The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (story read aloud .txt) 📗

crack shot through the barn and shuffling noises came from outside.

She looked to Paul, as if to ask, Were the horses trying to get out or the cows trying to get in? But he only shrugged in response. His concerned and confused expression meant he didn’t know, either.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. It didn’t matter what he knew or whether she could lower the gun and they could work as a team in case the Larkins came through that door again, because it was only five seconds later that Jerry got a hold of Toto. He lifted the tiny cat with a gentleness that Joule had not suspected.

As he handed the soft ball of fuzz into Joule’s waiting hand, the horses began bouncing off the walls.

“Something’s wrong,” Paul announced as he got to his feet to inspect the animals. Joule didn’t protest. She was just as shitty a hostage-taker as Paul had been.

But the older man didn’t even make it to the stalls. They all figured out why the animals were going crazy as smoke began to curl under the edges of the door.

62

Cage was ready to give up.

He hadn't seen anything, but he hadn't said anything about it, and neither had Dev. They’d been biking for miles—or else, he was starting to think like Dev did, that they’d come much farther than they actually had.

He tried calculating the odds. What did it hurt to be out here? But the answer was, maybe it did. The longer they stayed out tonight, the more likely they were to sleep through good searching hours tomorrow. The daylight had to be better than this. The more they rode, the more his muscles screamed in protest. They’d been complaining harshly for several hours now. And who knew? Maybe tomorrow, some of the roads would be clearer.

Then again, how far had they come? And how far was it back to the car, or even to Desperado’s Hideaway?

He wasn't quite sure where they were. Dev had taken his phone back again, which meant he had the only GPS, but it was a battery-eater, and Cage wasn't willing to ask his friend to use it.

“There's a light up ahead,” Dev told him.

So there’s another house, Cage thought glumly. Most of the houses had seemed empty—either abandoned to rot or the residents had fled the storms. Then again, if it was lit, maybe the people were home.

“Do you think it's worth knocking on doors?” Dev asked.

Cage was still putting effort on the pedals, still feeling the scream in his thighs with every push. His back was angry and protesting, his shoulders making rude comments at every turn of the handlebars. The pain reminded him that he still hadn't properly adjusted his bike.

His return thought was that he wasn't quite sure how to properly adjust a bike in the first place. He wasn't a cyclist. “I think we should. It'll take a lot of time, but Joule’s out here.”

“She may have stopped at one of the farms back there. We might have already passed her.” Dev’s words echoed Cage's thoughts from earlier.

It was plausible that people were in most of the homes they passed, but they were simply shutting off the lights for the night. It wasn't like the suburban neighborhoods where people lit up their houses for display. There weren't even lights on the road. Everything they saw was from the moonlight and the headlamps that they bought…except for the light up ahead.

It glowed with the yellow of an old sulfur lamp, twinkling until they biked a little closer and saw that it was actually more orange.

The light grew in size as they got closer and Cage wasn't sure exactly when he realized what he was looking at. He picked up speed and yelled. “Dev! It's on fire!”

63

Joule hadn’t seen the smoke earlier, maybe because it had grown dark outside relatively quickly as night settled. The only light filtering in through the cracks in the barn was coming from the moon, or maybe a lamp somewhere in the distance, she guessed.

But while they’d been arguing among themselves, the thick, acrid smoke had begun rolling in like a predator, all but impossible to miss. They were now trapped inside the barn with fire coming for them. She had heard the murmuring voices beyond the doors, but there had been nothing she could do about it. The bigger threat had seemed to be Paul holding the gun on them.

Now she had the gun, but it no longer mattered. She couldn't talk a fire out of killing her or have Jerry take it out with a good side tackle.

The four of them turned, almost as a unit, and looked at the smoke as if to decide what to do about it. It curled under the doors, coming for them. And Jerry asked, “Now what?”

But Paul was already on his feet and moving. No one else budged. Checking the doors was pointless. There was something burning on the other side, and Joule had heard the Larkins doing something to the doors. They all had. She was confident they were chained inside.

They could see flashes of fire through the cracks and under the door now—not just smoke. So even if they managed to get the doors open, they would jump directly from the smoke into the flames.

As she had that thought, she saw fingers of orange reaching under and grabbing for the hay on the floor. A few of them caught, small sparks lighting small fires, the size of a matchhead. Joule ran over and quickly stomped on the two she saw, though she was certain that wouldn’t stop anything. It might make it take another minute to get a good foothold—but a minute could change everything, she knew. She stomped on another spark and another as Paul called out.

“There's another door over here!” He raced to the other side of the barn to open it, all three of them following along.

But though the old-fashioned metal latch gave under his