Isolation by Jones, Nathan (the first e reader .TXT) 📗

“Let's get out of here,” Chet panted, snatching up the gas cans he'd dropped by a tree. He waited for Ben to grab his own cans, then led the way up the hill at a stumbling run.

The going was easier with the glow of flames at their backs, swiftly growing brighter as the fires took and spread. Chet also heard a few shouts of alarm and some screams.

In spite of his anger, that bothered him more than he cared to admit; he really had believed those houses were abandoned. He just hoped the shouts were coming from people in other houses noticing the flames, or if not then that anyone in the burning houses got out safely.

They should be able to, since he and his brother had been careful to light the fires far from any exit, and only on one side of the house. It should be fine.

They reached the truck and tossed the empty cans in the bed. Ben was quick to head for the cab, but when he saw Chet holding back, looking down at the burning buildings, he paused and joined him.

The first houses they'd set fire to were aflame along at least one wall, probably enough that putting the fires out would be hopeless at this point. The other houses were quickly reaching that state as well. He spotted a dozen people out on the street, pointing helplessly. Others were rushing towards the houses, hopefully to wake up anyone inside and make sure they got out safely.

“I don't know how I feel about us sitting here admiring our handiwork,” Ben muttered, sounding uneasy. Or maybe guilty. “Can we just get out of here?”

Chet took one last look at the scattered fires raging in the night, noticing that one fire seemed to have already spread to a nearby house they hadn't intended to burn.

Oops. Well, the fires Jay had started in Stanberry had spread from their original targets, too.

“That's a lot of people, bro,” Ben murmured, staring in dismay at the figures down below running around the burning buildings. “Why are there so many people here?”

“How should I know?” Chet snapped. “Maybe they came back here to throw a party celebrating trashing our house.” Without waiting for a response he turned towards the cab of the truck. “Let's get out of here.”

His brother was right that there were far more people in Wensbrook than he'd expected, which meant pursuit wouldn't be far behind. Ben seemed to agree, because he wasted no time clambering into the passenger seat as Chet started the engine.

Minutes later they were well away from the burning town, speeding back towards Stanberry on an alternate route. Hopefully one that would let them get home ahead of any of Jay's people. Chet certainly pushed to go as fast as he safely could on the narrow, winding roads over hilly terrain.

Even faster, actually; a few times he veered into the opposite lane on sharp turns, or screeched onto the shoulder and nearly went off the road.

In spite of his dangerous driving and the head start they had to have over Jay's goons, Chet still watched tensely through his rearview mirror, expecting to see swiftly approaching headlights appear behind them at any second. It was almost a surprise as the minutes passed and the road remained dark and quiet ahead and behind.

They spent the drive in silence, the air heavy with tension and suffocating with the reek of gasoline fumes from what Chet had spilled on his clothes, even though they opened the windows for fresh air. Between the cold wind, fumes, and tension he soon had a splitting headache, as well as a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he couldn't quite explain.

He didn't regret taking the fight to Wensbrook. But even so, he found himself wondering why the rage that seemed to simmer constantly in his chest these days continued to burn unabated.

Hadn't this done anything to settle it? To even the scales?

✽✽✽

“No sign of them anywhere,” a voice blared over the radio, someone Larry didn't recognize. “They have to be long gone by now.”

Larry ignored the news; at the moment he cared more about saving his town and the people in it than catching the perpetrators.

He gripped little Bobby Metford tight in one arm while guiding the toddler's confused, scared mother by the shoulder with his other hand, down the stairs of their home. All the while battling the choking clouds of smoke pouring up from below.

Even though the last couple days had been dry, the humidity hanging heavy in the air should've at least slowed the spread of the flames. But a strong night breeze, maybe from another storm blowing in, had blown clouds of cinders deeper into the town, setting several new houses on fire and threatening to spread the conflagration to the entire town.

Larry and his fellow volunteers had all they could do just to keep ahead of the spreading flames, making sure everyone got safely out of their houses with the barest of necessities. A task made all the more difficult by the fact that some of their people had moved into nicer houses since they were available, so he had no idea which houses were occupied and had to check each one. Not just call in through the front door, either, but go in and check the bedrooms to make certain.

To make things worse, they also had to stay far from the houses occupied by the Zolos-vulnerable newcomers, while still trying to coordinate evacuation efforts with them.

The last half hour had been a nightmare of suffocating smoke, roaring flames, screams and cries for help and hopeless wailing, running half blind and coughing with every step to get his people out. As for fighting the fires, he'd pretty much given up on that after the first few minutes.

Maybe if the wind died down they could stop the spread and possibly even save a few of the houses that had more recently caught fire.