Hissers by Ryan C. Thomas Page B

more and concluded they were all just the worse for wear. The worst of the injuries seemed to be Connor’s shin, which needed stitches and a bandage.
    “What do we do about that?” Nicole asked, pointing into the woods where the wing had gone. A pool of fire was casting orange light up into the surrounding treetops.
    “More importantly,” Amanita added, “What the hell do we do about that ?” They followed her finger as she pointed out over the town.
    A trail of fire cut through the center of Castor. Flaming debris was spread out in what had to be a mile-wide radius. Nearby houses had been torn to pieces, businesses reduced to kindling, trees and cars smashed to bits. The smell of burning wood and metal was everywhere. The plane itself, throwing walls of fire into the sky, was situated just beyond the pizza place.
    As the four of them stood on the hill, looking down in awe, rubbing bruises and wiping blood off their skin, they heard the cries of the entire town float up the thermals from the crash site and wash over them like a nightmare.
    Their friends and families were injured, dead or dying.
     
    Saturday, 8:29
     
    As a tight group, the four teens hobbled through the dark woods, careful to find footing over the newly fallen trees. Their flashlights were gone, and even though the severed wing was still burning and lighting nearby vegetation on fire, dense shadows still made it dangerous to walk.
    The path led down to the south end of Farmers Road, which was flanked on both sides by woods. Farmers Road cut like a river through the center of town, passing by the park and angling up toward the Jefferson Bridge on the north end, winding through many miles of wooded nothingness on the south end until it met State Road 134 to Wallington. It was just the one road into and out of town unless you counted a few dozen dirt “roads” that cut through the wooded hills encircling the majority of Castor. There had once been second bridge over the Jefferson River’s deep but empty riverbed, but it had been deemed unsafe after a wild storm had loosened its struts in 1987. The town had voted and eventually torn in down.
    Connor, Nicole, Seth and Amanita reached the bottom of the dirt trail and began jogging down Farmers Road. The blaze from the crashed plane seemed brighter, hotter.
    Connor stopped at the edge of the park and pointed across the giant green lawn. “We can cut across the soccer fields to Union Avenue and hop over the chain-link fence around the supermarket. That’ll put us on top of the hill near Pizza King.”
    Nobody protested, but Nicole pointed to his leg. “Can you climb like that?”
    “I’ll be alright.”
    “I have a feeling you’re not going to be high on the ER’s list of priorities,” Amanita added.
    The park lights were off, the games having ended for the day. In the near distance they could see the orange glow of the blazing fire reflecting off the low clouds. It looked like a gigantic pit from hell had opened under their town and was trying to crawl up to the sky.
    “I can’t get service.” Nicole held her cell phone up, trying to find reception. “One hundred and twenty bucks a month and it doesn’t work.”
    “There’s a cell tower on top of the high school,” Seth said. “That’s not too far from the crash. Maybe some debris hit it? Knocked it out?”
    Connor shook his head. “We have to have more than one tower.”
    “I can’t get Internet on it either,” Nicole added.
    Amanita took out her own cellphone. Its face was cracked and dirt fell out of the battery housing. “Mine’s busted. Shit, I don’t even have insurance on it.”
    Connor said, “The plane must have messed up the town’s system. But we can hear sirens so somebody already called.”
    Not that the whole town wouldn’t have felt that, he thought.
    Nicole put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and stopped him for a second. “I need to make sure my Mom’s okay.”
    “Yeah sure, but—”
    “But what?”
    “I