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

Peter didn’t know what to do, so he moved to the right and then immediately back to the left to avoid being a stationary target. He fired a couple of rounds under the truck chassis in an attempt to distract the shooter or at least provide Rafael some cover.

Then a barrage of gunfire filled the air. Rafael had reached the back of the cargo truck and was firing at the shooter. Peter added a couple of rounds of his own, which ripped up the asphalt underneath the truck.

Without warning, the passenger-side door flung open, and Peter suddenly found himself exposed. Several shots were fired by the second gunman, which ricocheted off the pavement at Peter’s feet. He danced to the left and fired two rounds into the door, which easily repelled them.

Rafael fired again and hit his target. The man groaned in pain, and Peter saw his body hit the ground at the truck’s left front fender. A single gunshot rang out as Rafael confirmed the kill.

The truck’s engine started, blowing a thick puff of black smoke out of the exhaust.

“Hell no!” shouted Peter as he ran toward the passenger side.

The truck lurched forward as the driver popped the clutch too quickly. Peter closed the gap and was about to grab the door handle when another shot was fired. Blood and brain matter sprayed throughout the cab, coating the passenger window.

Peter was startled by the sudden appearance of the attacker’s brain matter on the glass and fell backwards onto the asphalt. He groaned as his tailbone struck the parking lot.

“You okay?” Rafael shouted his question.

Peter sat upright and rested his elbows on his knees as he caught his breath. His handgun lay on the ground in front of him. “Um, yeah! Are they dead?”

“Two KIA,” he replied as he shut off the motor.

Seconds later, the second attacker fell to the pavement with a thud, joining his partner’s dead body. Peter stared at the two bloodied corpses for a moment before turning his attention to the battered bodies of Mr. Uber and his son. He tried to recall the massacre he’d experienced in Abu Dhabi. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. It was all so senseless. But then, so was everything that had happened since Tehran nuked Israel. That had triggered a series of events that led him to committing murder. He looked to the sky and then glanced toward the south. He wondered what he’d encounter between there and home.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sunday, November 3

La Junta, Colorado

The night before, Lacey had been given a sedative to force her to rest. She was terribly distraught over losing the love of her life. She and Tucker comforted one another, and eventually the medical staff tried to step in to get Lacey to rest. The thought of being apart agitated them both, something Dr. Brady was trying to avoid. After Lacey had been returned to her room, a leather recliner used by many a father-to-be in the birthing suites of the ob-gyn department was brought in for Tucker.

He’d rejected the offer of medications to relieve his anxiety and help him rest. That night he fought sleep out of fear that he’d never awaken. Eventually, his mental exhaustion won the battle, and he slept soundly next to his mother’s bed until morning, when the ICU nurses began to make their rounds.

Lacey was the first to wake. She quietly eased out of bed and made her way to the bathroom without the assistance of the wheelchair or the walker the nurses had provided her. As she sat on the toilet, emptying her bladder, she buried her face in her hands as the realization of Owen’s death continued to soak into her.

The world had gone to shit. Their life filled with love and happiness and successes had been replaced with a home likely destroyed by a nuclear warhead and a husband who’d been taken away by a fluke weather event. As she finished, she implored herself to hike up her big-girl panties and be the rock her teenage son needed to cope with the loss of his father. However, if she couldn’t deal with Owen’s death, how could she expect Tucker to do so?

When she came out of the bathroom, she found the lights in her room dimmed and Tucker gone. Her door was cracked slightly, so she presumed he’d slipped out quietly without telling her. She looked around the room and noticed one of her duffel bags sitting on a small table in the corner.

With her strength rapidly coming back to her, she decided it was time to clean up a little bit, hoping the change of appearance and clothing might drag her out of this melancholy state of mind.

She ran her hands down the flannel pajamas given to her by one of the local residents. She assumed they were hers to keep, but just in case, she folded them neatly on a chair after she took them off. She quickly slipped on her favorite hiking pants, a thermal undershirt, and a hooded, camouflage sweatshirt. She looked like she was going hunting, but in reality, she planned on leaving the hospital that day although she presumed the doctors would insist she was putting herself at risk.

Lacey needed to deal with Owen’s burial, but moreover, she needed to get away from the place where he died. She didn’t fault the medical team at Arkansas Valley in the least. They’d done an admirable job in treating her entire family under the circumstances. But for Lacey, it was part of the healing process to leave the place where her husband had died less than a day before.

She’d just finished dressing and turned her lights up when Tucker reappeared, followed by Sheriff Mobley.

“Mom, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

Lacey stood next to her bed and casually rested her left hand on the mattress. She didn’t want anyone to notice that she was still unsteady on her feet.

“Hi, Mrs. McDowell, I’m Sheriff Shawn Mobley. Please,