Ping - From the Apocalypse by Susan Lowry Page A

to be found.
    S he drove past the super-center slowing at the intersection by a familiar-looking van, but stopping herself from peering inside. It wasn’t going to do her any good or help her get out of town she decided, turning the corner onto the main strip where she passed the familiar restaurants, ice-cream parlours, scuba-diving shops, tattoo salons and pawnbrokers, the cars becoming more numerous as she approached the center of town.
    Ahead , the route was blocked by a jumble of vehicles, some that had crashed into others. “This is what happens when you turn off the TV to get some work done, Snowy — you miss out on the mass-hysteria.”
    Weaving around the cars onto the shoulder and then up on the curb to get past a collision involving vehicles full of children and a German Shepherd, she came to a stop beneath the sign Kate Avery’s Studios . Her paintings were visible through the window along with some pottery and other crafts, created by her associates.
    The adjacent pizzeria always closed for the winter; last summer she had sat beneath the canopy with her friends, drinking beer, laughing, enjoying the hot summer evenings. She slowly crawled ahead and then paused again, gazing down the side-street at the whitecaps crashing onto the icy shore in the distance. She adjusted the heat and continued weaving her way through the unbelievable chaos, toward the highway. Just before the exit she pulled off and drove over to the hardware store, shifting to park by the main doors.
    “Don’t go away Snowy.”
    She headed straight to the automotive section relieved to find pumps for syphoning fuel, gas cans and a battery charger. Then browsing through the items for anything else she might not have thought about she finally wheeled the cart out to her car.
    “ Are we having fun yet Snowy?”
    She threw everything in the backseat , slid behind the wheel and drove over to the gas station. Finding fuel had worried her, but the gas flowed easily from the nozzle into her tank and sighing with relief she wondered if she’d be as lucky elsewhere.
    S he filled four gas cans and tucked them safely in the trunk, determined to be prepared for anything. Jon had probably left their Honda in decent shape and if anything went wrong she would likely find another usable vehicle easily enough — though it might be a bit of a walk; she wouldn’t want to be dragging Snowy and all her stuff around in the cold.
    “Here we go,” she said, taking the southbound ramp to the highway. She noticed her white knuckles. Negative thinking had never seemed to help in the past. It might be superstition but in her case it had also been fact.
    She picked up speed as she took the middle lane. So far, the route ahead of her was clear. The Honda hadn’t had a single problem since they’d purchased it four years ago. That worried her though and she couldn’t bear to be stuck another day. They had to get south before the next storm.
    The clock on the dash said it was just past noon. There were dark clouds off in the distance but that was east of her and the highway was heading south. She pressed the button to the CD player. The music was recorded by a local rock band and it helped for a while.
    T here were a few cars scattered here and there at the side of the expressway, and several in the lanes facing the wrong way. But it got worse the further south she drove, and became increasingly unnerving; blank stares pressed against the windows, mouths hanging wide open in frozen screams, children and pets included. The visions toyed with her peripheral vision though she struggled not to see them, pretending they didn’t exist as she drove on, an unexplainable fear of getting off the highway rising inside her.
    A b us had skidded sideways, then a truck had rolled; collisions were disturbingly more frequent, but so far, the highway had been accessible. That was not going to be the case fairly soon, she finally accepted, as the congestion grew