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the Saint Francis daily student newspaper: "E.G. Wages Dies on Fog Shrouded Canadian Highway." Then I had a second, even more disconcerting thought. What if my flaming final moments didn't even make the student newspaper at all? |
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I jumped back in, jammed the clunker in reverse, slid momentarily back on the gravel, inched back out on the highway and turned east toward Chambers Bay. |
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It didn't take long to lapse back into thinking about what the widow had said. "The hour is at hand. The time has come. Eleven times eleven. A one hundred and twenty-one year cycle." Click. "Lucy, my dearest research resource, find out what's so special about this particular emergence. Is this one destined to be even worse than the others? Does that explain why this particular event seems to be so strung out and the others all appeared to be one day shots?" Up until now, up until Chambers Bay, these tragedies seemed to be confined to one event, one massacre, one episode of monumental proportions. Now, thinking about it, there were a great many aspects of this whole affair that were markedly different from previous ones. Click. |
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There was a light ahead, not well defined, but blurry, vague and uncertain. A streetlight? Was I at the edge of town? Had I made it? |
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The impact stopped the pickup cold. |
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