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Writer's pictureMark Sanders

Chapter 25: Kamikaze

Blogtober 2023

The sinkhole was not a uniform crater; the hole was off-center, and the flattest part of the recession was the farthest point from the opening, which is where the dead carried the debris. What this meant was that in order to drive to the edge of the hole, they would have to descend the steepest side of the slope.


“Hope the sheriff doesn’t get upset about us wrecking his vehicle,” Murphy said.


“It’s going to get buried in the explosion anyway,” Clarkton said. “Plus, it’s insured.”


From across the sinkhole, they could hear the thump of bass from the pickup’s stereo speakers as Nicole engaged her Spotify playlist, a Millennial mélange of ’90s and ’00s pop and hip-hop.


“Why couldn’t she play country?” Murphy wondered.


“That shit’s exactly the kind of noise to attract a monster,” Clarkton replied.


“Look down there!” Murphy said. They could still see shapes in the twilight, and a shape that looked more like a void than a shadow rose from the hole. It spread its wings, more like a bat than an insect, and flew toward the pickup.


Murphy spoke into his police radio, telling Nicole, “It’s coming your way.”


“I see it,” she answered.


The dark void shape blotted out the outline of the pickup, and Clarkton started the SUV and drove off the edge of the crater. Gravity pulled the vehicle down the rocky slope like a kamikaze pilot diving toward his suicidal fate. They slid to a stop inches from the edge.


Photo credit Adobe Stock #433173822

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