were looking for, but she trusted Joe would notice if anything seemed out of the ordinary.
He stuck his head into the engine compartment and poked around
with both hands for a few seconds. He straightened to standing and
slammed the lid shut with a solid thunk .
“Everything seems fi ne, babe.”
She forced a smile.
“Th at’s good. I guess I’m just spooked.”
“Understandably.” He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze and
then returned to the Jeep. He started the ignition and let it idle, waiting for her to join him. Apparently, the door-holding/kissing
ritual applied once per trip. She grinned at that notion and started back to the passenger seat.
As she reopened the door, the smell of chlorine wafted over her,
unmistakable this time.
“Wait,” she shouted into the front compartment of the Jeep.
91
MELISSA F. MILLER
She squatted beside the vehicle and twisted her neck to exam-
ine the undercarriage. It was oily and streaked with black dirt. She grabbed hold of the side with some reluctance. Her hands were
going to be fi lthy. But she pulled herself underneath and scanned
the length of the vehicle.
Th ere it was. Right under the gas tank, a fi lmy white plastic
soda bottle was affi xed to the underside of the Jeep with electrical tape. She reached for it, unthinkingly, and then stopped herself.
Her hands began to shake uncontrol ably, while her brain processed
what her eyes saw.
Plastic soda bottle. Chlorine. Improvised incendiary device.
Th e words scrolled across her mind. Jumping out at her from a
national security bulletin that Homeland Security had shared with
the Department of Justice about a year earlier. Apparently, terrorists had learned that fi lling a soda bottle with swimming pool tablets
and rubbing alcohol wasn’t just a juvenile delinquent prank. Add
some nails, strap the bottle to the bottom of a car, and you have
yourself a reasonably serviceable weapon.
She scrabbled out from the under the car, screaming Joe’s name.
“Get out! Hurry!”
He swiveled his head toward the sound of her voice. Th e wild
look on her face must have put off any thought of asking questions.
He jerked the car door open and dove out. She grabbed his hand,
and they half stumbled, half ran toward the meadow, the Jeep still
running.
As they cleared the fallen log, the Jeep exploded in a ball of
fl ame and twisted metal. Th e heat of the blast hit their backs. Aroostine glanced over her shoulder as she ran, but all she saw was a cloud of black smoke undulating through the waves of the fl ames. She
ran harder.
92
CHILLING EFFECT
Th ey ran until they couldn’t run any further, then they collapsed, their legs shaking and spent, their lungs burning. Aroostine surveyed the wide open plain and the empty sky. Th ey were miles away
from any signs of civilization, unlikely to be spotted by a farmer
or hiker. But that wouldn’t matter if a drone fl ew overhead. Th ey needed to rest, but they had to stay out of sight. She gestured toward a canopy of low-hanging tree branches, just a few yards away.
“Under there.”
She trudged toward the trees. Joe trailed her. Once she reached
the copse, she ducked under some branches and slid down to rest
against a tangle of trunk and roots. Joe sat across from her, his long legs stretched out toward hers so that the soles of their feet touched.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a grimy hand and
took a long look at her husband by the light fi ltering through the leaves. His face was gray, his eyes clouded, and his mouth set in a hard line.
“You okay?”
He nodded. “Th at was close.”
Joe Jackman, master of understatement.
“Yeah.”
“Th ank God you have the nose of a bloodhound.”
She managed a wan smile, unwilling to imagine what would
have happened if they’d pulled out and started to drive away with
the chlorine bomb unnoticed under the gas tank.
He tried to smile back, but his lips tugged down into a sudden
frown.
He stuck his head into the engine compartment and poked around
with both hands for a few seconds. He straightened to standing and
slammed the lid shut with a solid thunk .
“Everything seems fi ne, babe.”
She forced a smile.
“Th at’s good. I guess I’m just spooked.”
“Understandably.” He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze and
then returned to the Jeep. He started the ignition and let it idle, waiting for her to join him. Apparently, the door-holding/kissing
ritual applied once per trip. She grinned at that notion and started back to the passenger seat.
As she reopened the door, the smell of chlorine wafted over her,
unmistakable this time.
“Wait,” she shouted into the front compartment of the Jeep.
91
MELISSA F. MILLER
She squatted beside the vehicle and twisted her neck to exam-
ine the undercarriage. It was oily and streaked with black dirt. She grabbed hold of the side with some reluctance. Her hands were
going to be fi lthy. But she pulled herself underneath and scanned
the length of the vehicle.
Th ere it was. Right under the gas tank, a fi lmy white plastic
soda bottle was affi xed to the underside of the Jeep with electrical tape. She reached for it, unthinkingly, and then stopped herself.
Her hands began to shake uncontrol ably, while her brain processed
what her eyes saw.
Plastic soda bottle. Chlorine. Improvised incendiary device.
Th e words scrolled across her mind. Jumping out at her from a
national security bulletin that Homeland Security had shared with
the Department of Justice about a year earlier. Apparently, terrorists had learned that fi lling a soda bottle with swimming pool tablets
and rubbing alcohol wasn’t just a juvenile delinquent prank. Add
some nails, strap the bottle to the bottom of a car, and you have
yourself a reasonably serviceable weapon.
She scrabbled out from the under the car, screaming Joe’s name.
“Get out! Hurry!”
He swiveled his head toward the sound of her voice. Th e wild
look on her face must have put off any thought of asking questions.
He jerked the car door open and dove out. She grabbed his hand,
and they half stumbled, half ran toward the meadow, the Jeep still
running.
As they cleared the fallen log, the Jeep exploded in a ball of
fl ame and twisted metal. Th e heat of the blast hit their backs. Aroostine glanced over her shoulder as she ran, but all she saw was a cloud of black smoke undulating through the waves of the fl ames. She
ran harder.
92
CHILLING EFFECT
Th ey ran until they couldn’t run any further, then they collapsed, their legs shaking and spent, their lungs burning. Aroostine surveyed the wide open plain and the empty sky. Th ey were miles away
from any signs of civilization, unlikely to be spotted by a farmer
or hiker. But that wouldn’t matter if a drone fl ew overhead. Th ey needed to rest, but they had to stay out of sight. She gestured toward a canopy of low-hanging tree branches, just a few yards away.
“Under there.”
She trudged toward the trees. Joe trailed her. Once she reached
the copse, she ducked under some branches and slid down to rest
against a tangle of trunk and roots. Joe sat across from her, his long legs stretched out toward hers so that the soles of their feet touched.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a grimy hand and
took a long look at her husband by the light fi ltering through the leaves. His face was gray, his eyes clouded, and his mouth set in a hard line.
“You okay?”
He nodded. “Th at was close.”
Joe Jackman, master of understatement.
“Yeah.”
“Th ank God you have the nose of a bloodhound.”
She managed a wan smile, unwilling to imagine what would
have happened if they’d pulled out and started to drive away with
the chlorine bomb unnoticed under the gas tank.
He tried to smile back, but his lips tugged down into a sudden
frown.
Similar Books
