Siege of New Hampshire (Book 1): Plan B [Revised] by Mic Roland

Author:Mic Roland [Roland, Mic]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Publisher: Wolf & Gypsy Design
Published: 2016-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 8: Roadblocks

Martin leapt into the gap in traffic, between the little gray Chevy and the generic SUV. He had Susan by the wrist with his left hand, and the roller bag handle in his right. The Chevy driver looked horrified but otherwise did nothing. No swerving, no honking, no braking. She drove straight at them.

Martin saw that the gap in the far lane, between the black Accord and the Rav4 was not large, but would align with their path IF they kept running. There was no time to swallow hard or hesitate. As he ran, he pulled Susan up beside him, intending to slingshot her ahead of him, in case he misjudged the gaps. He might get hit, but she would be clear or would get hit by him instead of a car. He fixed his eyes on the Rav4’s headlight and ran.

Susan had regained her footing and her stride, she did surge beside him. They both made it to the other side. The roller bag, however, was not so lucky.

The corner of the Rav4’s bumper clipped the end of the roller bag, spinning it around and twisting Martin with it. He made a full turn and lost his footing. He went down on his left side and skidded up to the curb. The Rav4 driver honked long and loud, but did not brake. It was a good thing he did not slow down. People were tailgating each other so close that a sudden stop from any of them would have caused a massive pile-up.

“Oh my God! Martin!” Susan ran to where Martin lay.

He laid still, in a daze for a few seconds, going through a personal reboot. He looked around to see where the voice was coming from. He raised himself up on one elbow, which hurt.

Another loud honk from the far side of the street caught his attention. The honk was followed by a sickening sound — part thud, part moan, like someone hitting the ground after falling off a roof. Screams. The screech of tires. More honking. More screaming. Martin could not see anything beyond the steady stream of tires and bumpers in the lane near him. He became aware of Susan’s voice again.

She stared across the street, her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. One of those guys just got hit. Oh, that sounded awful.” She turned back to Martin.

“Oh no. You get hit too? Oh my God, what do I do?

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I don’t think I’m hurt too bad,” said Martin. He rolled onto all fours then sat down. A quick mental assessment suggested no broken bones. He saw no bleeding. His jacket sleeve was ripped open from the left shoulder down to the elbow. His shirt was too. He had a bad case of road rash on his upper arm, but it was not bleeding much.

Susan gasped when she saw his arm. “Your arm. Oh this is terrible.”

Martin slowly stood up. “I think we need to get out of here in case those people try to come after us again.

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