Empty Roads: Part One

By Travis McBee

When Nathan pulls into Redridge, he knows that something is off. He discovers that though the entire town is perfectly maintained, it is completely devoid of people. When he uncovers why the people are missing, he unleashes something upon himself that he never expected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Travis McBee
• Release date: Mar 31, 2014

Travis McBee

Travis McBee was born and raised just outside of Atlanta, Georgia. He is the younger of two children and enjoys backpacking, playing rugby, and watching football. Apart from his many short stories, he is the author of four novels: Bridgeworld, Bridgeworld: Encounter at Atlantis, Triton: Rise of the Fallen, and Triton: The Call of War. He is also the author of a children's series: The Chronicles of a Second Grade Genius. He currently resides with his three very fluffy guinea pigs in Georgia.

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The Silent Treatment

Travis McBee

Copyright © 2014 by Travis McBee

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

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may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author

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www.TravisMcBee.com

Nathan knew that something was seriously wrong with Redridge the second his Chevelle crested the hill which separated the town from state route 119.

He depressed the clutch and switched to third. The hood dipped and the engine whined as the transmission did the work of the brakes, slowing the big car down as he approached the array of two story brick buildings which formed the town square. He passed the carved wooden sign WELCOME TO REDRIDGE, POP 402 and felt an urge to turn around and open up the taps on the Chevelle’s big engine. He didn’t know just what it was about the town that made his stomach turn, but the quaint buildings, well trimmed grass, and empty streets assaulted his senses, extolling him to just leave. But, as he would soon find out, it was too late to leave. Much too late.

Redridge was one of a million little towns tucked away in the mountains. If you didn’t know it was there you would probably never be able to find it. And seeing as nobody knew it was there, nobody ever found it. Calling it a town was a bit much, in truth, since the entire enterprise was nothing more than the little square Nathan cruised into. Courthouse in the center of a grass lawn, a barber shop, a general store, a diner, and the smallest branch of some miniscule local bank. The buildings were all the same size and shape, two stories of redbrick, and each one of them sported an American flag over the window in preparation for memorial day.

Nathan wasn’t a superstitious man, no matter what his readers might say, and he chided himself for getting spooked by the little town. There wasn’t a reason for it. The day was perfect: blue skies, seventy degrees, and the pollen count thrown low by rain the previous weekend. Wasn’t that why he had pulled his old car out of the garage and started cruising? Well here he was, cruising into a little slice of southern Americana. By golly, he was going to enjoy it.

He slid the car into one of the slanted parking spaces outside the diner and killed the engine. The car shuttered as it was freed from four hundred horsepower, and the engine began the process of ticking cool.

Nathan cranked the windows up. I really should install some electrics, he thought miserably as he leaned across the passenger seat to roll up the right window. Of course he didn’t need to roll the windows up since he was just going inside the diner and would be able to observe his car the entire time. There was also the wonderful fact that crime was almost nonexistent once you climbed the first hill into the mountains, but he had been raised in the ‘burbs and had been conditioned with habits of making things secure. Even though he had left the city life behind five years ago, buying a small estate tucked in his own corner of this mountainous region, he never bothered to try and break any of his habits. They were still a good set to have, by and large, and he went about each day like he had before; he locked the deadbolt every time he left his house, never left anything in his car, and continued to carry a .40 caliber Springfield tucked into the front of his waistband.

He pulled up on the door handle and swung the heavy door open. The well oiled hinges operated without protest, allowing him to step into the perfect quietness of the town. He knew then, even as he slapped the lock down and closed the door, that he hadn’t imagined there being something amiss.

It’s quiet…too quiet, he joked to himself, enjoying the idiocy of using old clichés. It wasn’t funny, though, because that old cliché was about as accurate as you could get without writing an entire book. The town was vacated from sound. There was none of the laughter of children, hum of air conditioning units, or the chatter of the gossiping elderly. Nathan stood still, his hand resting on the cherry red paint of his car’s roof, and listened hard.