General
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Every year we take the same roads.
We pass through the same towns.
We arrive at the same beach.
Every year we stay at the same place.
I call it our cottage.
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"Hi, Laura! Hi, kids!" he says, overfriendly and not waiting for an answer. I don't even want to say his name. I hate him. I totally, absolutely, completely, really, truly hate him.
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At last it stopped. Everything stopped. No movement. No sound. Only smell. The truck cab filled with the dry smell of dust and the stomach-churning stench of gas.
Everything was hazy, seen through a blanket of dust and smoke. "Rusty?" Katie said, "You okay?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so. We gotta get out of here."
Katie undid her seatbelt. "Emily?"
There was no answer.
