Oil to Ashes 2, "Truce" (Linc Freemore Apocalyptic Thriller Series)

by Lee Brait

bursting with violence and hate. Fires and smoke and destruction everywhere he went. But up here looking down, for the first time he saw it all at once. The plague of fire scrubbing his city. His city that thrived, that pulsed with energy and enthusiasm. Now it burned. The columns of smoke that fed the toxic sky now too many to count. The angry red ceiling that flickered and rolled seemed to stir the cauldron below and only feed itself faster.

  At the top of the hill a small dead end led to a large red brick house. A narrow driveway squeezed between a steep bank a on the right and a steep bluff on the left. The house sat on the top of the hill, surrounded by a large stone wall. A good choice. Easy to defend if guarded well.

  The driveway widened to a parking area and three men met them as the Suburban pulled between an almost identical Suburban and a worn out looking blue Crown Vic. All three wore black leather jackets. Two had red bandanas. One carried a shotgun. Two had side arms. All pointed at Ryan and Angie.

  Something seemed out of place.

  The bandanas. Shouldn't they be blue?

  "Follow me," said one with a shotgun and no bandana as he opened Linc's door. He was tall and solid. So far he'd done what they wanted and they had showed surprisingly little intent to hurt Ryan or Angie. So far.

  Linc followed him to a steel gate that filled an arch in the stone wall. It was ten feet high and razor wire ran along the top. An array of perfumes wafted around him. The arch cut through a rainbow of pristine colors. Delicate curls of pure reds and yellows and oranges unfolded from centers, unsymmetrical and flawless, nestled among gnarled thorns and splashes of deep green foliage. It seemed an odd place for rows of perfectly tended rose bushes.

  The gate clanged behind and they passed a lavish pool and in through a glass door in the side of a large glass conservatory. It was a long room. So long that a pair of thick wooden beams ran the width of the ceiling and passed through the wall into the next room. They were a foot wide and a foot and and a half high, oiled to bring out the grain. They must have cost a fortune and weighed a ton each. On any other day he would have appreciated them for their strength and beauty.

  Past the second beam and at the far end of the conservatory a young woman sat at a bar sipping a red drink through a green striped straw.

  "Here he is boss."

  She turned toward him. "Make his family comfortable Jake."

  "Sure Siz. I'll put them in the guest room."

  "Hello again Linc."

  Linc stared and blinked a few times to check his eyes were working.

  "Rachel?"

  Read Oil To Ashes 3, "Warehouse":

  www.lincfreemore.com/OilToAshes3