Page 48 of Wild Oblivion

I toweled off, hurried back aboard the boat, and got changed. I grabbed my helmet and gloves, then raced down the dock and hopped onto my sportbike. With a twist of the ignition, the engine growled. I revved the throttle, then eased the clutch out and rolled out of the parking lot. The exhaust howled as I hugged the tank andthrottled up. The wind whistled through my helmet as I weaved through traffic, heading over to the practice studio. Wild Fury was slated to play at Sonic Temple later that evening.

I pulled into the lot, parked, hopped off the bike, and raced inside. Not much time for chitchat with the miscreants.

Pinky and Floyd were breaking down the gear along with the guys, getting ready for the show. They were about to load it all into the Wild Fury van and take it to the venue for sound check. We’d played the club so many times, the show was on autopilot.

They all looked at me with curious eyes when I burst into the room.

"What’s up?" Crash asked.

My fervent eyes scanned the practice space. "You haven't come across a bomb, have you?"

Eyes rounded and jaws dropped.

"A bomb?"

I searched the area like a madman. It was in disarray. All the guitars were in their cases. Amps and cabinets had been pulled away from the walls and were ready to be loaded onto a cart. A few guitar cables littered the floor along with some trash, broken drumsticks, and long-forgotten guitar picks.

I looked everywhere, checking all the cases, open-back cabinets, under the couch, and every nook and cranny I could think of.

No bomb.

"Why would somebody want to bomb the practice studio?" Crash asked.

"Why does anybody want to blow up anything?”

“Maybe they don’t like the music,” Styxx muttered.

“Everybody loves our music,” Dizzy said.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Sonic Temple.

It just rang and rang.

My next call was to the sheriff as I hustled back to the parking lot. “I think I know where the bomb is. We’re supposed to headline at 10:00 PM at Sonic Temple. The place will be packed at that time. I should have considered that sooner.”

“I’ll meet you there with the bomb techs.”

I ran out of the warehouse, hopped on the bike, and blasted toward Sonic Temple. The crotch rocket screamed as I weaved through traffic.

The sun had dipped over the horizon by the time I got up to Oyster Avenue.

The mood was festive, and revelers drifted up and down the boulevard, hopping from bar to bar. Lights from signage cast a warm glow over the patrons. The smell of grilled food filled the air.

A small line had begun to form at the door to Sonic Temple. It was still early in the evening, butReject Nationwas set to go on at seven, followed byCheap Stereo Romance, thenWild Fury.

I was the first on the scene.

I had just turned onto Oyster Avenue and approached Sonic Temple when it happened. The pulse rippled through the building, distorting the air for a fraction of a second before the explosion rumbled the ground. The wave ripped through the structure, showering small bits of debris in all directions. But it was unlike a conventional explosion. With a blinding flash of plasma, it vaporized the building almost instantly, imploding onto itself. There was no traditional blast of overpressure.

In an instant, the building had been leveled, as well as sections of neighboring buildings. Shattered glass rained down, covering the sidewalks and roadway.

Onlookers shrieked with terror.

I raced to the scene, screeching to a halt, and hopped off my bike.

My heart pounded, and adrenaline coursed through my veins.

The group that had been waiting in line had all been shredded by the blast. They lay mangled on the sidewalk, broken and bleeding, charred by the arc of plasma.