Read Online White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Dimbleby
Tags: post apocalyptic
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up.
Introductions were in order.
"I'm Christian. This is my son Paulie. We found you outside the window. I think you were just about on death's door. Not sure if you remember anything at all."
The man nodded, almost testing his neck muscles as he did so, unsure if they still operated as they once did. A vacant look filled his eyes. For all this man on their couch knew, he was certifiably dead. Maybe he thought this was heaven. Maybe he thought it was hell. If Christian had to label it one or the other, he would have picked hell.
"Are you hungry?" Christian asked.
The man shook his head while he rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. They were so chapped that they bled a bit when he did this. Christian was pretty sure that a hefty tug would have pulled them right off his face, if given enough oomph.
"You probably need to use the bathroom ."
"He did pee-pee in his pants," Paulie (a blush creeping into his cheeks) commentated to his father. That observation was true, but Christian didn't want to embarrass the frozen fellow. During his seven hours of unconsciousness (or death? Hadn't the poor schmuck died ?), their visitor had urinated in his pants. It wasn't much more than a small dark spot on his crotch, but it was enough to be noticed. He wouldn't bring it up to the man, even if his son didn't have an appropriate filter not to.
Christian kept his distance from the blank-faced wanderer, pointing towards the kitchen. "Bathroom is through there. I put some fresh clothes in there for you, too. You're a bit bigger than me... hell , a whole lot bigger than me ... but I think they ought to fit you. They're from my college years, when I drank way too much beer." Christian chuckled to himself, hoping that the man on his couch would respond with some free-hearted banter of his own, but he said nothing. Expressed nothing. Their wordless guest was just a blank shell of a man, with nothing to say.
Standing up from the couch, the man teetered back and forth for a moment. Christian lunged forward at first, hoping he could catch him if he fell, but the man steadied himself on his own. "Easy there, fella," Christian said, speaking to his houseguest like one would a horse.
The silent stranger put up his hands, gesturing to keep a distance. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly. It almost sounded like he was counting beneath his breath. "One, two, three...," but then the man fell quiet again, taking his first step towards Christian, then changing direction towards the kitchen, as Christian indicated a moment earlier.
"We'll stoke a fire in a few so we can get you warmed up. We've been conserving the firewood, but we can make an exception for a weary traveler," Christian said, trying very much to sound folksy. In reality, he ended up sounding more like a desperate asshole. It had been several weeks since he had any adult contact, save for the window-to-window conversations between the neighbor, Marianne, who lived next door. It would be nice to sit down with another adult, to talk about this ridiculous shit-storm that the planet was thrown into.
The man nodded, walking through the kitchen. His legs wobbled as he walked.
When the bathroom door closed, Christian said to his son, "Go down in the basement and get one of those logs in the red and white packages. We'll get a fire going for our guest."
Paulie's eyes lit up. They'd been rationing logs to an extreme. Christian hadn't broken out any of the logs yet, still unsure of how long the storm would last. It’ll last forever ; he kept thinking, whenever he considered how goddamned cold he was. It might just last forever .
While the boy was downstairs fetching the log, Christian opened up a can of minestrone soup, dumping it into a steel pot. Once they had the fire going, he could heat the soup up over the flames, just to take th e cold edge off it, at the very least. It was cold enough that any heated food went icy cold on its own in less than a few minutes. Warm was the new
Introductions were in order.
"I'm Christian. This is my son Paulie. We found you outside the window. I think you were just about on death's door. Not sure if you remember anything at all."
The man nodded, almost testing his neck muscles as he did so, unsure if they still operated as they once did. A vacant look filled his eyes. For all this man on their couch knew, he was certifiably dead. Maybe he thought this was heaven. Maybe he thought it was hell. If Christian had to label it one or the other, he would have picked hell.
"Are you hungry?" Christian asked.
The man shook his head while he rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. They were so chapped that they bled a bit when he did this. Christian was pretty sure that a hefty tug would have pulled them right off his face, if given enough oomph.
"You probably need to use the bathroom ."
"He did pee-pee in his pants," Paulie (a blush creeping into his cheeks) commentated to his father. That observation was true, but Christian didn't want to embarrass the frozen fellow. During his seven hours of unconsciousness (or death? Hadn't the poor schmuck died ?), their visitor had urinated in his pants. It wasn't much more than a small dark spot on his crotch, but it was enough to be noticed. He wouldn't bring it up to the man, even if his son didn't have an appropriate filter not to.
Christian kept his distance from the blank-faced wanderer, pointing towards the kitchen. "Bathroom is through there. I put some fresh clothes in there for you, too. You're a bit bigger than me... hell , a whole lot bigger than me ... but I think they ought to fit you. They're from my college years, when I drank way too much beer." Christian chuckled to himself, hoping that the man on his couch would respond with some free-hearted banter of his own, but he said nothing. Expressed nothing. Their wordless guest was just a blank shell of a man, with nothing to say.
Standing up from the couch, the man teetered back and forth for a moment. Christian lunged forward at first, hoping he could catch him if he fell, but the man steadied himself on his own. "Easy there, fella," Christian said, speaking to his houseguest like one would a horse.
The silent stranger put up his hands, gesturing to keep a distance. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly. It almost sounded like he was counting beneath his breath. "One, two, three...," but then the man fell quiet again, taking his first step towards Christian, then changing direction towards the kitchen, as Christian indicated a moment earlier.
"We'll stoke a fire in a few so we can get you warmed up. We've been conserving the firewood, but we can make an exception for a weary traveler," Christian said, trying very much to sound folksy. In reality, he ended up sounding more like a desperate asshole. It had been several weeks since he had any adult contact, save for the window-to-window conversations between the neighbor, Marianne, who lived next door. It would be nice to sit down with another adult, to talk about this ridiculous shit-storm that the planet was thrown into.
The man nodded, walking through the kitchen. His legs wobbled as he walked.
When the bathroom door closed, Christian said to his son, "Go down in the basement and get one of those logs in the red and white packages. We'll get a fire going for our guest."
Paulie's eyes lit up. They'd been rationing logs to an extreme. Christian hadn't broken out any of the logs yet, still unsure of how long the storm would last. It’ll last forever ; he kept thinking, whenever he considered how goddamned cold he was. It might just last forever .
While the boy was downstairs fetching the log, Christian opened up a can of minestrone soup, dumping it into a steel pot. Once they had the fire going, he could heat the soup up over the flames, just to take th e cold edge off it, at the very least. It was cold enough that any heated food went icy cold on its own in less than a few minutes. Warm was the new
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