Nuclear Winter Armageddon Bobby Akart (ebook pc reader .txt) 📖

Like before, nobody responded, but out of precaution, Peter continued to search the remainder of the house. He shuffled along the old plank flooring that had been installed when the home was built in the 1830s. With each step, the floor gave a little and squeaked where the planks were nailed to the floor joists.

After searching the upstairs, he entered the foyer and spun around, marveling at family photos adorning the walls. Whoever owned the home had relatives dating back to the Civil War. There were several photographs taken using the original wet-plate negatives that took nearly twenty seconds of exposure to generate an image.

Peter shined his light on each of the pictures as uniformed men cast their gaze upon him from above. He shuddered as he thought of the history of this old home. If only the walls could talk, he thought to himself.

Chapter Forty-Two

Wednesday, October 30

U.S. Highway 50, East of Pueblo, Colorado

Owen was frustrated and angry with himself. He looked forward in dismay as steam billowed from under the hood of the Bronco. He’d been so careful about monitoring his gauges and took his eye off the ball for just a few minutes as the wildfires distracted him. If he’d been paying attention, he would’ve stopped miles back closer to Pueblo to allow the engine to cool. At least he could seek out help in the larger town than what he expected was in front of him.

“Where are we?” he asked with a sigh. It was now dark outside, which required Lacey to use her flashlight to read the map.

“When did we pass through Pueblo? Twenty, thirty minutes?”

“I don’t know,” Owen snapped back. He immediately felt bad for his tone of voice and apologized. “I’m sorry, honey. This is my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Lacey set the map on the dashboard and turned toward her husband. She placed the flashlight under her chin, pointed upwards, just like we all did as kids to make a scary-looking face at Halloween.

“Look at me,” she said with her teeth bared menacingly.

Her attempt to turn her sweet face into something frightening failed in that respect. Otherwise, her ploy worked, and Owen immediately burst out laughing.

“You can’t be funny when I wanna be mad and frustrated.”

“Yes, I can.” She snarled and made other facial contortions.

“What are you? Five, six years old?”

“Maybe?” Lacey stuck her tongue out.

Owen threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. Tucker, not unexpectedly for a teenager, didn’t find his parents so humorous.

“You guys are weird.”

Lacey started laughing and exchanged high fives with her beloved husband. The two then reached across the console to hug one another and kissed.

“Weirder and weirder,” mumbled Tucker as he sat in the back seat with his arms folded. “What are we gonna do?”

“Do we have a manual for this thing?” asked Lacey as she opened the glove box. She set the handgun on top of the map book and fumbled through the papers. Other than insurance information, registration, and half of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich she was saving for later, it was empty.

“No,” said Owen. His mood became dour again. “Honestly, I never thought I’d need one. I guess I could’ve bought one on eBay or someplace, but I never imagined I’d need it. It’s not like this truck has any bells and whistles on it.”

“Dad, shouldn’t we take a look? It could be something simple.”

“Tuck, I don’t know anything about cars. I never had that car gene that my friends had growing up. As long as I could turn the key and make it go, I was fine.”

Lacey had returned to the map. “Well, to answer your question, I think we’re right about here.” She pointed to a point on the map to the east of Pueblo near the Arkansas River that snaked along the north side of the highway. Owen leaned in to study the atlas. To give him some context, Lacey traced their route and then ran her finger along the highway toward the east.

“It’s hard to tell,” said Owen. “Whadya think? Four or five miles to the next town?”

Lacey shrugged. “Probably. Maybe a little more? Plus, there might be some farmer along the way who knows the difference between a radiator and a transmission.” She laughed at Owen’s expense.

Owen stuck his tongue out at his wife in the dark. “Yeah, well, I know the difference between an algorithm and a bitmap.”

“Are we gonna take a look at fixing this thing or not?” Tucker was growing impatient as the inside of the truck began to get cold.

Owen turned and motioned for his jacket. “You wanna help?”

“Sure,” Tucker replied unenthusiastically.

The two McDowell men stepped out of the truck and quickly donned their jackets. Using Tucker’s flashlight to guide them, they lifted the hood of the Bronco and propped it open with a metal rod attached to the frame. Steam came billowing out and quickly mixed with the soot-filled air around them.

Both guys began to cough as they waved their hands back and forth to clear the air. Finally, with the aid of the flashlight, they were able to see the top of the motor.

Sitting atop the four-barrel carburetor was an exposed air filter topped with a polished chrome lid with the name Edelbrock embossed into it. The filter, which was usually white, was black and dented. It had been taking in debris and smoke their entire trip. The trip through the dense, smoky air in Pueblo had caused it to choke off completely.

There was another obvious problem. A hose running from the radiator had developed a crack. Owen didn’t know if the two problems were related or coincidental. Nonetheless, it would need to be replaced.

Owen shuddered as a gust of cold wind swept over them. He carefully reached into the engine compartment and squeezed the radiator hose. The crack grew wider and emitted a little more steam. Radiator fluid was dripping from beneath the truck as