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Carrion Road
Carrion Road
Carrion Road
Ebook19 pages12 minutes

Carrion Road

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Alone on an empty, eerie road in the middle of the Sacramento Delta, Carla fumes at the boyfriend who abandoned her. The sun sets. A car appears. A pleasant looking couple offers wary Carla a ride.

The fare: "Tell us the story."

Not just any story. The story.

But this is one story Carla would rather not reveal to complete strangers.

Or to herself.
              
A contemporary fantasy short story from Dale Hartley Emery.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 22, 2014
ISBN9781632610027
Carrion Road
Author

Dale Hartley Emery

Dale Hartley Emery writes fiction in a variety of genres, including fantasy, crime fiction, and mainstream fiction. His stories include Inventory, Marmalade, and The Donation. Dale has worked as a failed shoemaker, reluctant dairy farmer, and ruthless ice cream man. For several years he monitored the nuclear test ban treaty, making sure those pesky commies didn't blow up the planet. (They didn't.) When he isn't writing, Dale advises software teams and leaders about how to play nice together. Colleagues in Dale's industry once created a special award for him for being reasonable. Dale lives in California with his wife.

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    Book preview

    Carrion Road - Dale Hartley Emery

    CARRION ROAD

    Dale Hartley Emery

    Driscoll Brook Press

    © 2014 Dale Hartley Emery

    Copyright Information

    Contents

    Title Page

    Carrion Road

    About the Author

    Connect with the Author

    Books by the Author

    Copyright Information

    Carrion Road

    Carla’s feet hurt. Her heels twitched as she walked along the shoulder of Carrion Road. The back of her right shoe chafed against her heel. A blister seemed inevitable. Her purse smacked against her ribs and the strap bit into her neck. Ahead the shoulder of the road rolled off, and at the bottom of the small embankment a murky puddle refused to reflect the moonlight. Carla twisted off one shoe and then the other, tucked them under her arm, and stepped tenderly toward the embankment. The roadside gravel, which was cooler now that the sun had set, prickled the soles of her feet. She licked sweat off her lip.

    Fuck you, Eddie, she said to the quiet, still air. Not satisfied, she tried again. Fuck you! Better, better. Fuck you, Edward Stewart Mann! Yes, that

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