Read Online Braving The Storms (Strengthen What Remains Book 3) by Kyle Pratt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kyle Pratt
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but he had seen the puddles on the way home. “What about it?” He stepped into the trailer. Seeing buckets, towels on the floor, and a mop he stopped. “What happened?”
Vicki grasped the mop. “The roof leaks.”
His sister had pushed much of the furniture out of the living room, which was a soggy mess, into the kitchen. The threadbare carpet was soaked. Parts of the home were dry, but the whole place smelled like a wet dog.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Good I’ll make us some dinner.” She handed him the mop. “And you can wipe up for a while.”
Zach took the handle. A huge weight descended upon him. With his father a fading memory and his mother now gone, sometimes he felt more like a parent to Vicki, instead of an older brother. However, right then he really wanted a parent with answers because the rainy season would soon be upon them and he had no idea how to repair a trailer roof or where to find the money to get it done.
* * *
On the road to Morton, Wednesday, September 23 rd
As if waking from a long and restless sleep, Fletcher blinked open his eyes. He squinted at the sun coming through a window. He was in a Humvee moving along smooth terrain, probably a road, but why? His body protested every move with aches and stiffness. Struggling, he sat up.
“Oh, good, you’re alive.” Private Spencer said from the front passenger seat.
“Alive.” The words came with difficulty from Fletcher’s dry throat. On the seat before him was a body bag. He struggled to organize thoughts and memories.
“How is Harper?”
The private laid beside him in the rear of the Humvee. Fletcher clutched his wrist. Harper’s skin was clammy and the pulse weak. “Barely alive. What happened?”
“I have no idea. Monday a lot of the guys woke up ill. We started getting people into the vehicles, to head out, but more got sick until there weren’t enough healthy people to move them. Then they started dying. For more than a day most everyone was sick or treating the sick. This morning there were enough people well enough to load the sick. So, we left Grim Reaper lodge.”
“Grim Reaper lodge?”
“That’s what we call the place.”
Feeling light headed, Fletcher slumped. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Are we on the way to the armory?”
“No,” Spencer replied. “We’re going to Morton hospital.”
Fletcher nodded, even though no one could see him. “How many dead?”
“Six. Harper, and Deputy Morris are really sick. We weren’t sure about you. I’m glad you’re getting better.”
Fletcher wasn’t sure he was feeling better, just conscious, but he wasn’t going to argue the point either.
“Report in?” he asked, breathing deeply for each word.
“We’re still out of range. We’ll get everyone to the hospital and then report.”
“Okay,” Fletcher mumbled. Gradually sleep overtook him.
It seemed like only moments later that shouts and hurried movement intruded upon his fitful slumber. As Fletcher opened his eyes, two soldiers hoisted Private Harper onto a gurney. Another two pulled the body bag from the seat in front of him.
Private Spencer offered Fletcher a hand as he slid himself out the rear of the vehicle. He waved off the assistance. Fletcher leaned against the Humvee, stood for a moment, and then shuffled toward the emergency room door.
Fletcher rested a hand on Private Spencer’s shoulder. “Is Corporal Franklin okay?”
“Yes, First Sergeant. He was in the other Humvee. We were the only two that didn’t get sick.”
“Find him. Tell him to make sure everyone gets seen and treated.”
Inside the building Fletcher found the men’s room and leaned over a sink. He splashed water on the gaunt face that greeted him in the mirror and then, cupping his hands under the flow, drank.
Fletcher felt, and now knew, he looked like a zombie. People starred at him as he dragged himself across the busy emergency room. He knew he looked like the living dead, but
Vicki grasped the mop. “The roof leaks.”
His sister had pushed much of the furniture out of the living room, which was a soggy mess, into the kitchen. The threadbare carpet was soaked. Parts of the home were dry, but the whole place smelled like a wet dog.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Good I’ll make us some dinner.” She handed him the mop. “And you can wipe up for a while.”
Zach took the handle. A huge weight descended upon him. With his father a fading memory and his mother now gone, sometimes he felt more like a parent to Vicki, instead of an older brother. However, right then he really wanted a parent with answers because the rainy season would soon be upon them and he had no idea how to repair a trailer roof or where to find the money to get it done.
* * *
On the road to Morton, Wednesday, September 23 rd
As if waking from a long and restless sleep, Fletcher blinked open his eyes. He squinted at the sun coming through a window. He was in a Humvee moving along smooth terrain, probably a road, but why? His body protested every move with aches and stiffness. Struggling, he sat up.
“Oh, good, you’re alive.” Private Spencer said from the front passenger seat.
“Alive.” The words came with difficulty from Fletcher’s dry throat. On the seat before him was a body bag. He struggled to organize thoughts and memories.
“How is Harper?”
The private laid beside him in the rear of the Humvee. Fletcher clutched his wrist. Harper’s skin was clammy and the pulse weak. “Barely alive. What happened?”
“I have no idea. Monday a lot of the guys woke up ill. We started getting people into the vehicles, to head out, but more got sick until there weren’t enough healthy people to move them. Then they started dying. For more than a day most everyone was sick or treating the sick. This morning there were enough people well enough to load the sick. So, we left Grim Reaper lodge.”
“Grim Reaper lodge?”
“That’s what we call the place.”
Feeling light headed, Fletcher slumped. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Are we on the way to the armory?”
“No,” Spencer replied. “We’re going to Morton hospital.”
Fletcher nodded, even though no one could see him. “How many dead?”
“Six. Harper, and Deputy Morris are really sick. We weren’t sure about you. I’m glad you’re getting better.”
Fletcher wasn’t sure he was feeling better, just conscious, but he wasn’t going to argue the point either.
“Report in?” he asked, breathing deeply for each word.
“We’re still out of range. We’ll get everyone to the hospital and then report.”
“Okay,” Fletcher mumbled. Gradually sleep overtook him.
It seemed like only moments later that shouts and hurried movement intruded upon his fitful slumber. As Fletcher opened his eyes, two soldiers hoisted Private Harper onto a gurney. Another two pulled the body bag from the seat in front of him.
Private Spencer offered Fletcher a hand as he slid himself out the rear of the vehicle. He waved off the assistance. Fletcher leaned against the Humvee, stood for a moment, and then shuffled toward the emergency room door.
Fletcher rested a hand on Private Spencer’s shoulder. “Is Corporal Franklin okay?”
“Yes, First Sergeant. He was in the other Humvee. We were the only two that didn’t get sick.”
“Find him. Tell him to make sure everyone gets seen and treated.”
Inside the building Fletcher found the men’s room and leaned over a sink. He splashed water on the gaunt face that greeted him in the mirror and then, cupping his hands under the flow, drank.
Fletcher felt, and now knew, he looked like a zombie. People starred at him as he dragged himself across the busy emergency room. He knew he looked like the living dead, but
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