Quake by Richard Laymon Read Free Book Online Page B

I've ever had.'
        Me, too, Stanley thought.
        'The stuff would've mashed me. But it's all across the top. Too much for me to budge.'
        'Well, I'll start clearing it away.' He took off his pajama shirt. It felt good to be free of the wet, clinging fabric, to feel the air against his skin. He wanted to remove his pants, as well. We'd both be naked. Yeah, and what if somebody comes along? And what'll Sheila think? She'll be able to see me as soon as…
        'How's that fire doing?' she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
        Stanley twisted around for a look. Nothing had changed much. Black columns of smoke still climbed the sky. 'It isn't getting any closer. Don't worry about it. We've got all the time in the world.'
        

***
        
        Wellen had only avoided a bead-on collision with the RTD bus by steering even farther to the left, two lanes away from their proper side of the road and into the path of a gray Mercedes. He swerved right. Filled in the space between the rear of the bus and the front of an oncoming Ford. Then again to the right, abandoning the westbound lane with an instant to spare. And it had gone on like that. Bursts of speed, lurches from side to side, skids and abrupt halts, near misses one after another. It seemed that Wellen would no sooner save them from a crash than still another car or bus or delivery truck would be rushing straight at them. Barbara, belted into the passenger seat, sat rigid and squeezed her thighs and tried not to scream. Heather, in the backseat, screamed plenty. And sobbed and pleaded. Earl and Pete shouted. Barbara barely noticed anything that wasn't a direct threat to their Nova. She was only vaguely aware of what they passed: collapsed buildings, fires, wrecked cars, sheared off hydrants spouting white geysers into the air, people sprawled on the sidewalk, all bloody, or hurrying somewhere or stumbling along like zombies. Such sights hardly register on Barbara's mind. They didn't matter. They were background. They weren't real. Only the ride was real - the Nova piloted on its suicidal course by the driver's education instructor. On and on and on he sped with his students. Putting their lives at risk with every turn of the wheels. Taking them farther from school and from their homes with every second.
        A few times, Wellen made detours to avoid sections of Pico Boulevard that appeared to be completely blocked. He whipped around corners, sped down side streets, gunned his way through alleys. But always back to Pico. Until finally, a few blocks past Western, he drove into a trap. Ahead, all lanes were blocked, a solid row of vehicles side by side from one curb to the other. Wellen cried out, 'No!' and mashed the brake pedal. The Nova skidded. It stopped less than a foot behind the rear bumper of a van. He shifted to reverse. Hit the gas. The Nova jumped backward and bucked, slamming into something.
        'Great move!' Earl yelled.
        Barbara twisted her head around to look out the rear window. 'A bus,' she said. Wellen glanced back. At first, Barbara thought he was just curious to see what he'd bumped. From the way his eyes shifted, however, she realized he was looking for an escape route - a gap in the traffic that would permit him to speed backward and resume his mad rush for the school where his daughter worked. 'No way,' Barbara muttered. She shot her arm out sideways and twisted the ignition key. Wellen didn't seem to notice. He flung open his door, leaped out, threw the door shut and ran. There was a nice, clear path for him between the rows of motionless traffic. Seconds after abandoning them he sprinted past a dump truck and vanished.
        He no sooner vanished than a lean black woman in a uniform - the RTD bus driver? - dashed by.
        'Get him, lady!' Pete yelled. He sounded delighted. Barbara laughed. She couldn't believe she could possibly be laughing, but there was no doubt about it. Her laughter had a