Free Under a Broken Sun by Kevin P. Sheridan Page B

wave, ask if we knew anything (we didn’t), and if we could contact someone for them (we couldn’t).    Hundreds of thousands lost without the electronics they need to survive.  Thousands of elderly people baking in their own homes.  Even those who sat by their cars and waited for help to arrive probably passed out from heat exhaustion and died.
    No news, no news channels, no internet.  We had no idea what to expect as we came around a bend, up a hill, or now, facing a tunnel.
    A long, pitch black tunnel. 
    Moonlight bounced off of cars lined up in front of and through the tunnel, the word Blue Mountain hovered above the entrance like a warning sign.  “Death to all who enter here”. 
    “I say we go around,” Ashley said.
    “You wanna go through these woods in the dark?”
    “You don’t know what’s in there,” she replied.
    Marilyn piped up.  “I’m with Ashley on this one, Adam.  That’s crazy.”
    “Going around’s crazy.  We can’t climb that mountain, and we have no idea how far to the nearest road is.” 
    “We’re unarmed, who knows who could be in there.”
    “Or what,” Ashley mentioned.
    I thought about it.  Maybe they were right.  Could be a whole camp of crazy homeless people in there.  Or animals. 
    The cry of a baby made the decision for us.  Coming from within the tunnel.
     
     
    We ran into the dark tunnel, not stopping to build a torch.  I yelled “Hello?” but only my echo answered me.  The dead cars stood neatly lined up in their respective lanes, their owners having abandoned them a while ago.  Except the owner of this car.  Whoever was with the baby must’ve tried to get home but couldn’t.
    But shit, a baby?  Christ that’s all I needed.  I couldn’t just leave it.  I hoped wistfully that Ashley would shoot off a ton of maternal instincts, take the baby up, and go home with it.  We couldn’t slow down for a baby.
    The cries grew closer, bouncing around the tunnel.  Another sound mingled with the high pitched wails.  A grumbling.  No, a growling.  Several of them.
    Oh shit.
    I grabbed the door handle of the nearest car and opened it.  The smell of death, spoiled milk or meat, wafted out and nearly knocked us over.
    I tried the car to my left.  Locked.  I pulled Ashley ahead as the crying quieted down, but the growling grew louder.  Tried the next car’s door handle, pushed it in, and it popped open.  “Ashley,” I said, “get in.  If we don’t make it you get the hell out at first light.”
    “What?”  Ashley fought me pushing her in, but her shoulder was still sore and weak.  “Why me?”
    “Because you’ve been shot, dumbass!  Now get in”
    I put my gym bag in the driver’s side as she slid over to the passenger seat.  I took out the knife from the convenience store, and closed the door behind me.
    “Wolves?” Marilyn asked. 
    “Maybe.  Maybe just wild dogs, looking for dinner.”  We started our way slowly to the sound of the baby, now just a soft whimpering.
    “The baby’s out in the open,” Marilyn whispered.  “Otherwise we wouldn’t hear it.  Windows open?”
    “Or a convertible.”
    Growling from three directions: ahead, right, and left.  The baby sat in the car in front of us.  I felt around the car, found where the roof was supposed to be, but felt nothing.
    “Convertible,” I said. 
    A bark scared the shit out of me; I dropped the knife, Marilyn screamed.  Several barks followed.  Loud.  Repeated. 
    Dogs.
    Clicking of claws on the roads.  Scraping of claws on the hoods of cars.  From all over.
    “Marilyn, get in the car and grab the baby,” I said, dropping to the ground to find the knife.  “Now!”
    The baby screamed as Marilyn fumbled for the door handled.  I heard the door open and close.
    A larger bark.  “Get down!” I yelled, and started waving the knife around, cutting thick, black air.  I felt it plunge into the side of a dog, deep enough for my fist around the handle to