Page 36 of Exit Strategy
We were passed by the craziest thing I had seen on American road. It looked like the unholy fusion of a sneaker and an armored personnel carrier. Storm Hunters…
Storm Hunters… those were the crazy bastards who went driving into the worst storms. If there was one of them here, we could be in trouble. “Just how serious are these storms?” I asked.
“They can be bad, tornadoes and stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Like hail, and…” she paused, her mouth twisting in thought. “Bad… storm… air.”
“So, these don’t happen where I’m from, what’s the drill?”
“Seek shelter,” she said quickly, and pointed, at of all things, an overpass.
These were something I had seen that were unique to this part of the country. They had built a bridge over the highway but had to make hills on both sides to make it happen. Traffic, I guessed? There were a few motorcyclists pulled over with their bikes, sheltering behind the pylons and the bikers themselves seemed to have gone up the concrete berm of the overpass. This seemed like a prudent thing to do. I engaged the all-wheel-drive in the truck, took us off the pavement and onto the shoulder and slowed.
The rain wall hit with the force of a monsoon, but I let the truck ease its way between the last pylon and the berm. The passenger side lifted as the tires gripped and I started a slow climb. It only took a minute to wedge my truck under the shelter of the overpass, and in that time, it had gotten dark enough to justify burning the headlights. Wind buffeted us, and the storm roared overhead. I could see the shitstorm of ice it started throwing and the sky was an absolutely insane greenish-black color.
“We have to get out of the truck,” Callie said.
“Are you mental?”
“No, the wind could…” she made a sweeping gesture with her hands, and the intent seemed obvious.
“The wind could pull the truck out from under the bridge?” I asked. She nodded seriously. “Fuck me,” I grunted. “C’mon then, let’s get to where this storm fuckery can’t give us a toss all the way to Oz.” She nodded and tried to push her door open. The wind kept jamming it back against her, so I had to go around the tailgate to help her get out. The rain instantly soaked me to the skin, and I had to use both hands to get her door open.
I blocked the wind as best I could, letting it batter me instead of her. “Grab the medic bag,” I shouted. Of all the things in the truck that could or couldn’t be replaced, the bag with her meds in it was the most important. She nodded and looped the bag over her head, strap across her body, settling it on her shoulder. We moved toward the front of the truck. It was a tight and cramped fit between the concrete ribs of the bridge over our heads, and it was obvious that nothing came here except spiders, windblown debris, and some more spiders. I shuddered in disgust but ignored them.
The wind died down, and the rain seemed to slack.
Then there was a roar. The entire sky seemed to be filled with its horrid noise. The ground seemed to vibrate with the force of it, and it reminded me of the big American cargo planes flying low, touching the ground with their back wheels, and just letting cargo slide down the ramp. Except rather than one of the big Galaxy’s landing, it was a dozen, or a hundred, and the roar took my breath away.
Callie wrapped her arms around my chest and buried her face in my shoulder. It was going to be okay, I wanted to tell her, that we were perfectly safe.
Then the truck groaned, and I heard the squeal of rubber sliding across concrete and the rear end of the truck started to move. The wind had it, and I felt my mouth go dry and stomach tense. The grill shifted and instead of the GMC logo staring me in the face it was facing Callie.
The protest of tires was brief, because the wind took the rear of the truck up and off the ground and then it was pitching down and away from us. We were exposed to the fury of the storm, and I saw it – a finger of darkness stabbing down from the sky and cutting a path along the side of the highway. A black cloud of debris hid the point where it touched the ground, but there was no doubt in my mind, it was coming straight for us.
It would certainly be black humor for us to escape New Eden, and pursuit, only to end up caught by something like this. I held her closer against me, and would have said something encouraging, but I had no words, just awe and fear. The bridge shuddered, the massive concrete braces felt like they were flexing, and I felt like a fool for picking this spot. If it all came down, they wouldn’t find our bodies. Debris spewed through the underpass, and I felt like we had been caught in a danger-close artillery strike, with gravel and trash everywhere. I stung my exposed arms and my back, but I braced against the concrete and the berm, and prayed.
Then it was over, and the roar was fleeing east, away from us.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No,” she said, and I saw she was crying. I held her and we just sat in the dark.
“Let’s get back in the truck. The rain will be here in a second.” She looked up and I could see she was trembling. “It’s done and gone, and the heater in the truck works nice like.” She collected herself, nodded, and we crawled out from our shelter.
“You’re bleeding,” she said. I looked down to see that my arm looked raw, and Iwasbleeding.
“Some stuff hit me, nothing big,” I said. “Gravel? Maybe hail?”
“We should take care of that,” she said.
“Let’s get somewhere first,” I offered. “I need to find something on this radio, so we don’t get bollocked by a storm like that again.”
“You drive,” she said, picking at the debris and blood stuck to my arm. “I’ll find a weather radio. I’m sure I can figure the buttons out.”
“You got it,” I said, and we limped our way down the embankment to where the truck was sitting. Thankfully it was on all four wheels and looked only slightly worse for wear for being pushed down the road. There was a crack in the windshield, and the passenger side mirror was nowhere to be seen. That was annoying and would be expensive to replace. I sighed, but it was momentary. The engine turned over easily, and I put it back in gear. Crossing back onto the road was easy enough, after a long run down the shoulder.
