Read Online The Tent: A Novella by Kealan Patrick Burke - Free Book Online

struggle to suppress a smile.
    “Here kid,” he says and holds the blanket up to ind icate his intent.
    The kid backs away. Greg stops, frowns.
    “You’re freezing. Let me put the blanket on you and we’ll get you some coffee and figure out what to do next, okay?”
    The kid gives no sign that he understands, which leads Greg to the conclusion that whatever the boy has been through, it was pretty bad. He decides the best course of action after getting the kid warm, is to get to the camping office down the trail and either wait for the attendant to show, or see if there’s an emergency number he can call. Someone has to be looking for the kid, after all.
    Again he tries to swoop the blanket like a cape around the kid’s shoulders, and almost manages it this time, one half of it coming down on the backpack that’s slung over the boy’s shoulders. But as soon as the material hits the pack, the kid winces and backs away. It is the first sign of emotion the child has shown, and it alarms Greg, who takes it as an indication that the boy is wounded. After a moment of indecision, he lets the blanket fall to the ground.
    “Okay,” he says. “Will you let me take a look? If you’re hurt, I might be able to help.”
    How he might be able to help when his area of expertise is American History is anybody’s guess, but he needs to get the kid to trust him, to let him at least gauge the extent of the trouble he, and by association, Greg, is in.
    “Easy now.” As he starts to move slowly and carefully toward the boy, hands raised to show he means no harm, he finds himself surprised at the situation in which he has found himself, for while he’s reluctant to call himself a selfish man, the last few years of his life have definitely seen him dedicating the lion’s share of his efforts to pursuits designed solely to benefit nobody but himself. Call it the fallout from a life spent trying to be fair and equal, with little reward. That he didn’t immediately try to slough the responsibility for this kid off on someone, any one else, or just go back into the tent and zip it up when he first encountered him, is certainly not in keeping with his character. My good deed for the day , he decides.
    A quick look around at the campsite reveals that all but one of the other couples have already packed up and left, and the only sign of life from the remaining tent is a soft, droning snore. Greg wonders if he should rouse the other couple. He recalls the wife being pretty hot too, even if she was closer to his age and showing every last bit of it. The husband was a quiet type, so maybe the wife might be impressed by Greg’s heroics and therefore amenable to a little three-way extra-marital fun with Synthetic Karen, assuming they could find a way to get rid of hubby for a while.
    Jesus , he tells himself. What’s the matter with you?
    With a grin, he shakes his head. The age old question, hombre, but what fun it is pursuing the answer.
    The kid is close enough for him to touch now, and stiffens, raises his shoulders. Head bowed, he looks up at Greg from beneath a furrowed brow and the ragged theater wings of his damp hair.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” Greg tells him. “I promise. But if you’re hurt, I want to help you, understand?”
    Again, no indication from the boy that he understands anyt hing, but despite his defensive posture, he does not move away this time, and Greg takes that as a positive sign. He slowly moves around the boy, inspecting his neck for bruises or wounds, and sees nothing but fish-belly white skin, the shivering intensifying.
    “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Greg says in the same comforting, disarming tone he uses to such great effect on his dates. The backpack is covered in a thick layer of slowly drying mud, the weight of which goes some way toward explaining the discomfort on the child’s face when the blanket touched it. God knows how far the poor kid trekked with all that crap on his