The Doom Clock Chapter 2.

The Doom Clock Chapter 2.

An old, blue Ford truck sped down a mountain trail. Trees of fiery leaves lined the dirt road. Alexander sat in the back seat of the car. In the front sat his mom, dark–haired and green–eyed, and his dad, wearing a faded jacket and a look of desperation. It was Sunday in November. Normally, Alexander would be at the park playing baseball with his friends or at the library. Today was different. "A family trip," his mom had told him. But something seemed odd. Maybe it was the way his parents were barely glancing him, the way they seemed to have something to hide. Alexander's mom had said that they would be back at their Albuquerque home before the day finished. They had been driving for [number of] hours. It was evening. The car stopped at an old farm. In the middle lay a rotting barn that had once been light blue. Paint peeled. Rusted tractor parts and equipment were scattered across the lawn. To the right lay deep green woods. Dirt road stretched to the left. The farm looked utterly deserted. "Were here," grunted Alexander's father. Alex's mom marched toward the door of the barn. There was a rusted bell, connected to a pulley and a thick rope. Alex's mom pulled it. The bell rang out, loud and strong. The family waited. They must have looked strange, crowded onto the stoop of an old farm house outside of Santa Fe. Alexander's parents often did strange things. They had little money, and always signed up for odd jobs. Alexander's dad worked as a part–time doorman,

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