“There’s no decent place to stand in a massacre.”
It was about that point I remembered I was reading a Blake Crouch story and that . . . .
Because I am a baby.
If you’re an avid Goodreader there’s little chance you have been able to avoid this summer’s barrage of reviews for Dark Matter or last year’s flood regarding Wayward Pines. At this point I think it’s safe to say that I’m a Crouch fangirl and if he’s writing it, I’m
So as the blurb says, 5 days ago the poop really hit the fan. Fastforward to the present and the Colclough family seriously needing to get the eff outta Dodge. Note to my husband: If our name ever gets put across the radio dial as part of a kill list and not only am I moving at a sloth’s pace, but then my friggin’ LOVER is the person who shows up to kill us and our children, you have my complete and total permission to pull an Ice Cube and just say . . . .
To my fat ass.
Now where was I? Oh yeah, Jack, his wife Dee, his way-too-realistic
“It’s bad, huh?”
It didn’t take long before . . . .
Per usual with a Crouch story, that’s about all that is safe to tell. I will provide a bit of a spoiler and channel my inner Ron 2.0 in order to tell you that parts of this tale were seriously farfetched. I mean, we’re talking . . . .
There’s zero chance these yay-hoos could’ve survived more than a minute and then when the stuff and things happened??????
But I was too busy calculating how many calories I had burned by bouncing my knee up and down like a lunatic for the last several hours to even give a shit.