Meltdown by Edward W. Robertson

Author:Edward W. Robertson [Robertson, Edward W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: influenza, postapocalyptic, eotwawki, Fiction, post-apocalypse, postapocalypse, Knife Point, sci-fi, novels, sci-fi thriller, virus, plague, post apocalypse, Thriller, dystopia, Knifepoint, post apocalyptic, Breakers, post-apocalyptic, Meltdown, science fiction series, Melt Down
Published: 2013-11-09T05:00:00+00:00

20

Lights whirled miles away across the desert. Tristan's bare feet pounded the pavement, her soles scraped and stinging. The other prisoners dogged her heels. Weeds lined the road. She saw nothing in either direction along the highway—no houses, no stores, no cars, nowhere to get lost. If they left the road, their feet would be destroyed in minutes. Their only hope was to find somewhere to hide before the aliens tracked them down.

Engines keened. Searchlights slashed from light and low-flying craft, scouring the desert floor. Tristan headed up a gentle rise. The other captives strung out behind her, breathing hard in the cool night. Lights splashed from wheeled vehicles fanning across the flatland toward the road. Tristan crested the hill. A half mile down the road, a small cluster of buildings rested in the starlight.

A craft whined nearer and nearer. Its searchlight swooped forward, gushing over the pack of prisoners. Some stopped, pinned in place, deerlike. Others ran harder. The light followed the runners down the road, leaving the ones who'd stopped in darkness; the jet banked, taking its spotlight with it, and circled around for another pass.

"There are buildings down the road!" Tristan shouted. "I think I see cars!"

"No way the batteries aren't dead," said the blond man she'd punched on the way to the prison camp.

"They'll grab us any minute," she said. "What other chance do we have?"

The red-haired woman sprinted forward. Like schooling fish, the others followed her lead, racing downhill toward the dark buildings. Tristan fell back. Once she was a few yards behind the bald man, who panted heavily, grasping his gut, Tristan cut off the road and flattened herself among the weeds.

The searchlight caught up to the prisoners just before they reached the cluster of buildings. The alien cars reached the road and sped downhill. Tristan ran through the dust, putting a hundred yards between herself and the highway, then hid behind a wall of sage. Headlights blared past. She got up and ran again. The jet circled, painting the rooftops with light. The ground vehicles converged on the site. Screams joined the moans of the circling craft.

Tristan was a mile across the desert by the time the cars pulled away from the houses and returned to the city of blue cones. The jet made three wide circles, searchlight zooming through the yellow grass.

After a few minutes, all Tristan heard was the crickets.

She took stock while she waited. Her feet bled from a dozen different cuts. Dust clung to the bloody lines of her soles. She needed to find disinfectant cream. Antibiotics. Then again, she was buck naked in the night. She needed to find a lot of things.

She supposed she was better off than the others.

She laughed, startling herself, then sunk under a wave of horrified guilt. She'd tricked them. Wielded their own willingness to follow against them. She'd known there wouldn't be any working trucks at the farmhouse. No way to run or place to hide. A couple of them might have been smart enough to hide in the weeds like she had, but most had been returned to the pen.

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