Sheep's Clothing by Gary Lewis (dark books to read TXT) 📗

tires was now replaced by the grinding of rocks smooshing through mud as the tires crashed up and down. The car slammed through underwater holes covered in a stream of brown muck. David drove on, splashing their way down the steep route known for its sudden and treacherous transformation during storms.

"Damn,” David said, leaning forward to press his eyes through the pouring rain with concern. “This one really came out of nowhere." Sarah saw him reach for his wiper switch in vain. They were already on full blast, unable to sway the waterfall from the windshield ahead.

"Don't slow down! Keep it moving through the puddles," she shouted over the pounding of water and thunder. Fear started to take over her expectations of returning home.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing," he said with a tone of confidence that caught her off guard. She noticed the car barreling around curves, perfectly straddling holes and dodging every branch and chunk of wood that appeared in their way.

Sarah's trust in David's capability now renewed more with every boom and flash from the sky. The sounds faded into the background as all the uncertainty washed away into the torrent that sprayed across their windows. Time slowed and her worries dissolved behind the splashing tires. She looked back across at him as he guided the wheel. He was in complete control and their destination disappeared from her mind as he turned to look back at her.

A blinding light exploded through the earth. David hit his brakes and slammed the car into a downhill slide. They drifted around a curve while Sarah held on tight, struggling to see what was ahead. As the road came further into view, something dark stretched across. They grinded to a stop in front of a giant downed oak. It laid, smoking across the muddy route back home, blocking any hope of escape.

Sarah watched him ball a fist above the steering wheel. She quickly grasped his forearm and squeezed it tight. "It's okay,” she said. “You did great."

Chapter 6

#Tony#

Oldies and country music sounded from the lobby of the Sunset Diner from decades old speakers that played with a scratchy bass while Tony scraped the hot grills in the back.

"Can't they play anything different?" Carl, the part time kitchen prep, said as he wiped down the stainless-steel assembly table.

"Whatever appeals to the regulars," Tony said, shrugging with a carefree smile.

"Think they own the place." Carl slid a small garbage can below the table to swipe in a pile of lettuce shreds.

"Makes no difference to me.” Tony looked over at him. “You should try finding the good in everything."

He folded a grill towel, pouring water on it before slapping it onto the grill with a sharp sizzle that issued a plume of steam through the kitchen. Tony raked it back and forth, polishing it to a gray shine before setting everything aside to stare into the glossy surface. After rubbing the sore spot on the side of his jaw, he shook his head and turned his attention to the freezer's large metal door.

"I'm gonna grab some stock right quick."

The tone of a dozen conversations resounded through the lobby as the next song changed the mood beyond the counter, but the cheer was short lived as a blaring sound came over the station. "We interrupt this program to bring an emergency weather warning. A large storm system is moving toward Pine County. Take shelter immediately. Large hail, damaging winds, and frequent lightning are..." As the warning continued repeating itself in the now speechless lobby, Tony walked toward the glass double-doors of the entrance. Newspapers and litter tumbled down the street as a trash can blew over into a spin that spewed its contents to the winds. He looked up beyond the buildings across Central Avenue. Bluff Mountain was completely engulfed by dark clouds, strobing with bright flashes from within.

"Good thing y'all ain't hanging out up there today," a voice said from the back corner section of the dining area. It was Willy Perkins. He sat, wriggling his fingers through his long graying beard in the far corner of the lobby among a rowdy bunch, the Big Buck Hunting Club.

"Place is cursed," Willy’s brother, Roy spoke out from the cluster of crouched locals outfitted in camouflage coveralls.

Greg Mathers, the city bank manager, raised his voice above theirs. "The animal attacks, the cattle deaths and now this."

Old man Sam strolled across the lobby to Tony. "The Big Bucks," Sam said. "When they're not doing more harm than good, rescuing the community, they're stirring a ruckus."

Burly voices from the corner of the lobby grew louder while the doors continued opening and closing with drenched shoes clambering to escape the storm. "Get the boys together and we'll hunt that thing down, come Saturday," one said. "Hell yeah," another shouted. "Won't know what hit 'im."

A boom shook the floor. The restaurant lights began to flicker as Sam turned off the radio warning and started unplugging equipment. "Come lend a hand, Tony. Nobody said it was break time yet."

"Relax,” Tony said. “I'm coming."

The entrance doors continued swinging open by the howling gusts and the occasional person running inside for shelter. The ferocity outside took on warzone proportion. Bright flashes of lightning preceded ground shaking booms as if the city was being bombed. Then the rain began in bands that swept across the roadway and slapped against the glass windows and doors.

Another group ran through the swinging doors to escape the turmoil.

"Tony! Man, it's crazy out there," said Terry, a former sophomore football player that Tony used to practice with. Tony handed him a couple dry bar towels and Terry polished his eyeglasses then set them on a nearby table before patting his soaked face and drying his dripping, curly, black hair.

"I haven't seen you much since you found religion,” Tony said. “You thinking about giving up the field?"

"It's definitely keeping me busy," Terry began. "We were in the search party in the woods about a quarter mile away when we heard the thunder and thought we better call it