Lifestyles
My view from the top of Gnarly included the road at the end of the long lane, congested with cars even though it was early afternoon. Nowhere close to rush hour. The road was on the map, of course. It had probably been a horse track back when the land was being used as a cemetery. Soon to be replaced by a superhighway, unless I could do something to stop it.
Bolt burst into a trot. Sam's heart jumped down his throat. Up and down, up and down, he bounced in the saddle. His feet flew out of the stirrups. The fence and then barn and Grandpa flashed by. "Whoa!" yelled Sam. "Whoa!" Grandpa stepped in front of Bolt. He grabbed the reins and pulled Bolt to a stop. Sam took a huge breath. "I'm getting off!" he said. He slid off the horse. It was a long way to the ground. His legs wobbled. He thought Grandpa would be disgusted with him. But Grandpa looked pleased. "Not bad for your first time," he said.
At last it stopped. Everything stopped. No movement. No sound. Only smell. The truck cab filled with the dry smell of dust and the stomach-churning stench of gas.
Everything was hazy, seen through a blanket of dust and smoke. "Rusty?" Katie said, "You okay?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so. We gotta get out of here."
Katie undid her seatbelt. "Emily?"
There was no answer.
