Prologue
There was a tremendous sickening boom. The ground shook and buckled. The house crashed around him. Tom, his eyes wide with fear, ran out of his shattered New York home and looked far into the distance. Thoughts raced through his head. Oh, my God, he thought. What happened? Then he saw the horrible, sickening, ominous cloud to the south. It was mushrooming. It was as tall and as wide as the clouds themselves as if to reach into heaven. Dark, sooty ash rained down as far as he could see. The fire seemed to be everywhere consuming the once pretty and luscious earth that he called home.
He raced back into what was left of the house, finally locating and grabbing his gun and extra ammunition from the safe he kept in the kitchen, terror consuming him.
Emma! What about Emma? Tom sprinted around the back of the house to the garage. Emma was only six years old. She was in school and daycare right now a good way from home. He tried his cell to call the school. All he could hear was a busy signal coming from the phone.
He could see and hear people screaming and coming out of the broken homes around him. Several of his neighbors called out to him, but he did not respond. He was to the truck in seconds. His city’s emergency horn seemed to pierce his ears, and its cry was striking and stabbing at his head.
He ripped open the door of the truck, moving debris and slamming it shut. He was shaking erratically. Hot, salty tears ran down his troubled face. His fingers fumbled to put the key in the ignition. Emma’s school was toward the great ball of fire in the distance.
Praying in a shaking voice, he finally started the truck. Putting the old Ford into gear, he hoped that it would not fail him. Others around him were starting to fill the road, confusion, and terror consuming their faces. Some tried to stop him, flinging their bodies against his windows. Many were homeless, and he knew that they had nowhere to go.
Trying to avoid them, he sped up, weaving through the locked mass. He lived in a very large neighborhood. The houses that were there were lined up, sitting very close to one another. He had no grass to speak of, something that Emma was always questioning him about.
It was just Tom and Emma. It had always been that way. Emma’s mother had died when she was very young. Tom worked very hard at a diner in the city. He washed dishes up to ten hours a day. They did not have much, but they were happy.
Finally weaving his way out of the crowd and his poor crippled neighborhood, Tom headed for the highway turning on the emergency station to see what kind of devastation had happened. Little did he know that there would be so much trouble ahead.
