A passage from my upcoming book. Its Untitled so far.

A small desert town lies in ruins. Flames coming pouring out of the windows of the First Baptist Church on Main St. The largest building in the center of town, the First Baptist Church was built when founding this town. It smells of methane gas. No one knows what happened. So much carnage it controlled the night, so much chaos. Dead bodies piled in the streets. A small mass of survivors stands at the edge of town. The women are crying, the babies are crying. The men stand their solemn faced. One speaks up above the sounds of the fire burning down their town.

“We need to get out of here and head for the nearest town” A younger male, barely drinking age. He has been trying to grow a beard for months to fit in with the other burly men, but he can barely grow stubble on his chin.

“Where do you suggest, we go. Huh? The closest town is 100 of miles.” One of the female counters him. She is an older lady. With white wisps in her hair, she carries a baby under her protective arms. She stares at the town with haunted eyes. Her family was one of the founding members. She turns to look at the young male. 

“What, John, you were on a roll! “ She speaks with heavy sarcasm.

“Well, Linda. What do you suggest? No one here can fight a 3 square mile fire! Can you Linda?” John spits back at her. He turns to face her with contempt in his eyes. Linda turns to look back at John with hatred in her eyes.