Nuclear Winter Whiteout Bobby Akart (love letters to the dead .txt) 📖

his father’s face, he turned slightly and spoke to Dr. Brady. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Young man, I am not going to sugarcoat any of this. You strike me as very mature, and I applaud your parents for raising you to become the man that you are. We have a situation with your dad that requires an adult decision. Today, in this moment, you have to be that adult.”

Tucker swallowed hard and nodded at Dr. Brady without breaking eye contact. Apprehension supplanted sorrow as he prepared himself for what he was about to hear.

“Based upon what we learned from the sheriff’s office, your dad was caught completely off guard by this weather anomaly. The flash freeze hit the west end of the county the hardest. From what they could tell, he did his level best to avoid the frigid air by trying to bury himself in hay in the back of a pickup.

“His efforts kept him alive, but unfortunately, he wasn’t totally covered. The deputy discovered his body because his legs were protruding out from the hay just below the knees. Both extremities suffered fourth-degree severe frostbite.”

“What does that mean?” asked Tucker.

“Well, first degree is skin irritation and pain, the level of frostbite you and your mom suffered. Although, there was evidence of second-degree blisters on your mom’s hands but no major damage. Fourth degree, the level suffered by your dad, is indicated when the frostbite is so severe it causes bones and tendons to freeze.”

Tucker’s eyes grew wide as he immediately looked at his father’s feet. He ran his fingers through his hair and then wiped away the tears that began to seep from his eyes.

He took a deep breath and asked, inwardly knowing what was coming next, “What are you saying?”

Dr. Brady furrowed his brow. He’d learned throughout his medical career that one of the most difficult tasks he faced in addition to saving lives was informing the family of a loved one’s death. Explaining to a son that his father was about to lose half his legs ranked right up there.

“The best treatment for fourth-degree frostbite is hyperbaric oxygen therapy, a process involving breathing pure oxygen in a pressurized room. We don’t have that kind of facility here, and it’s doubtful any of the major hospitals in Denver or Colorado Springs have one that is functioning due to the EMP. Even if they did, there aren’t any helicopters that survived the EMP either.”

“Isn’t there something else you can do?” asked Tucker.

“Tucker, I’m gonna have to shoot straight with you, okay? We’ve waited as long as we can to make a decision.”

For the next several minutes, Dr. Brady explained the options to Tucker. He soaked in the information and then asked to have some time alone with his father. He sat there, crying, asking God why this had to happen to his family. Then he asked for guidance to help him make the most difficult decision of his life.

Chapter Sixteen

Friday, November 1

Arkansas Valley Regional Medical Center

La Junta, Colorado

“How are our patients doing?” Sheriff Mobley asked the ICU nurses as he took another sip of coffee. He’d spent the day defusing a domestic dispute between a local couple who were considered by the community as head over heels in love. He chalked up the heated argument to temporary insanity from being locked down during the adverse conditions.

Dr. Brady appeared from another patient’s room and responded to the sheriff. “Mom is stable but still out. Dad’s slipping. We can’t make any progress because of his lower limbs. A decision has to be made, Shawn.”

“What about Tucker?”

“He’s doing as well as can be expected, physically. Mentally, I took him to visit his mother, and although he seemed distraught at the shock of seeing her that way, he handled it like the strong young man that he is.”

“I can feel a but coming,” said the sheriff. He finished his coffee and handed the Styrofoam cup to the desk nurse, who graciously threw it away for him.

“Shawn, I had to lay out his father’s condition and treatment options for him. We’re out of time, I’m afraid.”

Sheriff Mobley looked up and down the corridor, which was empty. “Is he in his room? May I talk to him?”

Dr. Brady pointed towards Owen’s closed door. “He asked to be left alone. That was half an hour ago.”

Sheriff Mobley gently rapped his knuckles on the counter and winked at his old friend. “Give me a little time. Maybe he needs a sounding board.”

He walked to Owen’s room and stared through the small glass window in the door. Tucker was sitting in the wheelchair, staring at his father’s face. Sheriff Mobley slowly turned the knob and cracked the door enough for his head to fit through.

“Hey, Tucker. Can I come in?”

Tucker sat up in the wheelchair and took a deep breath before exhaling. “Yeah, sure.”

First, Sheriff Mobley asked Tucker how he was feeling. He complimented him on how much better he looked since they’d met when Tucker woke up for the first time. Then he walked around to the opposite side of the hospital bed and studied Owen’s face. He grimaced and then allowed a slight smile.

“Your dad’s a helluva fighter. What he did to protect himself saved his life.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Tucker, whose attention turned to Owen’s feet. “My mom’s still out, and the doctor said it’s too dangerous to wake her up right now.”

Sheriff Mobley came around the bed and sat in the chair vacated by Dr. Brady earlier. “That’s what I hear. She’s gonna pull through, Tucker, if her body is allowed to heal itself.”

Tucker sighed and rolled his head around his shoulders to relieve some tension. “This really sucks, you know.”

The sheriff nodded. He gently patted Tucker on the back. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

Tucker shrugged. “I guess. Might as well. I mean …” His voice trailed off as he pushed himself up and grasped his father’s bed rails.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting—?”

Tucker ignored the question and allowed his thoughts to pour out of him.