Earth Blood by James Axler

Author:James Axler [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Adventure
ISBN: 9780373638079
Amazon: 0373638078
Goodreads: 1199928
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 1993-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

The warning lights were flashing on the corners of the bright yellow school bus.

Though Jim Hilton had tried every available switch and button, nothing seemed to turn them off. Since there wasn't a lot of traffic on the back road, it didn't much matter.

They hadn't actually seen any other traffic since they found the abandoned bus the previous afternoon.

Now they were closing in on Jim's Hollywood home, via winding back road from the north.

The first six days had been tough going. Carrie was having recurrent headaches, like vicious migraines. They'd needed to stop several times while she lay down, pale and sick, her face looking as if it had been rebuilt from slabs of candle wax.

The bright sunlight was particularly trying for her, and twice they'd had to rest up during the middle of the day then push on toward Los Angeles in the cool of the evening.

Water hadn't been easy to find at first. Then they'd learned to break into empty houses and top up their bottles from the standing tanks in the roof. The water was brackish, layered with dust and dead flies, but it kept them going.

The morning that they found the school bus they'd woken early, packed up their tents and had a light meal of hi-concentrate food.

Jim had thought it was safe to light a fire against the dawn's chill, using dry branches from a fallen sassafras. A thick column of pale smoke had risen into the still, cloudless sky.

It had brought them company.

Despite all of his survivalist training, Jim still got taken by surprise. He hadn't thought it necessary to post any sort of watch.

The cold voice from the shadows warned him not to turn around. "Both of you keep real still. Hands where we can see them. Stand up slow."

There were three of them. Male. Two white and one black. The oldest was the speaker and he looked to be around eighteen.

They held small-caliber pistols, cheap, chromed little Saturday night specials. Inaccurate and unreliable weapons, but the .22-caliber automatics were still capable of taking anyone out at fifteen feet.

"You got food, old man?" The speaker had a sparsely stubbled foxy face, narrowed eyes and pinched mouth.

"No. Haven't eaten in three days. You got anything you can share with us?" Laughter, hateful, venomous laughter, was the answer.

"We got something we can share with the little lady there," said the second boy, pushing a filthy baseball cap off his sloping forehead.

Jim was conscious of the weight of the Ruger Blackhawk Hunter in its holster, hidden under the coat. The realization came to him like a flash of lightning out of a clear summer sky. He was going to have to use the gun. If he didn't, then he and Carrie would be soon dead.

She'd take her dying a good while longer and slower than him. "Little lady's got her period," said Carrie.

The black youth smiled broadly. "Most houses got more'n one door, lady," he said. The leader of the trio grinned. "You're right, Michael, my man.

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