Read Online Get Out of Denver (Denver Burning Book 1) by Algor X. Dennison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Algor X. Dennison
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glare of the lantern so they could see his rifle. It looked like an old .22 and he didn’t make any move to come outside or point it at them, so McLean ignored him. Across the street and several houses farther up, a woman sat huddled on her porch steps, rocking back and forth and muttering to herself.
A few blocks farther they nearly tripped over a woman who had collapsed on the curb. She was obese, had no shoes on, and still clutched a large purse in her hand. David swore loudly and Shauna let out a yelp when she saw the body.
“Keep moving!” McLean told them. “And shut up. You’re going to bring everybody in the neighborhood down on us.” He squatted and felt the woman’s pulse, keeping his shotgun ready in his other hand.
“Is she alive?” Carrie asked, kneeling next to him.
“Weak pulse, but she’s alive,” McLean answered. “Let’s keep moving.”
Carrie ignored him. She splashed some water on the fallen woman’s face and tried to revive her. McLean helped her pull the woman onto the grass of the yard she’d collapsed nearest to. The woman muttered something unintelligible but didn’t wake up.
“Carrie, we have to go,” McLean said. “We can’t help everyone. We don’t have the resources to be first responders to every hurt person in Denver. There are probably thousands of them. We just need to move.” He took her arm and gently led her away. Carrie tossed her water bottle on the grass near the woman as they left.
“You might need that later,” McLean warned.
“She’ll need it more than me when she wakes up,” Carrie protested.
“I’m not advocating selfishness,” McLean explained. “But if you don’t take care of yourself first, you’re no good to anyone else. We have to get to safety, establish some kind of stability and collect our resources. Then we can respond to the needs around us without turning into charity cases ourselves.”
David and Shauna were now a hundred feet up the street, but they’d stopped. Distracted by his admonition of Carrie, McLean hadn’t noticed them pause in front of a house that was partially screened by some trees. Now he and Carrie fell silent and hurried to catch up, wondering what they were staring at.
As they cleared the trees and neared the house, they saw two young men dressed in baggy shorts and wifebeaters, with baseball caps and white socks pulled all the way up to their knees. One was on the front lawn and carried a golf club. The other stood on the porch of the home, and he was gripping the arm of a long-haired girl. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on in the meager illumination the moon gave, but McLean could sense an ugly atmosphere brewing. He motioned Carrie back, and brought his gun up.
The thug in the yard took a step toward Shauna. “Where you going so late at night, huh?” the guy asked. He brandished his club. “You got anything to give me for letting you go by?”
Shauna edged closer to David, who also took a step back toward the street.
“Hey, what you staring at?” the one on the porch said, twisting the wrist of the young woman so that she cried out. “This is none of your business. You in the wrong part of the hood, man. Take anything they got, Colby. And whack ‘em in the head if they resist.”
McLean moved up, aiming his shotgun and flicking on the small tactical light mounted next to its barrel. He trained it first on the thug with the golf club, then on the porch, then back again to show that we was covering both of them.
“You! Drop the club, now . You on the porch, let that girl go, and both of you get out of here before my finger gets twitchy.”
The gang-banger on the lawn dropped his club, partly from surprise and partly cowed by McLean’s serious-business tone. The one on the porch put a hand behind his shirt and tensed.
“Are you a cop?” he screamed. “Where’d you come from?”
“I told you to let go of the girl and make tracks!” McLean shouted. “I won’t say it
A few blocks farther they nearly tripped over a woman who had collapsed on the curb. She was obese, had no shoes on, and still clutched a large purse in her hand. David swore loudly and Shauna let out a yelp when she saw the body.
“Keep moving!” McLean told them. “And shut up. You’re going to bring everybody in the neighborhood down on us.” He squatted and felt the woman’s pulse, keeping his shotgun ready in his other hand.
“Is she alive?” Carrie asked, kneeling next to him.
“Weak pulse, but she’s alive,” McLean answered. “Let’s keep moving.”
Carrie ignored him. She splashed some water on the fallen woman’s face and tried to revive her. McLean helped her pull the woman onto the grass of the yard she’d collapsed nearest to. The woman muttered something unintelligible but didn’t wake up.
“Carrie, we have to go,” McLean said. “We can’t help everyone. We don’t have the resources to be first responders to every hurt person in Denver. There are probably thousands of them. We just need to move.” He took her arm and gently led her away. Carrie tossed her water bottle on the grass near the woman as they left.
“You might need that later,” McLean warned.
“She’ll need it more than me when she wakes up,” Carrie protested.
“I’m not advocating selfishness,” McLean explained. “But if you don’t take care of yourself first, you’re no good to anyone else. We have to get to safety, establish some kind of stability and collect our resources. Then we can respond to the needs around us without turning into charity cases ourselves.”
David and Shauna were now a hundred feet up the street, but they’d stopped. Distracted by his admonition of Carrie, McLean hadn’t noticed them pause in front of a house that was partially screened by some trees. Now he and Carrie fell silent and hurried to catch up, wondering what they were staring at.
As they cleared the trees and neared the house, they saw two young men dressed in baggy shorts and wifebeaters, with baseball caps and white socks pulled all the way up to their knees. One was on the front lawn and carried a golf club. The other stood on the porch of the home, and he was gripping the arm of a long-haired girl. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on in the meager illumination the moon gave, but McLean could sense an ugly atmosphere brewing. He motioned Carrie back, and brought his gun up.
The thug in the yard took a step toward Shauna. “Where you going so late at night, huh?” the guy asked. He brandished his club. “You got anything to give me for letting you go by?”
Shauna edged closer to David, who also took a step back toward the street.
“Hey, what you staring at?” the one on the porch said, twisting the wrist of the young woman so that she cried out. “This is none of your business. You in the wrong part of the hood, man. Take anything they got, Colby. And whack ‘em in the head if they resist.”
McLean moved up, aiming his shotgun and flicking on the small tactical light mounted next to its barrel. He trained it first on the thug with the golf club, then on the porch, then back again to show that we was covering both of them.
“You! Drop the club, now . You on the porch, let that girl go, and both of you get out of here before my finger gets twitchy.”
The gang-banger on the lawn dropped his club, partly from surprise and partly cowed by McLean’s serious-business tone. The one on the porch put a hand behind his shirt and tensed.
“Are you a cop?” he screamed. “Where’d you come from?”
“I told you to let go of the girl and make tracks!” McLean shouted. “I won’t say it
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