Refuge Book 1 - Night of the Blood Sky by Jeremy Robinson, Jeremy Bishop Read Free Book Online Page B

to his blue jeans, now darkly stained. He couldn’t make out the color in the low illumination from the truck’s lit dome light. But then the scent of old copper tickled his nose, and he knew what it was: blood.
    A lot of blood.
    But not his. Whoever had lost that much blood was...
    A swirl of hair resting on his leg caught his attention. He took hold of it between his shaking fingers and lifted. He immediately recognized the straight black strands as belonging to his wife, Susie. A trembling scream rose up in his throat and burst from his lungs, when he saw the chunk of flesh dangling from the hair’s end.
    He dropped the hair and nearly lost hold of the lens, but managed to clutch it in his fist. Tears blurred his vision further as he wept. He remembered.
    Remembered everything.
    He was driving too fast, squealing the tires around the curvy country road, trying to reach Ashland before the fireworks began. But they didn’t make it. When the fire red explosion blossomed in the sky, both girls began crying, Susie started yelling and while his eyes were craned upward, watching the embers turn orange and slip back toward the distant Earth, a deer leapt in front of the truck.
    He saw the animal as a blur of motion and reacted by turning the wheel hard to the left. His right bumper caught the deer in the side and knocked it down to the pavement, where it was struck by the right front tire. The mammoth vehicle bucked wildly and launched off the road.
    With just thirty feet of grass between the truck and the line of hundred-foot pine trees, Beaumont had just a second to make a choice: crash headlong at near full speed, turn left, slow down and dull the impact, or turn right.
    Both girls were seated on the left side of the vehicle, right behind him, so he made a choice.
    He turned left, hopefully slowing the vehicle and sparing his daughters—and himself—from the direct force of the impact. At the time, his mind hadn’t fully comprehended the full ramifications of his choice. But he understood it now. He’d killed his wife to save his girls. And it wasn’t an accident, not to the courts. He’d been speeding. Driving recklessly. Hell, Sheriff Rule had seen him speeding away from town. It was manslaughter, plain and simple. He’d go to jail and lose the...
    Girls!
    He unclipped his seatbelt, and with a groan of pain, he spun around to look at the back seat. With the lens against his eye, he looked at the empty seats with a sense of relief. The windows were up and the door was closed. They hadn’t been thrown out, so they must have left on their own. He searched the seats for blood and saw just a small smudge on the window.
    They’re okay , he told himself. But then he realized they’d left him there. They think I’m dead, too . He faced forward again and caught sight of his wife as he turned. It was just a flash, but it was enough. A pine tree had basically forced its way into the cab of the truck. Buckled in her belt, Susie had been torn apart at the waist and neck. Shards of metal from the door and ceiling had mutilated the rest of her. If she hadn’t been sitting next to him in their truck, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize her.
    He fumbled with the truck’s handle, wrenched it open and fell to the tall grass on the side of the road. Vomit exploded from his mouth, matting down the grass. Two dry heaves followed. As he caught his breath, his thoughts began to clear.
    The girls , he thought, forcing away images of Susie’s body. I have to find the girls.
    He stood on unsteady legs, waiting for a moment, testing his weight to see if anything was broken. To his surprise he seemed mostly intact, except for the nasty gouge on his forehead. He stumbled up the rise, finding forward movement far more difficult than simply standing.
    He fell to his knees and stifled a shout when he found himself looking into the eyes of a very dead deer, its insides uncoiled in the road and crushed by his truck’s tires.
    Catching