Together in a Broken World by Paul Michael Winters EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Paul Michael Winters
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.9 MB
- Price: Free
A Broken World
AIDEN
It’s hard to get over how desolate the world is now. I haven’t seen
another soul for over a week. And if I want to stay alive, I hope to keep it
that way.
The road cuts a winding path through a dense forest, the cone of my
headlights revealing just enough to see ahead. Everything else is stark
blackness. Daft Punk and GRiZ blast through the car’s speakers—an EDM
mix I made last year as a DJ for my high school. Back when DJs and high
schools existed, that is. The bass rumbling through the seat makes me feel
connected to the car.
With one eye on the road, I paw at the backpack resting on the
passenger seat. It’s the third time this hour I’ve checked on the vials. The
familiar shape of the protective aluminum case through the nylon fabric
helps ease my anxiety. For the moment, anyway. It may be a little
obsessive, but the vials are my critical cargo. They’re what I’m risking my
life for. And I’m doing this for Marcus.
The slightest thought of him sends waves of grief flooding over me. I
fight those feelings and bury them away. Letting emotions control me is the
surest way of getting killed.
When I pull up to a rest area, the car cuts a path through an inch of pine
needles spread over the parking lot. Weeds spring up through every possible
crack, and vines are well on their way to swallowing the restrooms whole.
The sheer relentlessness of Mother Nature is startling.
Since man-made light is a thing of the past, it’s impossible to see your
hand six inches in front of your face, especially on a cloudy, moonless night
in rural Montana. The headlights are my only guide through the darkness,
so I leave them turned on.
As I open the door, I’m hit with a cold blast of air and the smell of sap.
It must be low forties out. My breaths puff out in misty clouds.
Looters often overlook vending machines at rest stops, so I always
check them out. I’m pleasantly surprised to find the machines undamaged
and nearly full. With a few pries of a crowbar, the lock springs open. I load
what I can into my backpack and stuff the rest in a black plastic bag.
After doing my business in the restroom, I return to my faded red ’97
Integra, crunching through the thick layer of decaying pine needles. I stop
suddenly, staring at another pair of footprints that cross over mine, head up
to my car door, and then into the woods. They were not here before. I’m
sure of it.
Did I remember to lock the door?
In a flash, I run to the car and reach for the handle. Locked. Thank god.
The second I’m in, I fire up the engine. Debris kicks up from the tires as I
hit the gas and speed away.
For the next several minutes, I’m hypervigilant, keeping my eye on the
mirrors and looking ahead for a potential ambush. Those footprints could
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