Burning Time

77

Boom. Shock waves jolted the street, setting an overhead street light swinging wildly in the intersection in front of Jason’s taxi. The car in front of them swerved to avoid a kid on a bike, skidding out of control.

“What the—”

The taxi driver slammed on the breaks, smashing Jason into the plastic divider that separated them.

“What are you doing?” Jason cried. “Go ahead.”

The taxi spun out and stopped sideways in the intersection. Above, the light, still showing green, swung back and forth.

“You blind, mon?” the driver shouted over his rasta music. He pointed to the dense black smoke that was already beginning to spew up into the sky, several blocks ahead of them.

Horns started honking around them. They were blocking the traffic flow into the intersection.

“Go on,” Jason said wildly. They had about six blocks to go. “Go on.”

“No, mon, I don’t want to get near no fire.”

Fire. Oh, shit it was a big fire. Grebs set fires. Jason could see the flames now, shooting up over the tops of the two-story houses. Oh, God. Too late.

“Go on,” he cried. “We’re not there. Go on.”

“Not going no farther, mon. We’ll get stuck in there.”

“It’s only a few blocks. Hurry up.” Jason dug in his pocket and pulled out the wad of bills he had left from his California trip. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars to take me six fucking blocks. Come on. It’ll only take you a few minutes.”

The light turned red. The horns blared. The driver eyed the thick wad of bills. He shrugged.

“Okay, mon. It’s your money.”

Jerk, jerk, jerk. They lurched forward as the taxi accelerated into traffic moving the other way, causing a gridlock. Shrieking fire engines raced into the mess, adding to the chaos of a dozen furious horns honking all around them. Above them, the sky turned black. Jason got out on the side of the car that had a door handle and started to run.