Read Online White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby - Free Book Online Page B

landed on the highway. Road marker that got bent by a truck or something. It had this sharp tip to it, went right through me.”
    “Ouch,” said Christian, shaking his head. The man had been through hell and back. “How did you manage to… what’s the word for it… dis-impale yourself?”
    “Reckon I had God on my side. I landed just the right way, so it missed my heart. I used my other arm to pull myself up the stake. Only about a foot or two, one of those little markers with them shiny reflectors on it. Lucky I didn’t get it through my eye or something.”
    “Well, you’re safe now. Don’t you worry. Just let me know when you need new bandages. We’ve got quite an emergency supply. I used to be a bit of a conspiracy theorist, so I have all kinds of strange but useful stuff stockpiled. What’s mine is yours.”
    Edgar smiled, apparently pleased at the sentiment. "You're too kind, Christian. Too kind. I'm much obliged for the save-- I could have died out there."
    “ Please, stop thanking me. You’d have done the same,” Christian said. Why is it, he wondered, that people always felt obligated to say that? “And for the record, I'm pretty sure you were dead when I found you. I'm not sure how you pulled it off, but you came back from the dead as far as I’m concerned.”
    Edgar snickered, rubbing his temples with his double-gloved hand. "Something to tell m' grandkids someday, I reckon." Christian wondered if Edgar would ever live long enough to become a granddad. The same went for him. Would Paulie survive long enough to procreate? Only time would tell. If the storm let up, anything was possible. If it didn’t, then nothing was possible. 
    "So where are you from?" asked Christian. "If you don't mind me prying."
    "I don't mind," said Edgar, slurping on a mug of icy water. Christian could see a bit of food clinging to one of his teeth, but he didn't want to offend his guest by pointing it out. "But here's the thing about me that I’m always explaining: I don't really have much of a story to tell. Nothing worth blabbin’ about. It would probably bore you to tears."
    Christian batted at the fire with the poker, turning to look back at the man. He studied him, but not for too long. There was so mething warm about his demeanor (sort of like the faux-logs), like he was what Christian’s hippie aunt might have called an old soul . Edgar seemed to possess a decent head on his shoulders and Christian was glad for rescuing him. It was nice to have a friend, even if he was just passing through on the way to some other destination. 
    "I'll tell you my story first, if that makes you feel any better about telling yours. I can guarantee that yours is more riveting than mine," Christian said, to which Edgar assented with a nod, and so Christian laid it out the best he could. "My wife and I have been together for about six years, married for about five of them. That's her over there." He pointed at the family portrait on the far wall, just at the edge of the kitchen nook, though it was hard to make out the details of their faces with the icy layer of frost creeping across the glass frame. 
    "I saw that earlier when I walked by. She's a peach, I can just tell from the picture."
    “ She is. Best thing that ever happened to me,” he said, adding, “for the most part.” He cleared his throat as Edgar adjusted his grin, seeming to understand the unspoken sentiment that lived in those words. “We had Paulie about four years ago. I'm out of work at the moment, what with all the layoffs. But Annie--that's my wife-- works at this reseller firm. I don't know much about what they do... I don't even think they know, but isn’t that American all the way?” Edgar nodded fervently. “But she makes good money at it. Enough to pay the bills and sock away something for a rainy day.” 
    An awkward silence filled the room at that moment. Edgar looked at him with a hint of judgment. Perhaps Edgar was of an old school mentality,