Read Online White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eric Dimbleby
Tags: post apocalyptic
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The bathroom door opened and the stranger walked out, offering his hand to Christian.
"Thank you, sir. Name's Edgar. You saved my life."
"Well, I didn't really...," he started to reply, shaking Edgar's frigid hand gladly.
" No. Listen here, friend. You saved my life. I owe you one. How can I help out?"
His eyes dug right through Christian, as if they were laser beams with a trajectory for his brain. An unbridled intensity radiated from Edgar, as if he was about to plop down on the floor and do one hundred pushups. He was a bit of a portly man, but not entirely out of shape. He had strong hands, as Christian discovered in Edgar’s overly masculine handshake, but there was also a quiet softness to him. There was something welcoming about that mixture.
"Maybe you can help Paulie get a fire going?" Christian pointed towards the cabinet directly across from the kitchen table. "Middle drawer, there's a grill lighter. It's one of those fake logs, so all you have to do is torch the bag and it'll catch."
Edgar gave a furtive nod, staring longingly at the soup can that Christian threw in the garbage bin. "You gonna tell me your name?" he asked, and Christian felt his stomach plummet. The tone that Edgar asked it in was particular nasty; battery acid dripping from his tongue. When the silence became uncomfortable, Edgar started to laugh heartily, in a way that only a man who came back from the dead on a shit-brown couch could laugh in the moments following resurrection. He clapped his hands on Christian's shoulder. "Christian, right?"
Once again, Christian’s stomach plummeted another couple of inches inside of him, if that was even possible. Paulie was coming up the stairs now, clutching the phony-baloney log to his chest, smirking at the heavy man standing in his kitchen. Edgar was clutching his bearish claw on Christian's shoulder.
" Don’t worry, my friend. Your name’s on your bathroom towel," noted Edgar, laughing even deeper, his raspy chest still chiming in to remind Christian of the man's return from the dead.
That was when Christian relinquished the stick up his ass and joined in with the laughter. Soon, Paulie was laughing along with them both.
"Come on baby, light my fire," Edgar said to Paulie, patting him on the head. "Little man, how about you show Big Edgar how to light a fire properly? I'm fixin' to learn something new."
Chapter Three
The meal was satisfying, mostly because of the ambience of the quietly popping fire. After they ate, licking their plates clean, Paulie cuddled close to Christian and dug his head into the crook of his father’s arm, a sure sign that the boy was about ready to snooze. Christian suggested that Paulie go up to bed, bundle up, and catch a little shut-eye. After some short-lived negotiation, he agreed to let Paulie bring some blankets downstairs, so he could sleep in front of the warmth of the fire, even though the fake logs barely put off any significant BTUs.
In subzero weather, any warmth was a blessing, especially to a four year old with erratic sleep patterns. If it helped him recharge a bit better, then so be it.
Within moments of placing his blond head on his racecar-themed pillow, Paulie was snoozing, basking in the glow of the fire. The boy’s snores were loud enough that Edgar and Christian shared another chuckle.
“I’ve got to ask,” said Christian.
“Yeah?”
“About that wound. I cleaned it up while you were out cold. It looks like you got stabbed. Does it hurt? Looks pretty fresh.”
“Yeah. Real fresh. A little ways down the road, I fell off that little overpass. You know the one… with the tall fence right near the highway. Off of Jordan Avenue.”
“I know it. How the hell did you manage that?”
“Was trying to get a squirrel. Thought it might keep my belly full if I could get it, so I started scaling that fence. Didn’t take much, with the snow being so high. When I got up near the top, I got a little tipsy. I fell and
The bathroom door opened and the stranger walked out, offering his hand to Christian.
"Thank you, sir. Name's Edgar. You saved my life."
"Well, I didn't really...," he started to reply, shaking Edgar's frigid hand gladly.
" No. Listen here, friend. You saved my life. I owe you one. How can I help out?"
His eyes dug right through Christian, as if they were laser beams with a trajectory for his brain. An unbridled intensity radiated from Edgar, as if he was about to plop down on the floor and do one hundred pushups. He was a bit of a portly man, but not entirely out of shape. He had strong hands, as Christian discovered in Edgar’s overly masculine handshake, but there was also a quiet softness to him. There was something welcoming about that mixture.
"Maybe you can help Paulie get a fire going?" Christian pointed towards the cabinet directly across from the kitchen table. "Middle drawer, there's a grill lighter. It's one of those fake logs, so all you have to do is torch the bag and it'll catch."
Edgar gave a furtive nod, staring longingly at the soup can that Christian threw in the garbage bin. "You gonna tell me your name?" he asked, and Christian felt his stomach plummet. The tone that Edgar asked it in was particular nasty; battery acid dripping from his tongue. When the silence became uncomfortable, Edgar started to laugh heartily, in a way that only a man who came back from the dead on a shit-brown couch could laugh in the moments following resurrection. He clapped his hands on Christian's shoulder. "Christian, right?"
Once again, Christian’s stomach plummeted another couple of inches inside of him, if that was even possible. Paulie was coming up the stairs now, clutching the phony-baloney log to his chest, smirking at the heavy man standing in his kitchen. Edgar was clutching his bearish claw on Christian's shoulder.
" Don’t worry, my friend. Your name’s on your bathroom towel," noted Edgar, laughing even deeper, his raspy chest still chiming in to remind Christian of the man's return from the dead.
That was when Christian relinquished the stick up his ass and joined in with the laughter. Soon, Paulie was laughing along with them both.
"Come on baby, light my fire," Edgar said to Paulie, patting him on the head. "Little man, how about you show Big Edgar how to light a fire properly? I'm fixin' to learn something new."
Chapter Three
The meal was satisfying, mostly because of the ambience of the quietly popping fire. After they ate, licking their plates clean, Paulie cuddled close to Christian and dug his head into the crook of his father’s arm, a sure sign that the boy was about ready to snooze. Christian suggested that Paulie go up to bed, bundle up, and catch a little shut-eye. After some short-lived negotiation, he agreed to let Paulie bring some blankets downstairs, so he could sleep in front of the warmth of the fire, even though the fake logs barely put off any significant BTUs.
In subzero weather, any warmth was a blessing, especially to a four year old with erratic sleep patterns. If it helped him recharge a bit better, then so be it.
Within moments of placing his blond head on his racecar-themed pillow, Paulie was snoozing, basking in the glow of the fire. The boy’s snores were loud enough that Edgar and Christian shared another chuckle.
“I’ve got to ask,” said Christian.
“Yeah?”
“About that wound. I cleaned it up while you were out cold. It looks like you got stabbed. Does it hurt? Looks pretty fresh.”
“Yeah. Real fresh. A little ways down the road, I fell off that little overpass. You know the one… with the tall fence right near the highway. Off of Jordan Avenue.”
“I know it. How the hell did you manage that?”
“Was trying to get a squirrel. Thought it might keep my belly full if I could get it, so I started scaling that fence. Didn’t take much, with the snow being so high. When I got up near the top, I got a little tipsy. I fell and
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