete the call as dialed. “Crap. Can’t get through.”
“Did you get my messages earlier?” Gage asked. “I tried calling, too, but no luck.”
“Got nothing from you, but I had no problem talking to Margarita in Olympia,” I said. “Guess it’s all about where you are and who you’re trying to call.”
We reached the edge of town, and the truck slowed. I looked out to see a line of cars ahead of us, moving slowly through the smoke. “Wow. I didn’t even realize there were that many people in Hallies Falls.”
“Me, neither,” Anna said, her voice still tight. “Are we going to get stuck here and burn up?”
“No,” Gage said firmly.
“What about your friends on their bikes? Will they be safe?”
“They don’t have the protection of a cab, but they can go a lot faster than us,” he replied. “They’re probably driving along the shoulders of the road. Biggest danger is some dumbass in a car hitting them in the smoke.”
Suddenly I realized something. “Gage, your motorcycle . . .”
“What about it?” he asked.
“We left it.”
He gave me a quick, tense glance. “Of course we did. It’s just a bike, Tinker. The world is full of them. You left your car and your house. All I care about at this point is getting you out of here alive.”
I gave a short laugh, because of course he was right. My Mustang was down there, too. But it was still nice to know he cared about me more than his bike.
As we climbed slowly up the ridge, I was able to look down to see massive flames tearing through the trees north of my home town. There were also police cruisers moving through the streets, their headlights turned on to cut through the smoke, but I only spotted one fire truck.
“Where do you think the rest of the firefighters are?” I asked Gage as we wound our way along the hillside.
“Probably south of town,” he said. “Earlier today they called for volunteers, so things must be even worse down there. The danger seemed to be from the south—nobody saw this coming.”