dog forward. They each let out yelps of pain and fear and then the vehicle was still.
Nothing lay in front of them.
Nothing lay behind or to either side.
The Rover sat on an island of earth, perhaps 84 feet wide and 100 feet in length.
Rebecca had no idea what was holding up this scrap of land, but she was grateful for it, knowing it was not likely to last more than a few minutes at most.
Stacy said nothing, but she didn’t cry either. She simply sat looking out the passenger side window, her eyes full of wonder and resignation.
Thinking about Glen, Rebecca sighed and turned to look at her dog. “Come here, Lou,” she said and patted her lap. The dog obliged, hopping over the center console to sit on top of his mistress, panting, wearing much the same expression as Stacy wore.
Burying her face in his fur, Rebecca sniffed and murmured, “You’re a good boy, Lou. A good boy.” She could feel the dog’s heart beating strong and steady in his chest and this gave her comfort. “We’ll see Daddy soon.”
When she lifted her face again, the eastern horizon was blushing the palest shade of gray she’d ever seen and the creatures were buzzing back forth in all directions. Dozens of them, all going about their own mysterious business.
This is their world now , she thought.
She hoped somewhere the earth still belonged to people, but in her heart of hearts she suspected that even if it did, it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Watching the enormous digger bees, she absently scratched her dog’s neck and listened to the hum of a distant chopper flying somewhere over head. The sound gave her a slight twinge of hope, but she knew better. She supposed Stacy knew better as well. She prayed for the young woman’s sake that she did.
The ground lasted a good deal longer than Rebecca had thought it would. There was time to watch the sunrise and listen to more helicopters come and go, but they never came close enough to warrant getting out and trying to signal them.
The day dawned in much the same way the previous one had: gray and gloomy and with a profound sense of loneliness that broke hearts and inspired poets. After a while, it began to rain, but they were all used to that now. It had rained for so long before this whole mess it seemed only fitting that it would end the same way. This was the Pacific Northwest after all and for Rebecca’s money, there was no place more beautiful.
The patter of rain soothed her almost as much as the weight of her dog did and she wondered vaguely if it would lull her to sleep.
And then, it did.
About the Author
Gina Ranalli is the author of many books, including House of Fallen Trees , Praise the Dead and Mother Puncher . Visit her online at www.ginaranalli.com.
Nothing lay in front of them.
Nothing lay behind or to either side.
The Rover sat on an island of earth, perhaps 84 feet wide and 100 feet in length.
Rebecca had no idea what was holding up this scrap of land, but she was grateful for it, knowing it was not likely to last more than a few minutes at most.
Stacy said nothing, but she didn’t cry either. She simply sat looking out the passenger side window, her eyes full of wonder and resignation.
Thinking about Glen, Rebecca sighed and turned to look at her dog. “Come here, Lou,” she said and patted her lap. The dog obliged, hopping over the center console to sit on top of his mistress, panting, wearing much the same expression as Stacy wore.
Burying her face in his fur, Rebecca sniffed and murmured, “You’re a good boy, Lou. A good boy.” She could feel the dog’s heart beating strong and steady in his chest and this gave her comfort. “We’ll see Daddy soon.”
When she lifted her face again, the eastern horizon was blushing the palest shade of gray she’d ever seen and the creatures were buzzing back forth in all directions. Dozens of them, all going about their own mysterious business.
This is their world now , she thought.
She hoped somewhere the earth still belonged to people, but in her heart of hearts she suspected that even if it did, it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Watching the enormous digger bees, she absently scratched her dog’s neck and listened to the hum of a distant chopper flying somewhere over head. The sound gave her a slight twinge of hope, but she knew better. She supposed Stacy knew better as well. She prayed for the young woman’s sake that she did.
The ground lasted a good deal longer than Rebecca had thought it would. There was time to watch the sunrise and listen to more helicopters come and go, but they never came close enough to warrant getting out and trying to signal them.
The day dawned in much the same way the previous one had: gray and gloomy and with a profound sense of loneliness that broke hearts and inspired poets. After a while, it began to rain, but they were all used to that now. It had rained for so long before this whole mess it seemed only fitting that it would end the same way. This was the Pacific Northwest after all and for Rebecca’s money, there was no place more beautiful.
The patter of rain soothed her almost as much as the weight of her dog did and she wondered vaguely if it would lull her to sleep.
And then, it did.
About the Author
Gina Ranalli is the author of many books, including House of Fallen Trees , Praise the Dead and Mother Puncher . Visit her online at www.ginaranalli.com.
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