EMP Catastrophe by Hamilton, Grace (books to read in your 20s female .txt) 📗

ears. For a moment, it was all Matthew could do to stare at the impossible before him. Everyone was in the same position as they were? Everyone? Everywhere?

Car horns screeched like honking geese. The rumble of engines filled the air. Matthew realized that some of the older models from his youth were still working, and yet those people were just as imprisoned as the cars that weren’t working. No one could move. It was the world’s worst gridlock he’d ever seen.

“What the…” David’s voice trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Matthew said, dumbstruck. “I don’t even know.”

David let out a low whistle and after a stunned moment, clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “Pick your feet up. Looks like we have a much longer walk than we thought.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, unable to say anything else, not knowing what else he could possibly say. “You’re right.”

They walked side by side on the shoulder, weaving around cars and other people, the sign pointing towards Galena saying they had many, many miles left to go.

10

The cars on the interstate formed a disjointed rainbow, the twinkling glitter of paint ranging from reds and blues to greens and silvers. Matthew squinted as the sunlight blinked off of curved tops and shiny bumpers and wished he’d bought a pair of sunglasses to go along with the bandana wrapped around his forehead. Perspiration beaded along his neck, but they’d kept up a good pace for the last thirty minutes or so. For as far as the eye could see, the maze of dead and gridlocked cars was unending. People wandered in shifting emotions of confusion, anger, and frustration. As Madison shrank behind them, Matthew fought a deep sense of dread and tried to focus on the horizon where the concrete barriers hid the sight of interlocking parcels of green and yellow farmland.

The startling crash of glass paired with the sound of shards clinking together jolted him out of his thoughts. Just ahead, dark shapes swarmed over and around the cars like a cluster of flies. One of the flies held something in his hands and cocked it back like a baseball bat, before letting the object collide with the side window of a Mazda.

Again, that sharp shatter of glass. The bright sprinkle of shards caught the light and sent momentary prisms dancing over the dark fly—no, not a fly, a man. A group of men actually, who whooped like the man had hit a home run and began rummaging in the empty car. Matthew slowed his walk. The group of men seemed to shrug after only a few moments and then moved on to a Subaru up ahead. Arm cocked. Crash of glass. It wasn’t a bat. It was a tire iron.

Matthew knew his face was scrunched in an expression of outraged disapproval. These men were working down the line of cars, smashing in windows, digging keys into the paint and leaving long jagged white lines down the hoods and doors. Their laughter had the jeering wildness of a murder of crows, setting Matthew’s teeth on edge. And they were headed right towards them.

About two cars ahead, the man with the crowbar—the leader, Matthew assumed—smashed in the window of a small hatchback. The scream that followed on the heels of the shattering glass made Matthew’s blood run cold. One of the men threw his head back and laughed. As another mocked the high-pitched screams coming from inside the car, the outrage pooling inside Matthew unspooled into action.

“What’s wrong, little lady?” the man with the tire-iron asked, bending over to speak through the ruined window. He had a high-and-tight haircut, something David might have worn once upon a time. “I’m a repair man, don’t you see? And it looks like you’re in need of a new window. Pay up.”

“That’s it,” Matthew muttered under his breath.

“Matt,” David cautioned. “Matt. Matthew. Don’t engage. Did you hear me?”

But Matthew had already begun angling toward the screaming, which had turned into terrified sobbing.

“Matthew,” David hissed. “Leave it alone. There’s no point getting involved.”

Matthew turned on his father. “If I don’t, no one else will. You’d let them harass a woman? You’d just watch?”

David’s mouth pursed into a tight line, but the disapproval lingered in his eyes. “People are looking for trouble,” he said quickly, before Matthew could look away. “They know they can get away with it.”

Matthew uttered a sound of disgust and wrenched away from his father. “Hey!” he shouted to the group of men. “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“Oh look-it here,” one of the men shouted back and smacked his friend in the arm. “Who are you?”

“You think that’s okay? Terrifying a poor woman to death for the fun of it?” Matthew shouted back. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Hey, Chris,” the man said, nodding his head toward the man with the tire iron. “What do you think? Is it okay?”

Chris slung the tire iron against his shoulder and tapped it once, twice. His eyes narrowed as he took Matthew in from head to toe, considering him.

“There’s no reason to scare people who are already scared,” Matthew added. Behind him, David took in a sharp breath, Matthew’s name breathed out in full and in warning.

“You think I’m a bad person?” Chris asked, putting a hand on his chest and taking a step closer. His crew fanned out around him, as if reading an unspoken signal. “You’ve come on your white horse to save the maiden from the bad guy?” Chris snorted out a disbelieving laugh. “You sure made a mistake in this book.”

Matthew vibrated with tension. He flicked his eyes over the rest of the men who slowly made their way closer to him. “It’s never a mistake to call out boys pretending to be men.”

Chris let out a low whistle. “You’ve sure got a mouth on you. If this is a playground, you know what teachers say. We all need to share. Looks like you have a lot holding your bag down. Why don’t you let us