It started as a faint drone, barely discernible over the thumping pistons, raging wind and his suffocating panic. Linc pushed the lumbering Harley as fast as he dared, toward his son, toward the knife. As it drew closer Linc could hear the strain of the motor. Like a lawn mower laboring through long grass. He searched the sky. Nothing ahead. Nothing to the right. He scanned left and found it. A small plane. A Cessna or Piper.
His neck bristled as he thought of Shane's brother. In his home with his wife and son.
The plane flew low, only a couple hundred feet or so. Dragging its weight through the dirty afternoon sky, a dark vortex tumbling from the tip of each wing. The pitch of the engine lowered as it crossed in front of him, a mile or so away. Somewhere near the industrial area and marina.
Did this brother know what Linc had done to Shane?
A cylindrical object fell from the plane. It was followed by three more in quick succession. They wobbled and spun psychotically and disappeared below the horizon of houses. Linc felt the shock wave before he heard the "WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP". A ball of black smoke and thick red flame billowed in the distance. It grew and climbed and consumed the sky until it dwarfed the retreating aircraft, now a faint drone once again. No longer laboring under its heavy load.
Linc heaved on both brakes until the tires began to lose their fight with the blacktop. He powered into a right hand bend, clipped the apex, opened the throttle full and let the big V-twin roar.
He must know something. Why else would he be there?
The smoke glowed, red and angry and dirty. It rolled and mauled its way upward and grew to a column that seemed to intensify the rushing acrid air. The largest of eight columns, supporting the weight of the bloated black sky. Each column thickened the haze and thinned the chances of a lasting truce. Each day they say will be the day they put pen to the truce agreement. But each day the pens seem to be replaced by more swords.
He can't know everything. If he did Linc would not have received a phone call. It would have been body parts.
The haze fattened and glowed, fed by the spreading fire which was obscured by rows of speeding houses. Like a smoldering sunset in the middle of the afternoon. Linc could not tell whether they'd hit a storage tank or a well but they didn't care, the effect was the same. They drop their improvised bombs or launch mortar rounds from an SUV and keep the targets random. Oil tanks or wells, even the odd home. So long as it disrupts the oil supply and escalates the panic and confusion.
Linc smoked the tires into another corner. Then twisted the throttle and the bike responded with its throaty growl, stretching his arms against the handle bars and accelerating past the playground. Empty. Swings and seesaws and carousels. Normally bustling with the after school rush.
His wing mirror swallowed the playground. This one had been his stomping ground back when he was still keeping up his end of the bargain. Angie did the feeding and he takes care of the endless array of accessories that come with a new baby. Managing car seats and strollers, refolded baby beach-shades and keeping the little guy from getting sun burnt. As much as was possible at least. It seemed like a chore at the time, but what he would give now to complete the job. And be there for the years he'd missed.
"No time for day dreaming," he growled at himself. "You're not letting them down this time."
Was that another promise he could not keep? They had no defense against one of those animals with a knife. What if he was already too late?
He passed a long and low office building, wrapped with dark gray mirrored windows. The constant roof line seemed to last forever but the rooftop air conditioners and satelite dishes that zipped by gave his speed away. A cluster of Mercedes and BMWs lay claim to the parks nearest the shiny front doors. Further from the entrance were modern Toyotas and Fords and Crowns, until at the far end lay the beat up wrecks of the working men and women. Peeling paint and broken headlights. And shrapnel holes.
But he had them both. Was he smart enough to work out that either Ryan or Angie by themself was all the leverage he needed?
Linc threw the hulking machine around a corner faster than was safe and powered into the straight. He skidded to the verge and dumped the bike on the grass. He sprinted half a block and paused at the gate to fumble for the latch.
Ryan would give him less trouble. Now that she'd made the phone call, was Angie surplus to requirement?
He shoved it open one quarter, just short of the creak in the hinge. He squeezed through and eased it shut again. He hurried silently along the right hand side of the house, through the sweet perfume wafting from Angie's roses and put his weight on the stable side of the wobbly paving stone that Ryan had laid. He'd never fixed it, how could he?
He came to his deserted back yard. The back door ahead and to his left was shut. He stayed on the path and passed quickly and quietly under the tree where he'd built Ryan's tree house, heading toward Jim and Mandy's place next door. The trees Linc and Jim had planted along the boundary were still years from blocking the view of Linc's yard, years from the intended privacy screen. Even good friends don't want to be staring at each other. Their upstairs bedroom window was open and a lace curtain hung still and blocked any view of the room.
He followed the path around to the left and up to the back door.
"Angie?" His throat rattled. "I'm here!"
Muffled voices in the house.
Foot steps.
The door opened and Ryan came onto the stoop. A guy with gray flecked hair and a dark brown beard stood behind him, a firm grip on Ryan's collar, a hunting knife in his right hand. His leather jacket and blue bandanna were similar to the ones Shane wore.
Linc felt weak. Like on a training run when he kept running for long after he'd burned all his reserves. He steadied his knees. It was one thing to know a thug had a knife at your son's throat but it was another to see it.
"Angie?"
"Ryan, is your mother...?"
Read it for Free: Oil To Ashes 2 - Truce
Apocalyptic Science Fiction Story. 67 pages (16.626 words)
Truce brings hope. A nameless slayer erases it. Can Linc save his family for good?
As peace seems overwhelmed by random acts of suburban violence, Linc Freemore must stop an unknown murderer and save his wife and son. One killer becomes many, a conspiracy larger than he could conceive.
Linc already gave his son's childhood to the company. For a better life. Is that lost too? As the tipping point of war is breached Linc must fight viciously for his life, for his family and for his own virtue.
Contains Violence.
www.lincfreemore.com/OilToAshes2
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