Chapter 3 - Escape Into the Fog
The red truck’s tires screamed against wet tarmac as it charged. Mark threw Clara and Leo into the back seat of his sedan, slamming the rear door shut just as the truck struck the front bumper. The collision rattled his vehicle, the sound of crumpling metal echoing into the stormy night. Airbags didn't deploy, but the front frame groaned under the impact.
Julian had scrambled behind the wheel of the red pickup, his face twisted in manic desperation. On the porch, Amanda shouted orders, pointing toward the highway. Mark dove into the driver’s seat, his bleeding arm throbbing with sharp pulses of pain. He keyed the ignition. The starter sputtered once, twice, before the battered V6 engine roared to life.
Without looking back, Mark threw the transmission into reverse, tearing away from the curb and leaving tracks of torn turf. Julian shifted into reverse as well, attempting to pin Mark against the neighborhood fire hydrant, but Mark spun the wheel, swinging the sedan’s nose around, and floored the accelerator down the suburban avenue.
In the rearview mirror, Clara had tucked her tiny brother beneath her body on the floor mats, shielding him from whatever might break through the windows. "Are we going to Grandma's?" she cried, her voice trembling so hard her words slurred.
"Grandma is four hours away, honey," Mark shouted over the roar of the rain pounding the roof. "We just need to get to the precinct on 5th Street."
He glanced at his phone mounted on the dashboard. The screen was cracked, and the battery icon flashed a stubborn red two percent before dying completely. The water damage from his soaked clothes had shorted the charging port. No 911 call. No GPS. He had to rely on his own knowledge of the county roads.
May you like
He turned sharp onto Route 9, expecting the flashing blue lights of emergency services somewhere along the main thoroughfare. Instead, the road was deserted, swallowed by an unnatural, suffocating bank of river fog rolling off the Blackwood Basin. Visibility dropped to less than ten feet.
Mark slowed to forty miles per hour, straining his eyes against the gray wall of mist. Suddenly, the headlights behind him vanished. The road fell into an eerie, suffocating silence, save for the wipers scraping against the glass. Then, a sharp hiss erupted from beneath the hood, accompanied by thick white smoke pouring from the radiator grill.
