Satan's Breath

Prologue-2

Blaze continued to call out, her sobs choking off her words. Finally growing tired, she slid down the old door, shards of peeling paint biting into her skin. She’d been sitting there for only a few minutes when she heard a loud blast, causing her to jerk as if she’d been struck by lightning.

Terror such as she’d never known filled her.

She jumped up and pulled and tugged on the door, trying desperately to turn the knob, but it was locked against her.

“Aunt Rachel!” she yelled, banging on the door until her hands began to throb with pain. She quickly moved to a window, and struggled to see through the glass that was dim both with age, and a thin layer of red Georgia dirt.

“Oh, God!” she screamed when she saw her aunt lying in a pool of blood on the floor, and a gun lying at her side. Her little face immediately screwed up in pain as she sank slowly to her knees, crying uncontrollably. She could feel a biting anger rising inside her causing her to scream and kick, and bang hysterically at the old tarpaper shack until she became exhausted. With no fight left in her, she hung her head and hid her face in her hands until she realized something had changed, and looked up.

Satan’s Breath had stopped blowing.

It was as if the whole world was dead.

Like a tomb.

Her frightened gaze darted around at the early morning scene that was draped in the blackest shadows she had ever known. The rustle of the trees had stopped, and where was the constant drone of insects, or the skittering of squirrels? She began shaking, cold fear mounting inside her. How she ached for her Aunt Rachel’s soft arms to lie in, and her soothing voice telling her everything was going to be all right.

But she had no one, only the dead of night.

Slowly, she pulled herself up, realizing for the first time that there was nothing here for her anymore. She needed to leave the dirt roads behind, and go to where the streets swarmed with people. People to talk to, and be with. She picked up her ragged suitcase, lugging it heavily at her side, and began walking. As she put one foot in front of the other, the ugly little house she had known all her life dropped into the background, and the train station loomed into view.

The empty ticket house and vacant platform looked dark and haunting. The shabby little sign that read Piney Grove rocked in the wind, clinking eerily as it hung from a thick post extending from the front roof of the small building.

Piney Grove was a little ramshackle town hiding among a thicket of pines in the backwoods of Georgia, not even a dot on the map. It was known for a scorching wind that blew so hot they called it Satan’s Breath. They said it came right up out of hell, getting trapped in the trees and gullies with nowhere to go. The legend was, when Satan’s Breath blew its hottest, there was tragedy in its wake. Tonight, the wind whistled and moaned, its touch almost singeing her skin.

And two bodies lay dead.

Even though Blaze was already fourteen, she had never had a pair of shoes on her feet, and had never even seen a paved street. Now, as she looked down these lonely railroad tracks that twisted like a long snake into the distance, she felt frightened at the strange new world that awaited her. She curled up on a bench for the rest of the night, huddling until the early morning darkness slowly gave way to an eerie gray ash. She felt as if her eyes had just fluttered to a close when she jumped, feeling a hand on her arm. Looking up, she saw an old, wrinkled face looking down at her.

“You lookin’ to catch the train, miss?”

“Y-Yes,” Blaze said nervously, quickly sitting up.

“Better come with me, then,” he said while taking a set of clinking keys from his pocket to open the door. “Got money?” he asked, shuffling inside and taking his place behind the ticket counter.

“Yessir, I got near…” Suddenly, her mouth snapped shut when she remembered what her aunt had told her about being careful with her money. “I…I got money…well…a little.”

“Where ya goin’?”

The simple question caused turmoil in her mind at first, but after a slight hesitation, she looked up at him with a wistful look on her face. “Somewhere they ain’t no dirt roads.”

The old man narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “Runnin’ away?”

“Ain’t none o’ yo’ business,” Blaze said, lifting her chin in a haughty fashion.

“Ain’t, huh? How ‘bout Californy? Fur ride from here, but ye’re young.”

Blaze’s eyes widened, a tiny smile stretching her lips. “Californy,” she whispered softly, then looked back at the old man. “It must cost a…”

“Ya got money, ain’t ya? How much ya got?”

Blaze looked at him and hesitated, her actions guarded.

“Girlie, I gotta know if you got enough. Now, how much is it?”

“N-Near on…near on three hunnert,” she said finally.

“One way?”

“If’en you mean I ain’t comin’ back…yeah.”

“It’ll be enough. Just count out—”

Blaze felt a streak of fear. “I can’t count.”

The man extended his hands with an audible sigh and an aggravated look on his face. “Give it to me,” he said with a snap to his words.

Blaze frowned. “No!”

“Look, somebody’s gotta count out the fare, or you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Hurry up now, the train’s due in five minutes.”

Suddenly Blaze caught the sound of a far off whistle, and turned away slightly while she removed it from the pouch inside her dress. At last having it in her trembling hands, she extended it hesitantly. She watched his lips move while he shuffled the bills and mumbled out a bunch of numbers. She looked relieved when he pushed a few bills back at her along with a ticket. She looked up at him, hope shining in her eyes. “I can go to Californy now?”

“You can if’en you git on the train.” He pointed toward the door. “Jest take a seat. The train’ll be comin’ ‘round Rooster’s Bend any minute now.”

“How do I know if it’s the right one?”

The man stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “They ain’t but one, gal. Now you git on it when it gits here, ‘cause that bench out there ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He watched her as she turned away, then shook his head and chuckled.

Looking down at the fistful of cash she still had, she felt better as she headed for the door. Just before she went through, her gaze darted around as if she were afraid someone was watching. Noticing that the station was vacant except for her, she quickly pushed the remaining cash down into the ragged little pouch her aunt Rachel always sewed on the inside of her dresses when she carried money. A few minutes later, she blinked her eyes in wonder when the blustering monster that was about to swallow her up chugged into the station. She waited while a couple of people got off, then walked up to the conductor. “This train goin’ to Californy?”

“Sure is, miss.” The man smiled.

“Thanks,” Blaze answered nervously. With halting steps, she slowly climbed on, found a seat, and sat quietly. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. After several teeth-grinding minutes, the cars jerked into motion, and the iron wheels began to roll. Suddenly her heart jumped into her throat and fear flooded through her. It was at that exact moment when she realized she was actually leaving, and would never return. Lifting her gaze, she looked out at the dirty, slumish little collection of shacks as the train passed them by, and her gaze anchored on her house.

Thinking one last time of the two people who lay dead in the wake of Satan’s Breath, the little tarpaper shack melted into the dull, ash-colored darkness of her past. Fear, hurt, and anguish swirled inside her as she cried one last time for her aunt, but knew she was also crying for herself. She might not have had much schooling, but she had enough sense to know that the little backwoods gal with the hot Georgia dirt still clinging to her bare feet, had also died—and the real Blaze Alexander was born!