Take the Long Way Home by Brian Keene Read Free Book Online

haunting this place. Traffic was blocked again. A tanker truck lay on its side in front of the overpass. Those with four-wheel drive vehicles and motorcycles went around it, driving up over the embankment and onto the road above. Others parked their cars and milled about, exchanging gossip and small talk. I noticed that nobody was getting too close to the wrecked tanker, and when I saw the HazMat markings on its side, and the dark stains where liquid had spilled out onto the road, I understood why.
    Away from the wreckage, someone had started a bonfire in a rusty fifty-five gallon drum and several people were gathered around it, warming themselves by the fire. Many of them stared upward, and when we got closer, we did the same.
    A man hung from the overpass, the rope around his neck twisting slowly in the night breeze. A piece of cardboard had been stapled to his chest, the words ‘CHILD MOLESTER’ scrawled on it with black magic marker in big block letters. His face looked strange in the flickering firelight. Weird shadows danced across his skin. His bowels had let go, and shit had rolled down his legs and splattered onto the pavement beneath him. The crowd kept its distance from this, too.
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    Charlie made a noise like someone had punched him in the stomach. He turned his head and threw up all over the road.
    Frank said, “What the fuck happened here?”
    Cautiously, we approached the group gathered around the fire. They eyed us suspiciously. One of them, an older Hispanic man with a silver beard, nodded.
    “How you doing?”
    “As good as can be expected,” Frank said. “We walked from Timonium. You folks care if we rest here for a minute?”
    “Help yourself.”
    The man moved aside, and the others followed his lead, making room for us. They seemed to relax a bit. They were a weird assortment, business suits and blue jeans, silk and denim, gold jewelry and dirty flannel.
    “I’m Tony,” the guy with the silver beard said. “Was on my way to work when it happened. Guess I’ll have to use a sick day. I work nights at the McCormick plant.”
    I introduced Charlie, Frank and myself. Nods were exchanged, but nobody shook hands or traded business cards.
    Tony studied us. “You guys walked all the way from Timonium?”
    “Yeah.” I nodded. “Traffic’s at a standstill down there.”
    “It’s not moving too quickly here, either,” a middle-aged black woman noted. “Not with that overturned truck blocking the road.”
    “Yeah,” Frank said, “but at least it’s still moving here. The four-wheel drives and the motorcycles are getting through. Down there, the only thing moving is the wind.”
    “Lots of accidents?” Tony asked.
    I warmed my hands over the open flames. “Yeah, a bunch of wrecks and lots of people hurt or dead. How about here?”
    “Here, too. Lots of dead—and even more missing.”
    “Do they know what caused it?” Frank rubbed the back of his neck.
    “So far, we’ve heard everything from terrorists to aliens. Somebody even said it was some kind of hallucinogen, sprayed through the air by a crop duster or something. Chem-trails, the guy said. I don’t know about that, though.”
    Tony looked up at the moon. I noticed his eyes avoided the hanging man.
    “There’s all kinds of rumors and speculation,” he said, “but no real news. We had our car radios on for a while, but none of us wanted to kill our batteries or run out of gas. Last we heard, nobody knew the cause. Only thing we know for sure is that everybody heard that trumpet noise.”
    “Us, too,” I confirmed.
    The black woman laughed, but there was no humor in it. “They heard it around the world. Toronto, Los Angeles, Paris, Beijing—and soon as it happened, millions of people vanished in an instant.”
    Frank stepped back from the fire and mopped his brow. “What’s the government doing about it?”
    Tony snorted. “Right now? Nothing.”
    “But they’ve got to do something,” Frank said. “The Department of