Ash Creek Short Story

Ash Creek - by James Shope

"Down Main Street, then a left on Hannover Street for 5 miles, and a right on Rabbit Run" Allan Atoll vaguely remembered. "That seems right, right?" Allan questioned the group. "The farther from Charleston the better! I hope nothing freaky crawls out of that hole" snapped Jenny Rainier. "Get your mind off science fiction and let's get on the move." Winston's remark silenced the refugees. "I suppose so, Mr. Fitch" mumbled Jenny. The air hung low, heavy, and thick. The occasional wall of wind nipped at they group with its coldness. It seemed as though only boots marching onward could sever the tense air. It was a calm day in the average suburban home about a week prior. The sun began to rise in the east, perforating the window panes, and as it did a secondary sun rose to the southwest. The second sun was much closer and stunned the residents of Altar, West Virgina like deer in a spotlight. The fireball advanced into the atmosphere with a glow akin to fiery forge. Later that day, on July 16th,
All the store fronts were so liberally "liguidated" by the second day. Vehicles were a rare commodity in the wasteland, not in the sense of their abundance, but the lack of petrollium before the war made it worth more then gold. Many people stayed in the city, all fools alike. Those to weak to leave, to attached to venture out, and those still froze in fear cowered in their homes. While Allan's pack thought these people cowards, it made no compairson to main street. Still decorated with a "Fun in the Sun" vibe, Main street was a morbid place that sickened all who approached its coridoors. The pre-war party theme was juxtaposed by the human windchimes, strung by the neck, in such a fassion that an immaginative mind could, but shouldn't, find it festive. A quirky holiday, supposidly to bring about prosperity through sick self